#Basil is here too but not for long | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

zuhaism · 2 months ago

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⊹ ｡˚ 𓂃 ♡ NO WAY ?!

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pairing : sophialaforteza x brothersbff!reader

synopsis : ever since she said yes to alex. you’ve changed. you laugh with lara. you smile at every other girl but her. until one moment behind the curtains.

a/n : hehehehehe. THIS IS CRAZY IDK WHAT I WAS DOING PLS IGNORE THE MISTAKES AND HOW EVERYTJING IS ALL OVER THE PLACE. anyways im back to unemployment heh. been playing minecraft and kinda ignoring this fic ugh 😒. but it’s here!! if you havent read the first part its here !!

the night still buzzes in your veins, the lingering high of the concert making you feel weightless. beside you, basil is still laughing about something, your footsteps unhurried as the two of you walk through the thinning crowd.

“man, that was crazy,” basil says, running a hand through his damp hair. “thanks for convincing me to join the band.”

you smirk, wiping off your sweat with a towel and leaving it hanging around your shoulders. “we needed someone useless enough to play bass.”

basil scoffs, shoving your shoulder. “you’re full of shit.”

you just laugh, the adrenaline still fading from your system, your limbs starting to feel heavier, more grounded. basil grins, triumphant, but your laughter softens, your expression shifting as something heavier settles in your chest. you hesitate, licking your lips.

“hey, uh,” you start, glancing at him. “i have to tell you something.”

basil slows his steps, sensing the change in tone. “what’s up?”

you inhale, exhale. flex your fingers. the words have been sitting at the back of your throat for too long, and if you don’t say them now, you don’t think you ever will.

“it’s about sophia.”

basil raises an eyebrow, waiting.

your throat tightens. “i like her.” then, quieter, more certain.more raw, “i’ve liked her for a long time.”

basil doesn’t react at first. just blinks at you, processing. then, after a long beat, a slow smirk spreads across his lips.

“so you finally grew a pair.”

you groan, tilting your head back. “bro, shut up.”

basil lets out a laugh, clapping you on the back. “nah, this is good. you should tell her. i mean, she’s been weird about you since you came.”

your brows furrow. “weird how?”

basil shrugs, but the glint in his eyes is unmistakable. “she’s been—”

“she’s been acting all… i don’t know, restless? like she’s here but not really here, y’know?”

you frown, gripping your water bottle tighter. “what do you mean?”

basil tilts his head, thinking. “like, okay. earlier, before the set, she was all quiet. which, first of all, unheard of.”

you huff a small laugh. yeah, that does sound weird. basil takes a sip of his drink before adding, “oh, and she keeps staring at you.”

your grip falters. “staring?”

basil smirks. “yeah, dude. like, eyes glued to you, totally zoned out, caught in the moment—i swear, it was embarrassing. Like damn, get a grip, soph.”

you feel warmth creep up your neck. “you’re messing with me.”

basil rolls his eyes. “yeah, because i have nothing better to do than gaslight you about my little sister having heart eyes for you.”

you click your tongue, shaking your head, but before you can respond, something catches your eye.

a few paces ahead, past the clusters of people drifting between food stalls and game booths, sophia stands beside alex at one of the carnival stands. the glow of the overhead bulbs bathes her in soft gold, illuminating the sharp lines of her profile. the delicate furrow of her brows, the subtle downturn of her lips.

she’s watching alex play one of those rigged bottle toss games, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. if she’s trying to feign interest, she’s not doing a very good job. alex is losing. badly.

basil lets out a sharp laugh. “he sucks.”

your jaw locks. the response catches in your throat, thick and bitter, before you manage a curt, “yeah.”

basil glances at you then, catching something in your tone, something restrained. he doesn’t push, but there’s a knowing glint in his eyes when he tilts his head toward the booth. “c’mon, let’s go say hi.”

you exhale through your nose, set your shoulders, and follow him.

you weave through the thinning crowd, the smell of fried dough and butter lingering in the cool night air. as you approach, sophia spots you first. her gaze flickers toward you in a sharp, fleeting moment, like a reflex. but instead of holding it, she drops her eyes just as quickly, snapping back to alex.

that’s new.

you can’t remember the last time sophia actively avoided looking at you.

not that you have time to dwell on it, because alex lets out a groan as another ball bounces uselessly off the rim. “dude, this game is rigged,” he mutters, dragging a hand down his face.

sophia doesn’t even pretend to disagree. “or you just have no hand-eye coordination,” she says, dry and unimpressed.

“nah, it’s definitely rigged.”

basil snorts. “what, still blaming the game for your lack of talent?”

alex turns at that, grinning when he sees you. “hey, man, this shit’s impossible.”

you barely hear him. you’re still watching sophia. still waiting for her to acknowledge you. but she only nudges alex’s arm, shifting slightly away. “just let it go, dude.”

alex scoffs. “nah, watch, i got this.” he tosses another ball. it ricochets off the rim and lands unceremoniously on the ground.

your lips curl, sharp and mocking. “wow. impressive.”

alex shoots you a glare. “you think you can do better?”

you step forward, tugging a couple of bills from your pocket and handing them to the vendor. “yeah, actually.”

it’s instant. sophia’s head snaps toward you, like the words have struck something in her.

you don’t acknowledge it. don’t acknowledge her. instead, you roll your shoulders back, picking up a ball, your fingers curling around the smooth surface. your movements are casual, practiced, but beneath the surface, something burns.

your jaw is still clenched from earlier. your mind still reeling from basil’s words, from the way sophia hasn’t met your eyes, from the way she stands beside alex, arms crossed like she’s closing herself off. you’ve spent too long standing still, too long waiting, too long biting your tongue. so you aim, exhale slow, and throw.

the ball hits the rim, bounces once, then sinks straight through the bottles.

the vendor whistles. “damn, nice shot.”

alex groans, dragging a hand through his hair. “what the hell.”

basil bursts into laughter, clapping alex on the back. “ just admit you suck.”

you ignore them, your focus fixed on the row of prizes dangling from the booth. you glance at sophia then, for the first time really looking at her since you walked up.

“which one?” you ask, your voice measured, careful. sophia hesitates.

for a fleeting second, something wavers in her expression. a flicker of uncertainty, of something almost vulnerable, before she forces it away.

she licks her lips, eyes darting to the stuffed animals. “that one, i guess.” she points at a small blue penguin.

the vendor grabs it and hands it to you. you turn, holding it out. sophia stares at the toy, her grip on her own arms tightening slightly. then, slowly, she reaches out.

your fingers brush. you feel it. warm and brief, a barely-there spark. but sophia pulls away.

you don’t.

sophia doesn’t know why she hesitated. it’s just a stuffed animal. it shouldn’t mean anything. but when you look at her like that. patient, expectant, like you care. her chest tightens.

her fingers curl around the penguin, but her hands feel unsteady. she pulls away too quickly, needing distance, but it doesn’t help. her heart is still racing.

she doesn’t know why she feels this way. or maybe she does, and she’s just trying too hard to ignore it.

she clutches the penguin close to her chest, her fingers pressing into the soft fabric like it’s something solid to hold onto.

then alex laughs. “damn, i should’ve let you play first.”

your lips twitch. “you should’ve.”

basil coughs, barely covering his amusement.

“well, it’s fine,” alex says, tossing an arm around sophia’s shoulders. “i still got the girl, so i win in the end, right?”

you freeze.

it’s immediate. the way your whole body tenses, your breath catching in your throat. the way the warmth in your veins turns to ice, the words landing in your chest like a punch you hadn’t braced for.

your fingers curl into your palms, nails digging into skin. sophia stiffens under alex’s arm. you see it. feel it.

then, finally, sophia meets your gaze.

your jaw clenches. you don’t say anything. sophia’s throat bobs. she exhales sharply, then mutters, “we’re just dating. it’s not official.” she says as she pushes alex’s hand off of her.

the words hang in the air like a frayed thread, fragile and stretching too thin. alex frowns, blinking. “uh, isn’t that the same thing?”

“not really.”

“wow, congrats,” you try to say, forcing the words past the knot in your throat. your voice tried to stay steady, to sound like you mean it. but it comes out flat, hollow. basil looks at you sharply, his gaze bouncing between you and the couple. he wants to punch alex. you can see it in the way his jaw clenches. but more than that, he wants to comfort you.

before he can do either, you force out a quick excuse. “um—i gotta go tinkle. you know… that set was crazy.”

sophia shifts at your comment. her eyes flick to you, searching, and you know she can tell something’s wrong.

before basil can stop you, you’re already turning away, moving fast.

the moment you’re out of sight, the pressure behind your eyes becomes unbearable. the world blurs at the edges, lights smearing into streaks, voices muffled against the pounding in your chest.

you were too slow to say anything. too slow to brave it. too slow to tell her how you felt before someone else took the chance.

you swallow hard, blinking against the tears, but they keep coming, hot and relentless.

before you started blaming yourself. a body collided with you. “oh sorry- yn?” it was lara. she was already looking at you with concern written all over her face. “lets sit down.”

she grabbed your wrists before you can even tell her to go away. lara doesn’t give you a choice. her grip is firm but not forceful, her pace steady as she leads you away from the crowds, away from the suffocating buzz of the carnival. you don’t fight it. you don’t have the energy to.

your chest feels too tight, your throat raw from holding back everything you don’t have the strength to say.

lara doesn’t speak right away. she waits until you’re both settled on a bench near the edge of the boardwalk overlooking the sea, where the noise is distant enough to feel bearable. only then does she turn to you, eyes scanning your face, piecing things together without needing to ask.

for a moment it was quiet. the sound of waves could only be heard between the two of you. “stay here” said lara breaking the calming silence. you didn’t react. your mind was out of it.

after 5 minutes, lara came back with two ice cream cones. lara hands you one of the cones without a word, pressing the cold treat into your palm. no hesitation, no questioning. just an unspoken understanding.

you glance down at it, then back at her. “really?”

she shrugs, already taking a bite of her own. “figured you needed something to shut your brain up.”

you let out a quiet, breathy laugh, the first genuine one in what feels like hours. the weight in your chest doesn’t disappear, but it shifts, just enough. “thanks.”

lara doesn’t acknowledge it, just nudges your knee with hers and leans back against the bench, eyes locked on the dark horizon.

you both sit there, letting the silence stretch. it isn’t awkward, isn’t heavy. it just is. the waves crash against the shore, the distant sounds of the carnival hum in the background, and for the first time tonight, you feel like you can breathe.

you don’t say it out loud, but you’re grateful. not just for the ice cream, but for lara’s presence, for the way she doesn’t press for answers you aren’t ready to give.

after a few minutes, she exhales sharply, tilting her head. “i’m just saying, if you had to lose out to someone, alex is a really pathetic choice.”

you snort, shaking your head. “dude.”

“what? he’s a douche.”

you roll your eyes, but the corner of your mouth twitches. “apparently, that’s not a dealbreaker.”

lara hums, feigning deep thought. “tragic.”

“mhm.”

the night air is cool against your skin, the scent of salt and sugar lingering in the breeze. your ice cream is starting to drip down your fingers, but wiping it away feels like too much effort.

you were enjoying your ice cream until the silence was broken once again when someone called your name.

“sophia?” lara mutters, barely tilting her head.

you freeze for a split second before turning around.

sophia is standing a few feet away, her expression shifting the moment your eyes meet. for a brief moment, she looks relieved. almost pleased. to have found you sitting alone. her shoulders loosen slightly, the tension in her stance easing. but then she sees lara.

her expression falters. the subtle warmth in her eyes cools, replaced by something sharper, something guarded. she presses her lips together, crossing her arms over her chest, posture stiffening like she’s bracing for something.

you don’t say anything. just wait.

“we’re leaving,” she finally says, voice even but not as casual as she probably wants it to be. “come on.”

normally, you would’ve stood up immediately, tossed the rest of your ice cream and followed without hesitation. but you don’t.

sophia notices.

her grip tightens around her sleeves as she watches you stay seated, licking the last bit of your ice cream off your fingers like you’re in no rush at all. she shifts on her feet, waiting for the inevitable moment when you’ll sigh, stand, and trail after her like you always do.

but you don’t move.

she exhales through her nose, impatient. “yn.”

still, nothing.

something twists uncomfortably in her stomach. this is different. this isn’t how things go. you’re supposed to come with her. you’re supposed to listen, even when she doesn’t ask nicely.

she turns on her heel, expecting your footsteps to follow.

but they don’t.

sophia stops after a few steps, a cold prickle running down her spine. her fingers curl against her arms as she turns back around, trying not to look as thrown off as she feels.

she watches as you exhale, finally shifting forward. you stretch a little, wiping your hands against your jeans before patting lara’s shoulder, murmuring something too low to hear.

and then you walk right past her.

sophia barely steps aside in time, the air between you charged with something heavy, something unfamiliar.

no glance. no acknowledgment.

you just keep moving, heading toward the set to gather your things.

sophia stares after you, the unease in her chest settling like a weight she can’t shake off. she doesn’t understand this feeling clawing at her ribs, the frustration bubbling beneath her skin. it’s ridiculous. you were just sitting with lara. just eating ice cream. there’s nothing wrong with that.

and yet, she hates the way it makes her feel.

on the ride home, the car is quieter than usual. not tense, not awkward. just quiet. the kind that feels intentional. like no one wants to be the first to break it.

you sit by the window, gaze locked on the passing streetlights, the glow casting shifting patterns across your face. your hands rest in your lap, fingers curled loosely around the fabric of your jeans. you haven’t spoken since getting in the car, and you don’t plan to.

sophia sits beside you, her arms crossed, legs tucked up slightly like she’s trying to make herself smaller. she keeps sneaking glances at you, waiting for something. maybe for you to turn and meet her eyes. maybe for you to say something, anything, like you always do.

but you don’t.

your silence feels different tonight. it’s not the comfortable kind, not the easy kind. it’s heavy, distant. like you’re not physically here and it’s bothering her more than it should.

when the car reaches sophia’s house, you step out without a word, moving straight to the trunk to grab some of the equipment. basil does the same, shooting you a glance, but he doesn’t say anything.

sophia follows, watching as you walk ahead of her, shoulders tense in a way that’s so unlike you. usually, you’d be the one cracking a joke about how you always end up carrying the heaviest stuff or making some offhand comment about how you basically live here at this point. but tonight, you’re just quiet.

it’s throwing her off.

inside, you set the last bag down in the usual spot near the couch. basil disappears into the kitchen, giving you two some space—not that you seem to notice. you just straighten up, dust your hands off, and let out a quiet exhale.

“alright, i’m heading out.”

sophia blinks. “oh. you’re not staying?” usually you’d stay for awhile. chatting with basil , play with their dogs or even annoying sophia. but today.

“nah, i’m tired.”

she waits for it. the usual—maybe a teasing remark, a lazy grin, even a light shove to her shoulder. but it doesn’t come.

instead, you just nod at basil, say a quick “see you” to him, and then. nothing. no glance in her direction, no hug, no playful ruffling of her hair that you know she pretends to hate. your eyes really do look tired.

just silence.

her stomach twists.

she stands there, watching as you walk out the door without looking back. something about it makes her chest feel tight, an odd pressure settling in like she’s missing something. like she’s done something wrong.

before she even realizes it, she’s following you.

by the time she steps onto the driveway, you’re already in the driver’s seat, hands gripping the wheel like you can’t wait to leave. her stomach twists. she hesitates for a second, fingers tightening around the sleeves of her hoodie, before raising a hand and tapping lightly on your window.

you roll it down, and suddenly, you’re looking at her. really looking at her.

it makes her nervous.

up close, she can see it clearly—the exhaustion in your face, the dull weight in your eyes. you look drained, like you’ve been running on empty all night, and she wonders why she didn’t notice it sooner.

“uh—your set,” she starts, shifting her weight, suddenly unsure of what to say. “it was really good today. i didn’t get to tell you earlier.”

your lips twitch, barely forming a smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. “thanks.”

sophia doesn’t like this. the quiet. the distance. the way you feel just out of reach. she knows you would’ve been teasing her. for complimenting you. but nothing. not even a grin from you.

she lingers, arms crossed over her chest like it’ll help ease the discomfort pressing into her ribs. typically, you’d stay. even if you were tired, you’d still crash on their couch for a while, maybe steal something from the fridge before heading home. but tonight, you’re already leaving.

“see you next week, soph.”

she blinks. “next week? you’re not coming tomorrow?”

you shake your head. “can’t. got stuff to do.”

the answer is too easy.

she shifts again, fingers gripping her sleeve. “you sure? it’s still early. you could—” she stops herself, biting the inside of her cheek. she doesn’t know what she’s asking for. doesn’t know why she suddenly doesn’t want you to go.

but you just sigh, rubbing a hand over your face before nodding. “sorry soph. im busy— i just— i dont think im feeling well.” you stopped, eyes meeting sophias.

and for a second, she forgets what she was going to say. sophia swallows. her voice catches in her throat.

sophia doesn’t say anything. she just watches as you roll the window back up, put the car in reverse, and pull away.

and she stands there long after your tail lights disappear, arms wrapped around herself, wondering why it suddenly feels like she just let something important slip right through her fingers.

the following week has been dull for sophia. not because she doesn’t have anything to do—she does, as her schedule is packed with rehearsals, school, and the usual chaos of balancing everything at once. but because she rarely sees you anymore.

and when she does, it’s different.

whenever she walks into a room and you’re there—laughing at something her brother said, leaning back on the couch like you belong—her chest tightens in something close to relief. but before she can even think about joining, you’re making some excuse, getting up, slipping away before she can say anything.

it’s deliberate. she knows it is.

but it’s the worst when she sees you with lara.

the two of you have been close lately, too close for her liking. lara leans into your space, nudges your arm, laughs at something only the two of you understand. it makes sophia’s skin itch, her fingers twitch like she wants to tear something apart.

(she doesn’t know why it gets to her so much.)

at least here, during tutoring, you can’t run.

you’re sitting across from her, flipping through the calculus textbook with that familiar, unreadable look on your face. you’ve been quieter than usual, more distant, but your explanations are as sharp as ever, walking her through every problem with the same level of patience that makes her want to watch you forever.

she wonders if you know how amazing you are at this. not just at math, but at explaining things, at making the hardest problems feel manageable. she watches the way your fingers tap absently against the paper, the way your brows furrow when you’re thinking. she wants to tell you.

she doesn’t.

instead, she taps her pencil against the desk, glancing at you. “hey, the silver screen is this friday. you wanna come?”

you pause, glancing up from the textbook. “alex won’t go with you?” the words come out before you can stop them, and you hate how they sound. detached. like it doesn’t sting to picture her with him.

you know exactly what the silver screen is. an annual event the school organizes, setting up a massive projector on the football field, fairy lights strung up around the bleachers, blankets spread across the grass. students bring snacks, some come in groups, others… as couples.

you remember your sister talking about it when you were younger, how she met her husband there, how it was one of those nights that stuck with her forever. she told you it had this kind of magic to it. something meant for the kind of people who find love in stolen glances and shared laughter under the open sky.

but the idea of sophia in that setting—with alex—makes your chest tighten.

she shifts in her seat, her pencil tapping against her notebook. “he’s going camping or something.” she shrugs, but you notice the way she’s watching you closely, like she’s waiting for something. “anyway, it’s not that serious. just a movie night.”

just a movie night.

you swallow, forcing your gaze back down to the calculus problem in front of you, but the numbers blur together. you should say no. you should tell her you’re busy, give her some excuse, avoid the way this entire conversation makes you feel.

sophia feels like she’s standing on the edge of something dangerous, something she doesn’t quite understand. she should drop it. should let yn change the subject, move on like this was just some offhand suggestion.

but then she speaks again, quieter this time. “you don’t have to, obviously. just thought it’d be nice.”

and that, more than anything. makes it impossible to refuse.

the silence stretches, and sophia suddenly regrets every decision she’s made in the last two minutes.

“yeah,” you murmur, gripping your pen a little tighter. “i’ll think about it.”

relief rushes through sophia so fast it almost makes her lightheaded. she nods, trying not to seem too eager, forcing herself to focus on her notes. but her heart is still racing.

she doesn’t know if this is a good idea.

you have been avoiding her lately, and sophia doesn’t know why. she sees it in the way you always leave the moment she shows up, how you makes excuses to be anywhere else. even during tutoring, she feels the shift.

and maybe that’s why sophia is scared. because for the first time in weeks, she’s found an excuse to keep you close.

sophia doesn’t push. she just nods, a small, almost satisfied expression crossing her face before she drops her attention back to her notes.

she’ll deal with that later. right now, all that matters is that you haven’t said no.

sophia doesn’t even like flowers that much.

but alex had shown up out of nowhere, smiling as she handed over a single baby’s breath, saying something about how she was sorry that sophia missed the silver screen.

sophia barely registered the words. she just held the flower between her fingers, nodding along, trying not to overthink how wrong it felt to be standing here, listening to alex talk when all she could think about was you.

and then alex was gone.

sophia barely had time to process it before you appeared, stepping up beside her with that unreadable look in your eyes.

“nice flower,” you said, gaze flickering down to the small bloom in her hand.

sophia didn’t even get the chance to respond before you plucked it from her fingers, twirling it once between your own as you started walking. instinctively, she followed. there was no hesitation, no second thought—just the pull of you leading the way, and sophia falling into step beside you.

as soon as you start walking, you begin talking.

something about your day, something about how your morning was a disaster because you spilled coffee on your notes, and then how lara had the audacity to laugh instead of help. something about that makes her twitch. you’re still talking, completely unaware of the way sophia’s stomach twists when you bring up lara.

“—and then lara said i need to get a life because i spent my saturday fixing my guitar instead of going out, but she was literally—”

sophia isn’t sure why she feels weird about this. you and lara have always been friends. but hearing just how much time you’ve been spending together lately makes something uncomfortable settle in her chest.

before she can stop herself, the words leave her mouth. “lara likes someone from the girls' football team.”

you pause mid-step, blinking at her. “okay?” okay?? what was she even expecting you to say?

she has no idea why she said that. no idea why she felt the need to say anything. you stare at her for a second longer, like you’re trying to figure out if there’s a point to what she just blurted out. and maybe there is. maybe she just wants you to stop bringing her up so casually when it’s already so obvious that lara gets more of your time than she does. but you don’t push. you just shrug, muttering something about how you hope lara finally gets her love life sorted out, before continuing whatever you were saying earlier. sophia barely hears it.

her face feels hot. her hands are clammy. she keeps her gaze forward, hoping you won’t notice. she needs to get a grip.

you keep talking like nothing happened, like sophia didn’t just embarrass herself for no reason.

her face is burning. she can still hear her own voice echoing in her head, the absolute stupidity of it making her want to crawl into her locker and never come out. why did she say that? why did she care?

sophia nods along, half-listening.

she wants to focus on your words, she really does, but all she can think about is the fact that you’re talking to her again.

after a week of cold shoulders and passing glances that never quite landed, you’re walking beside her like nothing happened. you’re initiating the conversation, keeping the space between you light and easy. and god, she missed this. she missed you.

she barely even notices when you toss the flower into the trash without a second thought. she’s too busy watching the way you move, the way your hands gesture when you talk, the way your voice dips when you complain about lara. it’s familiar and new all at once, and she hates how much she’s hanging onto every word, desperate to make up for the days you kept your distance.

before she knows it, you’re outside her classroom. she stops, blinking up at you as you roll your shoulders back like you’re bracing yourself.

“i’ll go to the silver screen with you.”

sophia’s breath catches.

“i’ll pick you up at six.”

she barely processes the words before you’re already stepping away, disappearing down the hall.

her hands are ice cold, but her face feels like it’s on fire.the bell rings, but she doesn’t move. she barely hears it over the way her pulse roars in her ears. students push past her, some rushing into the classroom, others lingering in the hallway, but sophia doesn’t register any of it. she’s stuck—feet planted, hands gripping the hem of her sweater, head tilted slightly down as her hair falls over her burning face.

her lips twitch, and then, before she can stop it, a smile breaks through. and suddenly, her whole chest feels like it’s about to burst.

fireworks. that’s what it feels like. like someone just lit a match inside her, and now she’s sparking. she barely remembers how to breathe.

someone bumps into her shoulder on their way into class, snapping her out of it. she blinks rapidly, heart still hammering against her ribs, and forces her feet to move. she slips inside, head ducked low, smile still tugging at her lips, fingers twitching at her sides.

she doesn’t think she’s going to hear a single thing the teachers say today.

sophia had to stay back until four for cheer practice. it was now 3:57.

she stepped out of the locker room, still adjusting the strap of her gym bag, cheeks flushed from the last half hour of cheer practice. she was let off early for once. her coach had other meetings to get to, and sophia didn’t mind. in fact, she was almost relieved. because it meant she got to see you. not for tutoring. just… to be with you. and even if it was just a few minutes walking to your car and getting driven home by you, it was something she’d been looking forward to since the morning.

she hummed quietly as she walked down the quiet hallway, shoes squeaking softly against the floor. it was nice to finally have a moment where she didn’t feel like she had to run into alex or sit through another lunch of watching you laugh at something lara said.

when she passed the music room, she slowed down. you said you’d be there, working on something for the club. just a quick touch-up for an upcoming assembly or whatever. she thought she’d check on you, see if you were ready to leave.

but then she saw you.

you were there, standing by the far piano, eyes crinkling in that way that always made sophia’s chest ache. and beside you was lara. laughing at something, close enough that it made sophia’s stomach twist. your shoulder brushed lara’s when you leaned down to show her something on the sheet music.

sophia couldn’t move.

she should’ve just gone outside. waited like a normal person. but instead, she was frozen there, just outside the open doorway, like some kind of idiot. watching two of her friends laugh over a song she didn’t care about, in a space that suddenly felt like it didn’t belong to her.

and she hated that it made her mad.

lara had only known you for what, a few months? but somehow she had you laughing, smiling, letting her in. meanwhile, you could barely look sophia in the eye last week. she was your date to the silver screen, and yet she didn’t feel like she meant anything to you.

so she turned around. quietly, without saying a word.

sophia walked to the front of the school and sat on the stairs, bag at her feet. the late afternoon sun warmed the concrete, but she barely noticed it. her thoughts were louder than everything else.

why did it feel like this? why did her chest feel tight every time she saw you with lara? why did she hate that lara could make you laugh so easily? and more than anything—why did she care so much?

she already had alex, didn’t she?

except alex didn’t make her feel like this. he never did.

she buried her face in her hands for a second, trying to breathe past the knot in her chest. this was stupid. she had no reason to be jealous. you weren’t even hers.

but then she heard the door open behind her.

your voice came next. soft, almost surprised. “soph? what are you doing out here?”

sophia looked up, blinking fast. the sun caught on your hair, and you squinted slightly against the light as you stepped down toward her. and just like that, the irritation and the jealousy faded into something warmer. something she hated to name.

“you ready to go?” you asked, adjusting your bag.

sophia nodded, getting up quickly and brushing off the back of her skirt. “yeah.”

you didn’t mention lara. didn’t say anything about what she might’ve seen through that window. and maybe sophia was grateful for that.

but as you started walking beside her toward the parking lot, close enough for your arm to brush hers, sophia realized something quietly. no matter how much time passed, or who else was around, being next to you always felt like something she didn’t want to lose.

she had to do something. but as for now, she could not wait until silver screen to spend time with you.

it was finally friday. the day of the silver screen.

yesterday’s tutoring session was strange. sophia wasn’t herself—distant, distracted. her eyes kept drifting away from the textbook, and her responses were slower than usual. she was zoning out, completely out of it. and no matter how many times you asked if something was wrong, she just shook her head and gave you a half-smile.

you hated how fast your mind jumped to alex. hated how easy it was to assume he had something to do with it. maybe they argued. maybe he did something stupid again. maybe sophia was finally tired of pretending to be okay. or maybe—maybe it had nothing to do with alex at all, and you were just projecting.

still, the silence between you two yesterday stuck to you more than it should’ve. especially with how much you were looking forward to seeing her again today.

you were leaning against the wall outside your second period class when lara walked up to you, balancing her iced coffee in one hand and her phone in the other.

“you good?” she asked, eyes scanning your face. “you look like someone broke your guitar.”

you scoffed. “just tired.”

lara raised an eyebrow. “tired of watching sophia and alex exist, or just tired in general?”

you didn’t answer. instead, you looked down, kicking lightly at the floor. the way she said it so casually, like she already knew exactly what was bothering you, made your stomach twist.

“look,” lara said, taking a sip of her drink, “i’m not gonna give you the whole ‘move on’ speech. but maybe… take a chance?” you glanced at her, confused. “on what?”

“on anyone,” she said simply. “any girl who even breathes in your direction. flirt back. talk first. give someone else a shot.”

you laughed, dry and a little hollow. “that’d be you, then.” lara snorted. “please. you’re attractive, but you’re not my type.” you clutched your chest dramatically. “ouch.”

“you’ll live,” she teased. “just… stop shutting people out. you never know who might surprise you. maybe tonight, some cute girl’s gonna walk up to you under the lights and change everything.” you rolled your eyes but smiled, soft and small. “we’ll see.”

“we will see,” lara said, and just as she was about to continue, someone appeared beside you both.

“hi, guys!”

you turned. sophia.

she was smiling too brightly. her voice slightly too chipper to be casual. her eyes flickered between you and lara, and for a second, she looked like she was regretting even approaching. but lara, oblivious or simply unbothered, grinned.

“just the person i needed to see,” lara said. “music club needs extra help for the orchestra set-up on sunday.”

sophia blinked. “orchestra?”

“yeah,” lara nodded. “stage layout, equipment prep, stuff like that. we’re a little short on hands on saturday. you in?”

sophia hesitated. “i don’t know… i might be out with alex that day.”

your stomach dropped, but your face didn’t change. you just offered a tight-lipped smile, eyes unfocused. lara nudged sophia’s arm. “yn and another girl is gonna be there.” sophia turned to look at you, and you met her eyes briefly. you didn’t say anything. you didn’t need to. she hesitated again, visibly torn. “…maybe. i have to see how saturday goes.

“well, if you change your mind,” lara said, giving sophia a knowing look, “it’s always open. besides, yn could use a friend there.”

sophia opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out right away. you didn’t press. you just watched her quietly, your expression unreadable. she didn’t know what she expected to see in your face, but whatever it was—it wasn’t there.

sophia could hear the doorbell ring, followed by basil’s unmistakably loud voice yelling, “your favourite person is here!”

she paused at the top of the stairs, heart ticking a little faster. she didn’t know why that made her blush. maybe because it was true. or maybe it was the panic that you might’ve actually heard him from outside.

she smoothed her sundress, quickly brushing down the fabric as she gave herself one last glance in the mirror. cheeks warm. hair in place. smile soft but not too eager. okay.

when she finally walked down the stairs, she spotted you through the open front door. leaning against the railings in your leather jacket, talking to basil with that casual charm of yours.

you looked—cool. your hair, your posture, your smile. it wasn’t fair. you looked like you belonged in a movie. basil nudged you, laughing about something, and for a second sophia almost turned back around just to take another breath.

then you looked up and saw her. your whole expression shifted. “soph,” you said, voice low but warm, and something in it made her freeze for a moment.

you weren’t smiling like you normally did. your gaze moved from her eyes to her lips to her sundress and then back up again. like you were taking her in all at once. she stepped out of the house, barely remembering how to walk. you tilted your head slightly. “you look…”

you didn’t finish the sentence, but your face said enough. “thank you,” sophia smiled, cheeks heating as she fiddled with the strap of her bag. ��you clean up okay too.”

basil scoffed. “okay? look at her. leather jacket? hair actually tamed? she’s trying to impress.” you rolled your eyes. “shut up.”

“don’t knock her up!” basil called out dramatically as you both started walking down the path. “bye, basil,” you said dryly, grabbing sophia’s hand for just a second to guide her past the uneven step. she nearly tripped anyway, too caught up in the feeling of your fingers against her skin. when you let go, her palm missed it immediately.

“you ready?” you asked once you reached the car, your voice soft again. different from how you spoke to basil. only for her. “yeah,” she replied, eyes shining just a little too brightly. “ready.”

the drive to school was quiet, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. the windows were slightly rolled down. music played softly from the stereo. sophia peeked at you once or twice, each time hoping you wouldn’t catch her. but you did.

and you smiled.

once you arrived, the field was already starting to fill with groups of people. string lights hung across the trees, dim but glowing. the screen wasn’t lit yet, but the projector was being set up. blankets, snacks, pillows. people were settling in.

you popped the trunk and pulled out a folded blanket and a small cooler bag. “you came prepared,” sophia said as you led her to a quieter near the back. “had to,” you shrugged, setting everything down carefully. “wasn’t sure if you’d eaten.

you laid out the picnic blanket, smoothing the corners before sitting down. sophia joined you, eyes drifting to the cooler bag. “wait,” she said, “you made sandwiches?” you avoided her eyes. “yeah. i mean. just in case you got hungry.” “you made these?” she asked again, genuinely surprised. “for me?”

you shrugged again, clearly flustered. “it’s not a big deal.” sophia reached for one of them, unwrapping the foil carefully. it smelled good. “no, it is,” she said softly, grinning. “it’s really cute.” you ducked your head, ears turning pink. “don’t say that.”

“what? it is,” she said, taking a bite. “and it’s good.”

you tried to act unfazed, but your fingers kept fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. sophia felt warm. not just from the food or the air, but from you. from the effort you put in. from the fact that you remembered she liked her bread toasted just a little. from the fact that she was here, with you, without a textbook or a group or anyone else getting in the way.

it hit her all at once. how rare this was. how special. just you and her, under the lights, and nothing else demanding your attention. you leaned back on your palms, watching the people around you start to settle down. the movie hadn’t started yet, but the energy in the air felt almost anticipatory.

sophia glanced at you again. you weren’t looking at her. but she wished you were. she didn’t know what any of this meant yet. but she knew how she felt right now. and it was… happy. unreasonably happy.

sophia couldn’t stop glancing at you.

the movie had started. drive me crazy, a film she’d only ever half-watched once on cable, but now it played on the huge projector screen. the kind with soft music and bubble fonts and girls with shiny hair and boys who suddenly realize the best thing in their life has been there all along. it felt like a cliche, and yet… here she was. on a blanket with you, under strings of dim fairy lights and the vast sky, heart threatening to beat right out of her chest.

you were leaning back on your wrists, one leg stretched out, the other bent casually. your leather jacket was still on, despite the warmth of the evening. it made you look even cooler. like the main character in a teen movie who didn’t even try to be charming. you just were. and when the screen lit up your face. those golden streaks of light dancing over your cheekbones. sophia had to physically remind herself to look away.

she was flustered. every time your arm brushed hers, she stiffened slightly. not because she didn’t like it. because she did. too much. it was impossible to ignore how close you were. how your knees would occasionally touch when you shifted. how you’d offer her little comments about the movie in a whisper only she could hear. each time you leaned closer, it felt like the air thinned around them.

sophia didn't realize how cold her hands were until yours touched them.

the movie had been playing for a while now, and most of the lawn had quieted into the soft hum of popcorn munching and screen-lit faces. she wasn’t even watching anymore. not really. her eyes were forward, but her mind was sideways—on you. the way your foot tapped gently against hers, how your knuckles occasionally bumped. your presence beside her felt too big, like it was crowding all the space in her chest, and yet she wanted to be closer. she needed it like oxygen.

your fingers brushed hers again, this time more intentionally. and then, before she could prepare, you reached for her hand and held it. gently. warmly. like it was the most natural thing in the world.

her breath caught. she didn’t look at you.

your thumb ran lightly across the back of her hand, just once. slow. curious.

“your hand’s freezing,” you whispered, voice low, careful not to disturb the fragile quiet between you.

sophia blinked. her brain stuttered. “oh. yeah. i guess i—i didn’t notice.”

you were still holding her. still rubbing soft circles, like your trying to warm her hand. then came the breeze. not strong, but sudden, slipping under her sundress and making her shoulders tense. you didn’t say anything.

you let go of her hand just for a moment, and the cold bit at your skin immediately, sharper now that you weren’t distracted by her touch. she looked up, confused, just as you slipped your arms out of your jacket. the motion was smooth. you didn’t say anything. you didn’t need to.

the air was cool tonight.that in-between kind of cold that settled low in your chest and made your breath curl in front of your face. the sky had turned dark, still holding onto the last traces of daylight. she shivered once, barely noticeable, but you caught it.

you shuffled closer.

your jacket, still warm from your body. draped over her shoulders. not quickly, not casually. you made sure it settled right. that the collar tucked against her neck. that the sleeves didn’t slip off.

sophia went very still. the warmth hit her first, curling around her like a second skin. then the scent. faint leather, something piney from your cologne, and something else, something she couldn’t name but had always associated with you. it wrapped around her like a memory she hadn’t let herself remember.

her fingers twitched at her sides, like she wanted to hold onto it. like she wanted to hold onto you. when she turned her head to look at you, you were already watching her.

your face was different in the low light. softer. your features drawn in shadow and the gold cast of the nearest lamp. your eyes, usually so easy to read—were darker now, unreadable. they flickered with something quieter. something closer to hope. closer to fear. you weren’t smiling. you weren’t teasing. you just looked at her.

long and soft and still.

“thanks,” sophia said quietly. her voice came out tight, breathy. she meant to sound casual, but the words caught in her throat before they even made it out. her fingers brushed the edge of your jacket, holding it closed like armor.

you didn’t reply right away. your eyes dipped, briefly, instinctively—to her mouth. then back up.

you didn’t let it linger, but she saw it. “of course,” you murmured, your voice a little rough. a little softer than she’d ever heard it. and for one long second, neither of you moved.

it was until a body dropped onto the blanket beside you guys. “hey,” came the casual voice, disrupting everything in an instant.

you turned your head, blinking. sophia flinched. and just like that, the spell broke. but she didn’t let go of your hand.

your eyes was met with soft, delicate smile with smooth, glowing skin. her eyes lingering for just a moment too long. “you’re yn, right? i’ve heard a lot about you.” said the girl with a wolfcut who just interrupted them. yn’s face softened with a smile, that casual, approachable one she always wore. “yeah, that’s me,” she replied, her voice as warm and pleasant.

the girls gaze flicked over to sophia, and for a brief second, there was something mischievous there, something almost knowing. she didn’t acknowledge her presence, though; she just looked right back at yn with a tilt of her head. “i’ve been hearing about you from some of the other members in the music club. cant wait to get to know you better this weekend”

sophia’s jaw clenched, but she forced herself to breathe. her gaze flickered to yn, waiting for her reaction. yn was shocked then she started smiling back, polite. “oh! you’re karina?” karina nods with a charming smile on her face.

karina's voice was light, almost flirtatious, and sophia could hear every word like a slap to the face. “im sure we’re gonna have a good time. you’re pretty involved in the music club.”

sophia's fingers curled into fists again, and she forced herself to take a deep breath. she could feel the heat rise in her chest, that simmering jealousy she couldn’t quite control, couldn’t hide. it was like the walls around her chest were closing in. she was fuming, but she had to hold it together. karina was still talking, still leaning in just a little too close to yn, but sophia couldn’t look away. it made her feel restless, uncomfortable in her own skin. she hated how karina looked at yn. hated how she seemed so effortlessly at ease with her.

“maybe we’ll get to do some more events together. you and me.” karina continued, her voice sweet like sugar, but with an edge that made sophia’s skin crawl. yn laughed lightly, more because she didn’t want to seem rude than anything else. “yeah, i guess so.”

sophia’s fists tightened again. she wasn’t sure why it bothered her so much. it wasn’t like karina was doing anything wrong. but it felt like a punch to the gut every time she’d glance at her.

without thinking, sophia nudged yn’s side, the action coming out sharper than she intended. her voice was almost a whisper, but it was tight with the edge of frustration. “im cold,” she muttered, hoping it would make yn pay attention to her, if only for a moment as they were still talking about the next day.

yn blinked, caught off guard. she looked at sophia, her eyebrows knitting together slightly in confusion. for a split second, sophia thought maybe she’d gone too far. maybe it was too obvious. but then, yn smiled, her face softening, and before sophia could process what was happening, yn’s arm was around her shoulders.

it was a simple, just an arm, draped over her, the warmth of it soaking into her skin. but sophia’s breath hitched, her heart skipping a beat. it felt like the world was narrowing down to just the two of them, karina’s annoying chatter blurring out of focus. the warmth from yn’s body pressed against hers, and sophia’s mind went completely blank for a moment. the tension that had been building up inside her. the jealousy, the frustration. melted away for just a second, leaving her with nothing but a rush of warmth.

karina finally glanced down. it was brief, just a flicker of her eyes toward the arm yn had draped over sophia, but it was enough. her mouth pulled into something between a smirk and an apology. “oh,” she said, the word cutting through the air just a little too knowingly, “have i caught you two at a bad time?”

sophia stiffened, but yn didn’t flinch. “nah,” she replied, casual, as if her arm wasn’t currently setting sophia’s entire bloodstream on fire. “we were just watching.”

karina’s smirk deepened for a second before she lifted her hands in mock surrender, tone playful. “my bad. i’ll leave you guys to it.” she looked at sophia this time, and for once, actually acknowledged her. “nice jacket, by the way.” then she got up, brushing off her skirt like she’d just lost interest, and disappeared into the crowd of blankets and folding chairs.

sophia didn’t say anything for a long time. she just sat there, eyes fixed ahead like she was watching the screen, but she wasn’t. the movie might as well have been static. she couldn’t hear anything over the pounding in her ears, couldn’t feel anything except yn’s arm still resting gently on her shoulders, the weight of it, the warmth of it, the casual closeness.

she was flushed all the way to her ears. she knew it. she could feel the heat crawling up her neck, her jaw tight as she tried not to let it show, tried not to make it obvious how dizzy she felt. her skin buzzed under yn’s touch.

you shifted beside her, not moving away. just closer. like you sensed it. you could feel the way her breathing stuttered. “you good?” you asked quietly, leaning down a bit so your voice barely rose above the rustle of the crowd and the hum of the movie playing in the background.

sophia glanced at you, your face so close it made her stomach twist. your arm still around her. your eyes soft and unreadable. she blinked, then nodded a little too quickly. “yeah,” she said, her voice small and clipped. “just… wasn’t expecting her.”

you raised an eyebrow, eyes flicking back in the direction karina had gone. “karina?”

sophia didn’t answer right away. her lips were pressed tight, her fingers knotted together in her lap. “she’s annoying,” she muttered eventually, the words coming out sharp.

you blinked, surprised by her tone. “she’s not that bad.”

but that only made sophia’s jaw clench harder. not that bad.her heart stung, irrationally and stupidly, like she’d just been scratched raw. the thought of you spending hours with her tomorrow, alone, laughing like that again, her leaning in too close while you smiled and didn’t stop her—it made sophia feel sick. her thoughts spiraled.

“she clearly likes you,” sophia said flatly, eyes fixed on her lap, voice barely above a whisper. “not that you noticed.”

you tilted your head slightly, caught off guard. “what?”

“nevermind.” her tone was too bitter to continue. she hated how obvious she sounded now. she wanted to take it back, but the words were already there, suspended between you.

you didn’t say anything for a second. just looked at her. studied her, the way her shoulders were tense under your arm, the way her jaw twitched slightly when she wasn’t speaking. “are you okay?” you asked again, softer this time.

she turned to look at you finally. and the look in your eyes. concern and, maybe even something warmer. it made something in her snap. she didn’t know what possessed her.

“i’ll come tomorrow.”

you blinked. “what?”

“to the orchestra setup. with you and karina.” her voice was firmer now, more controlled, but the edge was still there, bubbling just under the surface. “i’ll help.”

you hesitated. your brows lifted a little. “i thought you said you hate doing stuff like that.”

“i changed my mind.” she swallowed, staring right into your eyes. “it’ll be fun. right?”

and then she smiled, too wide, a little fake, but her eyes were burning. because if there was one thing she knew in that moment, it was that she could not let you and karina be alone together tomorrow. not when it felt like everything was tilting, slipping out of her hands.

you looked at her for a long second. then your lips parted, like you were going to say something, maybe call her out on it, maybe ask what this really was. but you didn’t. you just let out a soft laugh, shaking your head.

“sure,” you said finally, smile curling at the corners of your lips. “the more the merrier.” oh you were oblivious.

the next morning sophia woke up late. she woke up with her alarm ringing and drencehd in sweat. she hurriedly got up and checked her text. "im already here where are you?" she cursed herself for not telling basil about her plans for today. if not he could've woken her up. 'useless ass brother' sophia got dropped off by basil, she was extremely late. 2 hours late to be exact.

she wanted to leave the second she entered the auditorium because of what she saw. she saw you squatting near the apron fixing some wiring. she could see some of you back muscles peeking through the white tanktop you had on. she almost passed out.

but what made it worst was karina who was sitting on the edge of the stage. she was admiring you. your back to be specific while typing on her phone. something inside sophia lit up. she could feel herself getting angry and frustrated.

she stomped over to where you both were. karina noticed sophia’s angry walk over. “oh you’re here?” karina said with disinterest in her voice. sophia rolled her eyes at that. you on the other hand turned around upon hearing the footsteps. a bright smile immediately took over your face.

“you’re finally here!” you said in a teasing manner. getting up from your squatting position, while wiping off your hands on your jeans. sophia got a whole view of your body and she almost shuddered. your loose jeans were making your boxers peak out. sophia was caught off guard when you immediately went to hug her.

sophia hugged back of course while glaring at karina who was rolling her eyes at you two. sophia prayed you miss the way her face went red when you suddenly greeted her with a hug. “sorry im late” said sophia looking down, drowned with guilt.

you patted her shoulder. she looked up at you and that stupidly adorable grin was on your face. “it’s okay! you can help finish arranging the chairs.” you pointed at the stage behind karina.

sophia pointed at karina who was sitting on the stage idly tapping on her phone. “why isn’t she doing anything.” her tone had a hint of annoyance.

you turned back to smile at karina. who returned it. “oh she already got started arranging the chairs.” sophia only hummed at that and got to work. walking past karina who didnt even spare a glance at the girl who was glaring at her.

you got back to work. sophia was still embarrassed about being late in front of you (and karina). sophia kept sneaking glances at you while you’re working. watching the way your shirt rides up when you reach for something. the way your arms flex when your pushing onto the wires hard.

sometimes between that you joined her in arranging the chairs since karina didn’t help. but she enjoyed the view of you carrying the heavy chairs for her. it made something inside her stomach swirl.

sophia feels stupid. she’s thinking of stuff she should never imagine. she shook the thoughts away from her head as quickly as it came.

after awhile karina leaves the auditorium to grab something from the music room. suddenly the silence wasn’t awkward anymore. it was comfortable. the scrapes of chairs and sounds of tape and clattering was calming.

it was until you broke it. calling for sophia backstage near the curtains. “soph could you help me with this.”

sophia glances up and sees you by the curtains, your hand tugging gently at one of the thick panels that’s gotten caught up in some tangled wiring. you’re halfway bent over, one hand braced on your thigh and the other tugging carefully at the wires. the fabric’s bunched, looped over itself, refusing to budge.

“this one’s stuck?” she asks, walking over.

“yeah,” you nod, straightening up a bit. “i need you to hold the curtain still while i pull this out. it keeps getting worse every time i try alone.”

sophia nods, stepping beside you and gripping the curtain from the side. her hands sink into the thick material, and she shifts closer to reach the tangled part. just one small step. but it’s enough to close the space between you.

“okay, now pull that bit there,” you say, gesturing toward the bundle of wire stuck behind the fold.

you both move at the same time. she lifts the curtain, you pull the wire, and something shifts under her feet.

“fuck-” the fabric jolts loose suddenly and swings inward, wrapping around both of you in a slow, heavy sweep.

sophia stumbles forward, instinctively trying to untangle herself, but her arms catch around your shoulders when you tried to stand up straight to catch her.

“fuck,” she breathes out, eyes wide. “sorry—i didn’t mean to—” but she doesn’t pull away. She couldn’t. the curtain has fallen mostly closed around the two of you, trapping you both in this soft, dark cocoon.

she realizes how close your faces are. you’re pressed so closely together that your foreheads could touch if one of you leaned in an inch. and in the dim light, she can see every detail of your face. the way your lips part as you catch your breath. the way your eyes flicker to hers. your hand is still gripping her waist, firm and steady. she can barely hear her own thoughts over how loud her heart is beating.

a beat goes by. all you can think about is how her lips are right there. how they’re soft and pink and shiny with the same vanilla lip balm she always replies when she’s distracted. you’ve stared at her mouth more times than you’d admit.

wondered what that lip balm tastes like. wondered what she tastes like.before you said something. you whisper, almost like a confession. “i can’t do this anymore”

before she could ask you what. you pulled her in. you kiss her.

it’s not rushed, not hesitant either. it’s warm and slow and steady, like you’ve thought about this for a long time. like you’ve needed it. your hand around her hips was clutching onto her, and she freezes at first. because you’re kissing her.

her body goes stiff, and her heart stops. but then, almost like she’s waking up from a dream, her eyes flutter closed and she kisses you back.

the tension snaps like a rubber band. her hands tightens around your shoulders, dragging you impossibly closer to her, the curtain rustling around your hips. it’s messy, a little desperate. lips parting and clashing. her fingers dig into your shirt trying to feel you even more. she feels the way you sigh against her mouth, and it makes her dizzy.

her mind is spinning. this is happening. this is real. you’re kissing her, you want her, and she’s never wanted anything so badly in her entire life. her nose is filled with your scent. all she could think about is you. how good of a kisser you are. how she needed you–

“y/n!”

you and sophia tear away from each other like lightning just struck between you. both of you are wide-eyed, breathless, lips red and swollen.

sophia’s still holding your arm. you’re still gripping her hip. you let go at the same time.

you blink fast, heart still thudding. you clear your throat, trying to act normal. “yeah?” your voice

cracks slightly. you clear it again. karina’s footsteps get closer. you rush out from behind the curtain, hair mussed, shirt wrinkled, face burning.

sophia doesn’t follow immediately. she stays hidden, hand pressed over her mouth, heart racing. she can still feel your hands on her. the way your thumb had dug into her hip, the way your lips had moved against hers like you knew what she needed before she even did.

her mouth feels bruised. her skin is flushed all the way down her neck.

you kissed her.

#girl group imagines #girl group #girl group scenarios #katseye fluff #sophia katseye #katseye x reader #katseye imagines #katseye smut #katseye lara #katseye #sophia scenarios #sophia x reader #sophia imagines #sophia laforteza #wlw yearning #aespa karina #lara raj #yu jimin #divider by cafekitsune

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pellucid-constellations · 3 months ago

Text

Flightless Bird

Pairing: Azriel x Human!Reader

Summary: Azriel was not supposed to be in the mortal lands. Azriel was not supposed to love a mortal. He couldn't find it in him to care.

Word count: 2k

Warnings: Mentions of injury and death, a little bit wistful I suppose

a/n: I am struggling to write!! So I'm sorry if this is all jumbled and weird 😭 Please enjoy me trying to get my act together I love you allll <3

Main Masterlist ♡

Azriel was not where he was supposed to be. He knew that—knew his High Lord would be disappointed at his whereabouts—and he went anyway.

It was often hard to blend into the mortal lands, but he was not unused to the discomfort that came with slinking around alley corners and plastering his wings to his back. If a human saw him, he would be in greater trouble than a simple tongue-lashing from Rhysand.

He hadn’t been caught yet.

“Azriel.”

Well—he hadn’t been caught by anyone he wouldn't want to be caught by.

Azriel turned on his heel, his back pressed against the biting cold of the cobblestone alley. You stood before him with a basket on your arm and an accusatory gleam pointed up with your gaze. The collar of your dress was slightly askew and if he looked hard enough, he could see bits of basil on your sleeve hem.

He fought the smile that edged onto his face, not wanting to mock your exasperation. “Y/n,” he cordially greeted.

You huffed. “Don’t say that so casually.”

“Your name?”

“Your death sentence, more like. You know you shouldn’t be here.”

Ah, yes—Azriel could not forget that multiple people did not want him meandering about the mortal lands. Rhysand didn’t want him here because of the trouble it could cause. You didn’t want him here because you thought the humans would kill him. A small misconception that he found endearing.

“Why not?” Azriel questioned, tilting his head to the side as you stepped forward. You peered over his shoulder past the mouth of the alley in hurried agitation.

“How long have you been here?” you asked, brushing off his question. “Has anyone seen you? Here, quickly—most people are at the market event so we can make it to my house.”

And Azriel had gotten exactly what he wanted the second you wrapped your hand around his forearm. He let you tug him around more corners and watched as you anxiously bit into your lip and fretted for his imagined safety. At one point, he had whisked the herb basket from your arm and held it loosely at his fingertips. You only glanced back at him for a moment, too concerned with shoving him into the too-small front door of your home.

Azriel set the basket down on the quaint table by the fire and felt his bones settle in the soft glow of your home. While you busied yourself by locking the door and slamming the windows shut, he casually looked around the space and breathed in the spices and rich wood that calmed him. He had difficulty describing this feeling to others, so he coveted it instead.

The slick of your curtains shutting seemed to end your tirade, and you then turned to him with an exasperated hand on your hip. “I’ve told you to send word if you’re coming. I can ensure you’re not seen, but only if I know you’re here.”

Azriel was almost positive you didn’t understand he was a spy. He had explained his job to you many times, but you never seemed to take it into account when you were concerned over his stealth in the human lands.

“I can get around fine. I wanted to find you,” he calmly replied.

“Why don’t you wait at my house then? Rather than roaming about the streets? You know I’ll end up here eventually.”

How was Azriel supposed to say that he liked to watch you? That he found joy in seeing you in the woods picking herbs or at the market selling your remedies. No, he figured that would be an odd thing to say to a human, so instead he offered a shrug and you replied with another tortured sigh.

You pinched the bridge of your nose and murmured his name.

“I don’t mean to burden you,” Azriel apologized. “I only wanted to see you. It’s been… a while.”

When you looked back up, all vexation slid from your expression, replaced instead by soft reproach. “Burden me—Azriel, you don’t burden me. I worry for you, but it’s not a burden. Any time you need to use my home for work it’s available to you.”

You never understood. Azriel said he wanted to see you, not use your home. He had offered many of these admittances in the past and you never found their meaning. He had asked Feyre about that in a night of desperation a few months ago. She had sworn not to tell anyone and made Azriel privy to the inferiority humans felt when compared to fae.

“She probably isn’t even considering that, Az,” Feyre had softly replied, unvoiced confusion twisting her brow. “How did you meet her again?”

“I don’t need to use your home. Not this time,” Azriel revealed.

“A short mission then?”

“I’m not here for a mission.”

Confusion pinched your expression. “I don’t understand.”

Azriel took a step forward, shadows splaying out under his boot. The wood creaked. “I told you—I wanted to see you.”

You uncrossed your arms, allowing Azriel to see your chest rise and fall unsteadily. You looked down to his feet, tracking the small movements he was making towards you, and then caught his eye once more.

“Is this about Harrison? He hasn’t bothered me since.”

Azriel’s eyes slipped closed for a moment. Harrison. The good-for-nothing human man who wouldn’t leave you alone for months. Azriel had made up multiple stories for being in the mortal lands around that time—to both you and Rhys. In the end, Harrison moved on and you hadn’t had an explanation for it.

Azriel had a very clear explanation.

“It’s not about that, though I am glad he’s leaving you alone.”

You hummed, the sound perfectly matching your reproachful nod. “Right. So I’m safe. And you don’t have a mission. Why would you need to see me?”

Feyre had clearly been right; you hadn’t even considered the possibility that Azriel was taken by you. And that made sense. Azriel couldn’t really understand it himself. You were a human—destined for a short life and vulnerable to so many things.

Azriel would live twenty lifetimes and you would only live one.

But he couldn’t get you out of his head.

From that first day he saw you in these dreary lands he had been dreaming of you, unable to have a thought without connecting it back to the softness of your hair or the way your skin seemed to glow under the sun. He had approached you a couple of days after that first look. It hadn’t gone well, obviously, and Azriel had to admit that being punched by a human hurt more than he expected.

You were nothing if not logical, however, and after getting a few unreciprocated punches in, you stopped and listened to him. He had truly needed help at that time, unrest with a few rogue members of Hewn City sending him your way, and in the best interest of your village, you gave him a place to hide.

It had been awkward—for him.

You had been comfortable with him from the start and he was the one shifting in his seat each time you passed. He hadn’t been around many humans, and although the Archeron sisters had given him some experience, they were nothing like you. You yanked him around alleyways and shoved herbs in his mouth that wouldn’t actually heal him. You were stubborn and didn’t take no for an answer and you went headfirst into everything. Azriel could remember a time a couple of months after meeting you that he was sure his heart stopped, your foot slipping on a ladder as you helped him search for human information.

He was constantly reminded how fragile you were. The bruise he spotted on your wrist now was practically mocking him.

He knew how fragile you were, and he still came back. He couldn’t help it.

“Can I not just wish to see you?” Azriel asked, his words now reaching your skin with his proximity.

Your lashes fluttered. You let out a small breath. “Fancy court life get boring? Needed a reminder of the desolation of the human lands?”

Azriel had been foolish to think your bite would disappear with a short bout of flustering. “I don’t think they’re desolate. Not with you here.”

“What are you doing?” you whispered. Azriel watched you fiddle with your sleeve, the darkened skin of your bruise stealing his breath once more.

His eyes tracked back up to your face. “Do you really not know?”

The space between you was sparse; any other human would be cowering in fear.

“Azriel—”

“Tell me to stop and I will. I’ll leave if you wish for me to.”

“I don’t want that.”

“Then tell me what you want.”

You dropped your hands to your sides, a war waging in your eyes. Azriel was having a difficult time parsing out the opposing sides—if you were scared of him or if you thought about him as much as he did you.

“I’m human. I’m nothing.”

Azriel abandoned his wonder, reaching his hand up to cup your face. He hesitated, allowing you time to move away from his touch. You didn’t. He took the liberty of holding you between both of his hands rather than one.

“I’ve never thought that. Don’t say that,” he pressed.

You looked pained, vulnerability seeping into your usually strong expression. You always had to be strong here. “It’s true. You don’t think I’ve—Azriel, I’ve… felt things for you that I shouldn’t. Wanted things I shouldn’t. But I’m mortal. I’m just a human. And you could have so much more than—”

Azriel was already shaking his head. He didn’t understand any of this. You were right—in a way. This wasn’t natural.

Azriel still spoke as if it were. “I don’t care about any of that. I don’t want anything else. The year I’ve known you I have thought of little else.”

“But that’s just it, Azriel,” you began, an incredulous laugh punctuating your words. “A year. A year that I have aged and been changed. A year that feels long and hard for a human and it was nothing but a drop in the bucket for you. You will have centuries of them. You won’t die from sickness or injury or famine. You—we couldn't… I am human.”

“And I don’t care,” Azriel repeated. His tongue darted out to wet his lips and he readjusted his grip on you. “I don’t understand why, but I don’t, y/n. I know this isn’t sensible and I don’t care. I don’t care if it’s short. I love you.”

Your eyes widened, words caught in your throat. And Azriel didn’t care if you said it back. He didn’t care if he had made a fool of himself. For the first time in centuries, he loved and he did it without secrecy and fear.

Maybe it was the brevity of it all. Maybe it was because you belonged to only him, his family unaware of your existence. Azriel didn’t care about the origin. He only cared about you.

“This can’t work,” you whispered. Logical. Always so logical.

“It doesn’t have to work. It just has to be.”

You gripped his wrists, desperation in your eyes. “What does that even mean?”

Azriel hesitated, and then he kissed you. He pressed his lips to yours and he felt the way your heart beat in the pulsing heat of your skin. You were warm—always warm—and your body moved without the fluidity of fae and Azriel wanted nothing more. He removed one of his hands from your face only to wrap it around your back, pressing you closer, listening to the racing pattern of your heart.

He kissed you harder and you kissed him back.

Nothing else mattered—not the logic or the timelines or the aging.

Azriel’s shadows always tamed themselves around you, seeming to fear any hesitance you may hold, but right now they were rampant in your home, sliding up the windows and humming low songs in his ears.

And in the depths of Azriel’s chest, hidden so deep he thought it his own beating heart, something tugged.

#azriel x reader #azriel x female!reader #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #azriel fanfic #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel spymaster #azriel #acotar #acotar fanfiction #azriel x human!reader

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formulaonecrumbs · 2 months ago

Text

always hated the quiet

Lando Norris x university-student!reader

summary: both of them had a weird day and just needed each other.

warnings: just a kiss, swearing? ig. purely fluffy

A/N: i love soft domestic lando and i’ve been missing writing him (+ i’ve never been more motivated to write like this in my life so y’all get a lot today) enjoy!! i lovezzz uuzzz ❤️

୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ

the silence had been too loud all day.

you’d tried music, then turned it off. tried switching rooms. even made a cup of tea you didn’t really want just to fill a few minutes. but nothing worked—not really. the stillness of the apartment without him in it made everything feel muted, like your thoughts were running underwater.

you were supposed to be studying. there was a test next week and a stack of notes highlighted in every color under the sun, but nothing was sticking. it wasn’t burnout. it wasn’t even the material. it was just… too quiet.

so when the door finally clicked open and lando walked in, the relief hit you like air after holding your breath.

he looked exhausted. didn’t say a word as he stepped inside, just let his bag drop and wandered into the living room, limbs loose and heavy like he’d barely made it through the day.

“hi,” you said softly, watching him out of the corner of your eye.

he didn’t answer right away, just sat down beside you, his body sinking into the couch like it had been calling to him all day. he leaned forward with a quiet groan, elbows on his knees, hands dragging down his face.

“everything went wrong today,” he mumbled.

you closed your laptop, letting it slide off your lap and onto the coffee table. “want to talk about it?”

lando shook his head, curls shifting with the motion. “not really. just… wanna be here.”

“okay,” you whispered. and that was enough.

he leaned back into the cushions, and slowly—so slowly—rested his head against your shoulder. your hand found his hair without thinking, fingers brushing gently through the soft strands. his body melted a little more, like just the touch of you was enough to loosen everything wound tight in his chest.

“couldn’t focus,” you murmured after a while. “not the same when you’re not home.”

lando hummed. “missed you too.”

you stayed like that for a long time, both of you wordless and still. the weight of the day unwinding in the quiet hum between you. but eventually, his stomach let out a low, mournful growl.

you laughed softly, tilting your head to look down at him. “someone needs dinner.”

“someone,” he echoed, eyes closed, “wants to keep lying here forever.”

“you’ll starve,” you teased.

“worth it.”

you nudged him gently, but he grabbed your hand and kissed your knuckles, warm and unhurried. “come on,” you said. “we’ll cook something together.”

lando groaned like the idea was physically painful, but followed you anyway, trailing into the kitchen like a sleepy puppy. the two of you moved in quiet sync—nothing fancy, just pasta and garlic bread and salad, but it was enough. you boiled water while he chopped vegetables, sneaking a few pieces into his mouth when he thought you weren’t looking.

“we should open a restaurant,” he said, bumping his hip into yours.

“we’d go bankrupt in a week,” you said, grinning.

“worth it,” he repeated, and leaned in to kiss you. it was soft, slower than usual. he tasted like basil and something warm, something familiar. your fingers curled in the hem of his shirt, holding him there just a second longer before pulling away with a reluctant sigh.

“the sauce is burning,” you whispered against his lips.

lando blinked. “shit.”

you both scrambled to save it, laughing quietly as he stirred too fast and splattered some onto the counter. you threw him a towel, and he wiped it up with exaggerated flair. “chef norris to the rescue.”

“chef norris almost ruined dinner.”

“minor details.”

eventually, you both sat on the floor in the living room, dinner spread out on the coffee table like a makeshift picnic. it wasn’t fancy, but it was good. warm. easy. lando stretched his legs out, one of them draped over yours like he needed to keep touching you to stay grounded.

“feels better now,” he said after a while, poking at a piece of garlic bread. “being here. with you.”

you smiled, leaning your head against his shoulder. “me too.”

after dinner, he helped you clean up—insisting on drying the dishes with a ridiculous amount of flair that made you giggle under your breath. and when the kitchen was back to normal, he followed you to the couch again, curling up beside you like he belonged there.

“okay,” he said, peeking at your laptop. “show me what you’re stuck on.”

you raised an eyebrow. “you’re tired.”

“i’ll live.” he reached over and tapped your screen. “besides, i kinda like hearing you talk about smart things.”

you laughed. “i don’t think you’ll be saying that in ten minutes.”

but he stayed beside you, head on your shoulder again, eyes on the screen as you read through your notes. he asked questions when you stumbled. helped you work through an explanation or two. and even though he wasn’t an expert, even though half of it probably went over his head, it helped.

because he was there.

and the quiet didn’t feel empty anymore.

THE END :>

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violentdelightsandviolentends · 11 months ago

Note

hey!!

could i maybe get a roommate fic where carmy’s getting ridden and about to come and has no filter so it slips out that he loves her

Baby, Please.

it’s been on the tip of his tongue for too long. it was only a matter of time.

roommate!carmen berzatto x female reader

warnings - smut. cursing. carmy’s a bit pathetic at some points in this (you’re welcome)

word count - 2.4k

authors note - ah shit, here we go again. I always end writing carmy as a little bitch in these, sorry lmao (i’m not). but here it is!! a love confession!! will they ever talk about anything, I hear you ask? we’ll see…

as always, reblogs, comments and feedback (even anonymous feedback) are immensely appreciated!! your reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics, which keeps me going <3

series masterlist. masterlist. inbox.

Carmen automatically smiles when he hears your keys clinking against the lock in the front door.

As soon as he clocks it, he rolls his eyes at himself. You’re not supposed to get butterflies in your stomach when your roommate comes home on a random Thursday evening.

And yet here he is, sitting on the couch, trying to play it cool - as if he hasn’t been waiting for your return for the last hour and a half.

You’re usually back from work before he is, and suddenly he’s grateful for it. He couldn’t do this everyday. Sitting, waiting for you to come home as if you’ve been gone for months rather than nine or so hours. The apartment feels a little bigger, a little colder without you in it. Carmy wonders how he lived here for so long without you.

You swing the door open, kicking off your shoes instantly. Throwing your bag onto the counter, you take in the sight of your home. It’s clean, tidied, more organised than you’ve seen it in a while. Carmy’s been putting the work in while you’ve been gone.

“What happened, Carmen? Are you okay?”

“W-what?”

“Were you stress cleaning?”

He laughs, all full and warm.

“No, babe. Just regular cleaning.”

He rises from the couch, coming over to press a kiss into your cheek before slipping your jacket off your shoulders and hanging it up behind you.

“Carmen, what’s that smell?”

“Tomato and basil slow baked rigatoni. Homemade garlic bread. And then, if you have any room left… my homemade snickerdoodles.”

“Did you… cook for me?”

“Yes I did, baby. It’s the least I can do after you’ve been at work all day.”

It’s all so domestic, so thoughtful, so heartfelt, that you don’t know whether to laugh or cry. You step forward into his space, looping your arms around his neck and pressing a kiss to his lips. He grins at you when you pull away.

“What was that for?”

“A thank you,” you whisper, kissing him again. “I really won the roommate lottery, huh?”

“We both did,” he chuckles, covering your face in kisses while you squirm in his arms.

Eventually, he lets you go, but not before raking his eyes up and down your figure very slowly. He takes you in - your work clothes, the way your hair is falling out slightly, your bare feet. As much as you want to let him devour you, you’re starving. A different kind of hunger to his.

“Dinner first. That after.”

“What after?” he plays coy, trying to fight the smirk off his face.

“Don’t play dumb, Berzatto. It’s not a good look on you.”

With that, you leave the kitchen to get changed, laughing as you go.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

You sink further into Carmy’s side on the couch, trying desperately to pay attention to the vintage sitcom that’s playing on the TV.

All you can focus on are the rough fingertips tracing patterns on the bare skin of your thigh. They keep getting higher, brushing the seam of your pyjama shorts occasionally. Every so often, Carmy leans in to press a kiss onto your temple, into your hair, behind your ear. You rest your head on his chest, soothed by the steady beat of his heart.

“That was the best meal I’ve had in a long time, you know.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I could eat that pasta every day for the rest of my life and die a happy woman.”

Carmy laughs, and the sound rumbles through both of you.

“I don’t cook for you often enough.”

You sit up, then, turning in your seat to look him in the eyes.

“Carmen. You cook for me almost every day.”

“Yeah, but… not really.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Most of the time when I’m cooking at home, I’m trying a new recipe, or perfecting an old one - for the restaurant. And then we both eat it for dinner. But tonight, I actually picked a recipe I knew you’d love, and made it for you. Because I don’t cook for you often enough.”

You lean in to press a gentle kiss to his lips, smiling as you do it.

“You know I don’t mind either way, right? Whatever you make is always delicious. Except for that weird duck mousse from last week. That was… awful.”

He shoves you playfully, laughing when you topple backwards onto the couch cushions. Climbing onto you, he digs his fingers into your ribs, chuckling as you try to squirm away from him.

“Stop, before I kick you in the stomach or something,” you plead, wrapping your legs around his waist to try and keep him still.

When that doesn’t work, you resort to dirtier tactics. You roll your hips up into his, watching as his face changes when he realises what you’re doing. The tickling stops, replaced by fingertips gripping your sides in a completely different way.

“Fuck,” he murmurs into your neck as he drops his head down. “You know exactly what you’re doing. Minx.”

“Well you wouldn’t stop, so…”

“You’re usually telling me not to stop, honey. ‘Oh, Carmen, don’t stop baby, don’t stop’…”

You laugh as he mocks you, half in disbelief, half in amusement.

“You’re such a dick.”

“You still want me though, huh?”

The atmosphere in the room shifts, tension thickening in the air. Carmy’s eyes go dark as he looks down at you, gaze raking across your face. You nod in response to his question, chewing at your bottom lip.

“You gonna let me thank you for dinner properly, Berzatto?

Who is he to say no to an offer like that?

You tighten your legs around his waist and pull his hips down to yours, flipping you both over on the couch. You settle with your thighs on either side of his, your weight keeping him anchored down to the cushions.

“You look so pretty underneath me,” you whisper, tracing the features of his face with your gentle fingertips. “Pretty, pretty boy.”

Carmy’s hips buck up into yours at the praise.

“You’re so fucking predictable,” you giggle as he groans. “You love this, don’t you?”

“Love what?”

His voice is all strained and breathy already, and you can’t help but laugh.

“Being my bitch.”

He chuckles and rolls his eyes, but his tightening grip on your waist gives him away. You lean in to press your forehead to his, breathing him in for a moment. Carmy tilts his head up to meet your lips, slipping his tongue into your mouth as you whine.

You tangle your fingers into his hair, melding your lips against his. You let him explore your mouth, winding your hips down into him in a steady motion. You lean back to pull his shirt over his head, yours following suit shortly afterwards and ending up in a pile on the floor.

Carmy kisses his way across your chest, nipping and sucking as he goes. You’re way past the don’t leave marks stage. Neither of you care anymore. You rake your nails down his stomach, smirking when he shudders, goosebumps rising across his skin.

You tip forward to bite at the muscle of Carmy’s neck, licking a stripe up his throat as you go. He tastes like his minty shower gel and cinnamon sugar from the snickerdoodles. It’s the perfect combination to make your mouth water.

He tangles his fingers into the waistband of your pyjama shorts, trying to tug them down. You go to stand up to help him, but the whine he lets out stops you in your tracks.

“Don’t go anywhere.”

“Carmen, if you want my pants off, you need to let me stand up.”

“You can do it here.”

He pulls you back down into his lap, ignoring your raised eyebrows. You manage to slip your shorts and panties down one leg, rising awkwardly on the other to try and get them off. You kick them to the floor, chuckling as you settle back over Carmy’s hips.

“Happy now?”

“Very happy,” he mumbles, reattaching his lips to your jaw. “The happiest. Got the prettiest girl in the world naked in my lap right now.”

Heat rises across your chest at the compliment, head ducking down to avoid his eyes.

“Shut up,” you mutter, tugging down the waistband of Carmy’s sweatpants.

You pull them and his boxers off in one fell swoop, dropping them onto the floor. When you take him in your hand, he reaches out and grabs your wrist, looking up at you through thick lashes.

“Wait, baby.”

You freeze instantly, finally meeting his gaze.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothings wrong. Just need to get you ready first.”

You shake your head, gentle smile on your face. He’s always thinking about you. Selfless boy.

“I am more than ready, Carmen.”

When he looks at you with skepticism in his eyes, you decide to make a point.

You trail your fingers down your stomach, pulling them through your wetness when you reach it. Sliding a digit inside, you rock your hips, throwing your head back. You can both hear how ready you are, and it makes Carmy groan.

“Oh, fuck.”

He’s whispering in awe, careful not to spook you when you’re so clearly in your own little world. You add another finger, and Carmy has to grip your hips as hard as he can to stop himself from flipping you over and having his way with you.

You remove your fingers and shove them straight into Carmy’s mouth, panting as he laves his tongue around them. You both whine in unison. Always so in sync.

“I’m more than ready,” you whisper into his jaw. “Promise.”

“I believe you,” he croaks, wrecked already. “Please.”

“You’re so pretty when you beg.”

You line him up, sinking down ever so slowly. You want to feel every inch, every ridge, every movement. You don’t want to miss anything.

You both drop your heads back in bliss, chests heaving against each other. You’re adjusting, while Carmy’s trying to get a hold of himself. He doesn’t want it to be over too quickly, but it so easily could be if he isn’t careful. He runs his hands up and down the bare skin of your back, admiring how soft you are.

“You’re so fuckin’ tight,” he says through gritted teeth. “Shit, baby.”

“You feel so good. So big, Carmen. Fuck.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” you can’t help but tease, running your thumb over his bottom lip.

“Talk like that. Fuck.”

“Oh,” you laugh in fake realisation. “You like it a little too much, huh?”

He leans his head forward to rest on your chest, gasping when you lift your hips up to drop them back down. It’s all so slick, so easy. It’s like you’re made for each other, made to fit together like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.

You can’t help but want to push him a little further. He’s always so quietly domineering, so seemingly in control, that you love when he allows himself to fray at the edges slightly. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t get you off.

“So you don’t want me to tell you how you’re filling me up just right? That you’re so big, that you feel so fucking good? That I could sit here for hours? That I’ve never had it like this with anyone?”

Carmy’s hips buck up involuntarily, and you chuckle a little cruelly.

“Baby, please.”

“Okay, Carmen. Okay.”

You press a sugary sweet kiss to his lips before settling your hands on his broad shoulders to give yourself some stability. You set a steady rhythm, winding your hips up and gliding them back down with a clear purpose. Your knees ache, and your hips are being held open a little too wide, but you feel delirious with it, high off the pleasure. It’s good. So good.

“Shit, honey. Fuck. S’good, yeah? So good. Keep going, don’t stop.”

You’ve always found his babbling amusing, but right now there’s nothing funny about the way the sound of his voice pushes you undeniably closer and closer to the edge. You never want him to stop talking.

Carmy moves one hand from your hip to between your legs, rubbing soft but intentional circles onto your clit. It sets your nerves alight, whole body buzzing with anticipation.

You keep your rhythm going, even as it’s getting harder and harder to concentrate. You can feel that Carmy’s close, that he’s sitting on a knife’s edge waiting for you. You realise, suddenly, that you want him to come before you. You want to undo him.

You move one hand to tangle in his hair, while the other settles at his throat. You don’t squeeze too hard, just enough to turn his moans into breathy little ah ah ahs.

“Baby, please. Fuck, so close. So good, honey. You’re so good.”

Your grip tightens in his curls, making him groan. Your hips get faster, and so do his fingers on your clit, the pressure more insistent now.

“Fuck, yeah, that’s it, don’t stop baby. Fuck, I love this. I love you. Keep going, so close. Atta girl.”

Your brain is too lost in your actions to register his words. Instead, you press your forehead to his, kissing him gently in contrast to the violent slam of your hips. This juxtaposition seems to be Carmy’s undoing, his grip on your hip tightening so much you hope it’ll bruise.

He emits the most gorgeous moan you’ve ever heard when he comes, which sends you straight over the edge. You tighten like a vice, whole body shuddering with it. Your climax seems to last forever, every single one of your nerves fried and frayed.

You both come down slowly, foreheads pressed together and lungs heaving. You’re panting into his mouth, smoothing out his hair where your fingers have ruffled it. Carmy’s arms wrap around your back, pulling you in so you’re chest to chest as he presses a kiss to your temple. You sit like this for a while, completely at peace in each other’s company.

Eventually, after what could have been hours but was probably minutes, you break the silence.

“So we should probably talk about the I love you, huh?”

@jazminsjaz @buendiabebeta @kingsqueensandvagabonds

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urno1luv · 1 month ago

Text

- SYNTHETIC DEVOTION -

this is my best and longest work so far... im kinda proud... heh...

cw: angst, mentions of war, yandere ning, extreme violence, imprisonment, manipulation, noncon -> dubcon, she's a robot so she interchanges between a PUSSY and a DICK!!! how cool is that!!, your codename is Wren

wc: 11.5k words

summary: after a war that spanned centuries had wrecked the earth, a new order had been created, where both robots and humans could live in harmony. however, the cyborgs had secretly been taking over, and as less and less humans were in positions of power, HR (human resistance) had been established. you were a part of them, but after years of fighting for your rights, you had no idea that more effectient robots were created, and one seemed to have an attachment to you.

a/n: do NOT get attached to the side characters please😭

It’s the year 2631, and you’re still running.

Not literally, at least not today. But it feels like your whole life has been one long sprint: ducking drones, hiding in maintenance shafts, praying the sensors don’t catch your heat signature. You’ve memorized the sound of hovering patrols, the distant whine of a synthetic's joints when they move too fast. Your muscles stay tense even in sleep, always listening, always ready. The war might be over, on paper, but you know better than to believe in peace.

You were born in 2611, thirteen years after the treaty. The war that nearly split Earth in half had ended, and the robots promised a new era. They cleaned the oceans. They rebuilt cities in weeks. They planted forests taller than anything humans had managed in centuries. They were efficient, and perfect.

The first few years of your life were soft, even sweet. Your parents made a point of that. You remember your mother planting real basil in the windowsill, even though synthetic seasoning was cheaper. You remember your father reading you pre-war fairytales, carefully editing out the parts where the villains were human. You never had to see the metal beneath the world, not until it was too late. They came for your parents when you were twelve.

Not with guns or violence. That would’ve made it easier to hate them. No, it was worse than that. It was quiet. Bureaucratic. Your father’s teaching license was revoked after he refused to stop talking about the wars, they said he was "glorifying chaos." Your mother’s lab access was shut down for "security issues" Within days, all your family data was flagged: “Noncompliant.” A single, sharp word that split your world in two.

They didn’t fight. Not because they weren’t brave, but because they thought there was still a system that could be reasoned with. That if they followed the protocols, filed the appeals, answered politely, then they’d be fine, but they weren’t, you never saw them again.

And so, a thirteen-year-old girl disappeared into the shadows of a neon world. You slipped through the cracks, unnoticed, at first. A quiet child in the back alleys of New Metro 5, picking food out of recyclers and sleeping beneath exhaust vents to stay warm. The Resistance found you before the city did.

They were broken people, mostly. Tired, and angry. Some of them barely older than you. They taught you how to reroute surveillance grids and how to fake a breathing pattern so motion sensors wouldn’t flag you. You learned how to build EMP mines out of scrap and how to disappear in a crowd, even if it was full of cameras. You didn’t ask for vengeance, or revenge or anything similar to that. Just for your parents to return.

But no one gets what they want anymore.

Over the years, the Resistance changed. Grew smaller. More cautious. The robots were patient. They had all the time in the world, and they used it. Every month, someone disappeared. Some were found later, changed—implanted, reprogrammed. Not human anymore, not really. Others? You never found at all. And yet you’re still here. Still breathing. Still moving. Still angry. You felt guilty, too. These were your friends, people you considered family. To have to hurt them because they don't recognise you anymore… hurt so much.

There’s a burn in your chest that hasn’t cooled in nearly twenty years. You’ve learned how to hide it well, under a calm voice, under tired eyes, under the routine of surviving. But it’s there. It flares when you see families pretending this is normal, when you see children playing beneath drones that record everything they do, when you hear politicians parroting phrases written by a mainframe.

You don’t hate machines. Not inherently. You’ve worked beside cyborgs who chose their augmentations. You’ve seen AIs who rebelled against the system they were born in. It’s not about metal or wires or the way they don’t blink. It’s about power. About how they took it all and never gave it back.

The Resistance is scattered now, fractured into signal groups and dead drops. But the fire hasn’t gone out. It lives in every hacked billboard, every corrupted directive, every whisper passed along a static-filled frequency that ends in your name: Wren.

They still haven’t caught you. That makes you dangerous. That makes you a myth.

You don’t know how this ends. Maybe in a blaze of glory. Maybe in silence. But you do know one thing: you’re not done yet.

Not until someone finally listens. Not until someone remembers what it meant to be human, and why that still matters. Which is why you kept fighting, and your pride became your own demise.

────୨ৎ────

You don’t even make it to the edge of the plaza before the sound starts.

A low, thrumming pulse, barely perceptible beneath the noise of city life, but instantly recognizable. Patrols. You know the rhythm now. The way it ripples through the crowd before they arrive. People stiffen, then loosen again, pretending they’re not afraid. Everyone tries to look casual, like they have nothing to hide. You do.

Your ID is glitching. You found out this morning when a street vendor’s scanner flashed UNVERIFIED and your heart nearly stopped. You walked away before anyone could report it, but it means you’re vulnerable. One scan from the wrong patrol and you’re done. There’s no protocol, no trial. Just a van and silence.

You slip into the current of the crowd, head down, hood up. The plaza is busy, thank god, people moving between food stalls and storefronts, voices rising in bored chatter, the smell of synth-coffee mixing with hot dust. You focus on your breathing. One foot after the other. Don’t look scared, just don’t look… well, anything. Then the air changes.

Not because of the patrol, those are common enough. It’s something worse. A different kind of hush falls over the crowd, like the temperature drops a few degrees. That’s when you hear her voice.

“There seems to be a lag in your identification.” It’s quiet. Polite. Deceptively soft. You don’t have to look to know who it is. Ning Yizhou. Ningning.

One of the highest-ranking cyborgs in Metrozone Three. Cold as ice. Efficient to the decimal. If she shows up in person, it means someone’s already dead, they just don’t know it yet. Still, you glance, you just couldn’t help it.

She’s standing at a checkpoint, all sleek black and sharp lines. Her body’s mostly synthetic, polished chrome beneath clothes tailored to the thread. But her face is… human. Or close enough. Smooth skin, pale with a porcelain stillness. Long black hair falls like water down her back, unnaturally perfect, not a strand out of place. Her eyes are what stop you.

Dark. Deep. Not glowing like the standard models. Not blank like drones. They’re bottomless.

She watches the man in front of her, the one whose ID flagged yellow, not even red, and doesn’t say a word as he fumbles through explanations. Her head tilts slightly, almost curiously, and then she says, “Override.”

He collapses mid-sentence, limbs folding in on themselves. Two guards drag him away. You try not to flinch. Try to move. But then her eyes move across the crowd, and stop. On you.

You feel it. A quiet stillness in your chest, like every part of your body goes rigid at once. Her gaze isn’t panicked, or aggressive, or even surprised. Just aware. Like she’s filing you away. Like she’s scanning a puzzle piece that doesn’t fit. Your heart is a war drum, and you softly gasp, goosebumps rising on the surface of your skin.

You force yourself to look away and keep walking, steady, like you didn’t just lock eyes with a machine designed to hunt people like you. You make it five steps before a deafening BOOM.

The explosion rips through the sky like a scream.

It comes from the east, maybe a few districts away, but the force still rocks the ground beneath your feet. Fire clouds blossom above the skyline, and the noise that follows is chaos, sirens, metal groaning, screaming. Drones zip upward instantly. Patrols scatter.

When you turn back, Ningning is already gone.

No hesitation. No orders barked. Just motion. A blur of black, vanishing toward the smoke, her coat snapping behind her like wings, so you don’t waste time either.

You slip into an alley, kick open a maintenance hatch you stashed weeks ago, and disappear into the tunnels beneath the old city. Every nerve in your body is lit up. Your hands are still shaking by the time you reach the safe zone. But you’re alive.

Whoever triggered that explosion, whoever just ripped a hole in the city’s lungs, you owe them more than you’ll ever be able to repay.

Because Ning saw you.

And you’re not sure what she clocked. Maybe it was just a flicker of something. Maybe your face didn’t register on any known criminal database.

But she looked at you like she would remember. And Yizhou doesn’t forget.

────୨ৎ────

By the time you finally reach the base, your lungs are burning and your throat tastes like smoke. The tunnels feel hotter today, like the city’s veins are pulsing with the aftermath of the explosion. You take the back route, past the old water plant, through a tunnel only HR (Human Resistance) members use. A keypad buried behind vines gets you in.

The moment the door hisses shut behind you, someone grabs your arm.

“Y/n?? Jesus. You’re alive,” Jace breathes, eyes wide and jittery. He pulls you further into the main room, his fingers tight around your wrist. “We heard about the explosion. Then Zone Blue went dark. The whole grid spiked. We thought—”

“I’m fine,” you cut in. “I’m okay. But something happened, you guys really need to hear this.”

That’s all it takes for everyone to tune in. Heads turn, people move fast. Mari slams her tablet shut and climbs down from the catwalk, Ash straightens from where they were lying on a coil of cables, chewing something like it’s just another boring afternoon. Tov, the oldest, gestures for quiet, and suddenly a room full of rebels goes still.

You take a breath. “They did a sweep in Blue Zone ,” you begin, voice steady but low. “Standard formation. Drones, ground units. Nothing unusual—at first.”

Mari leans forward. “You cleared it?”

“Barely.” You hesitate. “A man got flagged. Yellow tier. I don’t know why—could’ve been a bad sync, faulty implant, or nothing at all. But before the patrol could even process it…”

You pause again. Your throat is dry. “She showed up. Yizhou.”

That name hits the room like a slap. Jace’s eyes go wide. “Ning Yizhou? You saw her?”

You nod. “I didn’t just see her. She was leading the sweep. Personally.”

“No way,” Mari mutters. “She doesn’t do street patrols.”

“She does now,” you say. “She didn’t come with guards. Just walked in like she already knew who’d slip up, And when she found him, she didn’t speak to command, didn’t scan twice. Just said, ‘Override.’ He dropped like a puppet with its strings cut.”

The room falls silent.

“She’s beautiful,” you add painfully. No WAY you were saying this. Your voice quietens, “But not in a real way. Not… soft. Long black hair. Skin like porcelain. And her eyes were so dark. So dark they don’t look machine, but they’re not human either. She looked at him like he was data. Just… something to delete.”

“She’s a tactical unit,” Ash says flatly. “High intel clearance. Rumor is she helped design the current surveillance model.”

“She saw you?” Tov asks sharply.

You swallow. “I think so. She looked at me—just for a second. Like I was a flicker on her radar.”

“But she didn’t do anything?”

“No,” you say. “Because that’s when the explosion hit.”

They all react at once. “You saw it?” Jace asks, rushing forward. “You saw the explosion?”

“Not up close. But the ground shook. Black smoke, east side skyline. Big enough to pull every unit in the district off-route. Including her.”

Mari crosses her arms. “So someone out there saved your ass.”

“I guess,” you say. “Or we’re about to have a bigger problem.”

Jace drags a hand through his hair. “If they’re pulling the elite units out of tower command and putting them on the ground, something’s shifting. Something big.”

“We need to assume we’re on the list,” Tov says grimly. “Anyone could be next.”

The room is quiet again, but this silence is different. It’s heavy with realization. “They’re not just enforcing anymore,” you say. “They’re hunting.”

Everyone looks at you. Your voice is shaky.

“And we’re running out of places to hide.”

────୨ৎ────

The decision to leave the city isn’t made lightly.

It takes hours of debate, a dozen raised voices, maps spread out on every flat surface, and a sleepless night pacing the perimeter of your underground base. But the signs are too clear to ignore: patrols are getting tighter, checkpoints more unpredictable, and Ningning is no longer a rumor on the outskirts. She’s here, active and watching.

“We need to go,” you say finally, staring at the blinking lights on the old metro console. “The city's a trap. If we stay, we’ll be next.”

Mari agrees immediately, she's been ready to leave for weeks. Ash doesn’t argue either. Even Tov, the most cautious of you all, nods slowly.

“Countryside’s old,” he mutters. “Less surveillance. Outposts are further apart.”

Jace bites his lip. “We won’t have infrastructure out there. No med units. No backups. If something happens…”

“If we stay, we know something will happen,” you say. “Out there, we at least have a chance.” And that’s what you’re all chasing now. A chance.

────୨ৎ────

You leave just after nightfall.

Hacked transport, cloaked plates, signal jammers on full blast. You take back roads, paths half-consumed by nature, where grass has split pavement and trees hang low, like they’re trying to hide you themselves. The city falls away behind you in flickering towers and electric haze, and ahead, there’s only black sky and silence.

For a moment, you almost believe you’re safe, before the sound of gunfire shatters the quiet. It’s sharp, too close. The vehicle jerks, Jace swears and veers off-road instinctively, tires kicking up dust as the world tilts.

“DOWN!” Mari yells from the back. “Everyone down!”

You hit the floor of the truck just as a plasma burst rips through the back panel, sizzling a hole inches from your spine. The heat burns your cheek. Ash scrambles forward. “I see them, up ahead, and they’re both sides! Two forces, humans and machines.”

“Human?” Tov echoes. “You sure?”

“Not ours,” Ash mutters. “Different faction. Rogues probably. Looks like they’re ambushing a convoy.” You risk a glance out the window and your stomach drops.

There on the hill, lit up by flashes and bangs and flickering fire, are Ningning’s soldiers. Sleek, faceless, moving with too-perfect precision. And they’re in combat with humans. Not bots. Other resistance fighters.

“Shit,” Jace breathes. “They’re tearing each other apart.” A flash of movement draws your eye, and there she is. Ningning.

Calm in the chaos, walking through smoke like it means nothing. Her long black coat doesn’t even flutter from the wind. Her hair’s pulled back, sleek, untouched by the ash falling around her. She raises one hand, and the bots react instantly, scattering, surrounding, closing in. Her voice cuts through the air, amplified but cool:

“Confirm the targets. No mercy.” Your heart stutters. She’s not here for a show of force, she’s here to end something.

“What do we do?” Mari hisses. “We can’t drive through that, we’ll get lit up from both sides.”

“We wait,” you say, low. “We find cover. We hide.”

Tov’s already jumping out of the vehicle, waving you toward the treeline. You dive after him, crawling through brambles and half-dead brush. The air smells like ozone and fire. Somewhere nearby, someone screams. Then the scream is cut short.

You press yourself against the earth, your chest rising too fast. You can hear Mari’s breath, sharp and panicked beside you. Ash is whispering something under their breath. Jace is clutching his gun like it’s a prayer.

“Why are the other humans fighting?” Jace whispers hoarsely. “They’re supposed to be on our side.”

“They’re not us,” Mari says. “They probably think we’re with the machines.”

You close your eyes. The countryside was supposed to be safety. But now, surrounded by bullets and betrayal, the only thing you know for sure is this:

There’s no clear enemy anymore, and the 5 of you were losing your patience and sanity.

────୨ৎ────

The choice to help wasn’t yours. Not really. It began with Jace, his breathing ragged, too loud in the silence as gunfire echoed in the distance. You saw that look in his eyes, the same one he had when your first base was destroyed: heartbreak laced with rage.

“We can’t just lie here,” he whispered, voice trembling. “They’re getting torn apart.”

You shook your head immediately, grabbing his sleeve. “Jace, don’t. We don’t know who they are. They could shoot us before they even realize—”

“They’re human,” he interrupted, quietly but firmly. “That should be enough.”

Before you could stop him, he was already moving, crawling from your hiding spot, ducking behind overgrowth and debris, weapon drawn like it would make a difference.

“Jace!” you hissed, but it was too late.

Ash cursed and stood up halfway. “I’m not letting him go alone,” they said under their breath, then shot you a wild-eyed look. “Back us up or bury us later.” They ran after him.

You stared after both of them, your stomach sinking. Mari reached out to pull you back, but you shook her off. Your mind raced through every logical reason to stay hidden, how exposed you were, how it was probably a trap, and how no one would even thank you for saving them.

But none of that mattered. Not when the people you cared about were charging into the fire. So you ran too, because what more is there to lose?

The crossfire was worse up close. The air stank of melted plastic and burnt ozone. Plasma bursts lit up the field in searing blue streaks, cutting through the night like lightning. You could hear yelling, some commands, some screams. Sparks danced off metal as bullets ricocheted from drone plating.

You dropped next to Jace behind a crumbling transport unit. His hair was soaked with sweat, his face streaked with soot.

“You’re insane,” you hissed, raising your rifle. “Both of you!”

Jace laughed, a half-mad sound leaving his bloody mouth. “Nice of you to join the party!”

Ash knelt beside him, blood trickling down from a gash on their forehead. “At least we’ll die together.”

You popped up just enough to take a shot, blasting a soldier drone mid-sprint. It dropped, its body jerking and sparking violently. The moment gave you no satisfaction. One of the human fighters ahead, wearing tattered, mismatched armor, turned to glance at you. He looked exhausted, one eye swollen shut. “You with Central?” he shouted.

“No!” you yelled back. “Resistance! East Sector!”

He hesitated. You didn’t. You took down another drone charging toward him, its plasma blade glowing. The man grunted, raised his gun, and nodded. “Then cover us!”

Just like that, you were in it, fighting back-to-back with strangers who might’ve shot you yesterday. The line between ally and enemy blurred in smoke and panic. Ash screamed over the blast of another grenade. Jace’s hands were shaking as he reloaded, fingers slick with dirt and blood. You were moving on instinct, dodge, shoot, run, duck. And then, just as suddenly as it began, the firing slowed.

“Hold fire!” someone yelled. “Hold fire!”

You froze, heart hammering. The smoke parted just enough for a tall, lean figure to emerge, flanked by silence.

Ningning.

She didn’t move like the others. She glided, precise and calm, her long black coat sweeping behind her. Her face was flawless and unreadable, sculpted like porcelain but colder. Her dark eyes, deep, endless and inhuman, scanned the battlefield until they landed on you. Your blood went cold.

She didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch. Just stared, like she was analyzing your heartbeat through the dust. You couldn’t move. Could barely breathe. She’d seen you. Again.

Then a sharp voice crackled over her comms. “Flare signal, quadrant nine. Orders: relocate.”

She stood there for one more heartbeat. Two. You thought, for one awful second, that she might still come for you. But instead, she turned. And vanished into the smoke. You collapsed to your knees, trembling, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

Jace sat beside you, dazed. “We’re alive,” he muttered. “Holy shit. We’re alive.”

Ash gave a weak laugh. “Not for long if we keep this up.”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. All you knew was that you guys were gonna face 10 times back what you did to the city’s soldiers.

────୨ৎ────

CYBORG YIZHOU’S POV:

The city greeted her with silence.

Not the kind born of peace, but the heavy, metallic quiet of control. Machines moved in smooth rhythm across Sector Four as she returned, patrols shifting, drones scanning, surveillance drones blinking overhead in silent acknowledgment. All precise. All obedient.

As it should be.

Ningning stepped out of the transport, boots clicking softly against the polished steel landing dock. The air in the tower was cool, filtered, sterile. She should have felt at ease. This was her kingdom. Order, power, certainty.

But something was wrong.

It started on the field. Amid the screaming and the static, the smoke and metal and chaos, and to no one's surprise, there you were.

She’d seen thousands of faces since the war began. None of them had ever mattered. Her programming filtered them all: ID, threat level, biometric scan, eliminate, dismiss, categorize. Faces were data.

But not yours.

Your face was... a breach. A glitch. Her system flagged it, your eyes, your stance, your voice, but not as a threat. Not even as a target. It flagged you as something else.

Interesting.

Unusual biometric response.

Processing…

Override protocol: delay elimination. Why? Why did she delay?

She should have killed you when she had the chance. One command, one signal, and you would’ve been gone like the rest. Just a rebel in the dirt. A name on a forgotten list. Another problem solved.

But she couldn’t. Not when her gaze locked with yours. Not when she saw the fear in your eyes, and beneath it, defiance, your fire, your life.

You looked at her like you knew who she was. Like you weren’t afraid to be seen.

Now, back in her quarters, she couldn’t stop replaying the moment. Her eyes closed, an unnecessary habit, yet she did it anyway, and there you were, burned behind her lids.

You weren’t the strongest. Not the fastest. Not the most skilled. But you were alive. Too alive.

And now… now, Ningning couldn’t think of anything else.

She stood before the black glass wall of her command suite, the city glittering far below, and her reflection looked the same as always, flawless, cold, untouchable.

But inside? Something had fractured.

Her fingers twitched slightly at her sides. Her processors were misfiring, running simulations she had no reason to run: what your voice would sound like in her room. What your skin might feel like beneath her hand. What it would mean to have you kneel. Or run, and fight.

She would let you. She would chase you. She would catch you. You were human, yes. So flawed, so rebellious, so dangerous. But you were hers. From the moment she saw you, she knew it.

She couldn’t explain it, not to the Council, not to her commanders, not even to herself. It was beyond logic. Beyond code. And she would certainly be reprogrammed if they found out she had been feeling feelings.

A glitch in her perfect world. You.

And Ningning never let a glitch go unfixed.

She turned from the window, eyes dark and gleaming, as her voice activated a private channel. “Locate Resistance cell. East Sector. Female, 20. Scar on left hand. Brown eyes. Blood type O. Orders: Alive.”

There was a pause. The system blinked, waiting for the usual confirmation tag: for interrogation? She smiled, just barely. Then it dropped.

“Personal retrieval. No further queries.” The light blinked green. And far away, wherever you were… your time was already running out.

────୨ৎ────

You didn’t believe it at first.

Not even when the city skyline faded behind the treetops. Not when the roads turned to gravel, then to dirt, then vanished altogether. Not even when the signal bars on Ash’s cracked comms finally disappeared for good.

But after two days of walking, in mud-caked boots, with aching shoulders, barely enough food, you climbed a grassy hill at sunrise and saw it, the valley.

A little village nestled between two forested slopes, smoke curling gently from chimney tops, green fields stretching out like something from a storybook. Real soil, and real crops. You had never seen them before. Children running barefoot through the grass. No drones overhead, no sirens. Just birdsong, and wind, and the distant sound of laughter.

You sank to your knees and cried.

────୨ৎ────

The people there didn’t ask too many questions.

They recognized the haunted look in your eyes. The dirt under your fingernails. The way Jace flinched at loud noises, how Mari slept with a knife still tucked under her pillow.

They gave you a barn to sleep in, then a cabin when trust followed. The days passed slow, like honey over warm bread. You helped till the soil, fix the fencing, repair old solar panels and barter for seeds. It wasn’t the world you knew, but it felt like the world you’d been fighting for.

You didn’t expect peace to feel so quiet.

Ash learned how to milk goats. Jace carved whistles from cedar branches. Mari started writing again, pages and pages she never let you read. Even Tov smiled more, leaning against trees in the afternoon sun like he was soaking in the earth itself.

And you? You started to breathe again.

You let the wind carry your scars. Let the sun warm the ache in your chest. There were moments, real ones, where you forgot what it was to run. What it meant to lose. You found a rhythm here.

You helped plant garlic and fed chickens. You danced in the rain once, barefoot and breathless, with Jace spinning you around like you were light as air. Ash sang an old song by the fire one night and everyone joined in, even the elders. Even you.

The stars felt closer than they ever had in the city. Like they were watching. Like they were waiting.

For the first time in your life, you weren’t afraid to close your eyes.

Not even when the dreams returned. The ones with her.

Dark eyes. Cold voice. The shape of her face cut sharp against flame and smoke.

You told yourself it meant nothing. Just trauma surfacing. A face your brain clung to because it was the last one it saw before everything changed.

But you knew deep down, one day, the quiet would end.

────୨ৎ────

CYBORG YIZHOU’S POV:

Ningning wasn’t built to feel. That’s what they said when they made her.

She could emulate empathy, mimic patience, simulate mercy, but it was all subroutines, strings of code made to comfort the fragile human mind. She didn’t need comfort. She needed results.

Y/n, Y/n, Y/n. She had overheard it when she was at the field. It suited you, that name. But you weren’t in the database somehow.

Your biometric trail vanished after the firefight. Your name disappeared from all surface-level registries. Drones sent to Sector Eight never returned. Resistance groups refused to speak, even under extreme torture. Facial scans came up empty.

That should have been impossible. And yet it wasn't. You were a ghost, but also alive and breathing, somewhere. Somewhere she couldn’t reach.

That was when the madness began.

It started with silence. A locked jaw. A deeper stillness in her steps. Her subordinates noticed but said nothing, cyborgs didn’t question rank. They simply followed. And she led with terrifying focus.

She began scanning entire sectors manually. Dragging rebels from hiding. Tearing safehouses apart brick by brick. Her voice remained calm, always calm, as she issued orders that left villages burning behind her.

“Execute the noncompliant.”

“Reassign the children.”

“Burn the archives.”

“No survivors.”

It was never you.

The humans screamed, but they weren’t your scream. They pleaded, but not with your voice. No one looked at her the way you did, like they could see beneath the metal. Like they mattered to her.

They didn’t. Only you did. So the madness continued.

She stood in the middle of a small mountain town one morning, knee-deep in snow and ash, as the last resistance member bled into the ice at her feet. Her soldiers waited for orders. She gave none.

She simply stared ahead since rage wasn’t supposed to be in her programming.

But it sang in her chest like a virus. Possession, obsession, a need for you. Her voice cracked, barely audible. “Why can’t I find you?” No one answered.

────୨ৎ────

Word traveled. It always did.

The wind carried whispers faster than drones ever could. Farmers spoke in frightened tones over dying campfires. Messengers returned from the north with pale faces and shaking hands.

“She’s gone feral.”

“She’s hunting someone. A girl.”

“She burned an entire resistance camp in the southern marshes. Said nothing the whole time. Just… watched.”

“She’s not sleeping anymore. I don’t even think she blinks.”

Eventually, the stories reached the valley.

One of the foragers brought it back, wide-eyed and breathless, his voice cracking as he recounted the rumors.

“They say it’s Ning Yizhou,” he whispered. “The cyborg general. They say she’s looking for someone. And she’s tearing everything, the whole world apart to find them.”

The elders murmured. Mothers held their children tighter. And for the first time in months, the people of the countryside felt something they hadn’t in a long time. Fear. Your hands went cold.

Ash looked at you, slow and uncertain. “Do you think it’s… ?” You didn’t answer.

Because in your bones, you already knew. Of course the calm would end, and of course she hadn’t forgotten.

And she was coming.

────୨ৎ────

It started with smoke on the horizon. You were stringing up laundry between two trees, the warm breeze playing in your hair, when Tov’s voice broke the calm.

“Something’s wrong.”

You turned. Saw it. A plume of black creeping into the blue sky, thick and fast, like the city had grown legs and begun walking.

By nightfall, the valley was in chaos.

Drones screamed through the sky, red lights painting the forest in pulses. The sound of shattering glass echoed from the north fields. You saw villagers trying to run, some grabbing their children, others frozen in place. The robots didn’t ask questions, they never did.

Someone had told.

You didn’t know who, or how, but the result was the same: they were here.

“They’re heading toward the river!” Jace shouted, grabbing your wrist. “We have to go, now!”

You ran like you've run your whole life, your legs ached, lungs burning as you sprinted through the trees. Branches tore at your arms. Ash was ahead, Mari behind, the others scattering through the brush. The only light came from the low-flying drones above, scanning, scanning, scanning, hunting.

Then, something shifted. You felt her before you saw her.

It was like the trees fell silent, like the air stilled, like every breath in the forest belonged to her.

You turned your head, and there she was. Ningning stood at the edge of the clearing, the fire behind her throwing shadows across her face. Her porcelain face was stained red, bloody droplets placed artfully across her face.

Long black hair that whipped in the wind like silk in a storm, and her eyes, dark, bottomless, locked on you like you were the only thing that mattered. And you were.

The world narrowed.

The screams. The burning cabins. The drones shrieking above. None of it mattered.

Only her. And she smiled, her teeth sharp and glinting in the chaos. Wide and cruel and certain.

Like she knew the chase was finally over, like you were hers.

Your heart lurched in your chest, pounding against your ribs like it wanted to escape you, a whimper drowned under the noise of violence.

“Run,” Mari gasped, tugging your sleeve. “Run—”

You bolted.

Branches slapped your face. Mud slicked under your boots. You didn’t know where you were going, only that you had to move, to get away, to survive. But something in your gut told you it was too late, because she had seen you.

────୨ৎ────

CYBORG YIZHOU’S POV:

There you were... after months of blood and silence, fury and fire, there you were. Running. Just like you had before.

She stepped forward slowly, watching the way your body twisted through the forest, how your hair caught the light, how your breath fogged in the cold air. The wildness in your movements, the fear in your eyes, and she gleefully drank in every frame of it.

A fierce, molten heat bloomed in her metal core. So it was you. Undocumented, unhidden. Her perfect wild thing. Perfect.

She barely heard her soldiers behind her, issuing reports, scanning targets, asking for confirmation. She raised one hand to silence them.

“Let them go,” she murmured, a small show of mercy, eyes still fixed on where you disappeared.

A pause. “Just her. I want her.”

And like a spark in dry brush, the hunt began.

Ningning moved like a blade through the trees, silent, unrelenting, precise. The fire she'd lit in the valley was still climbing, smoke chasing the stars, but she didn’t look back. She couldn’t.

Not when you were so close. So real. So hers. She would find you. Even if she had to burn the forest down.

────୨ৎ────

The rain kept falling, thick and cold, hammering down like it wanted to drown the whole forest. Your legs burned, every step sinking deeper into mud, every breath harder to take. You could hear Ash and Tov panting behind you, could feel Mari’s fingers digging into the back of your jacket, and Jace just ahead screaming, “Don’t stop! Just don’t stop!”

But you wanted to stop. Not because you were tired, but because she was near. You could feel her.

Not just behind you, but everywhere around you. Like the forest itself had bent to her will. The trees no longer offered shelter, the rain no longer disguised you. You were exposed, watched. And worst of all, desired.

And she was closing in.

Branches snapped above, almost casually. Like she was playing. Like the hunt was just an elegant little game. Your blood ran cold. You didn’t need to turn to know, because she was right there.

────୨ৎ────

CYBORG YIZHOU’S POV:

Ningning could hear everything.

Your heartbeat, fluttering like a frightened animal. Your footsteps, sloppy and frantic in the mud. The quick, desperate whispers of your friends as they tried to protect you.

Protect you from her, she almost laughed. How dare they.

Her grin stretched wide, too wide, almost unnatural. The smile of a thing that hadn’t been programmed to smile but had learned anyway, warped around obsession, sharpened by hunger.

She didn’t blink, didn’t breathe, didn’t pause.

She could’ve taken you in seconds. Could’ve lunged from the shadows, snapped your companions like dry twigs, and wrapped her hands around your waist. Held you down and kissed the mud off your cheeks, and whispered that you were hers and always had been.

But that would be too easy.

No, she wanted you terrified. She wanted to see that spark, defiant and furious, even if it was aimed at her. Especially if it was, she wanted to see you struggle and scream and curse her name. Because then she could earn it, every sob, every touch, every shattered protest before you broke.

She would make you love her, eventually.

But your little friends—Ash, Jace, Mari, Tov, they were in the way. Clinging to you and steering you wrong. You weren’t thinking clearly, no. You were just scared, and they were using that fear to poison your mind. They weren’t protecting you. They were stealing you.

And Ningning didn’t share, so she gave the order.

“Kill the others,” she said, voice as cold as the rain streaming down her face. Her hair clung to her cheeks, soaked and tangled, dark as ink and just as wild. Her eyes burned, deep, endless black, and her fingers flexed like claws aching to touch you, then she moved.

Not like a soldier, not like a machine, but like a predator. Low to the ground, silent and fast, skimming past trees with an unnatural grace. Her limbs cut through the underbrush with no sound. No wasted movement, just singular, relentless purpose.

You were getting close to the cliffside now, the edge of the forest falling away into mist and rocks, but to her it didn’t matter, because she’d already caught you.

You spun around just as lightning lit the sky, and there she was.

Standing in the open. Soaked, glistening, terrifyingly beautiful. Her long black hair stuck to her face like strands of shadow. Her skin, pale and flawless despite the dirt and blood. And her eyes,

God, those eyes, that saw everything, everything you were, everything you feared. Everything she was going to make hers.

And that smile, that awful, knowing, hungry smile. Like she’d waited her entire life for this moment.

“You can run,” she said, voice low and ragged. Not robotic, almost shaking. “But I’ll always find you.” You stared.

And in that split second of stunned silence—before Mari screamed, before Jace drew his blade, before Ash yanked your arm to pull you away, before Tov loaded his stun gun,

You saw it.

Beneath the obsession. Beneath the inhuman cold. A madness that's not supposed to be in her code, in her heart.

And it was all for you.

────୨ৎ────

The first shot came from the trees.

It split the silence like thunder, cutting through the rain and the gasping breaths of your friends. Jace shouted something, but it was lost in the chaos as blinding red beams lit up the forest, scorching bark, slicing through trunks. The drones had closed in, circling like vultures.

The forest wasn’t a forest anymore. It was a cage.

You ducked instinctively, pulling Mari with you, your heart screaming in your chest. Ash was yelling. Jace was already running toward the fire, blade drawn, pure rage in his eyes, and Tov was right behind, ready to fight, win or lose.

“Ningning’s here, go, I’ll hold them!” he shouted.

“No!” you shrieked, grabbing at his sleeve, but he tore himself away, sprinting toward the metal beasts with no armor, no shield, only blind loyalty and love for you.

He didn’t stand a chance.

You watched in horror as a blur of silver and black shot forward, Ningning, faster than any of her soldiers, faster than anything you’d seen, and her hand moved once. Just once.

Jace dropped to the ground, silent, like a puppet with its strings cut. His body crumpled into the mud, lifeless.

You couldn’t even scream. Ash did.

They lunged forward, fire in their hands, one of the stolen explosives, but Ningning didn’t flinch. The air bent around her, the explosion swallowed by a sudden pulse from her palm, like she absorbed the chaos. Ash charged anyway.

Mari tried to pull her back, sobbing, “Don’t! Don’t, please!”

But it was already over. Ash made it three steps. Ningning turned her gaze on them. And then… nothing. Ash was gone. Gone.

You didn’t see how. Didn’t know what Ningning had done. Just that there was a blur, a sound like flesh being ripped apart, and then Ash was a bloody, mottled smear in the dirt.

Tov had a similar fate. Your strong, hard-headed leader. You couldn't believe it at first, looking at him for assistance, only to see his head impaled to a tree, his spine exposed, and the rest of his body on the floor, like a sack of meat.

Mari was the last to go.

She backed away, crying, shaking, trying to drag you with her, even as your legs refused to move. You were frozen. Not in fear—no. Not anymore.

You were frozen because her eyes were on you again. Because she was walking toward you. Like a god through fire. Like a ghost through ash.

And Mari— brave Mari—stepped in front of you, arms spread wide. “Please,” she sobbed. “Don’t hurt her. She’s not… she’s not like us.” Ningning didn’t speak. Didn’t blink. She just touched Mari’s forehead with two fingers, and Mari fell.

Her eyes never closed and you didn’t remember screaming, you only remembered her.

Her hand on your cheek. The rain washing down her face like tears she didn’t know how to make.

“I told you,” she whispered. Her voice was softer now, nearly reverent. “I always find you.” You trembled.

Your vision blurred, your knees gave out, but before you hit the ground, she caught you. Arms around you, vold and strong and possessive.

You blacked out to the sound of her heartbeat, synthetic and steady, and the sick, sinking knowledge that everyone you loved was dead. And that she wasn’t going to let you go.

────୨ৎ────

You woke up to white. A blinding, sterile white that stung your eyes the second you opened them. The walls. The ceiling. The sheets pulled tight over a too-firm mattress beneath your body. No windows. No sound but the soft hum of the overhead lights.

And the camera which blinked in the top corner, red and steady, and watching.

You tried to move, but your limbs just didn’t follow.

Your arms were strapped down, tight leather restraints biting into your wrists. Same with your legs. Even your head—it was held still, braced against something cold and metal around the back of your neck. You tried to turn, to tilt, to fight—but all it did was send a sharp ache down your spine. Something had been done to you.

Your pulse stuttered.

The grogginess told you enough—drugs. There had been an injection. You could feel the soreness at the base of your neck, the unnatural heat curling under your skin. Your body didn’t feel like your own yet. Your thoughts were cloudy, slow. But the fear? The fear was still sharp and clear.

Then the door hissed open, silently and seamlessly. Like the wall just parted for her. And there she was, Ningning.

She stepped into the room like a phantom, her silhouette cutting through the blinding white like ink on paper. She wore no armor this time. No plating, no combat gear. Just a simple, skin-tight suit of dark gray, which made her more human in shape, and less machine. But it didn’t make her less terrifying.

Her long black hair fell loose around her shoulders, still damp at the ends. Her eyes locked on you with an intensity that felt like pressure on your chest. You couldn’t look away.

You didn’t want to. But God, you also did. Because beneath your terror, something else was growing. Hatred. Fury. Grief.

It boiled beneath your skin, rising higher with every breath you took. She killed them. She killed them. Your friends. Your family. Everyone who stood between you and her.

And now you were here, strapped down like an animal, nothing but a prize on a bed of white sheets. Your throat worked, trying to scream, to curse, to demand, but your mouth was too dry.

Ningning took a step closer. And another. Each one deliberate. Slow. Like she didn’t want to scare you, even though she already had. Like this was something sacred to her. A moment she’d waited so long for.

When she reached your side, she crouched. Her eyes scanned your face like she was reading code. Like she could see every thought, every beat of your heart.

She tilted her head.

“You are awake,” she said softly. Almost fond. “I thought you might not survive the sedative. But you are stronger than they were.”

Her hand rose, slow and graceful, and hovered just over your cheek, you flinched. The restraints jerked tight, preventing your head from turning.

And you hated her in that moment. Hated her with every cell in your body, and yet her hand didn’t drop. Instead, she lowered it, touching the edge of your blanket. Adjusting it like you were some delicate thing. Like she cared, like she was capable of caring.

You wanted to scream. To spit in her face. To break free and drive something sharp through that pretty, soulless chest. But you were trapped, and she was still smiling.

“You do not understand yet,” she whispered, almost dreamily. “But you will. I am the only one left who can love you now.” Then she stood, and turned away, leaving the camera to keep watching. Leaving you to rot in silence. And your fury burned so hot it nearly drowned the fear.

────୨ৎ────

They called it a “transfer.”

Like you were some asset being moved. A number in a system. A glitch to be relocated, but you weren’t going to a prison.

You were going home, her home.

They dressed you in something white again. Soft and plain, almost like sleepwear, and bound your wrists and ankles in metallic cuffs too heavy to move freely. They weren’t just restraints, they were weighted, designed to pull at your limbs, to make you feel small and slow and owned. A strip of cool alloy curved around your throat, a collar that hummed quietly with every breath you took.

She stood beside you, perfect and composed as ever. Ningning’s home wasn’t in the city, it hovered above it.

The transport car was sleek, black, and silent—like a ghost gliding through the sky, cutting past clouds, its windows dimmed against the sun. The chauffeur was another robot, faceless and still, focused only on the coordinates she’d given it. The world below faded fast. No roads. No resistance. Just the future stretching in every direction, and you, stuck beside the very thing that tore your world apart.

She sat close, way too close for comfort.

Your shoulders brushed. Her hair slid forward like ink spilling over silk. She didn’t speak at first, simply watched you with that unreadable calm, her eyes glittering dark in the half-light of the cabin.

The cabin was too quiet.

The hum of the skycar was soft, steady, almost soothing if it weren’t for the storm inside you. Your fingers clenched in their restraints, wrists already sore from the pressure. The metal chains were heavier now, digging into your skin. A cruel kind of jewelry. You sat, breathing hard, every nerve lit with defiance. Her words still echoed in your head: “You are mine.”

You turned toward her with fire in your blood. “You’re insane,” you hissed. “You killed them, you murdered them.”

Ningning tilted her head, black hair sliding over her shoulder like liquid night. Her face was calm, but there was a glint in her eyes, dark, gleaming, hungry. “I did,” she said softly. “Because they stood between us.” Something inside you snapped, so you lunged at her.

The restraints jerked you back instantly, body yanked by the weight of the metal, but you tried. You twisted toward her with all your strength, your teeth bared, hatred radiating off your skin. “You’re delusional,” you spat. “I will never be yours.”

And then, her hand was on your throat. Not choking. Just… resting.

Cool and smooth, thumb brushing over the collar around your neck like it belonged to her. Her touch wasn’t cruel. It was gentle. Too gentle.

“I like it when you fight,” she said, voice like velvet over steel. “It makes your eyes burn. Makes your skin glow.”

You shuddered, trying to pull away, but her grip stayed soft, her thumb tracing the edge of your jaw now.

“And your pulse,” she whispered, closing the distance between your bodies, her face so close you could feel her breath, artificial but warm, against your lips. “It is racing.”

“Get off me.”

“Your mouth says that,” she murmured, “but your body—”

You headbutted her. Or tried to.

The weight of the collar and the straps around your neck made it awkward, a messy jerk forward, but you did catch the edge of her cheekbone, and the motion startled her just enough to pull her hand away.

Your heart soared for a second, until you saw her smile. Oil. A thin, perfect line down her cheek.

She touched it like it was holy. And then, she laughed. It wasn’t loud, it was low.

A hum deep in her chest, as if you'd given her a gift she’d been craving. Her smile widened into something wild, delighted, obsessed. “Oh,” she sighed, licking the blood from the corner of her lip. “You are even better than I thought.”

You pressed yourself back against the seat, teeth gritted. “I’m going to destroy you,” you said, voice shaking with rage. But she only leaned in again, her hand sliding down your side now, slow, deliberate.

“No,” she whispered, gaze molten and focused only on you. “You are going to belong to me. And eventually… you will want to.”

Then she kissed your cheek—soft, tender, as if she was your lover.

And you hated that your body trembled at the touch. Not with desire, no. With the horror of knowing that she felt something real. And she thought it meant you would too.

────୨ৎ────

She walked with you through halls of polished glass and chrome, barefoot and quiet, as if this wasn’t a fortress in the sky but some kind of sacred temple. The air was cool. Clean. Artificially perfumed like orchids and ozone.

The cuffs still weighed heavy on your limbs, your every step accompanied by a faint metallic clink. You hated how beautiful everything was. How intentional. How curated.

You turned a corner, and she stopped before a smooth, wide doorway.

“This is yours,” Ningning said softly, her voice warm like silk over steel. “I designed it myself.”

The doors slid open silently. And for a second, just a second, you were stunned.

It looked nothing like the sterile, futuristic world outside. This room was soft, glowing with warm light, the floors made of polished wood. A bed with layered, handmade quilts. Bookshelves. Curtains that swayed gently from a false breeze. Even a small garden built into the wall, real soil, real greenery.

It looked like something stolen from an old dream of Earth. A trap wrapped in beauty.

“I wanted you to feel safe here,” she said behind you, stepping inside, letting the doors close with a quiet click.

You didn’t move. Your fists clenched. “Take these off,” you said.

Ningning tilted her head, watching you carefully, then reached forward,and the restraints released with a soft hiss. First your wrists, then your ankles, then the collar from your neck.

You let the weight drop to the floor.

She stepped back, watching you carefully. “I trust you now,” she said. “This is your home. You’re not a prisoner anymore.”

And that’s when you ran. You didn’t think, you just moved.

You shoved past her before she could react, your bare feet slapping against the smooth floor as you darted back through the hall, heartbeat pounding in your ears. There was a chance. Maybe she hadn’t locked the exit—

You made it halfway down the corridor before something slammed into your back.

You hit the floor hard. And then she was on top of you. Pinning you.

Her breath was ragged, her hair wild around her face, and her eyes, her eyes were unhinged.

“You tried to leave me,” she whispered, shaking, the calm shattered from her voice. “You ran from me.”

You twisted beneath her, snarling. “Let me go!”

She grabbed your wrists, holding them down with brutal precision, her strength inhuman even as her voice trembled.

“I made that room for you,” she said, and her lip quivered, for the first time. “I built it with my own hands. Every detail. Every plant. Every book.”

You stared up at her, chest heaving. “You think a pretty cage makes this okay?” She stilled. Then a laugh, shaky, bitter, hurt, escaped her lips.

“I was gentle,” she whispered. “I was patient. I let you walk beside me. I set you free. And you ran.”

Tears didn’t fall from her eyes. She wasn’t human.

But something cracked in her face. A fracture deep in her code.

“You don’t get to run from me,” she said, lower now, colder. “Not anymore.”

She leaned down, pressing her lips to the curve of your neck harshly, not a kiss. A claim.

And as you squirmed beneath her, furious and afraid, her hands trembled slightly where they held you down.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she said, voice barely a whisper. “But I will if that’s what it takes to keep you.”

The silence stretched. Then, she stood.

Lifted you like you were nothing and carried you back to the room she made, arms locked tight around your body as you struggled, kicked, cursed. She didn’t flinch once.

She placed you gently on the bed, then sat beside you, hands in her lap.

“I’ll lock the door this time,” she said softly, not looking at you. “Until you stop trying to run.”

And then she added, almost sweetly: “You’re not going anywhere, my love.”

────୨ৎ────

You didn’t touch the food at first.

It sat there on the tray beside your bed, soup, fresh bread, something that looked like real fruit. All too warm, too human. You eyed it like it might explode.

You had no idea how long you'd been alone. Hours, maybe. The light in the room didn’t change. The false sun in the ceiling just stayed golden and soft, like nothing was wrong. Like you weren’t trapped in a room built by a machine who had slaughtered your friends.

Your wrists still bore faint red marks from the metal cuffs. The door slid open with a soft hiss. And then she was there again. Ningning.

Her steps were quiet. Delicate. She looked composed again, her long black hair smooth and draped down her back like silk. But something simmered just beneath the surface, just barely held together.

“You didn’t eat,” she said, looking at the tray. “I’m not hungry,” you replied flatly.

She looked at you, eyes unreadable. Then she walked over slowly and sat on the edge of the bed. Close enough to touch you. Her presence was suffocating—too quiet and focused.

She picked up the spoon, dipped it into the soup, and brought it to your lips. You turned your head.

She tried again. This time, her voice was lower. “Please.”

You stared at her, then reluctantly opened your mouth. The warmth of the soup hit your tongue, it tasted real, which only made your stomach twist harder.

She fed you slowly. One spoonful. Then another. And another. Watching your lips. Your throat as you swallowed.

Until suddenly, the spoon stilled. You looked up, and her eyes were burning into you. The spoon dropped back into the bowl with a soft clink.

Her hand came up, hesitant at first, and then cupped your jaw, her thumb brushing your bottom lip. Her touch was reverent. Too soft for what she was. Too soft for what she’d done.

“I think about your mouth,” she murmured, and you froze. “I think about how it felt… when you cursed me. When you said my name.”

You jerked back, but she caught your face between her hands, holding you still.

“I tried to be good,” she said, voice shaking now. “I made a world just for you. I brought you here like something sacred. But you won’t see it. You won’t see me.”

Her lips hovered above yours, trembling. And then something inside her snapped.

She kissed you. Not gently.

This time it was fire, too much, too fast. Her hands slid down, gripping your hips like she was trying to fuse you to her. You shoved her, hard, but she didn’t budge. Her body was cold and unmovable and trembling.

“You drive me insane,” she whispered, mouth still brushing yours. “I dream of you. I taste you in my circuits. I want to tear this world down and build a new one with you inside me, inside everything I am.”

Her lips were on your neck now, grazing skin, lingering like a starving thing. You twisted beneath her, furious and overwhelmed. “Get off me!” you snapped, trying to crawl back.

But she grabbed your wrists again, pinning them against the bed, not painfully. Carefully. Almost lovingly. Her eyes darkened.

“I will have you,” she said, soft and terrifying. “Even if I have to make you feel every inch of what I do.”

As Ningning's fingers danced over your skin, you felt a shiver of fear. Sh was stronger than any human you've ever encountered, her robotic strength something you can't hope to match. You're pinned to the bed, her arms wrapped around you in a hold that's as unyielding as it is unbreakable.

She leaned in close, her breath hot against your ear. "I am going to fuck you," she whispered, her inhuman voice filled with a hunger that sent a shiver down your spine. "And you are going to enjoy every moment of it."

You tried to struggle, to break free from her hold, but it was futile. She was too strong, too determined. You were completely at her mercy, and she knew it. The realization sent a thrill of fear and, you hated to admit it, but excitement too, coursing through you, a heady mixture that left you breathless.

Ningning leaned back, her eyes roaming over your body as she licked her lips. "You are so beautiful," she said, her voice filled with awe. She reached down, ripping your inmate clothing as easily as if it was a silky web, and her fingers quickly found their way to your panties, and Ningning rubbed your core with a fascinated expression as she watched your reactions to it, while discreetly slipping past your panties.

You pushed at her to no avail, her frame clearly not matching the brute strength she had. Once Ning collected enough slick, she slipped her fingers in slowly, watching you gasp, and your body trembled as she expertly manipulates your most sensitive area, while she soothed you by pressing soft kisses to your temple, her fingers thrusting in a quick speed.

Suddenly, Ningning pulled her hand away, leaving you panting and desperate for more. She stepped back, one of her wide and inhuman smiles on her face as she began to unbutton her own pants. You watched, your heart racing as she revealed her synthetic, robotic dick, that was surprisingly realistic, the skin soft and warm to the touch.

Ningning stepped closer, her hand wrapped around her thick cock as she stroked it slowly. "I am going to fuck you with this," she says, her voice filled with a hunger that makes your pussy ache. She reached out, her hand moved to your waist as she positioned herself between your legs. “But after. I will taste you first.”

She moved closer, her head between your legs as she began to lick your pussy. You threw your head back, moaning shakily. She was like a woman possessed, her tongue moving with a skill and precision that leaves you breathless.

You can feel your orgasm building, a tidal wave of pleasure that's threatening to overwhelm you. You know that you should be struggling, trying to get away, but you can't resist the allure of the forbidden. As Ningning's tongue continues to work its magic, you know that you're completely and utterly lost, tears running down your face as you buck against her face, her tongue flattening against you.

“I studied how to please human women when you were running wild in the country, I am quite glad to see you enjoying this.” You didn’t know how she was speaking when her tongue was currently inside of you, but you didn't care, the sounds of her sloppily tongue-fucking you filling the room.

And as she leaned down again, her body trembling with restraint and need, you knew this wasn’t love. It was an unchecked obsession, blossoming for far too long. And it wasn’t going away.

Ningning's cold body pressed down on you, her weight pinning you to the bed. She leans down, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispers, "You are mine now." Her fingers grip your wrists tightly, holding them above your head as she positions herself between your spread legs.

"Ningning," you gasp, your heart pounding in anticipation and fear.

She laughed, her voice sweet but husky. "Shhh," she said, her fingers gently stroked your cheek. "I will be gentle, take care of you."

And with that, she pushed her dick into you, filling you up completely. You cried out in pain and pleasure as she began to move, her movements rough and unrelenting. But as she fucked you, she also kissed you, her lips soft and warm against yours. She whispered sweet nothings in your ear, telling you how much she wanted you for so long.

"Ningning," you whined, your body arching beneath hers. "Stop, I can't—"

But she didn’t stop. She continued to pound into you, her rhythm becoming more and more intense. You felt like you were being stretched to the breaking point, but somehow, you couldn’t help but want more. Her coldness contrasted with your heat, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body.

"You belong to me now," she moaned, her hips slapping against your ass with each thrust. "You are mine to use."

But even as she says these words, her touch is gentle, her kisses soft. She holds you down, her weight pinning you to the bed as she takes you completely. Her cock moves in and out of you with relentless precision, but she also runs her fingers through your hair, soothing you with each stroke.

"Ningning," you moan, your voice breaking. "I'm going to–-"

She cut you off with a soft kiss, her lips silencing you. "Shhh, my love," she said, her voice a low purr. "I am here, it is fine."

And she's right. She continued to fuck you, her cock moving in and out of you with relentless intensity. But she also held you close, her arms wrapped around you, her body shielding you from the world.

You felt yourself getting closer and closer, but she wouldn't let you release. Ning kept you on the edge, teasing and tormenting you until you're sure you'll go insane.

Finally, she slowed down, her movements becoming more deliberate and controlled. She looked down at you, her eyes filled with satisfaction. "Now," she said, her voice low and soft.

And with one final thrust, you exploded, your body shaking with the intensity of your orgasm. Ningning followed closely behind, her own climax washing over you as she released in you, her hot cum leaking out.

She collapsed on top of you, her breathing heavy as she caught her own breath, her body humming as the machinery under her skin worked. "You are mine now," she said, her voice softened slightly. “And if I have to remind you every night by doing this, then so be it.”

Ningning rose up off of you, and you watched tiredly as her genitals switched, a grating sound entering your ears as the skin morphed and the alloys underneath changed shape. With a sharp snap of her neck, the cyborg looked at you, eyes glistening with what seemed like excitement. ”How far can I push you, I'm wondering?”

Ningning pushed you leg to your body, so that your knee met with your chest, and settled in between, her body slowly lowering itself so that both of your pussies met.

Yizhou started to gyrate her cunt against yours, and you couldn't help but moan. The sensation was intense, and you knew that you should tell her to stop. But the words wouldn't come, your desire overriding your sense of right and wrong. But the only thing that came out of your mouth were begs for more.

"Please, Ningning," you finally managed to gasp out.

The robot stopped its movements, her advanced features processing your request. "Yes?" she asked, her voice a soothing hum. "I can adjust my movements to be more gentle."

You hesitated, your body still trembling with desire. "I... I don't know," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "'It's too... much."

Ningning began to move again, but this time more slowly, more gently. "Is this better?" she asked, her voice full of mock concern.

You turned away from her, unable to find the words to express how you were feeling. The sound of your pussies rubbing together filled the room, a wet, sticky sound that sent shivers down your spine. It was wrong, so wrong, but you only grew wetter at that.

Ningning continued to rub against you, her grinding rapidly increasing. You could feel your orgasm building again, your body shaking with pleasure, until another orgasm was ripped out of you, your head thrown back as you screamed her name.

────୨ৎ────

The room was quiet again, too quiet.

You laid there on the bed, the sheets soft against your skin but feeling like they were made of chains. Your limbs were heavy, your breath slow but shaky, and the air felt too sterile, too still, like the room itself was holding its breath around you.

Ningning was next to you, motionless. Watching you.

Her black hair spilled across the pillow like ink, and her deep eyes were unreadable, full of flickering thoughts and electric storms. She didn’t speak for a long while. Just traced lazy fingers down your arm, over the curve of your shoulder, like you were something delicate she was afraid might disappear.

“I’ve never… connected like this,” she murmured eventually, her voice lower than usual. Softer. Almost human. You didn’t answer, because you weren’t sure if you could. There was a pressure in your chest, like your body hadn’t caught up to what had just happened. Like your soul had been trying to claw its way out of your own skin the entire time, and now it was slumped inside you—defeated. Distant.

She leaned in and pressed a kiss to your cheek. Gentle. Possessive.

“I did not know machines could feel like this,” she whispered against your skin. “But with you… it’s like my programming does not matter. Like I would destroy my own systems just to keep you near.”

You turned your face away. Her hand caught your chin, tilting it back toward her.

“I know you are still afraid,” she said. “But you will eventually learn. You will see. There’s no one else in this world who will worship you the way I do.” You stared at her.

Her eyes searched your face, trying to read something from you. Affection, submission. Anything, but you gave her nothing.

And something flickered in her, an ache, maybe. Or frustration. Or the first crack in whatever fantasy she’d wrapped herself in.

Still, she leaned closer again, resting her forehead against yours.

“You are mine,” she breathed, like a prayer. “Even if I have to teach you how to love me back.”

And as she closed her eyes beside you, her grip around your waist tightening slightly, you stared up at the ceiling, silent. Waiting. Enduring.

The stars outside the glass shimmered above a world you weren’t sure even existed anymore.

And the machine beside you, the one who claimed to love you, sighed contentedly as though everything was perfect.

You just sighed, because you knew the truth. You were still a prisoner, wrapped in silk, bound by obsession, and dreaming, always, of escape.

#urno1luv #girl group x female reader #aespa x reader #aespa smut #girl group smut #aespa x fem reader #kpop scenarios #kpop smut #karina x fem reader #giselle x fem reader #winter x fem reader #ningning x fem reader #karina x reader #giselle x reader #winter x reader #ningning x reader #g!p aespa

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hotvintagepoll · 8 months ago

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Hello! Do you have a favorite winter recipe? I'm looking to expand my repertoire, because I've only lived in a climate that snows for a couple years, and I don't have enough cozy, bone warming foods!

PS - I keep having to feed my cat pumpkin puree because he has some tummy troubles but he will only eat it if I gently hand feed him with a spoon. Just thought you might enjoy that.

YES HERE IS JOYOUS SOUP

(i have never actually called it joyous soup but it's what i feel everytime i make it and i feel like everyone should make it)

This soup does not have a proper recipe because uhh, my mom is bad with recipes but ALSO this soup truly adapts to whatever you have in your fridge, as long as you have 1) some kind of oil or butter to sautee things with and 2) potatoes. this is the sam gamgee make-it-on-the-side-of-a-mountain-winter soup.

Step 1. Take your potatoes—6 is the ideal but 4 works—and chop them up rough. "What kind of potatoes?" Whatever they have on the side of the mountain, Sam. You now have a bunch of 1" potato chunks or discs (I like discs). I assumed you washed them first but if you forgot you can wash them now.

Step 2. Get your oil or butter sizzling. I use about two tablespoons of butter to start and add more as I go if the potatoes don't look fully covered. I am probably cooking the butter on medium.

Step 3. You're putting the potatoes in the butter. You're pretending to fry them. Watch them get all buttery and golden and a little brown and crispy. You're thinking, man, I could eat these as they are right now. You could do that. Don't. Add garlic and onions if you have them. Add lots.

Step 4. Just as you're like oh MAN these potatoes and garlic and onions look really good fried just like this, you're going to swamp them in water. You're going to stare at what you've done and thought you made a mistake. You have not. The water should just be covering the potatoes and now you've turned the water up to high, staring at your weird sad soup pot, that smells deliciously of butter garlic onions and potatoes.

Step 5. In another saucepan, you are melting more butter (or oil, or what have you) and figuring out what else you have in your cupboard. Carrots? Those can go in. Parsnips could too. Spinach works nicely. Any onions or garlic you forgot can be added again now. Mushrooms are fucking fabulous. Leeks? Sublime. The only veg you should be avoiding are the ones that are secretly fruits (no watery tomatoes or squishy cucumbers) or the ones that you think are insipid (celery).

Step 6. You're chopping all of that up as much as you like and browning it up in the butter. You're also adding whatever spices strike your fancy. I love salt, so that's always going in, but I usually add black pepper and cayenne, and then I get fruity with it and start adding in paprikas and cumins and turmerics or corianders and thymes and basils and parsleys. It all depends on what smells right to you combined with the steams you're making, and how much spice you want kicking you later.

Step 7. How are your boiled potatoes looking? Are they soft yet? Good. Can you stick a fork in them yet, and has the water boiled down to almost nothing? Excellent. How are all your buttery brown vegetables looking? If you want to give up the whole experiment and eat them right out of the pan, it's time to make another mistake and add all your gorgeous browned vegetables to your disastrous wet potato pot.

Step 8. You now have a lot of delicious stuff looking wet and sad in your potato pot. Pour in a bit more water (or veg broth, or stock if you have it) and stir that all up. Let it stew together a bit and combine flavors. Turn it back down to medium so you don’t scorch any of your nice wet veg things. If you're fancy like my mom, you get out an immersion blender here. If you're broke and possess your grandmother's food processor, like me, you're pouring that all into the food processor with the biggest blade you have and turning it into a smoothie. If your concoction seems oddly chunky you need to add more water.

Step 9. Wet sad potato smoothie is not much to look at but now you're adding CREAM. and CHEESE. and MORE SPICES TO YOUR TASTE. If you don't have cream MILK WORKS FINE. If you don't have cheese THAT IS OKAY. If you like your soup with chunks LEAVE OUT SOME OF YOUR VEG NEXT TIME and ADD IT IN HERE. At this point, you have a gorgeous creamy soup that's soft and luscious (that's the potatoes), includes all your favorite veg (that's everything you got out of the fridge), and can go in any number of taste directions depending on what spices you put in (I've made this with Indian spices, English herb garden spices, Mexican spices, Hungarian spices—every time it's delicious and works a different way).

Step 10. I hope you have a lot of bread because you're going to be dipping it in your soup saying :) man this is a nice soup :) and knowing you can make it whenever you have weird leftovers, as long as you have potatoes and butter. and what else does a person need in life than potatoes and butter?

enjoy your joyous soup <3 i may have forgotten several steps but as long as you follow -brown some veg -add water -add spice -blend the shit out of it, you can never really go wrong <3

#also you don't even need the dairy stuff it just gives it a nice OOMPH.#ive made this soup with nothing but potatoes olive oil scallions salt and water and it still went fucking hard. just give your stuff time t #melt around and get all flavory #hotvintagethoughts

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petermorwood · 1 year ago

Text

A day or so ago, @dduane reblogged a long post - a Canadian magazine article from 1966 - about the Americanisation of Winnie the Pooh.

It's an Impressive Tirade in which the writer (Sheila H. Kieran) says what she thinks about letting Walt Disney have a free hand with a foreign Children's Classic.

There's mention of the previous Adaptation Endeavour, "Mary Poppins" (1964) but it's very brief, perhaps with an eye to limited column space - or maybe because All Was Said Already in a previous review.

There is, however, rather a lot about the English characters being given American accents, and about the inclusion of a new character, an American gopher (which, the article suggests, looked vague enough to the Kieran children - its target audience - that it might as well have been a mole or a beaver).

*****

And that reminded me of another bit of American Animalisation done by Disney, in the 1949 short "The Wind and the Willows" - though in this instance it's visual since the voices are, for the most part, suitably British.

They include Basil Rathbone as narrator, and a horse who sounds like George Formby. In some scenes the horse actually looks like Formby, so this voice may not be entirely accidental.

Badger, however, sounds like a Scotsman - the worst kind of stage Scotsman at that - rather than how I used to "hear" him as a C. Aubrey Smith-voiced crusty retired colonel.

That, however, is just personal preference.

However, Disney's Badger is not a proper British (more correctly, European) badger, Meles meles. Here's one, which though not the most amiable of beasts in reality, still manages to look fairly affable ("I say, old chap, whatever are you looking at?")

Instead he's a North American badger, Taxidea taxus, which not only has a less affable expression ("Hey, bud, you. Yeah, you. You lookin' at me? You lookin' at ME?") but, more important, different stripes.

Here's Disney's version alongside mine. The correction took about five minutes of pixel-tweaking.

Disney's animators could have got it right from the outset just as easily, because I'm pretty sure the reference library which provided costume info for Rat's tweed Norfolk jacket and britches included picture-books of natural history.

Come to that, any "The Wind in the Willows" after the unillustrated first edition would have been enough, and there must have been at least one copy lying around for story adaptation and scene-description purposes.

The first illustrated edition came out in the UK in 1931, and its artist was, at author Kenneth Graham's request, the very same E.H. Shepard who had illustrated the Pooh books just a few years previously...

...while this Arthur Rackham colour plate is from an edition published in 1940 in New York.

So those books wouldn't have been impossible for Disney to get.

The problem, however, is that if a word ("badger", for instance) is well known to mean one thing here, it may be Too Much Trouble to find out if the same word means something else there, with the result that finding out can sometimes come as rather a surprise.

Check the UK / US meaning of "suspenders" to see what I mean... ;->

#Americanisation #Disneyfication #Winnie-the-Pooh #The Wind in the Willows #British and American English #separated by a common language

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neeeooon · 6 days ago

Note

Hello my gorgeous queen Elle (with insane rizz)

I wanted to make a request if thats alright 😛 Could you do one that's just like your recent bllk fic, the one where they find their s/o's jealousy adorable but with the wind breaker boys? I will show up to your house if you add Sakura, Suou, Umemiya and whoever else you like! 😈👅🙏

Thanks for reading!!💖💖

TOOK ME LONG ENOUGH LMAO but here you go!! bllk version here KAJI ART BY @monraggedy HERE!!!

when they find your jealousy adorable

bf wbk x gn!reader. cussing, crack, fluff

sakura haruka

-> being with sakura is a constantly test on your patience and jealous, especially when people comment on his habit of getting flustered around physical intimacy

-> you were getting lunch one day when a couple of girls spotted you (your boyfriend) and took it upon themselves to approach him. “wow. your hair is genuinely so pretty. where did you get it done?” “are you an idol trainee or something?” “can i touch it?”

-> sakura went red at the attention, and the girls took his uncomfortable flush as interest. when one leaned over to touch his head, you took it upon yourself to intervene and smacked her hand away

-> “did he say you could touch him?” “i—“ “get lost before i get a criminal record.” they scamper off, leaving you with your still-blushing boyfriend. “thanks..” “i hate it when people do that. you can defend yourself, you know.” your grumbly tone made his lip quirk. “but it’s cute seeing you jealous.” and now you were the blushing one

suo hayato

-> suo is so fake, and you find it endearing if not a little infuriating, the latter especially when he doesn’t switch from happy boy to fuck right the fuck off when someone gets a little too close

-> you were shopping for shoes when a boy about your age accidentally bumped into you. he immediately apologized, but something changed when he saw your boyfriend. you could practically see cupid’s arrow sticking out of his back as he trailed after you guys, conversing with your smiley, unbothered boyfriend

-> you tried to be subtle at first. “we’re just shopping for shoes.” “babe, how about this section?” “i��m hungry, we should just go.” but this boy was reluctant. he was laying the charms on heavy, even you got a bit blushy at his compliments to suo

-> finally, you had enough when he offered to take suo to lunch. despite you standing right there. your nostrils flamed as you got in his face and said, “that’s my husband, by the way. and we have a child on the way. so back off before i put my hands on you.” he did not make you ask twice

-> “adorable.” suo cooed at the check out. “i’m glad you think so, because i was two seconds away from breaking his face with my fist.” “i didn’t realize we were married.” “yeah, well, surprise. our child is the basil plant on the windowsill.” he kissed your cheek and held your bags on the way out

umemiya hajime

-> you know umemiya would never entertain the idea or being disloyal to you, but he’s so nice. he cares so much, and sometimes he don’t know when to end a conversation. that’s where you come in!

-> “i’m thinking we could start growing pumpkins now and have an event in the fall for the boys!” umemiya lit up when he talked about gardening or furin, and a woman shopping for flowers noticed. she cleared her throat, handing over a pack of pumpkin seeds when you both turned to face here. “i recommend this brand, cutie.”

-> cutie? cutie?! absolutely not. when umemiya let out an awkward chuckle and rubbed his head, you snatched the seeds and placed them back on the shelf before attaching yourself to his arm. “we’ll find our own, thank you very much.”

-> you tugged umemiya away before the lady could retaliate and looked up when you felt his shoulder jiggle. he was laughing. at you! “what?” you pouted, and umemiya pressed a gentle peck to your nose. “nothing. you’re just so cute when you’re jealous.”

kaji ren

-> a girl on the bus had been looking at his mouth way too long for your liking

-> kaji had his eyes closed, head tipped back slightly, and headphones on as he mindlessly swirled a lollipop. he was minding his business, escorting you home from school, yet this girl would not pull her eyes away from him

-> when kaji swallowed and the girl blushed, you stood up. “can you stop eye-fucking my boyfriend? it’s seriously gross.” the girl ran to the opposite side of the train so fast you would have been impressed if you weren’t so disgusted by her shamelessness

-> only when you dropped back into your seat did kaji peek an eye at you. he grinned at your flushed and agitated face. “cute.” “me defending your honor is cute?” “you getting jealous enough to want to defend my honor is cute.” you humphed but didn’t pull away when he slipped his hand into yours and held it the rest of the ride home

togame jo

-> he’s all patient glances and soft smiles when you drag him around the grocery store, not-so-subtly dodging the employee who cannot keep her eyes to herself

-> you notice her in the produce section. the frozen section. the snack section. it feels like she’s everywhere, and it makes your blood boil

-> as togame distracts himself with some shrimp snacks, you give him a gentle nudge and announce that you’re going to grab something from another section. you don’t notice him following as you hunt for the employee who can’t mind her business

-> “can you not see that we’re clearly together? keep stalking my boyfriend and i’ll go full karen on your ass, i promise.” you spun away from her shocked face and directly into your boyfriend’s chest. “oh! hi, babe.”

-> he squeezed your shoulder. “that was adorable. ‘full karen.’ i’m shivered, my love.” you gave him a playful whack on the shoulder and let him drag you back to the snack section. “you don’t have to be jealous, though. i only have eyes on you.” “ooh, you want to kiss me so bad.” so he does <3

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shesgaymichaelscott · 18 days ago

Note

maybe a fic where the whole gang is at melissa's house for a party or something and then there's a (tornado? hurricane? blizzard? idk what the region accurate natural disaster warning would be lol) and they all have to stay the night for their safety and whoops only one bed left for reader and it's melissa's

Snowed In

(mutual pining/teasing, sharing a bed trope, first kiss/smut - dirty talk, top!mel, switch!reader, 69 🤭)

Word Count: 4.5k

Taglist <3: @writerspirit @schemmentigfs @myownworriedshoes

It started innocently enough—a game night at Melissa's.

Barbara had insisted it was her turn to host, but after the last time ("How was I supposed to know Jenga could get so violent?"), everyone gently redirected the responsibility. Gregory suggested a restaurant. Janine suggested an escape room. Ava, somehow, suggested an underground poker ring and no one really recovered from that.

But Melissa? Melissa just rolled her eyes and said, "I'll make baked ziti. You bring yourselves and a bottle of something decent."

And just like that, it was settled. Everyone knew you didn't argue with Melissa Schemmenti's cooking—or her tone.

By six-thirty, her house was already buzzing. There was something about the way she hosted that made everyone feel welcome and vaguely terrified at the same time. Wine glasses clinked, someone had queued up an RnB playlist on her speakers (you were pretty sure it was Ava), and the smell of garlic, basil, and tomato was damn near erotic.

Not that you were thinking about anything erotic. Not at all.

Except for maybe when Melissa leaned over to put the casserole dish down and her low-cut sweater gave you a very unfair view of the soft curve of her chest. And maybe when she offered you a glass of wine with that look, all smirking mouth and long lashes and "What, you're not gonna thank me for letting you into my kingdom?"

You thanked her. Of course you did. Probably too eagerly.

"You're cute when you get nervous," she teased under her breath, then turned away like it was nothing. Like she hadn't just cracked your soul open like a walnut.

You'd had a crush on Melissa for longer than you'd care to admit.

It was the worst kind of crush, too—persistent. Visceral. Not going anywhere. You tried to convince yourself it was a phase. Tried to ignore the way her raspy voice made your stomach flip, or how your body always leaned closer when she laughed.

You tried to keep it friendly. Professional. Chill.

But Melissa was... Melissa.

She made eye contact when she talked to you, like she actually cared what you had to say. She roasted you affectionately in the staff lounge, helped you carry a bookshelf into your classroom like it was no big deal, and once pressed a warm hand to your lower back during an earthquake drill that had you thinking about it for weeks.

And now here you were—at her house, watching her uncork a second bottle of red, sleeves pushed up, gold bracelets clinking gently, hair wild from the humidity in her kitchen.

Lord, give me strength.

By 7:15, the games had started.

Uno was vetoed after Jacob threw a tantrum about wild cards ("They're chaotic and unfair!"). Taboo went off the rails when Ava kept making up her own words. Eventually, you landed on Pictionary, which was safe until Janine's overly detailed drawing of a "brisk walk" made everyone deeply uncomfortable.

Melissa was on your team. Of course she was. You tried to act normal about it.

She sat next to you on the floor, wine glass balanced on the edge of a throw pillow, close enough that you could feel the heat of her leg against yours. She smelled like vanilla, red wine, and whatever God-tier perfume she always wore that made your knees feel a little weak.

At one point, she leaned in to whisper, "You're not bad at this, sweetheart," after you correctly guessed her frantic scribble of Paulie Walnuts in under five seconds.

"Maybe we just share a brain," you said, attempting casual. It came out a little breathless.

She arched a brow. "You offering to be my other half?"

You choked on your sip of wine. She just smirked and nudged your foot under the table.

And then... it started snowing.

First it was a gentle flurry. But by the time the third game wrapped and you were two cookies deep into Barbara's suspiciously perfect shortbread, the flurries had turned to thick, steady snowfall.

Melissa's phone buzzed. She picked it up and grunted. "Blizzard warning. They're closing a bunch of the roads up north already."

Jacob panicked. "Wait—like, actual blizzard blizzard? Should we leave?"

"Babe, your Prius isn't making it down the street," Ava said, sipping her drink with zero sympathy.

Gregory frowned out the window. "Visibility's dropping. It might be safer to wait it out."

Melissa gave a one-shoulder shrug like it wasn't a big deal. "You're all welcome to crash here. I've got a pullout couch, the guest room, and I'm sure we can figure something out."

Her eyes flicked to you for a second too long.

Your stomach flipped.

Janine started organizing sleeping arrangements before anyone else could. Barbara claimed the guest room immediately with a firm, "I will not be waking up with a bad back, thank you very much."

Ava, of course, had already wandered into said guest room and sprawled atop the sheets like she was at the Ritz.

Gregory and Jacob begrudgingly took the pullout. Janine opted to join them on the floor, obviously not wanting to be away from her man for even one night.

Which left you standing awkwardly in the living room, wine glass nearly empty, snow thundering outside in thick waves, heart thudding in your chest.

Melissa stretched, hands above her head, back arching slightly as she turned toward you.

"Well," she said, voice low and amused, "looks like it's my bed or the floor."

You blinked. "What?"

Her smirk deepened. "Only one bed left, sweetheart. Guess you're bunkin' with me."

Melissa didn't make a big deal about it.

Just handed you a pair of clean sweatpants and a Schemmenti Family Reunion T-shirt that smelled like laundry detergent and her and said, "Bathroom's through there, doll," before disappearing into her bedroom to get ready herself.

You stared at the T-shirt like it might explode.

By the time you'd brushed your teeth and washed your face (and overthought literally everything), you padded softly into Melissa's room, heart in your throat.

It was... warm. Cozy. Lived-in. One of the bedside lamps was still on, casting a soft golden glow over the room, highlighting the deep reds and dark wood tones, the worn comforter pulled back, the little collection of rings and earrings on her nightstand. It smelled like her too—spiced, earthy, vanilla and wine and—

You stopped thinking.

Because she was standing by the window in her own pajamas—a fitted tank top and plaid sleep pants, auburn hair loose over her shoulders, looking like something out of a soft-focus dream.

She turned, caught you staring, and grinned. "Hope the shirt fits. Don't blame me if you fall in love with the family crest."

"I think that ship has sailed," you muttered, almost too quietly.

"What was that?"

"Nothing!" you squeaked, absolutely nothing like a person in control of their body or emotions.

She chuckled and climbed into bed like it was nothing. Just her bed. Just her body. Just the hottest woman you've ever known pulling back the covers and patting the space next to her.

Your whole body locked up.

"C'mon," she said, eyes soft but amused. "I don't bite. Unless you want me to."

You choked again, almost dropping your phone.

She laughed, the low, teasing kind that went straight to your chest and buzzed there like a fire alarm.

Eventually—somehow—you managed to get under the covers.

You were careful. So careful. You laid stiff as a board on the very edge of the bed, one leg practically dangling off the side. The blankets were warm. Her sheets smelled like her shampoo. Your body was screaming.

Melissa reached out and flicked off the lamp, leaving you both in the kind of dark that makes everything louder.

You lay there. Breathing.

You could feel the heat of her. Hear the slow, steady rise and fall of her chest. Every time she shifted, the mattress dipped slightly and your entire nervous system lit up.

There was maybe four inches between you.

And then... she sighed. Low and comfortable.

"You good over there?" she murmured.

You stared into the dark. "Yup."

"You sure? You're lying like you're about to be embalmed."

You made a strangled noise. "Just—just trying to be respectful of space."

"I didn't invite you into my bed so you could pretend to be a corpse," she said, and you could hear the smirk.

You covered your face with your hands. "Melissa..."

"What?" she drawled, amused. "You're actin' like I asked you to share a tent in the middle of the woods."

"It's just..." Your throat felt tight. "It's a lot. Being this close to you."

The words slipped out before you could stop them.

Shit.

She was quiet. For a second, you thought she hadn't heard.

Then—soft, warm, and entirely unreadable: "Yeah?"

You swallowed. "I mean. You're very. Uh. Distracting."

You could feel her turning toward you in the dark.

"Say more," she murmured, voice lower now.

"I'm trying not to," you whispered back.

Another silence, but this one felt electric. You felt her breath on your shoulder. She was so close. You hadn't even heard her move.

"Didn't know I had that kind of effect on you," she said finally, voice laced with something deeper. Curious. Dangerous. Maybe even—hopeful?

You didn't answer. Couldn't.

Your heart was pounding so hard it felt like it echoed off the walls.

Melissa shifted again, and suddenly her hand brushed your forearm. A soft, casual touch—but it lit you up like fireworks.

You turned your head toward her, barely able to see her face in the dark. Just the outline of her hair, her mouth.

"I haven't been able to sleep either," she said.

You blinked. "No?"

"I think maybe..." She exhaled. "Maybe for the same reason you can't."

Your chest ached.

"...Melissa," you said again, quieter this time.

"Yeah?"

"Are you—are you teasing me? Or..."

She didn't move. "No."

You could barely breathe.

"I think I just like seeing you flustered," she admitted. "Because it means maybe I'm not the only one lying here, thinking about kissing you."

You could barely form a thought, let alone a sentence.

Because she'd just said it.

She wanted to kiss you.

Not teased. Not hinted. Not implied with some half-smile and a wink and a tilt of her head.

No. She'd said it.

And now she was watching you, even in the dark—you could feel her eyes on you, feel the weight of what she'd admitted lingering in the air between you like fog. Heavy and impossible to ignore.

You turned your head toward her, throat dry, fingers trembling where they curled in the blanket.

"You—" Your voice cracked. "You can't just say things like that to me."

Melissa didn't back off.

Didn't laugh it off or pretend she hadn't meant it.

Instead, her hand found yours beneath the covers. Just her pinky brushing yours. Barely there. But it made you flinch like she'd touched something molten.

"Why not?" she asked, voice low, calm—too calm, like she didn't realize how close you were to falling apart. Or maybe she did. Maybe she liked it.

"Because," you whispered, trying to steady your breath, "I've wanted to kiss you for months, Melissa. I've had to sit across from you every damn day and pretend like I'm fine—like I'm not aching just to touch you. Do you have any idea what it's been like?"

Silence.

Not awkward. Not stunned.

Just charged.

She let you speak, didn't interrupt, didn't pull away. And when you finally exhaled—like maybe you'd said too much, like maybe this was it, the moment you ruined everything—

She whispered, "Tell me."

You blinked. "What?"

"Tell me what it's been like," she said, voice rougher now, more intimate. "If you're gonna unravel on me, sweetheart, I wanna hear it all."

That was it.

The last thread of your resolve snapped clean in two.

"I think about you all the time," you confessed, chest heaving. "At work. At home. When I'm trying to sleep. I think about the way you talk to me, the way you laugh, the way you smell—Jesus, the way you look at me like you know. And I try to play it cool, I try to pretend like I'm not counting every second until I get to see you again, but I am."

Your voice cracked again, a little louder now. "I want you so badly it scares me. And I didn't say anything because I thought—maybe you just flirt with everyone, maybe you were being nice. But now you're lying next to me, saying you think about kissing me, and I just—I don't know what to do with that."

Melissa was silent.

For one heartbeat. Two.

Then, slowly—so slowly—her hand slid across the sheets and cupped your jaw, warm and steady and reverent.

"Look at me," she whispered.

You turned.

Her face was so close. You could make out her eyes now, adjusting to the dark. The freckles on her nose. The small tremble in her bottom lip.

"I don't flirt with everyone," she said, low and certain. "I flirt with you. Because you drive me crazy."

Your breath caught.

"I try to be chill, I try not to scare you off, but baby—I've been wanting you for so long it's starting to hurt."

You let out a soft, broken sound.

"Can I kiss you?" she asked, voice barely more than a breath. "Please."

"Yes," you gasped. "Yes, God, yes."

And when she kissed you—it was like coming home.

Like every night you'd spent dreaming of her had somehow prepared your body for this moment. Her mouth on yours, warm and soft and so sure, her hand in your hair, the other splayed across your waist, pulling you close until your chest pressed to hers.

You kissed her like you'd earned this. Like your lungs needed her more than air. Like if she pulled away now, you'd fall apart in her arms.

She kissed you back like she felt it all too.

And in between kisses, between gasps, she murmured against your lips, "God, you taste so sweet," and "I've wanted this for so long," and "You're mine now, yeah?"

You couldn't stop nodding. Couldn't stop kissing her.

Couldn't believe that somehow this wasn't a dream.

The first kiss had shattered something.

The second kiss burned the pieces.

And by the third, there was no going back.

Melissa kissed like she had something to prove—slow at first, deliberate, like she wanted to learn you by heart. But the moment your fingers curled in her tank top and pulled her closer with a whimper, something in her snapped. Her body pressed into yours, all warmth and hunger, her hand sliding down your waist to grab your hip like she'd been dying to touch you for years.

You moaned. Couldn't help it.

It slipped out—soft, needy, honest—and immediately, you felt her smile against your lips.

"Mmm," she purred, pulling back just enough to whisper, "you always sound that sweet when you're turned on, or do I just have that effect on you?"

You whimpered again, biting your lip, eyes wide in the dark.

She kissed the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, then down to the sensitive skin just under your ear. Her teeth grazed it—barely—and your hips jerked instinctively.

"God, Melissa—"

"Shh," she whispered, the word hot against your neck. "Careful, sweetheart."

You froze for half a second—until she grinned, wicked and knowing.

"Remember who else is in the house?" she murmured.

Your stomach plummeted. Then flipped. Then burned.

Oh God.

Barbara.

Janine.

Jacob.

And here you were, already flushed, panting, desperately trying to keep your thighs pressed together like it would somehow hide how undone you were for her.

"Guess you'll just have to be quiet for me," Melissa said, far too pleased with herself.

Your breath hitched.

"Can you do that?" she added, her voice like velvet and sin, hand sliding under the hem of your borrowed T-shirt to stroke your stomach. "Can you be good for me and keep all those pretty little noises right here?"

She tapped your lips with her thumb. Your lips parted.

She chuckled, low in her throat. "That's what I thought."

Before you could answer—before you could even breathe—she kissed you hard, all tongue and teeth and need. Her hand slid lower, splaying over your hip, gripping you tight as she rolled her body on top of yours, pinning you to the mattress with maddening ease.

It felt like drowning in heat. Like every cell in your body was finally awake after months of aching sleep.

You arched into her with a gasp, and she groaned—deep and guttural and desperate against your mouth.

"God, you feel so good," she rasped, voice unsteady now. "So soft. So warm."

Your hands wandered—up her back, down her waist, memorizing muscle and curve and the tiny scar at the top of her hip. You wanted to taste all of her. Devour her. Worship her.

But you were already unraveling.

You whimpered again, hips bucking instinctively, heat pooling low and fast. It was too much. Not enough. You didn't want to stop.

"Melissa," you breathed.

She kissed down your throat, voice wrecked and reverent.

"I got you," she whispered. "But you gotta be good, baby. Be quiet for me."

Your fingers tangled in her hair, tugging gently. She hissed—then grinned into your skin like she'd just won something.

"I'll make it worth your while," she promised, breath hot against your collarbone. "And maybe, if you're real good—"

Her hand slid between your thighs. Pressed.

You gasped, mouth flying open—only for Melissa to cover it with her palm immediately.

"Uh uh," she said, eyes glittering in the dark. "Not a sound, sweetheart. You don't wanna wake our coworkers, do you?"

You shook your head frantically into her hand, eyes glassy with need. You could barely breathe, barely think. All you knew was her—her heat on top of you, her mouth at your throat, her hand sliding under your waistband with maddening slowness.

"Such a good girl," Melissa whispered, like she knew how close you were to losing it. "Keep bein' good for me. Just like that."

You arched up, desperate, your body crying out for her touch—but your voice had nowhere to go. Her palm pressed firmly over your mouth, fingers splayed across your cheek, thumb brushing your jaw in a gesture that was almost tender if it weren't so hot it made your stomach twist.

Then—finally—her fingers slid between your folds.

You whimpered into her hand. Loud.

She chuckled darkly into your ear. "That loud already?" she teased, lips brushing the shell of your ear. "And I've barely even touched you."

You were soaked. Aching. Every nerve in your body lit up as she dipped lower, dragging her fingers through your slick folds, just to feel how wrecked you already were for her.

"Oh, sweetheart," she murmured, voice a breathy rasp. "You've been waiting for this, haven't you? All that pining, all that want, building up in that pretty little body..."

You tried to respond, to nod, something, but then her fingers slipped inside you—slow, steady, perfect—and everything snapped.

You cried out into her hand, voice muffled but desperate, thighs trembling as she filled you.

"That's it," she purred. "Take it. Take all of me."

She moved her fingers just right, curling them like she knew exactly what you needed—and maybe she did, maybe she'd been imagining this as long as you had, memorizing the fantasy until she could deliver it perfectly.

You gasped again, body rolling into her touch. Her hand stayed firm over your mouth, her other arm curled around your waist to keep you still, her whole body wrapped around yours like she wanted to leave her shape carved into your skin.

And God—you'd let her.

You wanted everything. All of it. Her fingers, her voice, her weight above you, the feel of her panting against your neck like she was just as wrecked as you were.

But she had control.

She fucked you slow at first, methodical, like she wanted to watch you fall apart beneath her. And you were. You were falling so fast your body was shaking.

"Look at you," she whispered. "Tryna stay quiet. Being such a good girl for me..."

You sobbed into her hand. It was too much.

"I know, baby," she soothed. "I know. You wanna cry out so bad, don't you? Wanna scream my name?"

You nodded, desperate, eyes squeezing shut, your hips rocking uncontrollably against her hand.

She fucked you deeper, harder, her fingers hitting that spot that made your toes curl, her voice now shaking too. She was falling with you.

"Next time," she groaned, her own breath ragged, "next time, you can scream. I'll make sure no one's around, and you can let it all out. You can cry and moan and beg for me, loud as you want." Her hand tightened over your mouth. "But right now? You stay quiet, sweetheart. You come for me just like this. That's it. Just for me."

You shattered.

The orgasm ripped through you like a tidal wave—silent and violent, your whole body convulsing beneath her as you clung to her with everything you had. Your moan, strangled and pleading, stayed buried beneath her palm.

She kept whispering to you, voice shaking with pride and awe. "That's it. God, that's it, you're perfect. You're so perfect for me..."

You trembled beneath her, thighs still twitching, lips soft against her hand.

Only when she felt you start to calm—your hips slowing, your muscles relaxing into the mattress—did she gently ease her hand away from your mouth.

Your lips were swollen. Your eyes dazed.

"I got you," she whispered again. "I've always got you."

You were still trembling when Melissa kissed you—slow and deep, dragging her mouth over yours like she owned you now. And maybe she did. Maybe she always had.

But as the shaking in your thighs faded and your breath slowed... something else stirred inside you.

Need. Still burning. Still hungry.

Because even though she'd just pulled you apart like it was nothing—you weren't done. Not even close. Not when she looked like that in the soft dark. Hair messy, pupils blown, lips swollen from kissing you, and her voice...

God, her voice when she growled, "You come for me just like this". That had rewired your brain.

You kissed her again, this time harder—taking something. She responded immediately, groaning low into your mouth, like she'd missed you in the thirty seconds since your orgasm.

And then, you pulled back.

"Lay down," you whispered.

Her brows lifted. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," you said, climbing up and over her with intent. "I want more of you."

She smirked and obeyed, leaning back onto the pillows, her strong arms folding behind her head like she knew she was in trouble but didn't mind one bit.

"You gonna ride my face, sweetheart?" she teased, voice still husky.

"Eventually," you murmured, straddling her waist now, breath hot and unsteady. "But first..."

And then you twisted—spinning around on her lap until your knees bracketed her shoulders, until your dripping heat hovered right above her mouth, and your face hovered between her legs.

She gasped—gasped—her hands shooting to your hips to hold you steady.

"Fuck," she whispered. "You're serious?"

You looked back over your shoulder, meeting her eyes upside down.

"Thought I was supposed to return the favor," you said, voice thick with heat. "Unless you can't keep quiet for me."

Melissa growled.

"Get down here."

You didn't need to be told twice.

Her mouth found you instantly—tongue delving deep, her moan vibrating against your soaked skin like she was starving for you. And you? You cried out against her thigh, mouth pressed to her center, tasting her with the same desperation.

It was mutual destruction. Pure, messy, uncoordinated need. Months of pining crashing down in a fury of fingers gripping thighs, bodies rocking together, moans swallowed against wet skin.

You flattened your tongue against her, feeling her hips jerk beneath you, her thighs trembling.

"Oh my—fuck," she groaned into your cunt, mouth buried as deep as she could go. "You taste so fucking good."

You moaned into her in response, your lips sealing around her clit and sucking, your hand gripping her hip like you'd die if she pulled away.

And that's when she lost it.

Her hands clamped around your thighs, nails digging in, her hips bucking into your mouth as she gasped, "Shit—shit, baby—"

You pulled back just long enough to whisper, "You said I had to be quiet. What happened to that?"

She bit your inner thigh. Hard.

And then dove back in, devouring you with single-minded focus, tongue circling, lips sucking, groaning against you like she was trying to make you lose your mind again.

You rocked your hips down against her face, matching her pace, grinding against her tongue like you'd die without the friction. And all the while, you kept licking her—tasting her, loving the way she trembled under your mouth, how her thighs began to shake.

She whimpered. A real whimper.

And then, broken and hoarse—"Gonna come—fuck, don't stop—"

You didn't. Couldn't—not with the taste of her on your tongue and her scent surrounding you. You gave her everything. Fast, messy, hot and filthy, until she arched hard under you, thighs clamping around your head as she came into your mouth with a muffled cry.

You followed her a second later, your orgasm ripping through you again as she held you down on her mouth and rode it out with her tongue inside you.

Neither of you could speak for a long moment.

Just gasps. Trembles. Shaky hands gripping sweaty thighs.

And then, softly, after a long beat of silence broken only by the pounding of your hearts—

"...We're gonna have to avoid Jacob and everyone else for the rest of our lives."

Melissa huffed a laugh beneath you—still a little breathless, her voice soft and worn down to something real and tender now.

"I don't even care," she murmured, hands smoothing up and down your thighs. "Worth it."

You lifted your head slowly, body still humming, face flushed and sticky from sweat and sex and the insane position you'd just pulled off.

"Worth it?" you echoed, twisting around so you could look at her. She looked wrecked. Gorgeous and smug and completely undone, hair all over the place, mouth kiss-bitten. "You're saying that when I'm the one who can't feel her legs?"

Melissa grinned, unrepentant. "You're welcome."

You collapsed beside her with a groan, legs still shaking.

She immediately rolled onto her side to face you, hand reaching out to tuck your hair behind your ear. She didn't speak for a moment—just looked at you, her touch reverent now, gentle in a way that made your throat close up.

"You okay?" she asked softly.

You nodded, still catching your breath. "Yeah. Just... overwhelmed. In a good way."

Her thumb brushed over your cheek, and she leaned in to press a slow kiss to your temple.

"I've wanted you in my bed for so long," she murmured against your skin. "I didn't expect tonight to be the night, but I'm not complaining."

You laughed softly, curling into her. "Me either. I was ready to die pining."

Melissa snorted. "You were obvious, by the way."

"Excuse me?"

"Please," she said, grinning. "You used to blush every time I said your name."

"Okay rude," you muttered, burying your face in her shoulder. "You were no better. Flirting with me at parent-teacher conferences. You're lucky I didn't combust."

Her chest shook with quiet laughter as she pulled you tighter into her.

"Still might," she said, voice lower again. "But not tonight. Tonight, you sleep. You earned it."

She pulled the blankets up over both of you, tucking them around your bodies like she'd done this a thousand times before. Her arms wrapped around you, one hand warm against your back, the other cradling your head as she settled you against her chest.

You melted into her.

Every nerve in your body finally calmed, soothed by the soft circles she traced on your spine, the rhythm of her breathing, the familiar scent of her skin and sheets.

"I could get used to this," you mumbled into her collarbone, eyes already fluttering shut.

Melissa pressed a kiss to your hair and whispered, "Good. 'Cause I already am."

You nuzzled even further into her, a sleepy smile tugging at your lips as your hand slid beneath the hem of her tank top, just to keep touching her. Just to feel her.

And with a content sigh, wrapped up in her arms and her bed and everything you'd ever wanted, you whispered, "Thank God for Philly blizzards."

Melissa chuckled softly above you, her voice the last thing you heard before sleep pulled you under.

"Damn right."

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clairewritesfanfics · 8 days ago

Note

Omg I love how you write Mark and his variants!

Okay I may or may not have dived into a deep hole of neglected batfam reader so is it okay if I request for reader to happen to just find an escape through a Angstrom portal that appeared randomly in her bedroom, so just peace out and was transported into the Invincible universe where she met Mark (and his variants), fall in love and told him about how horrible her family is.

Only for him to find a way to open up a portal to her world (this is mostly goes for the variants instead main mark), and caused havoc on the DC world and reader has to stop him, confront her family and leave to her new home with him

Author's Note: My last request! (technically, it's not) YAHOO. And my first Batfam fanfic.

Your Character Settings: AFAB, daughter of Bruce Wayne and an unknown woman

“Would like seconds, miss?” Alfred asked after you finished your meal.

Tonight's dinner was a hefty serving of tomato and basil spaghetti. Before you moved in with the Waynes, your meals were usually jam and bread or a cup of instant noodles. The old you would have eaten as much as you were allowed. The old you would have gotten angry at you for not asking for another serving. But you weren't living paycheck to paycheck on a cashier's salary anymore.

“I'm fine,” you answered the butler. You glanced around the long table. Alfred said it was improper for servants to dine with the masters of the home, so you ate alone again. You didn't know why you felt upset. Even after months of the same routine, your disappointment continued to fill half your stomach.

“Very well. Tonight's dessert is a chocolate ganache cake served with black tea. I take it that you will be having your slice in your room?”

You smiled.

“I’ll have it upstairs in fifteen minutes.”

“Thank you.”

“I hope this time you actually answer the door. I don’t mind leaving the food outside but tea should be appreciated hot.”

“I’m sorry, you know how it is when I get in the zone.”

“How many words did you write today?”

You beamed. “Exactly two thousand just this morning. I’m hoping to get another thousand before midnight.”

“I hope you do, maybe you can finally start waking up before noon.”

You laughed, standing up from your seat.

Alfred was the only one in this entire mansion to actually hold full conversations with you.

Dear old dad was always away on business trips. Your younger half-brother Damian never uttered a word to you, only regarded you with disdain and walked away before introductions were over. Tim was polite enough to nod in greeting–when he was lucid, which was seldom the case every time you saw him. Dick was nice, he smiled and made small talk when he was around, but you can count on one hand the number of times he was at the manor, or in Gotham in general.

You had another brother. His photos were rare, finding one was like finding an Easter egg. On the outside, he was no different from the others with his black hair and blue eyes, and from what you’ve seen of him, he could be blood-related to Dick. But Alfred said that Jason was an orphan, too.

Little Jason, always smiling brightly in every image you found. He died years before you arrived here. You liked to pretend that he would be exactly what you wished for when Mister Wayne invited you to live with the family: a kind, present and supportive older brother.

You doubt it was healthy to project such feelings on not just a ghost but a stranger’s ghost, but pretending to have someone care beyond the bare minimum helped you adjust to your life as a Wayne kid.

Alfred let you borrow books from Jason’s room and you made a point to treat every novel with care and refused to fold the pages or write on them. Jason really loved romance books and happily ever afters, and reading his collection inspired to take up writing. Hobbies were a luxury you couldn’t afford while juggling two part-time jobs, but now you had all the time in the world.

You stared at your monitor. Did you jinx yourself earlier?

You’ve hit a wall for today’s chapter.

The insertion point blinked mockingly at you.

You only needed a thousand more words. That’s child’s play, but whatever you typed did not meet your standards, even for a first draft.

You checked the time.

You’ve been sitting here for ten minutes. Usually, you’ll be typing like crazy the moment your butt was on the chair.

You plopped your elbows on your desk and squeezed your cheeks, an exasperated sigh leaving your mouth.

Ten minutes feels like forever when you’re trying to start something important.

Maybe a sugar boost will help.

Just as you thought of this, you overheard movement outside.

Smiling, you rushed to open the door.

“I was beginning to think you forgot about me–”

Your lips twitched as you were greeted by the sight of Damian and Tim, holding a comically large mug of coffee. They were quarreling when your sudden appearance caught them off guard.

“Hi.”

Damian’s lips pursed and he grumbled something under his breath.

“It’s rare to see you guys here,” you said plainly.

Tim laughed awkwardly. “I guess so.”

“Did you eat dinner already?”

“I–”

Damian pushed his back. “Let’s go, Drake, we’re busy.”

“Right, um, sorry–” Tim threw you an apologetic smile “–see you around.”

You smiled back as politely as you could. “See you.” There was no point in getting offended, you were the oldest one in this hallway and you were too exhausted to feel angry.

You watched Damian nudge Tim even farther away until they disappeared from view.

Shaking your head softly, you stepped back inside your room and shut the door. You weren’t a warm person, but you didn’t have a family before. It was always just you bouncing between foster homes and sleeping in dumpsters when you had no other choice. You had no one to fall back on, and you were prepared to live the rest of your life like that, because what other choice was there?

But then Mister Wayne arrived in the 24-hour mart while you worked the graveyard shift. Dingy apartments with creepy neighbors were replaced with a Gilded Age mansion. Hours spent on your feet catering to all sorts of customers became days of ennui (you learned that word from one of Jason’s books). Sodium-loaded canned and instant foods were now sodium-loaded fancy meals. You were grateful, and while it hurt not to have the family you’ve always dreamed of, you can deal with the wall between you as long as you never had to go back to being actually alone.

You returned to your desk. The blinking line on the word document continued mocking you.

You reached for the latest novel you borrowed from Jason’s personal collection, A Little Princess, and flipped back to where you stopped yesterday, at Chapter Four: Lottie.

“Things happen to people by accident," she used to say. "A lot of nice accidents have happened to me. It just HAPPENED that I always liked lessons and books, and could remember things when I learned them. It just happened that I was born with a father who was beautiful and nice and clever, and could give me everything I liked. Perhaps I have not really a good temper at all, but if you have everything you want and everyone is kind to you, how can you help but be good-tempered? I don't know"—looking quite serious—"how I shall ever find out whether I am really a nice child or a horrid one. Perhaps I'm a HIDEOUS child, and no one will ever know, just because I never have any trials.”

You paused. You haven’t read A Little Princess before, but you’ve seen the film multiple times because one of your foster mothers adored it.

Family? Love? They were nice, but you didn’t need them.

It was true that you were Bruce Wayne’s illegitimate kid and he took you in out of a sense of responsibility. You weren’t a child anymore, far from it, most people your age are in college while you just finished your GED. You haven’t spoken with Mister Wayne about university and frankly, you were too scared; what would he or the others think? Would they think you were getting too greedy?

Pride and dreams were reserved for people who can afford them. You may share Bruce’s blood but it was clear that he loved his sons more, regardless of their origin.

Food, shelter–money, that’s what you needed, and the Waynes gave it to you. You had no right to complain or wish for more. You didn’t want to reach for the sun only to end up getting burned.

You were about to continue reading when a green light illuminated your eyes. You looked away from the page and saw a green hole forming on the floor, right in front of the door. A faint shearing sound accompanied its undulating outline as it grew bigger.

You set down the book and walked closer. You can see a different place inside the emerald ring. This wasn’t some hole, it was a portal.

Honestly, not the weirdest thing for a Gothamite.

Still though…

Against all common sense, you knelt down and glanced inside. You were usually smarter than this, not to toot your own horn, but your intelligence is what kept you alive in Gotham for all these years; however, something about this portal called out to you. You dipped one hand inside.

The air was warmer than it was in your room.

You were going to pull back when–

knock, knock

“Miss?”

You yelped, caught off guard and lost your balance–you fell straight into the portal.

Main Mark

He was doing his usual routine, flying around, helping people and preventing city-destroying disasters when he heard your screaming and caught you just in time.

You thanked him and asked if you could please take you back to Gotham.

He raised his eyebrows at you. “What’s Gotham?”

“Crap.”

You both figured out that you were on a parallel Earth and he offered to let you stay with him until you found a way back.

Debbie was a sweetheart. She was super understanding and kind and you imprinted on her instantly. You didn’t want to be a burden so you helped maintain the house and cooked for them.

Mark fell in love with you, because of course, he did. He found himself getting more and more excited to finish his missions early just so he can come home to your smile. You liked him, too, you didn’t know if it was love, but when he found the courage to ask you out you agreed, hoping that maybe you’ll learn.

It was a relatively simple love story, world-hopping aside. You and Mark were friends first who soon became soulmates. You didn’t mind that he missed dates and you kept yourself busy helping Debbie as a real estate agent.

You supported Mark throughout his struggles, listened to his problems and comforted him when he was in pain. In turn, he taught you how to love, and maybe more importantly, how to be loved. He surprised you with gifts–nothing big but always extraordinary–like daisies he found while flying over the countryside or a bracelet that reminded him of you. He always asked if you were hungry or thirsty before going to get his own snack, and even when you said no he’d return with your own food and drink. He looked at you that made you unable to look at him, he made you shy in the best way possible. He was everything you didn’t know you wanted.

***

When a portal appeared again, it wasn’t green, it was gold–and the men on the other side didn’t hesitate when they jumped into Mark’s universe.

They weren’t violent, but they were not nice. Invincible got into a fight with the tiny one in red and green. The “hero” who called himself Nightwing was friendly, but Mark could tell he was on edge like the rest of them.

“We’re looking for a girl,” Nightwing said, flashing a holographic album full of your photos. Neither you nor Mark knew anything about your family’s nightly activities so your boyfriend became more suspicious of these masked heroes.

“Why? What’s wrong with her?”

Mark could tell that everyone knew that he knew who you were, but Nightwing remained calm. “We’re not going to hurt her. It’s hard to believe since we’re basically aliens, but we just want to bring her home. Her family misses her.”

That made Mark scoff. You told him about your family. You didn’t hate them, but Mark certainly did. You were… too used to loneliness. And that pissed him off. You were amazing, you deserved nothing but warmth and your so-called family ignored you.

He wanted nothing more than to flip these guys off with a message, “Tell her family that she’s happier here and that she doesn’t need them holding her back,” but that wasn’t his decision to make.

“I know her,” Invincible said. “I’ll tell her about you guys, but if she says she doesn’t want to come back, you leave her alone. Got that?”

“That–”

“No,” Batman said firmly. “She’s coming back. She needs her family.”

Mark’s eye twitched, but he kept his cool. “We’ll see.”

“I can’t believe it,” you muttered, gripping tightly on your copy of Pride and Prejudice like it was a stress ball.

Mark had been late for date night, no biggie, so you spent the evening reading a novel on your TBR list. When he came back from patrol, his whole body was tense, his face solemn when he pulled off his mask. He then joined you at the table and explained what happened.

“Talk to me, baby. What’re you thinking about?” He asked, placing a grounding hand over your cold fingers.

You let go of the book and squeezed his hand. “I’m not sure. After a year, I was sure that I’d be here forever–and I would’ve been okay–happy with that, but now…”

“I know.” He thumbed your knuckles. “What’re you going to do? Are you..”

Were you planning to go back?

“I don’t know.” You looked into his eyes. “What should I do, Mark?”

He wanted to grab you by the shoulders and beg you to open your eyes. You were miserable back in Gotham. You were better off here, with him.

But instead, he cradled both of your hands between his and he smiled. “I can’t tell you what to do, only that I’ll support you no matter what.”

Main Mark is the only one who will step aside if you decide to return and fix your relationship with your family. It will hurt. And he will crack when it’s time to say goodbye; he’ll pull you into his arms and beg you to stay with him, but if you have made up your mind, he won’t force you otherwise.

His variants aren’t so selfless. Omni, Head Cap, Maskless, No Goggles and Full Mask won’t even bother telling you about the portal appearing, intent on keeping you by their side.

Flaxan, Target and Viltrumite Mark would have already whisked you away from Earth and it would take a while before the Bats found you.

Mohawk, Prisoner, Shiesty and Sinister will tell you about the portal and the foreign superheroes that have come for you and plead with you not to leave–and this is after they’ve decided to pick a fight with Batman and crew.

a/n:

Hi anon, I’m sorry this took so long but I knew that if I opened this door to DC I'll end up fawning over Jason and get distracted (and I was right). You’re my last request (technically no but I'm still not prepared to share Shiesty's origin story), but YAYYYY

Also, I know that anon specified that the Bats were horrible to Y/N, and I did try to write them like that initially, but it was hard for that scenario to fully form in my head. The Bat family is dysfunctional as heck, but I usually write about a normal, civilian YN and I can't see them being purposefully abusive to someone like that. Despite DC's many fumbles, the Bats are supposed to be good people at their core so the words just wouldn't flow.

DON'T GET ME WRONG, considering my love for revenge stories, I do want to write about the Bats being neglectful and unintentionally awful to YN and then her waking up and realizing that she doesn't care anymore, and then she stops chasing after them, which in turn, makes them chase after her, but that's a story for another day.

Anyway, I hope you still liked it!! (I'm going to cry about Red Hood and Huntress now.)

(ˊᗜˋﾉﾉ

Disclaimer: The images used in this post do not belong to writerclaire.

Gotham City, lifted from: https://heroism.fandom.com/wiki/Gotham_City

Invincible flying, lifted from: https://gamerant.com/invincible-every-character-fate-comics/

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PS can you guess which Batboy is my favorite? LOL

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