#I started trying to figure out the time line

[enderlovez]

Big Secret

Spencer Reid x BAU Reader WORD COUNT: 2100+

Summary: You've tried to hard to keep your daughter a secret from Spencer after her father left, but what happens when this secret finally comes to light?

Content Warning: fear of abandonment, abandonment of pregnant woman, reader gets anxiety

A/N This was requested, and I'm not to sure how I did here. There'll probably be a bunch of mistakes because I'm really tired right now.

────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ──────

The first time Spencer asks if something's wrong, you almost laugh. Not because you find it funny in any sense of the world, but because there is something wrong, and you can't find it in yourself to tell him.

He's studying you with those piercing eyes, like he can read every thought you've ever had. His brow is furrowed in that way that makes him look younger than he is, and for a split second, you wonder if he really can hear your thoughts.

"You've been a little off lately," he says, the concerns in his voice too subtle for most people to notice, but you hear it. "Is... everything okay?"

You smile, forcing the curve of your lips to stay steady. "Everything's fine, Spence. Just a lot on my mind, you know?"

It's the truth. Sort of. Work is, as always, chaotic as hell. But there's something gnawing at you, something you can't make yourself say out loud.

Spencer doesn't push, but you know he's watching, waiting for you to say more on your own. That's the thing about him—he's patient, a quality you greatly admire. But when he wants something, he tends to get it.

You've had a few drinks together after work, spent quiet hours in coffee shops, talking about cases, about books, about life. You think you're starting to let yourself like him.

You think he might be starting to like you, too, even though the lines between friendship and... something more are still blurry, and you haven't yet figures out how to cross them without making a mess.

Then, of course, there is the little secret of your daughter—the very secret that keeps you up at night, wondering if you've already ruined whatever future could happen.

"Is everything really fine?" Spencer asks again, his voice a little softer now, like he's trying to coax the truth out of me without making it feel like an interrogation. It feels like one anyway.

You nod quickly, maybe a little too quickly. "Yeah. Really. Just... personal stuff."

He watches you for a beat longer, clearly not entirely convinced, but also not going to press for more. Spencer isn't like that. He respects boundaries. He respects you, in a way that makes your chest tighten every time he looks at you, like you're something he can lose if he doesn't handle you with enough care.

And maybe that's it. Maybe you're afraid of him seeing the part of you that isn't as easy to love, the part that you're still learning to love yourself.

Maybe that's why you've kept Isla a secret, but you've never mentioned her in passing conversations, or even when he asks about your life outside the job.

You want him to see you as someone who can go out for a drink after a case without having to worry about a three-year-old waiting for her mother to come home.

But that's not you. You've got Isla. You've got your little girl, and one day, Spencer's going to have to know, as terrifying as that thought is to you.

You're not ashamed of your daughter, you could never be ashamed of your little girl.

But the last man who found out about her—her own father—ran for the hills before she was even born. The thought of Spencer doing the same, of him walking away the second he finds out about Isla, has been eating away at you from the first time you went out together.

You tell yourself it's not about him being a bad guy, because he's not. Spencer's kind and thoughtful and he doesn't seem like the type of man to judge.

But it's not like you can help the fear, that he might not want a woman with a child, especially one as young as Isla. She's the center of your world, she will always come first, and you can't risk losing Spencer for the same reason you lost Isla's father.

"Are you sure?" Spencer's voice cuts through your thoughts, soft and insistent. He's still looking at you, like he's waiting for the truth to slip from your lips, like he knows it'll happen eventually. "You know you can talk to me about anything, right?"

You swallow hard, the lump in your throat making it a little difficult to breathe. His words, so simple, so caring, somehow makes the weight on your shoulders heavier.

What would it feel like to tell him?

To let him in, to share this huge part of yourself with someone who could very well walk out of your life when he finds out?

It's easier to just nod and pretend everything's fine. It's easier to lie, to keep him at arms length, than risk him seeing who you really are—a mother, sure, but also someone who's terrified of being left again.

But Spencer doesn't deserve that. You know he doesn't deserve that, to keep wondering what's going on inside your head when he's done nothing but be there for you, day after day.

"I..." You hesitate, your breath catching in your chest. "There's something I should tell you, but it's really... it's going to complicate things."

Spencer doesn't say anything right away. He just watches you, and for a brief moment, the distance between you feels impossible to manage. You take a step forward, closing that space as best you can.

"You don't have to tell me if you're not ready to," he says finally, his voice so gentle that it almost breaks you. "You never have to feel obligated to tell me anything, I just want you to know I'm here if you wanna talk."

And right then, something shifts.

You're not entire sure what, but something deep inside wonders if maybe—just maybe—it might be time to tell him about the life you've tried to hard to keep hidden. About your precious little girl, and about her father who she's never known, and about the fears that keep you awake at night.

About the little girl who's waiting for you at home, her smile the only thing that keeps you going when everything else is so shaky.

"I have a daughter," you whisper, the words slipping out before you can stop them. "She's three. Her name's Isla."

He blinks, processing, before his expression softens. He doesn't say anything at first, just watches you with (gorgeous) eyes of his that feel almost like they can see right into your soul.

You hold your breath, waiting for his reaction. You're expecting him to step away from you, to give some polite excuse and walk out the door.

But instead, he surprises you. "I'd really like to meet her, if that's something you'd be okay with."

You blink at him, feeling your heart skip a beat. "You... you would? You want to meet Isla?"

Spencer smiles, just a little, but it's blindingly bright in your eyes. "Of course, I want to meet the little girl who obviously means so much to you."

────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ──────

You stand outside your apartment door, fingers nervously playing with the strap of your bag, suddenly feeling like you're about to do something you can't undo.

Which, you are, but that doesn't stop your heart from thumping uncomfortably, or your stomach from fluttering with anxiety.

Spencer's standing beside you, his eyes scanning the hallway, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He looks calm, maybe even a little curious, but you can tell he's waiting for you to make the first move, to invite him inside where everything will change.

It helps knowing that, if you happen to change your mind, he'll leave the second you ask him to.

The familiar hum of the building's old pipes is the only sound between you. You're about to let Spencer see Isla. You're about to let him into this part of your life you've kept so carefully hidden. And it is terrifying.

It's one thing to share a drink or talk about drinks. It's an entirely different thing to show another person the most vulnerable part of yourself.

The next door over swings open, and your neighbor, Maria, steps out. She looks up from her phone when she spots you, waving with the hand that's holding Isla's favorite stuffed bunny—she probably left it there at some point.

"Hey, just finished feeding her a few minutes ago," Maria says with a smile, but there's a hint of urgency in her voice as she checks her watch. "I was just 'boutta call you, gotta head out. You good here?"

You nod, forcing a smile as you take Isla's stuffed animal from Maria. "Yeah, thanks. She's been good today?"

"She's always good, she's a sweetheart," Maria says before turning on her heel, heading towards the stairs with quick steps. She glances back at you once to make sure you're alright before she's gone.

You watch her go, your breath catching in your throat as you unlock the door.

Every part of you is screaming that this isn't a good idea, that you're making a huge mistake by letting Spencer in, but you push those thoughts away as best you can, forcing yourself to step inside and gently pulling him by the sleeve of his jacket.

"Come on in," you say, trying to sound casual, but the words sound all wrong in your own ears, and they surely sound the same to Spencer.

Spencer hesitates for a moment before stepping through the doorway. The second his foot crosses the threshold, something in the air shifts, though neither of you can name what it is.

Isla's small shoes are lined up neatly by the door beside yours, and you can hear her humming softly from the living room. It's the sound of home.

Some of the anxiety fades away. It's more strange than anything to have Spencer here, where it's all real and in front of him.

You move towards the living room, trying to steady your breath. There, sitting on the floor with a coloring book spread out in front of her and a variety of markers and pencils at her side, is Isla.

Her hair's a bit messy, the way it always gets after a nap, but her wide eyes light up the moment she notices you.

"Mommy!" Isla calls, her little face breathing into a grin as she scrambles to her feet. She's barely two and a half feet tall, one of her little hands clutching her stuffed bunny tightly, the other wrapped around your legs.

You plop down on the sofa and ruffle her hair affectionately, a soft smile gracing your lips.

And then, she sees Spencer.

For a moment, Isla just stares at him, wide-eyed and quiet. Spencer's already crouched down, his hands resting gently on his knees, not moving, simply waiting for her to decide if she'll approach him or not.

You hold your breath, watching the moment unfold in real time—you've never had to share this part of your life with anyone. You've never had to share her with another person. And for a brief moment, you're more worried about how she'll react.

And then, like she's made up her mind, Isla takes a few tentative steps toward Spencer. She looks up at him, her face a picture of innocent curiosity, and before either of you can say anything, she reaches out, quickly offering him her stuffed bunny.

Oh, thank God.

Spencer looks at the bunny, then back at her, his expression softening. "Thank you," he says, his voice gentle, as it's as if a part of you clicks into place. Like he's not only accepted you, but now, he's accepting Isla, too.

He's accepting your baby, and you feel like you're going to cry.

She smiles up at him, and for a second, it feels like everything's going to be okay. He doesn't look at her like she's an obstacle, or like he doesn't know what to do.

He looks at her the way he always looks at you—with patience, and something else that you have a hard time naming.

Isla giggles, her small hand still holding the bunny, as then she shyly crawls into your lap, hiding her face against your chest.

Spencer chuckles, the sound low and warm, as he sits down beside you, observing the interaction. You rub your hand up and down Isla's back and press a firm kiss to the top of her head.

After another quiet moment, Isla crawls off you again, sitting back on the floor in front of her coloring book.

"So, uh, do you like coloring?" Spencer asks, his voice carefully light, as he looks over at Isla, who's now holding a crayon like it's the most important thing in the world.

She nods solemnly, but then grins up at him. "I like pink," she says, matter-of-factly, and then she goes back to her drawing.

Spencer's eyes twinkle with amusement. "Pink's a great color," he agrees, and you can't help but smile.

Maybe this isn't so bad after all.

[fast-burn]

sloppy seconds, landoscar + mark webber or tbh whoever

yeah i'm Down To Clown with mark webber being in this!!

kink list here

XXX

"No way," Lando blurts when he shoves his hand down the back of Oscar's shorts and finds him already hot, wet, and open. "Did you start without me?"

"Something like that," Oscar demurs, eyes flicking down and away. Lando wonders, not for the first time, what the fuck is up with his long, light brown eyelashes. Every time he looks at them fluttering against the thin, lilac skin below Oscar's eyes, it's like mental. He has girl eyelashes, honest.

"Couldn't wait, huh?" Asks Lando because he really can't stop to ponder how pretty Oscar is when he's got his middle two fingers hooked right into Oscar's bum.

Oscar kisses him instead of answering, which is alright actually. Lando likes making out more than actual sex sometimes. When you're kissing someone they usually hold you close, all snuggly, so it's double the niceness. Lando licks Oscar's tongue and behind his teeth, and uses his hand snagged in Oscar's arse to pull their groins flush together. It's absolutely mint. Lando could stay like this forever, except he does kind of want to get off. His cock is throbbing in his sweatpants, eager up against the solid line of Oscar's erection.

Lando wiggles his fingers inside Oscar, sort of digging around in there. He's really wet. It's some weird kind of lube, a different texture than Oscar's usual. Lando breaks their kiss and pulls his fingers out, curious.

It's definitely not lube.

"Osc, what is this?" Lando blurts, but it's pretty obvious that it's jizz.

Decently fresh jizz.

"You said it was okay," Oscar says, voice going really quiet, hackles up. Lando hates when he does that. It took forever to get Oscar to relax and be a weirdo around him.

"Yeah, of course it's okay. But I thought we'd maybe talk about it first."

Truth is that Lando wanted to know what kind of blokes Oscar would go for if it was truly open season. There was some competitive part of him that wanted Oscar to go looking for someone supplemental but still come crawling back to Lando, because Lando was the best. He figured Oscar would be into other shy little nerds.

"It came out of the blue, that's all," says Oscar, starting to try and wiggle out of there, so Lando tightens his arm around Oscar's shoulders. "Wasn't much time to run it by you."

"So who was it?"

Oscar goes very still. He looks away again. He mutters something.

"Say again?" Lando asks.

"It was Mark," Oscar confesses, barely above a church mouse whisper.

"Webber?" Lando blurts, makes it sound like Wibbah by accident because he's a cunt and can't help himself.

"Sorry," Oscar mumbles, and Lando kisses him because he can hear the shame, the regret. He never wants Oscar to feel bad about anything unless it's because he came second in the WDC to Lando.

And Lando is kind of upset, but not because Webber is way too old, or because he's Oscar's mentor, or because Webber is not even that hot. Lando's pissed because--technically--Mark is better than Lando. On a purely win-based statistic. So there's only one solution: fuck Webber's come out of Oscar.

"Don't be sorry. It's so hot," Lando lies, because ew he doesn't really want to think about Webber's wrinkly old dick. He's like married. And retired. Gross.

Oscar starts to melt back into Lando's arms. "Yeah? You don't mind?"

"Not if you don't mind me taking my sloppy seconds," Lando says, unbuttoning Oscar's shorts and pushing them down his thighs.

"You're such a perv," Oscar says, wrinkling his cute fucking nose, but Lando can tell that he's not seriously complaining, because he follows up with: "Don't worry about prepping me, mate. You can just slide right in."

Oscar bends over the end of Lando's hotel bed eagerly. He's actually the perfect height for Lando, which is crazy Cinderella's-slipper shit, even if the position is kind of hell on his back and he'll have to slip out of Oscar later to do physio stuff on the floor. Oscar's hole does look used. It's hot pink and swollen. Lando feels another spike of irritation looking at it, so he puckers his lips and spits on it. Oscar shivers.

He's right, though. No prep necessary. Lando thrusts in with hardly any trouble, and Oscar moans, then grunts like Lando heard him once on the massage table, all guttural and loud. Webber's jizz makes a creamy streak up the shaft of Lando's cock when he pulls out. Bad manners, isn't it? To neglect a condom when fucking someone else's man.

Or is Lando fucking Webber's man? Technically Webber had Oscar first, but not like this, Lando is pretty sure. Maybe Webber fucked Oscar because he's jealous that Lando got inside him. Maybe he was all pissed-off because Lando planted his flag in Oscar's hole and took his gay-virginity.

Well, tough shit. Lando is going to be a champion and Webber has one foot in the grave, practically. Lando is going to fuck Oscar just right.

"That feel good?" Lando asks, barely stopping himself from adding baby on the end. They don't do pet-names. That would be a slippery slope for sure.

"Uh-huh," Oscar says. "Feels like you. So good--the best."

Lando might as well be ten feet tall. He's glowing like those big tree-things in Singapore, lit up from the inside and all the way up. Webber's come is smearing around Oscar's hole, Webber is the one who made him all loose, but he's not the one making Oscar groan and whimper now. He's not the one making Oscar say Gonna come Lando, please, please, you're making me come, oh-- Because Lando is the best. Get absolutely wasted, you geriatric old prick.

[misahyochaeng]

“Mami, Esto es Cosa Nuestra”

Momo x Fem!Reader 🌧️

tw’s- momo x fem!reader, mafia!au, angst, fluff, gore, violence, physical abuse, mental abuse, mentions of family trauma, child exploitation, etc.

note: bro i exceeded the max word limit.. please enjoy! also not proofread im sorry for any mistakes! listen with the music on loop you wont regret

—

The first time you met Hirai Momo, she wasn’t wearing one of those sharp suits that would later become her armor. She was just Momo, leaning against a jukebox in a dimly lit bar, tapping her cigarette against the rim of an ashtray. You’d been dragged there by friends, already itching to leave, until your eyes landed on her. She wasn’t trying to stand out, but she did. It was the way she owned the space without even trying.

She caught you staring, her lips curving into a smirk.

“Enjoying the view, Mami?” she asked, her voice smooth as whiskey.

You should’ve looked away, walked out of that bar, and never looked back. But instead, you matched her smirk and sat at the barstool beside her.

That night, you learned her name, her laugh, and the way she tilted her head when she listened. You didn’t learn until much later that she was the youngest boss the Hirai family had ever seen, a woman who ruled the city's underworld with the same ease as she lit a cigarette.

The affair started innocently enough—if anything involving Momo could be called innocent. You found excuses to see her. Coffee in the mornings, stolen moments in her office, late-night drives with jazz playing softly on the radio. She made you feel alive, like you were part of something bigger than yourself, something dangerous and exhilarating.

“Esto es cosa nuestra,” she’d say, her lips brushing against your ear. “No one else will ever understand.”

You believed her, even as the walls began to close in.

Your father found out first, of course. It was impossible to hide the way your gaze lingered on her at the rare social events where your families crossed paths. He wasn’t stupid—he saw the way she looked at you too, like you were hers.

The night he confronted you was the first time you felt the weight of your family name. You were a pawn in his game, a piece to be moved and sacrificed as needed.

“This stops now,” he growled, his voice trembling with barely contained rage. “Do you understand what you’ve done? Do you understand who she is?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. The betrayal in his eyes was enough.

The phone rings, dragging you back to the present. You’re sitting on the edge of your bed, knees pulled to your chest, staring at the cracks in the ceiling as if they hold some kind of answer. You don’t want to answer, but you do.

“Momo.” Her name feels heavy on your tongue.

The sound of her exhale comes through the line, followed by the faint flick of a lighter. You can picture her perfectly—leaning against the window of her office, cigarette between her fingers, the city’s neon lights reflecting off her sharp features.

“How bad is it?” she asks, her voice calm but edged with tension.

You swallow hard. “He knows everything. About us. About…everything.”

There’s a pause, and you hear her take a drag from her cigarette. “And?”

“And he’s furious, Momo. He’s calling for a meeting with your family. This isn’t just about us anymore. He’s talking about war.”

The word hangs in the air like a curse.

“I’ll handle it,” she says finally, her tone steady.

You shake your head, even though she can’t see you. “You can’t fix this, Momo. It’s too big.”

“Y/N,” she says, her voice softening, almost breaking. “This is our thing. They won’t understand, but we’ll figure it out. I promise.”

You close your eyes, gripping the phone like it’s the only thing tethering you to her. You want to believe her. You want to believe in the fantasy you’ve built together, but the weight of reality is pressing down on you, threatening to crush you both.

“Momo…” your voice wavers. “Maybe we should stop before—”

“Don’t,” she interrupts sharply. “Don’t say it.”

You hear her take another drag, the silence between you stretching like a chasm.

“This isn’t just you and me anymore,” you whisper. “It’s everyone. Your family. My family. People are going to get hurt.”

Her voice drops, low and dangerous. “Let them come. They don’t get to decide what’s ours.”

And just like that, you remember why you fell for her in the first place.

It wasn’t just the late-night meetings or the stolen glances at crowded events that tied you to her. It was the way Momo made every moment feel like a scene from a movie—intense, passionate, and fleeting, as if you both knew this wasn’t meant to last.

You remember one night in her office, where the scent of smoke and whiskey always lingered. The room was dim, lit only by a desk lamp and the soft glow of the city skyline through the floor-to-ceiling windows. She sat behind her desk, her sleeves rolled up, revealing the faint scars and tattoos etched into her skin.

You were perched on the edge of her desk, playing with the lighter she always kept there. She was reading over papers—probably something about her family’s business—but her eyes kept flicking to you, a quiet smirk playing on her lips.

“What?” you asked, tilting your head. “You,” she replied, leaning back in her chair. “You don’t belong in this world, but here you are.”

“And whose fault is that?” you shot back, tossing the lighter onto the desk.

She stood, stepping closer, her hands sliding to your waist as she pulled you into her space. “Mine,” she admitted, her lips brushing against yours. “And I don’t regret it.”

Other nights, it was the bars. Places you never would’ve dared step foot in before her—hidden, smoky lounges where jazz and blues spilled from old speakers. She was in her element there, always sitting in the shadows with a drink in her hand, her presence commanding the room even in silence.

One time, she played guitar. You hadn’t even known she could, but someone handed her one, and she didn’t hesitate. She sat on a stool under the warm glow of a single spotlight, her fingers moving effortlessly over the strings.

It wasn’t a love song—not exactly—but it felt like one. Her eyes found yours across the room, and for a moment, the world shrank to just the two of you. When the song ended, she nodded at you, a small, knowing smile on her lips, and you thought, *This is it. I’m never walking away from this.*

There were roses, too. Always red, always with the thorns carefully removed. She’d leave them for you in unexpected places—a single stem on your windowsill, a bouquet waiting in the passenger seat of your car.

“You’re predictable,” you teased one night when she handed you another bouquet, this time wrapped in black paper.

“Am I?” she countered, leaning in close. “Then you should’ve known this was coming.” And before you could answer, she kissed you, pressing you back against the wall of her office. Her hands framed your face, her lips possessive and urgent, like she was trying to mark you as hers. You let her, melting into her touch, your fingers tangling in her hair.

There were quiet moments, too, like the time she fell asleep on your couch after a long night. Her head rested on your lap, her guard finally down. You brushed a strand of hair from her face, marveling at how someone so fierce, so untouchable, could be this soft.

“You’re staring,” she murmured without opening her eyes.

“Maybe,” you whispered back.

She didn’t say anything else, just reached for your hand and held it, her fingers laced with yours.

Momo had a way of making you feel like the only person in the world, even when the weight of her empire loomed large over both of you. It was intoxicating, and you drank it all in, even as the cracks began to form.

It wasn’t just the moments you shared or the way Momo made you feel like the world revolved around you—it was the things she left behind, little pieces of herself she gave you as if to prove she was yours.

The first love letter arrived on your windowsill, held in place by one of her silver lighters. You unfolded the parchment paper, its edges slightly burned, and read the words scrawled in her sharp, elegant handwriting.

> “Esto es cosa nuestra. No one else will ever understand. You’re the one thing in this world that makes sense, and I’d burn it all to the ground if it meant keeping you. —M”

You laughed at how dramatic it was, but your fingers lingered on the paper. It smelled faintly of her cologne, the same scent that clung to your clothes after every stolen night together. You pressed the letter to your chest, feeling the weight of her promise even though you knew it would only bring you both trouble.

Then there were her watches. Momo loved her watches, each one custom-made and far too expensive. The first time she gave you one, you nearly refused.

“This is too much,” you protested, holding the sleek timepiece with trembling hands. “It’s just a watch, mami” she said, leaning back in her chair with that infuriating smirk. “And besides…” She gestured to the back.

You turned it over and saw the engraving: *El Zorro.*

Her street name. The one whispered in fear and awe throughout the city.

“You’re giving me your name?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “I’m giving you part of it,” she corrected. “The part that matters.”

You wore it sometimes, even though it felt too heavy on your wrist, a constant reminder of the line you were crossing.

One night, she handed you a folded sheet of paper, its edges creased from being carried in her pocket.

“What’s this?” you asked, opening it to reveal a page of handwritten sheet music.

“A song,” she said, lighting a cigarette and leaning against your kitchen counter. “I wrote it for you.”

“I can’t read music,” you admitted, staring at the notes and lines that meant nothing to you.

“Doesn’t matter,” she said, exhaling a plume of smoke. “Now you have a piece of me.”

You didn’t know why it meant so much, but it did. You tucked it away in a drawer, keeping it safe like a secret.

The roses stopped being enough, so she started leaving you things she knew you wouldn’t expect. A tie she’d worn to a meeting, still knotted the way she liked it. A cufflink that had slipped off during one of your more heated encounters. A tiny pocketknife engraved with her initials.

“These aren’t gifts,” she’d say whenever you protested. “They’re reminders.”

“Of what?”

“That no matter what happens, you’re mine.”

You didn’t have the strength to argue with her.

You found the letters and trinkets piling up, a collection of things that felt like pieces of her soul. Some nights, you’d sit on your bed and lay them all out in front of you—the watches, the sheet music, the love notes—and wonder if she gave them to you because she knew, deep down, that you’d never have all of her.

Momo sighing kicked you out of the trance of memories you were in.

Her voice softens, the dangerous edge replaced by something quieter. “And what do you think, mami?”

“I think I don’t care about the war,” you whisper. “I only care about us.” There’s a faint sound of her shifting, probably leaning back in her chair or propping her feet on her desk. “That’s why you’re different, you know. Everyone else in my life is a pawn or a threat. But you…” She pauses, exhaling smoke. “You make me forget I’m playing this game at all.”

You smile faintly, even though your chest still feels tight. “Maybe that’s the problem.”

“Maybe,” she agrees, but there’s no conviction in her tone. “We’ll figure it out. I’m meeting with your father’s men tomorrow.”

Your stomach drops. “You’re what?”

“Relax,” she says, her voice calm but firm. “They requested it. Neutral ground, all very civilized. I’ll take my people, they’ll take theirs, and we’ll talk.”

“And what exactly are you planning to say?” you ask, gripping the phone tighter.

“That depends on them,” she says, her voice taking on that familiar commanding tone. “But I’ll do what I have to if it means keeping you out of this.”

Your pulse quickens, dread settling in your stomach. “Momo, you can’t just—”

“I know what I’m doing,” she interrupts. “Trust me.”

“I do,” you whisper, but the words feel fragile, like glass about to shatter.

She sighs, and for a moment, you hear the weariness she never lets anyone else see. “Look, I’ll handle your father’s people, baby. But you need to be ready to meet mine.”

You blink. “Your team?”

“Yes,” she says simply. “They’ve been asking about you. Curious, I guess.”

“What do they think of me?”

“They think I’m stupid for dragging you into this,” she admits with a bitter chuckle. “But they’ll understand once they meet you.”

You let out a small laugh despite yourself. “You make it sound like some kind of formal introduction.”

“It is,” she says, dead serious. “You’re important to me, Y/N. That makes you important to them.”

Her words linger, filling the silence between you like a balm for the tension.

“When will this end, Momo?” you ask after a moment.

There’s a long pause, the kind that makes you wonder if the line’s gone dead. Then, softly, she says, “I don’t know. But whatever happens, we’ll get through it. Esto es cosa nuestra, remember?”

You close your eyes, her words settling deep in your chest. “Yeah. I remember.”

“Good,” she says, her voice carrying that familiar steel. “Now get some rest. I’ll call you tomorrow after the meeting.”

“Okay,” you say, even though sleep feels impossible.

And with that, the line goes silent, leaving you alone with your thoughts—and the weight of her promise.

—“The Morning of a Fox”—

Momo’s mornings were rituals of control, precision, and preparation. It started with her alarm at exactly 5:30 AM, a soft chime that was neither jarring nor soothing—just enough to wake her without irritation. She rolled out of bed and stretched, her muscles tense from a restless night.

The city was still cloaked in darkness when she stepped into the shower, the hot water hitting her like a reset button. Steam filled the bathroom as she scrubbed away the weight of the previous day, the tension in her shoulders easing as she mapped out her next steps.

The meeting with Y/N’s father’s men was at the forefront of her mind. It wasn’t the first time she’d dealt with rival families, but this was different. This wasn’t just business—it was personal.

After her shower, she dressed carefully: black slacks, a crisp white shirt, and her signature leather jacket. She tied her hair back into a neat ponytail and slipped on her favorite watch, the one engraved with “El Zorro.”

In the kitchen, she poured herself a cup of black coffee and leaned against the counter, lighting a cigarette. The bitter taste of the coffee and the burn of the smoke grounded her, pulling her fully into the day ahead.

By 7:00 AM, the rest of her team had gathered in the main room of the safehouse. It was a converted warehouse, its industrial charm masked by sleek furniture and state-of-the-art tech scattered across the space.

Jihyo was already seated at the long table, a laptop open in front of her as she typed away with a focused intensity. Her glasses perched on the bridge of her nose, and a faint line of concentration furrowed her brow.

“Morning, boss,” she said without looking up, her tone clipped but warm.

“Morning, Hyo” Momo replied, taking her usual seat at the head of the table.

Sana was sprawled across the couch, one leg draped over the armrest as she scrolled through her phone. She looked up and gave Momo a playful smirk. “You look like you’re about to seduce a boardroom.”

“I’ll leave that to you,” Momo shot back, smirking.

“Touché,” Sana purred, sitting up and stretching lazily.

Chaeyoung entered next, carrying a tray of breakfast pastries like she was delivering contraband. “Got these from that bakery you like, Jihyo,” she said, setting the tray down on the table.

“Thanks,” Jihyo muttered, glancing up briefly before returning to her screen.

“Did you get me something?” Sana asked, leaning over Chaeyoung’s shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah,” Chaeyoung said, swatting her away. “You’re lucky they had your stupid croissant thing.”

Tzuyu arrived last, keys in hand and a faint scent of gasoline trailing behind her. “Morning,” she said simply, taking a seat and pulling out a tablet.

“Good, everyone’s here,” Momo said, stubbing out her cigarette in the ashtray. “Let’s get started.”

Momo leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. “We’ve got a meeting with Y/N’s father’s men later today. Neutral ground, but we’re not taking chances. I need everyone sharp.”

“Are we expecting trouble?” Jihyo asked, her voice steady but laced with concern.

“Always,” Momo replied. “But this one’s more delicate. They’re not happy about me and Y/N, and they’re using it as leverage.”

Sana raised an eyebrow, a sly grin playing on her lips. “Leverage? Do they even know who they’re messing with?”

“They know,” Jihyo said firmly, shooting Sana a warning glance. “Which is why we have to play this smart.”

“Smart’s boring,” Chaeyoung muttered, twirling a pen between her fingers. “Can’t we just scare them a little? Show them who’s boss?”

“Not this time,” Momo said. “We’re keeping it clean. No theatrics, no threats.”

Chaeyoung groaned but nodded. “Fine. But if they so much as flinch, I’m pulling out my baby Zeusito.”—the name of her favorite pistol, named after the greek god, it had a lightning bolt on it and she thought it was cool, Momo found it stupid though—

Tzuyu tapped her tablet, her calm demeanor unshaken. “I’ve got dossiers on everyone who’ll be at the meeting. I’ll send them to your phones. If they try anything, we’ll know exactly how to hit back.”

“Good,” Momo said, leaning back. She glanced at Jihyo. “You’ve got the escape routes mapped out?”

“Of course,” Jihyo replied, closing her laptop. “Two exit strategies, one on foot, one by car. Tzuyu’s driving if we need the second.”

“And the first?” Momo asked.

Jihyo’s lips twitched, almost a smile. “Sana’s got it covered.”

Sana leaned back, her grin widening. “Trust me, I’m very persuasive.”

“Don’t get carried away,” Jihyo warned, her tone softening slightly.

Sana gave her a playful wink. “Wouldn’t dream of it, babe.”

Momo caught the brief exchange but said nothing, filing it away for later. “All right, that’s the plan. Stay sharp, stay ready.”

The team nodded, each member falling into their role seamlessly. As they dispersed to prepare, Momo lit another cigarette and stared out the window.

This meeting wasn’t just about survival—it was about proving that she and Y/N could exist in a world that wanted to tear them apart. And no matter what it took, Momo would make sure they did.

The neutral ground was anything but neutral. The warehouse’s fluorescent lights flickered above, casting sharp shadows on the peeling walls and rusted metal beams. Momo walked in first, her leather jacket almost blending into the dim surroundings. Jihyo and Chaeyoung flanked her like silent sentinels.

Across the room, Y/N’s father’s men stood in a loose but imposing group. Their leader, Mr. Y/L/N’s lieutenant—a burly man with a scar running down the side of his semi deformed face—stepped forward, his expression already twisted with disdain.

“So, you’re the one causing all the trouble,” he spat, his voice sharp and laced with venom.

Momo didn’t flinch. Her posture was calm, her gaze cold and unyielding. “I’m the one who showed up to talk. Let’s get this over with.”

The man sneered, stepping closer. “You think you can just waltz in here and take what isn’t yours? You’re nothing but a street rat playing dress-up.”

Behind Momo, Jihyo stiffened, her hands curling into fists at her sides. Chaeyoung’s hand twitched toward her concealed pistol, but neither moved. Momo had been clear—no one acted unless she gave the signal.

“Funny,” Momo said coolly, tilting her head slightly. “Last I checked, Y/N makes her own choices. Or does that threaten your fragile little world?”

The man’s face turned an alarming shade of red, and the other men murmured angrily behind him. “You don’t know who you’re dealing with,” he growled, stepping even closer until he was practically in Momo’s face.

“Neither do you, cabron.” she replied, her tone icy.

The slap came out of nowhere. It cracked through the air like a gunshot, echoing off the warehouse walls. Momo’s head snapped to the side, but she didn’t stumble. A faint red mark bloomed across her cheek, but her expression remained unreadable.

Jihyo took a sharp step forward, but Momo raised a hand without turning, stopping her in her tracks. Chaeyoung looked ready to pounce, but Momo’s silent command kept her rooted to the spot.

“You’ve got guts,” Momo said softly, her voice calm but laced with something dangerous. Slowly, she turned her head back to face the man, her eyes locking onto his with a steely intensity. “But you just made a very stupid mistake.”

The man barked a laugh, clearly trying to mask his growing unease. “What are you gonna do? You’re outnumbered. Outgunned.”

Momo stepped closer, her voice dropping to a low, deadly tone. “You think I need a gun to deal with you?”

The man faltered, his bravado cracking for a split second before he doubled down. “You’re nothing but a pest. A parasite. You—”

Before he could finish, Momo moved. Her fist connected with his jaw in a blur of motion, sending him staggering back into his men. He scrambled to recover, but Momo didn’t follow up. She stood her ground, her stance relaxed but coiled like a spring, ready to strike again if needed.

Behind her, Chaeyoung whispered under her breath, “Let me take him out.”

“Not yet,” Jihyo hissed, her eyes locked on Momo.

The man wiped at his mouth, glaring at her with pure hatred. “You’ll regret that, pendeja.”

“No,” Momo said, her tone sharp enough to cut glass. “You’ll regret ever thinking you could put your hands on me.”

The tension in the room reached a breaking point. One of the other men started to step forward, but Jihyo’s voice cut through the air like a whip. “Try it,” she said, her tone calm but deadly. Her hand rested on the butt of her concealed weapon, her eyes never leaving the man. “See how that works out for you.”

The man froze, glancing between Momo and her team. “Enough,” Momo said, her voice carrying the weight of authority. She stared down the lieutenant, her gaze unwavering. “You came here to talk. So talk.”

For a moment, it seemed like things might escalate further. But then the lieutenant gritted his teeth and waved his men back.

“You think this is over?” he spat, his voice trembling with barely restrained rage.

Momo smirked, her confidence cutting through the tension like a knife. “Oh, I know it’s not. But if you want to keep whatever scrap of dignity you have left, you’ll shut the fuck up and listen.”

The man glared at her, but he didn’t move.

“We’re done here,” Momo said firmly, turning on her heel. She walked away with the same calm confidence she’d entered with, her team falling into step behind her.

Back in the car, the silence was heavy. Jihyo finally spoke, her voice tight with frustration. “You should’ve let us step in.”

“I didn’t need you to,” Momo said simply, lighting a cigarette. The faint glow of the lighter illuminated her face for a moment before she exhaled a plume of smoke.

Chaeyoung huffed. “You’re lucky I didn’t put a bullet in his head.”

“Don’t worry,” Momo said, her lips curling into a smirk. “He’ll think twice before trying that again.”

Jihyo and Chaeyoung exchanged a glance but said nothing. Momo leaned back, staring out the window as the city blurred past.

The war was far from over, but this battle belonged to her. And she intended to win the rest of them, no matter the cost.

As they were back home the hum of the city outside was drowned out by the tension in the warehouse. The slap had set everything in motion, and Momo knew that nothing would be the same after tonight. She stood in the center of the room, arms crossed, eyes scanning the faces of her team as they watched her with a mix of anticipation and concern.

“Here’s the deal,” Momo started, her voice low but steady. “They made their move, now we make ours.” She flicked the cigarette from her fingers, the ember sizzling as it hit the ground. “We hit them where it hurts. Their operation on 5th and Main. It’s a weak point, a perfect target.”

Jihyo was the first to speak, her fingers tapping against the table, a sign she was already calculating. “If we strike, they’ll retaliate. It’s not going to be as clean as last time.”

Momo’s gaze hardened. “Let them come. We’ll be ready.”

Chaeyoung cracked her knuckles, a grin spreading across her face. “I’ve been itching for a fight. If they want a war, they’ll get one.” Her excitement was palpable, and though her voice was playful, the threat in her words was anything but.

Sana leaned back, her lips curving into a smirk. “And we know how to make it interesting. Let’s take everything from them. Make them feel what we felt when they disrespected us.” Her eyes gleamed with a deadly intensity. “I’ll personally handle the cleanup. They won’t see us coming.”

Momo nodded, satisfied with the team’s response. The energy in the room was a mix of resolve and anticipation. They were ready. This wasn’t just about business anymore. This was personal.

Jihyo continued, her voice steady, though a hint of concern lingered in her tone. “And if they make a move against Y/N or any of us?”

Momo paused, letting the question hang in the air. “We handle it,” she said quietly, her gaze hardening as she looked each member of her team in the eye. “But until then, we wait. Get into position, and don’t do anything until I give the signal.”

Tzuyu, who had been silent up until now, spoke softly but with the weight of someone who always had an eye on the details. “I’ve been gathering intel on their movements. I’ll keep tabs on their communication. If anything goes south, we’ll know about it first.”

Momo gave a sharp nod, appreciative of Tzuyu’s vigilance. “Good. Now, get to work. And remember, this isn’t just business. It’s payback. We make them regret ever crossing us.”

As the team scattered to carry out their roles, Momo stood there for a moment longer, staring into the shadows of the warehouse. She could feel the weight of the conflict pressing down on her—one wrong move and everything could fall apart. But there was no turning back now. The lines had been drawn, and she would make sure her enemies knew who they were dealing with.

The war had just begun.

The clock ticked down as Momo’s team gathered in their makeshift headquarters—a quiet, dimly lit warehouse on the edge of town. The buzz of neon lights from the distant city streets barely reached them. The air felt thick, charged with the anticipation of what was to come. They had all agreed on one thing: the time to strike was now. The rival mafia had crossed a line, and it was time to show them what happens when you disrespect Momo’s crew.

Momo sat at the head of the table, a hard silhouette against the faint glow of the streetlights. Her hands were folded in front of her as she exhaled a plume of smoke from her cigarette, letting it curl into the air before speaking.

“This is it. We’re going after them. The underground casino on 5th and Main. It’s not just a casino; it’s their lifeblood—the heart of their money laundering operation. Take that out, and we’ll send a message they’ll never forget.” Her eyes swept across her team, each face set with determination. They knew the stakes, and they were ready.

—“The Plan Begins”—

Sana leaned forward, her fingers toying with the edge of her wine glass, her expression unreadable. “I’ll get us in. They’ll never see it coming.” She’d always been good at playing her part, and this was no different. She was an expert in the art of manipulation. It was almost a game to her, the chase, the seduction. The casino's upper circle would never know what hit them.

Jihyo’s gaze was sharp, calculating. “We’ll need to get past the external security first. I’ll take care of the surveillance systems. If we get the right window, we can disable the cameras for a solid ten minutes. That’s all we need.”

Chaeyoung cracked her knuckles, a smirk playing at the corner of her mouth. “I’ll handle the distraction outside. We’ll draw them away, just enough for Momo to slip in unnoticed.” She was always the one to embrace the chaos, eager to make her mark. The idea of causing a ruckus thrilled her.

Tzuyu was quiet, focused. She didn’t need to speak much to communicate. Her role was clear. “I’ll secure the getaway vehicles and monitor their internal communications. I’ve already hacked their network, so I’ll know when we’re about to hit the jackpot.”

Momo nodded, pleased with the coordination. “Everyone knows their role. We’re in and out. No mistakes.”

As the night fell, the team split up. Momo’s crew was a well-oiled machine, each member moving with the precision of a surgeon.

Sana, dressed to the nines, slipped into the casino like she owned the place. Her confidence was intoxicating, and she was everything they expected. High heels clicked on the marble floor as she made her way to the VIP area, her charm turning every head. She was an investor, looking for a safe place to park her money—a convenient lie, but one that would work to her advantage.

Once inside, Sana casually scanned the room. There were men in suits, cards being dealt, the clink of chips against felt. But it was the back rooms that caught her attention—the vault, the storage of money. She smiled, knowing her role in this was only just beginning.

Outside, Chaeyoung was the spark that would ignite the flame. She was parked a block away, eyes on the casino’s entrance, waiting for the signal. A slight breeze ruffled her hair as she checked her weapons—her beloved pistols, tucked carefully into their holsters.

With a flick of her wrist, a flash of bright lights broke the calm. The distraction was set. A black car roared into the street, slamming into a parked vehicle. Chaeyoung fired a couple of shots into the air, just enough to draw the attention of the guards. It wasn’t about hitting targets; it was about creating chaos, throwing them off balance.

As expected, the casino’s security began to mobilize. The guards moved toward the commotion, leaving their posts unattended. This was Momo’s opening.

Inside, Jihyo had already hacked the casino’s surveillance system. The screens went black for exactly ten minutes, giving Momo the window she needed. The timer was ticking down. She had no room for error.

Momo moved swiftly, her leather gloves slipping over the keypad of the security system that controlled the vault doors. She’d been here before, studying their defenses. She wasn’t about to let a high-tech lock stop her now.

“Ready, Momo,” Tzuyu’s voice crackled over the comms. “Surveillance is off, and the guards outside are distracted. You’ve got the green light.”

Without a second thought, Momo spun the dial, the vault doors groaning open. A small smile crept across her face as she stepped inside. The walls were lined with stacks of cash, diamonds, and illicit goods. It was a fortune waiting to be taken.

She moved quickly, expertly loading the cash and valuables into bags. The whole operation had to be seamless. Every second counted.

As Momo moved to collect the last of the cash, she noticed something peculiar tucked behind a stack of bills—a ledger. The name on the cover read El Zorro—the same alias she used. Her stomach twisted in recognition.

Opening it, Momo’s eyes skimmed through the pages. It wasn’t just money laundering. This was a detailed list of operations, involving everything from drug trafficking to weapons smuggling. And there, near the back, was something even more alarming: a map. A map to a weapons cache.

Her fingers paused on the page. The weapons cache wasn’t just a stash; it was an arsenal that could arm an army, and it was closer than she thought.

“Jihyo, I’ve got something,” Momo said quietly, her voice steady, but her mind was already racing. “There’s a weapons cache. It’s not far from here. We can hit it now.”

Jihyo’s voice came through the earpiece, calm but with a hint of concern. “You sure? We’ve already got the money. Adding this to the mix could complicate things.”

Momo’s lips curved into a dangerous smile. “I’m not leaving without it.”

With the money secured and the ledger in hand, Momo signaled to her team. The exit was clear. They’d done it.

As Momo moved toward the getaway, the casino’s guards began to realize something was wrong. Their surveillance was back online, and they could see the vault doors were open. Momo gritted her teeth, knowing it was time to leave—now.

Tzuyu was already in position with the getaway car, and the team was waiting at the predetermined rendezvous point.

Momo was the first to step out, and as the team followed, they noticed something else: an unmarked van pulling into the alley, blocking their escape route. It was an ambush.

Chaeyoung didn’t hesitate. She pulled out her gun, her finger tightening on the trigger. Shots rang out, but the enemy was already retreating, realizing they were no match for Momo’s crew.

“Move it!” Momo shouted, her voice urgent. “We need to get out before reinforcements show up.”

Tzuyu was quick on the wheel, the tires screeching as the car tore through the alley. The team was still reeling from the sudden ambush, but they had what they came for. The money, the weapons, and a message: they were not to be messed with.

As they sped through the streets, the city lights flashing past, Momo looked at her team, knowing this was just the beginning.

They had won the battle. But the war was far from over.

The adrenaline was still coursing through Momo’s veins as they returned to the hideout. They had succeeded, but the mission had been far messier than expected. Still, they had what they came for—and something more: the map to the weapons cache.

The team was victorious, but Momo knew that the rival mafia wouldn’t let this slide. And with the weapons cache within their reach, there was no going back.

—

“Y/N are you even listening!?”

The office was cold. The soft hum of the overhead lights felt like the only thing keeping you tethered to reality, and your father's presence across the desk felt like a heavy weight pressing down on your chest. You could feel the heat rising within him—the simmering anger he'd been holding back since the heist.

"You've disappointed me again," your father growled, his eyes dark with fury as his hands gripped the edge of the desk with a force that made the wood creak under the pressure. "This—this is what happens when you get involved with people like her."

You swallowed, trying to steady your breath. You had known this moment would come, but you didn't expect the venom in his voice to be so suffocating. You had made your decision, and there was no turning back now.

"You've gone soft, Y/N. Soft for a criminal—for her," he spat, his words dripping with disgust. "I warned you what would happen if you sided with her. Now look at the mess you've made. We’re losing control. Your mother would be ashamed of you."

His words struck deep, but you didn’t flinch. You couldn’t. Not anymore.

"I’m not afraid of her, Dad," you said, your voice calm, even though your heart was pounding. "Momo isn't like the others. She's not the monster you think she is."

Your father slammed his fist onto the desk, and the sound echoed through the room. "You don’t get it, do you? I’ll make you understand���one way or another. You’re going to regret this decision."

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “I’m not going back. Not to you, not to this.”

He stood up abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. The rage in his eyes was palpable as he loomed over you. "Fine. But don't come crawling back when everything falls apart. Because it will. And you’ll be the one to clean up the mess, just like always."

You didn't answer him. You didn’t have to.

With a final sneer, he turned and walked toward the door, pausing just before stepping out. "You’ll regret this, Y/N. Mark my words." And with that, he slammed the door behind him, leaving you alone with the quiet hum of the lights and the decision you had made.

—

The team was celebrating. The air was thick with the smell of alcohol, smoke, and the satisfying feeling of a job well done. The sound of laughter and clinking bottles filled the room as Momo leaned back against the wall, the warmth of her drink spreading through her veins. She had done it. They had done it. The heist had gone off without a hitch—well, mostly.

Sana was sprawled across the couch, an empty glass dangling from her hand as she giggled about something Chaeyoung had said. Tzuyu sat quietly next to Jihyo, the two exchanging a few words here and there, but both were content to enjoy the rare moment of peace.

It was almost too easy. They’d done their part, and now all that was left was to enjoy the fruits of their labor.

Momo took a long drag from her cigarette, watching her team unwind. They deserved this. But as much as she wanted to relax, something in the back of her mind nagged at her. There was a tension in the air she couldn’t shake off.

Her phone buzzed, and she immediately pulled it from her pocket. She didn’t recognize the number, but the message was clear: “Remain anonymous. Zorro, they’re planning on holding your girl hostage. They're targeting you. Be careful.”

Her stomach dropped. Her eyes scanned the room, the chaos of her team still ongoing, but now there was an edge of dread creeping up her spine. The phone call had barely ended when her sharp eyes caught something across the room—a red dot, shining brightly on the wall opposite her.

She didn’t hesitate.

"Duck!" Momo yelled, her voice cutting through the noise, just as a burst of gunfire erupted from across the room. Her team scrambled for cover as bullets ripped through the walls, the sound of gunfire deafening. Chaeyoung swore under her breath as she dove for cover, pulling Tzuyu down with her.

"Move!" Momo barked, adrenaline surging through her veins. "Don’t let them get away!"

It all happened so fast. The enemy had been waiting for them, lying in wait just like they had been warned. They were trapped in their own celebration, the joy of the heist quickly turning into the chaos of an ambush.

Momo’s hand shot to her side, grabbing her pistol, her instincts kicking in. She was already on the move, guns blazing as she tore through the building with Chaeyoung, Tzuyu, and Jihyo following close behind. The enemies were fast and ruthless, but they were nowhere near the level of Momo’s team.

They fought their way through the building, dodging bullets and taking cover wherever they could. The stench of gunpowder was thick in the air, the echo of bullets rattling through the walls. It was a game of cat and mouse now, and Momo’s team wasn’t about to lose.

"We need to get out of here!" Jihyo yelled, pulling Momo back into cover just as another round of fire came dangerously close. “The exit’s not far, but we’ve got to move quickly!”

Momo was already planning their escape, every move calculated and precise. But something gnawed at her as they moved deeper into the building. There was one thing she couldn’t shake—the fact that the spy who’d warned her had been right.

Her mind raced. If they had the inside scoop, then they knew everything about her team. Who could it be?

The firefight continued as the team managed to push their attackers back, but the chase wasn’t over. They couldn’t stop until they reached their hideout. Momo's heart was pounding, her thoughts only on one thing now: Y/N.

Finally, after what felt like hours of evading gunfire and chasing shadows, the team made it back to their hideout, the adrenaline still pumping through their bodies. Momo slammed the door shut behind them, locking it with a quick flick of the wrist.

Everyone was breathing heavily, the tension still thick in the air. But Momo didn’t give them time to relax. She stood in the middle of the room, her gaze hard, her jaw clenched.

“Y/N’s been taken hostage.” The words left her lips in a low, controlled tone, and the impact hit her team like a punch to the gut.

Everyone was silent for a moment. No one had expected this. They had just been celebrating their victory, and now this.

“They know everything about us.” Momo’s voice was steady, but beneath the calm exterior, her anger burned like wildfire. “We’ve been compromised. Someone in our ranks is working with them.”

Jihyo’s eyes narrowed. “We’ll figure out who it is. But right now, we need to focus on getting Y/N back.”

Momo nodded, her fists clenching. “We’re going to make them pay. But first, we have to get to her before they do any damage.”

And with that, the game of cat and mouse began anew—only this time, it was personal.

The tension in the safehouse was palpable as the team gathered around the large, scarred table. Weapons, documents, and scattered plans littered the surface. Momo stood at the head, her expression a mix of frustration and determination.

“One of them knows us,” Momo began, her voice sharp and steady. “Knows our moves, our safehouses, and our weaknesses. Someone’s been feeding my father information.”

Jihyo leaned back in her chair, her arms crossed as she stared at the table. “It’s not just betrayal. This is calculated. They’re trying to dismantle us from the inside out.”

Chaeyoung was the first to speak up, her tone fiery. “Then let’s make them pay. Whoever it is, we’ll find them and—”

“Stop,” Jihyo interrupted, her voice calm but firm. “Rushing into this without a plan will just get us killed.”

Sana, leaning against the wall, tapped the handle of her knife against her palm. “Jihyo’s right. This isn’t just a random mole. This is personal. Your father’s trying to destroy everything you’ve built, Momo.”

Tzuyu, hunched over her laptop, spoke without looking up. “If they’re a spy, they’ll slip up eventually. We just need to watch for cracks in their story.”

Momo’s gaze swept across her team, lingering on each of them. She trusted them, but the weight of the betrayal gnawed at her. “We’ll figure out who it is,” she said firmly. “But first, let’s remind ourselves why we’re here.”

“You all know I used to bartend,” Jihyo began, her voice steady but tinged with pain. “What you don’t know is why I stopped.”

She sat up straighter, her gaze fixed on the table. “The night it happened, the bar was packed. Music, laughter, the works. It felt like any other night.”

Her voice faltered for a moment, but she pushed on. “I didn’t see them come in at first. Not until the music stopped, and I heard the first gunshot.”

The room was silent, her words pulling everyone into the memory with her.

“They were looking for someone—a man who owed them money. But they didn’t care who got in the way.” Jihyo’s jaw tightened. “They shot first, asked questions later. I was behind the bar when it started. I hid, clutching a broken bottle, hoping they wouldn’t find me.”

Sana twirled her knife absentmindedly, the blade catching the faint light. She leaned against the wall, her gaze distant.

“I was there that night too,” she started, her voice quieter than usual. “Dancing. Not because I wanted to, but because my father made me.”

The team listened intently. Sana rarely opened up, and when she did, it was usually veiled in sarcasm or flirtation.

“He called it a family business,” she said bitterly. “Said I should be grateful for the ‘opportunity.’ But all he ever did was use me. Paraded me around like a trophy, profited off me, controlled every part of my life.”

Her voice tightened, and she gripped the knife harder. “When the massacre happened, I should’ve run. But I didn’t. I just stood there and watched as they shot him. Watched him bleed out on the floor.”

She let out a bitter laugh. “You’d think I’d feel relief, right? He was gone. But all I felt was anger. Anger that I didn’t get to do it myself. Anger that he got an easy way out.”

Her gaze shifted to Momo. “When you offered me a place on this team, it wasn’t just a way out. It was a chance to finally take control of my life. For once, I wasn’t someone’s puppet.”

“You know,” Sana said, her tone softer now, “I still remember the first time I saw you, Jihyo. You looked so out of place at that bar. All serious and stoic, wiping down glasses like you were waiting for someone to piss you off.”

Jihyo chuckled, shaking her head. “Well, they did piss me off eventually. Just took a massacre for it to happen.”

The room fell quiet for a beat, the gravity of her words settling in.

“I still can’t believe you survived that,” Chaeyoung said, breaking the silence. “I mean, I knew you were tough, but…”

Jihyo shrugged, her expression unreadable. “You do what you have to. That’s all it was.”

“You ever think about that guy?” Tzuyu asked, finally looking up.

“The one they were after?” Jihyo clarified. She shook her head. “No. He’s probably dead by now. Either they got him, or someone else did.”

Chaeyoung, who had been fidgeting with the strap of her rifle, straightened up. “I guess it’s my turn.”

She smiled faintly, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I wasn’t always like this, you know? Trigger-happy, gun-crazy.”

The team exchanged skeptical looks, and Chaeyoung laughed. “Okay, maybe I was always a little gun-crazy. But I wanted to be legit. Open my own business, make my parents proud.”

Her expression darkened. “That dream ended when I crossed paths with a client who didn’t want to pay up. He framed me for a crime I didn’t commit, and just like that, I lost everything.”

She looked at Momo, her grin returning, though this time it was genuine. “And then you showed up. Gave me a chance to use my skills for something that mattered. You didn’t just save my life, Momo. You gave me a new one.”

Sana chimed in, her usual cheekiness returning. “Still dreaming about that legit business you wanted to start?”

Chaeyoung laughed, tossing a peanut into her mouth. “Not really. Crime’s more fun anyway. Plus, I wouldn’t trade this team for anything.”

“Aww, Chaeng,” Sana teased, leaning over to pinch her cheek.

“Don’t get sappy on me,” Chaeyoung grumbled, swatting her hand away.

The conversation shifted again, this time to Tzuyu.

“I don’t know why you stuck with me after that car meet,” Momo said, eyeing Tzuyu. “You could’ve easily gone solo.”

Tzuyu’s lips quirked into a rare smile. “I could have. But you saved me that night. When they rigged the race and tried to take me out, you didn’t have to step in.”

Sana rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. Momo just wanted another driver for the team.”

“And look where that got us,” Tzuyu shot back, her voice cool. “I’m the best driver in this room, and you know it.”

“Debatable,” Chaeyoung said, smirking.

“Not even close,” Tzuyu countered, her tone sharper than usual, but there was no malice behind it.

Eventually, the lighthearted tone faded as the conversation shifted to the real reason they were all there.

“So,” Momo said, setting her glass down with a soft clink. “Who’s the rat?”

The room went still. The camaraderie from earlier dissolved into a tense silence as everyone exchanged glances.

“It’s not one of us,” Jihyo said firmly, her gaze sweeping over the table.

“Obviously,” Momo replied, her tone clipped. “But it’s someone close enough to know our moves. Someone who’s been watching us.”

“Could be one of her father’s men posing as an ally,” Tzuyu offered, already typing furiously on her laptop.

“Or one of the newer recruits,” Sana suggested, her voice low. “Someone desperate enough to sell us out for a little cash.”

“Either way,” Chaeyoung said, her fingers tapping restlessly on the table, “we need to figure it out before they get any closer.”

Momo nodded, her expression grim. “And when we do, we make an example out of them.”

The team agreed, their earlier laughter now a distant memory.

Days went by, and the calls kept coming. Every few hours, another message from the spy—always the same calm, cryptic tone, always a reminder of the consequences if she didn’t act. The urgency in the voice wasn’t lost on Momo, but what made her skin crawl was the desperation behind it. This wasn’t just someone trying to manipulate her. This person genuinely wanted to help, to protect her from the storm that was brewing around her.

But it wasn’t the danger that gnawed at Momo the most. It was you.

The spy’s calls were filled with hints, warnings about the bigger plans her enemies had in motion. Yet, no matter how much they hinted, no matter how much they pushed, the message always came back to one thing—*you*. Always you. And every time she heard the voice on the other end, Momo’s chest tightened with a feeling she couldn’t shake. A feeling that she had lost you. That she was never going to get you back.

The first few calls, Momo was patient. She listened, tried to keep calm, to play along with the game of cat and mouse. But the messages—about *her*—kept repeating, as though the spy couldn’t let it go. It wasn’t about the war. It wasn’t about the heists or the rivalries.

It was about you.

“Zorro, you can’t let this go on. You have to stop. She doesn’t want this life. She doesn’t want you.”

It was always the same. Those words, those reminders. Each call made Momo more frantic, more agitated, but she kept it together. For a while, at least.

But then came the final call.

The voice was softer this time, almost as though it were pleading. There was something urgent, desperate in the tone. “She’s not the one pulling the strings anymore. The war is shifting, Zorro. And she’s going to be the one who suffers. Do you really want to see her hurt? Can you live with that?”

The voice dropped to a whisper, almost cracking with emotion. “I’m trying to help you. You have to listen to me. Please…”

Momo’s fingers clenched around the phone. She didn’t want to listen. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t. Not again.

In that moment, something inside her snapped.

She didn’t know if it was the voice, or the way it spoke of you, or the fact that her world was collapsing around her. All she knew was that she couldn’t take it anymore. She didn’t want to hear about you—didn’t want to hear that she was still helpless, still stuck in this war, still a prisoner of the choices she’d made.

With a roar of frustration, she slammed the phone down, her heart pounding. The room felt like it was closing in on her. Momo stood up, her hands shaking as she clenched them into fists. Without thinking, she stormed toward her desk, grabbing the stack of letters she had been keeping, unopened. The ones she had never sent.

She ripped them from the container, scattering them across the floor in a frenzy. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her chest tight with emotion. Her fingers trembled as she picked up the first letter, her eyes scanning the familiar handwriting.

It was from you.

“I never got the chance to say what needed to be said. I wish I could hold you, Momo. I wish you would just let me. I know you’ll never forgive me, but I’ll never forget you.”

The words hit her like a ton of bricks. She crumbled to her knees, her vision blurring as the overwhelming weight of everything that had been said and unsaid crashed down on her. The letters spilled out around her, each one a painful reminder of what she had lost. What she had thrown away.

“I still wear the watch you gave me. I keep it close, just like I keep you in my heart. You’ll never know what you really mean to me.”

She stared at the paper for a long time, the words twisting inside her mind, and then her rage flared up once more. With a scream of frustration, she slammed her fist down onto the desk, knocking over the container that had held the letters.

"Esto es cosa nuestra” she screamed, her voice hoarse with fury. "nobody would understand."

She stood up, kicking the letters across the floor, stomping on them in a blind rage. The hurt, the guilt, the anger—it all poured out of her in one violent outburst. The room around her felt like it was suffocating her, the walls closing in on her as the memories flooded back.

“Love is so short, but forgetting's so long.”

The words echoed in her mind, like a song she couldn’t escape. She collapsed onto the floor, her hand buried in her hair, tears streaming down her face. She had done this to herself. She had thrown it all away.

“Why can’t I have you?”

She whispered it, as though asking the universe, as though pleading for an answer.

But there was no answer.

She wiped the tears away, her hands shaking with the need for control. She couldn’t keep crying. She couldn’t let it defeat her. She had made her choice. She had to stick with it.

But the pain—oh, the pain was unbearable.

The letters. The broken promises. The broken love.

She picked up the revolver from her desk, her hands steady now as she loaded it. The metallic click of the bullets was cold, sharp, and it grounded her, bringing her back to the reality she knew best. Violence. Survival. Revenge.

“On the streets, there are eyes crying tears of sorrow. The difference is some keep it in, others let it out.”

Momo stood up, her jaw tight with resolve. “One thing is, I’m not letting it out.” She wasn’t going to let the pain consume her. She couldn’t. She had made her choice.

Her fingers dialed the anonymous number of the spy, her voice a low growl as she spoke into the phone. "You better have something useful for me. This ends tonight."

The phone rang only once before the spy picked up, their voice quiet but steady. "I figured you'd call back."

Momo paced her office, the revolver still in her hand, her knuckles white around the grip. Her tone was sharp, cutting through the silence like a blade. "You’ve been playing this game for too long. Time for you to come out of the shadows."

The spy hesitated for a moment before responding, their voice tinged with caution. "I’m only trying to help you, Zorro."

"Help me?" Momo scoffed, her laugh dark and humorless. "By calling me every damn day, reminding me of what I already know? If you really wanted to help, you wouldn’t be hiding behind an anonymous number. So, here’s what’s going to happen—you and I are going to meet, face to face, and you’re going to tell me everything you know. No more games."

The line was quiet for a moment, and Momo could hear the faint sound of the spy’s breathing. "Fine," they said finally. "But on one condition—no guns, no fights. Neutral ground."

Momo smirked, though there was no humor in it. "You think I’d trust you without a backup plan? Listen carefully—if you even think about trying something funny, I’ll have my people on your ass faster than you can blink. And when I say you won’t make it out alive, I mean it. They’ll sink so many bullets into you that your worthless body will be unrecognizable. Are we clear?"

There was a beat of silence before the spy spoke again, their voice low but firm. "Crystal. Just pick a place and a time."

"A jazz club," Momo said after a moment, her mind already calculating the logistics. "Tomorrow night. 10 p.m. Discreet, public, and neutral. You’ll come alone."

"I’ll be there," the spy replied. "And so will you, I assume."

"Don’t test me," Momo warned, her voice icy. "I don’t make empty promises."

The call ended abruptly, and Momo tossed the phone onto her desk. She stared at the scattered remnants of her earlier rage—the letters, the broken glass, the smeared ink. Taking a deep breath, she straightened up, forcing herself to focus. Tomorrow would be a pivotal night.

And no matter what the spy had to say, Momo would be ready.

The next day started with a weight in Momo’s chest that no amount of coffee or cigarettes could shake off. She sat at her desk, a pen in hand, staring at the blank sheet of paper in front of her. She hadn’t written to Y/N since everything started spiraling out of control, but today, something compelled her. Maybe it was the jazz club meeting, maybe it was the gnawing emptiness she couldn’t seem to fill. Whatever it was, her hand moved almost on its own, words spilling onto the page.

She wrote about the things she’d never dared say aloud—her fears, her regrets, her dreams. She admitted how much she missed Y/N, how much she hated herself for the choices she’d made. "Like the leaves and the wind," she wrote, "your memory comes and goes, but it never leaves me for long." Tears welled up in her eyes, falling onto the page and smudging the ink. “Hearing your name is like a sensation that never heals”. She cursed under her breath, brushing them away, but the damage was done. Still, she kept writing until there was nothing left to say.

Once finished, she folded the letter carefully and tucked it away in the same box where the others lay hidden. A bittersweet pang hit her as she closed the lid, knowing full well she’d never send any of them. With a deep breath, she pushed herself to her feet and tried to shake the melancholy off.

The afternoon was spent with her team, a rare moment of downtime before the night’s meeting. They gathered in the lounge, a mismatched room filled with worn leather couches, a pool table, and the scent of fried snacks wafting from the kitchen. Chaeyoung and Tzuyu were locked in a heated debate over which car model was the fastest, while Jihyo tried to mediate, her motherly patience wearing thin. Sana, meanwhile, lounged on the couch, a mischievous smile on her face as she chimed in with playful jabs to stir the pot.

Momo sat back, watching them with a faint smile. She appreciated their attempts to distract her—they all knew she hadn’t been herself lately. Jihyo glanced over, her sharp eyes softening. "You good, boss?" she asked quietly, sitting down beside her.

Momo nodded, though the gesture lacked conviction. "Yeah," she said. "Just thinking about tonight."

At that, the room’s energy shifted. The team turned their attention to her, and Momo leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "We need a plan in case things go sideways. The spy claims they’re trying to help, but I’m not taking any chances. If they try anything funny, we’ll hold them hostage. Worst case... we take them out."

Chaeyoung grinned, her trigger-happy nature shining through. "Blowing their brains out is always an option," she said, earning a glare from Jihyo.

"Not ethical," Jihyo countered, crossing her arms. "We’re not resorting to that unless absolutely necessary."

Sana smirked, her voice laced with mock innocence. "I could always... persuade them to behave."

"Not this time, Sana," Momo said, shaking her head. "We’re keeping it clean and professional. No distractions, no unnecessary risks."

The team nodded in agreement, and after a bit more strategizing, the conversation shifted back to lighter topics. Despite their efforts to lift her spirits, Momo couldn’t fully shake the heaviness in her chest.

Later, Momo retreated to her personal gym. It was her sanctuary, the one place she could unleash the storm brewing inside her without hurting anyone else. She wrapped her hands and began working on the punching bag, her fists colliding with the heavy canvas in rhythmic thuds.

Negative thoughts flooded her mind with every punch—Y/N’s face, the betrayal, the endless chaos of their lives. Her hits grew harder and harder until the bag gave way, splitting open with a loud tear. Sand spilled onto the floor, and Momo stopped, chest heaving, sweat dripping down her face.

She stood there for a moment, hands on her hips, before letting out a long sigh. "Get it together," she muttered to herself. She glanced at the clock and realized it was time to get ready.

After a quick shower, Momo stood in front of her mirror, her movements precise and practiced as she dressed for the night. She chose a sleek black suit, pairing it with a 24-karat gold necklace featuring a fox pendant. She added her signature rings and her engraved watch, spraying on her favorite cologne as the final touch.

When she stepped out of her room, the team was already waiting for her, dressed sharply and ready to go. Momo nodded at them, her expression unreadable. "Let’s go," she said, her voice steady despite the tension simmering beneath the surface.

They moved as one, stepping into the cool night air. The jazz club awaited, and with it, the answers Momo so desperately needed.

Momo stood alone in the semi-private lounge of the jazz club, leaning against the back of a worn leather chair. The dim lighting cast long shadows on the walls, the soft hum of a saxophone playing faintly from the main stage. Her jaw clenched as she glanced at the clock, her patience thinning.

The door creaked open, and Momo's sharp gaze shifted to the figure entering. Tall and clad in a neatly pressed tuxedo, the person moved cautiously, their hands buried in their pockets, head slightly bowed. A pair of thin-rimmed glasses reflected the warm light as the figure stepped forward.

“Zorro?” the woman’s voice was low, almost hesitant, as she stopped a few feet away.

Momo straightened, her fingers brushing the edge of the knife tucked into her jacket pocket. “That’s me,” she replied curtly, her tone laced with suspicion. “Who the hell are you?”

The woman raised her head just enough for Momo to see her face—stern but soft around the edges. “Yoo Jeongyeon,” she answered, standing still, her hands still deep in her pockets. “I’m... I’m a childhood friend of Y/N. We grew up together in her barrio.”

Momo’s brows furrowed. “Childhood friend?” she repeated, her tone skeptical. “Then what the hell are you doing here? Why should I trust you?”

Jeongyeon let out a shaky breath, finally pulling her hands from her pockets to show they were empty. “She’d always talk about you,” she said softly, avoiding Momo’s piercing stare. “I thought it was cute at first, how head over heels she was for you. But now...” She trailed off, her voice breaking slightly. “She’s suffering, Zorro. I’m working for her father, yeah, but I can’t stand seeing her like this anymore. She’s sick. Barely eats. Doesn’t talk. She needs you.”

Momo’s fists clenched, her jaw tightening as she tried to suppress the anger bubbling up. “Empty your pockets,” she ordered coldly, stepping closer to Jeongyeon.

Jeongyeon hesitated for a brief moment before complying, pulling out a wallet, a lighter, and a small set of keys. She set them on the nearby table, then raised her arms. “Satisfied?”

Momo scanned her closely, her eyes sharp. After a beat, she gave a curt nod. “Fine. Sit down,” she commanded, gesturing to the chair opposite her.

Jeongyeon obeyed, lowering herself into the seat with careful movements. “I’m risking everything being here,” she said quietly. “Your girl... she’s on the verge of breaking. And if we don’t act fast, I’m afraid it’ll be too late.”

Momo didn’t respond immediately, her mind racing as she assessed the woman in front of her. “Why are you really doing this?” she asked finally, her voice low and measured. “You’re working for her father. You could easily let her die and save your own skin.”

Jeongyeon’s expression darkened slightly, but she held her composure. “Because she’s my best friend,” she said firmly. “And because I hate her father more than you’ll ever know.”

Momo’s hand shot to her holster, pulling out her pistol in one swift motion. She aimed it squarely at Jeongyeon’s forehead, the cold steel gleaming in the dim light. “Don’t test me, bitch.” she hissed, her voice deadly.

Jeongyeon didn’t flinch, her hands slowly rising in surrender. A small, calm smirk tugged at her lips. “Calm down,” she said evenly. “I’m not testing you. I’m on your side. But you have to understand, both Y/N and I are on the line here. One mistake, and we’re both dead.”

Momo’s grip on the gun tightened for a moment before she exhaled sharply, lowering the weapon. She stepped back, pacing as she processed Jeongyeon’s words. “What do you want?” she asked finally, her tone still icy.

Jeongyeon dropped her hands slowly, adjusting her glasses. “My mom’s sick,” she admitted. “The bills keep piling up, and her father doesn’t give a shit. I need help. Let me work for you, and maybe... a little something to help cover the costs.”

Momo stared at her for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Finally, she extended a hand. “Fine. You’ll get your reward, but don’t think for a second I won’t blow your brains out if you cross me.”

Jeongyeon reached out, gripping Momo’s hand tightly. The cold metal of Momo’s rings sent a shiver through her fingers. “Understood,” Jeongyeon replied.

“Meet me at the warehouse tomorrow,” Momo said, pulling her hand back. “We don’t have time to waste.”

She grabbed her bag, slinging it over her shoulder as she turned to leave. The tension in the room lingered as Momo disappeared through the door, her mind already racing with the steps they’d need to take.

The next day, Momo’s team gathered at the warehouse, a quiet yet tense atmosphere settling over the group. A map of the compound was spread across the large table in the center, dim overhead lights casting faint shadows on the markings Jeongyeon had made on it. Everyone was seated or standing nearby, their expressions a mix of focus and unease.

Jeongyeon stood at the head of the table, tapping the edge of the map with her finger. “They’re holding Y/N in an isolated chamber,” she began, her tone grim. “It’s one of the older facilities her father’s team used for brainwashing and torture. It’s practically a shithole—barely ventilated, no proper lighting, and the stench is enough to make you gag. She’s been there for days, and they’re not letting up.”

Momo’s jaw clenched at the words, her hands curling into fists at her sides. “What kind of torture are we talking about?” she asked, her voice low but filled with restrained fury.

Jeongyeon hesitated before responding. “Beatings, starvation, psychological games. They want to break her down completely.”

Momo closed her eyes for a brief moment, steadying herself. “And you know how to get us in?”

Jeongyeon nodded. “They have food deliveries to the compound every few hours. I can smuggle you and your team in through the trucks. Once inside, we’ll need to take down the guards quickly and quietly. From there, I’ll open access to all the internal doors to give you a clear path to her.”

Chaeyoung, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed, frowned. “What about their security? Cameras, alarms, patrol schedules—what are we up against?”

“They’re heavily monitored,” Jeongyeon admitted. “But I can disable the cameras temporarily from the control room. The patrols are more sporadic, but I’ve tracked their usual routes. You’ll need to be fast and precise.”

Sana leaned forward, twirling a pen in her hand. “What if something goes wrong?” she asked, her voice calm but pointed. “What if we get separated, or they lock the doors again?”

Jeongyeon slid a separate sheet of paper across the table. “I’ve mapped out alternative routes to the chamber, but they’re longer and more dangerous. If the primary route fails, you’ll have to split into pairs to avoid detection. Timing will be everything.”

Tzuyu, who had been quietly studying the map, spoke up. “And what about reinforcements? If they realize we’re there, they’ll call for backup. We could end up outnumbered.”

“I’ll cut the landlines and jam their radios once we’re inside,” Jeongyeon replied. “That’ll buy us some time, but it won’t stop them from sending word eventually. You’ll need to move fast.”

Jihyo, standing next to Momo, tapped the map with her finger. “And where exactly will Y/N be? We can’t risk wasting time searching.”

Jeongyeon circled a specific area on the map with a red marker. “This is the chamber. It’s deep in the west wing, near the old loading docks. They’ve been using it as a makeshift holding cell. I’ll guide you through every step of the way.”

Momo finally spoke, her voice steady but filled with determination. “What about their guards? How many are we looking at?”

“About fifteen to twenty stationed inside,” Jeongyeon answered. “Most are poorly trained, but a few of them are elite. You’ll need to be careful.”

“And what about you?” Momo asked, her gaze sharp. “Where will you be during all of this?”

Jeongyeon straightened, meeting Momo’s eyes. “I’ll be in the control room, handling the cameras and unlocking the doors. But if things go south, I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty.”

Chaeyoung smirked. “Good to know. Let’s hope you can back that up.”

Momo leaned over the table, studying the map intently. “Here’s the deal,” she said firmly. “We stick to the primary route as long as it’s viable. Chaeyoung and Tzuyu will handle the guards—quietly. No unnecessary noise. Sana, you’ll create a distraction if needed, but keep it subtle. Jihyo, you’re with me. We go straight for Y/N.”

“And if they’re expecting us?” Jihyo asked, raising an eyebrow.

Momo’s expression hardened. “Then we improvise. But we’re getting her out. No matter what.”

Jeongyeon hesitated before adding, “One last thing... They’ll likely have someone stationed near Y/N at all times. If they catch wind of what’s happening, they might use her as leverage.”

A tense silence filled the room at her words. Momo’s fists clenched again, her voice barely above a whisper. “If they touch her again, I’ll make them wish they were never born.”

The team exchanged determined glances, the gravity of the situation sinking in.

Jeongyeon reached into her bag, pulling out a small communication device. “We’ll use these to stay in contact,” she said, distributing them. “Make sure they’re always on. If anything changes, I’ll let you know immediately.”

Momo stood straight, her expression steely. “Get some rest tonight,” she said to her team. “We move out at dawn.”

As the others began to file out, Jeongyeon lingered for a moment, watching Momo. “You’ll need to trust me on this,” she said quietly.

Momo didn’t respond, her eyes still locked on the map. Trust was a luxury she couldn’t afford.

The truck rolled to a stop, its brakes hissing softly in the quiet night. Momo motioned for everyone to move, her sharp eyes scanning the area. Jeongyeon was the last to step out, her posture tense but her expression unreadable.

“Alright,” Jeongyeon whispered, pointing at the compound map she had memorized. “Two guards at the main entrance. After that, you’ll pass through the loading dock. I’ll head inside first, so they don’t suspect anything. Give me five minutes to unlock the internal doors. Then, move.”

Momo’s voice was icy. “Don’t screw this up, Jeongyeon. If anything feels off, we’ll know.”

Jeongyeon nodded, her face hardening. “I know. Just stick to the plan.”

The team dispersed, slipping into the shadows as Jeongyeon strolled up to the entrance. Her posture shifted, casual and unbothered, as if she belonged there. The guards gave her a glance but said nothing as she passed. She disappeared through the main doors, her footsteps fading.

Momo crouched low, her team gathered around her. “Five minutes,” she said, checking her watch. “Chaeyoung, Tzuyu, get in position near the dock. Jihyo, Sana, cover our flank. No mistakes.”

The team moved like phantoms, their dark clothing blending seamlessly into the night.

Inside, Jeongyeon kept her head low as she made her way to the security panel. Her heart raced, but she forced herself to stay calm. She nodded to a passing guard, who barely acknowledged her, then slipped into the server room.

Pulling out a small device, she hacked into the controls, unlocking the gates and disabling the cameras. Her fingers trembled slightly as she worked. *This has to work,* she thought.

When the system beeped softly, confirming the locks were off, she pressed her earpiece. “You’re clear. Doors are open. Move now.”

---

Momo and her team crept through the now-unlocked loading dock. Chaeyoung and Tzuyu took out the guards stationed there with silent precision. Jihyo led them into the compound, her sharp eyes darting around for any signs of an ambush.

As they advanced, the deaths were quick and brutal. Momo’s team worked with ruthless efficiency. Tzuyu dispatched a guard with a garrote, his body slumping quietly to the ground. Sana slid her blade into another’s side, her movements as graceful as a dance.

The smell of blood and mildew filled the air as they approached the final corridor. Momo’s jaw clenched as she gestured for the team to halt. She glanced at Jeongyeon’s signal on the map, indicating the chamber’s location.

Jeongyeon rejoined them near the corridor, her face pale but steady. “It’s at the end,” she whispered. “But be careful. They’ve left traps in the area. I couldn’t disable everything.”

Momo nodded, her voice low and cold. “Stay close. No mistakes.”

The team advanced carefully, avoiding the tripwires and hidden sensors Jeongyeon had warned them about. The corridor felt suffocating, the tension mounting with every step.

Finally, they reached the heavy steel door Jeongyeon had described. Momo pressed her ear against it, listening for any movement inside. She gestured for Jeongyeon to step back.

“You’re not coming in,” Momo said firmly. “Stay here. If this is a trap, you’ll be the first to pay.”

Jeongyeon raised her hands, her voice calm but strained. “Understood. Just get her out.”

Momo nodded to Jihyo, who pried the door open. The creak of the metal echoed ominously, and Momo stepped in, gun raised.

The dim light inside revealed the horrors of the chamber—bloodstains, chains, and the unmistakable stench of suffering. Momo’s eyes scanned the room until they landed on a figure slumped in the corner.

“Oh, you bitch…” Momo muttered under her breath, her voice trembling with fury and disbelief as she took in the sight before her.

Her fingers tightened around her gun, her knuckles white as the scene burned into her mind. Behind her, the team stood frozen, the silence weighing heavy as they waited for her next move.

The metallic clink of chains echoed faintly as Momo stepped deeper into the chamber, her heart pounding. The sight in front of her made her blood run cold. Y/N sat restrained, her face pale and hollow, eyes sunken with exhaustion and despair.

But the real shock was Jeongyeon.

She stood inches away from Y/N, a gun trembling in her grip, pointed directly at her best friend’s head. Her face was a mask of shame and agony, her shoulders hunched as though the weight of the world pressed down on her. Behind her, Y/N’s father loomed, his expression a mixture of arrogance and sadistic satisfaction.

Momo’s voice was a dangerous growl, venom dripping from every word. “Jeongyeon… what the hell are you doing?”

Jeongyeon’s lips trembled, but she said nothing. The shame in her eyes spoke volumes.

“You traitorous bitch,” Momo hissed, taking a step forward.

Y/N’s father’s laughter cut through the tension, cold and cruel. “Oh, look at this. The infamous Momo. So fierce, so proud. And yet, you’re just a pathetic street rat playing mafia boss.”

Momo’s fist clenched, but she didn’t rise to the bait.

The man turned his attention to you, his sneer deepening. “And you. My worthless daughter. Weak. Useless. You’re an embarrassment to the family name. Always chasing after someone to save you. Always the damsel, never the hero.”

Tears burned in your eyes as you shook against your restraints, his words cutting deep.

He then turned to Jeongyeon, his voice cold and commanding. “Do it.”

Jeongyeon’s hands shook even more, her finger hovering over the trigger.

“I can’t,” she whispered, her voice breaking.

“DO IT!” he roared, his voice booming through the chamber. “Don’t you want to make me proud? Think about your mother! Do it!”

Jeongyeon flinched, her resolve crumbling. She closed her eyes, her finger pressing slightly on the trigger.

A gunshot rang out.

Jeongyeon screamed in pain as the gun flew from her hand, clattering to the floor. Blood dripped from her palm where Jihyo’s precise shot had struck. She crumpled to her knees, clutching her injured hand.

“Pathetic,” Y/N’s father snarled, reaching for his own gun.

He never got the chance.

Momo’s gun fired, the shot clean and final. His body collapsed to the floor, lifeless.

“No!” You screamed, your voice cracking as sobs wracked your body. Your restraints bit into your wrists as you shook uncontrollably.

Momo was at your side in an instant, freeing you from the chains and pulling you into her arms. Your cries soaked into her shirt as she held you tightly, her hand cradling the back of your head.

More footsteps echoed in the distance. Reinforcements.

Still holding you, Momo raised her gun and fired with ruthless precision. One after another, the men fell, blood pooling around their bodies. Her grip on you never faltered, even as the chaos unfolded around you.

“We have to go. Now,” Momo ordered, her voice sharp. She glanced at Jeongyeon, who was still cradling her injured hand on the floor. “Take her.”

Chaeyoung and Tzuyu moved to grab Jeongyeon, dragging her to her feet.

Jeongyeon winced but managed to speak through the pain. “There… there are tanks in the lower chambers. Fuel tanks. If you set them off… the whole place will blow.”

Momo nodded, her jaw tight. “Sana, Tzuyu, handle it. The rest of us are heading out.”

The team moved with precision, Momo carrying you as you clung to her, sobbing against her chest. Behind them, the muffled sound of explosions grew louder as Sana and Tzuyu set off the charges.

As the group reached the exit, a deafening boom tore through the air, and the entire compound erupted into flames. The heat was unbearable, but Momo didn’t stop until she was certain you were safe.

Outside, under the cover of night, she set you down gently, her hands still trembling as she wiped the tears from your face. The glow of the burning compound reflected in her dark eyes.

“It’s over,” she whispered, her voice raw. “You’re safe.”

But deep down, she knew the battle was far from finished.

Your vision blurred.

You woke up in a haze, your body aching and weak. The faint scent of roses filled the air, and when you blinked your eyes open, you saw Momo sitting on the edge of her desk, holding a bouquet of roses. She looked at you with such tenderness, it almost made your heart ache. A dark bruise adorned her eye, evidence of the chaos you had just endured.

“You’re finally awake, amor,” she murmured, a soft smile gracing her lips as she leaned down to place a gentle kiss on your forehead.

You sat up instinctively, worry flooding your chest. But the sharp pain in your side made you wince, and you clutched your ribs with a gasp.

“Easy, girl,” Momo warned, her hands steadying you.

You panicked, words spilling out of you in a torrent. “Are you okay? What happened? I missed you so much, Momo, I’m so sorry for everything—Momo silenced you with a kiss, her lips firm but soft, her hands cradling your face as if you might break. The words froze in your throat as your heart stuttered under her touch. “I’ve got it settled,” she said when she pulled away, her voice steady and reassuring. “With your father gone, we don’t have any opposing teams left to worry about. I just want to lay low and take care of you now. I love you, Y/N. And I’ll do anything to keep you with me.”

Her words hit you harder than any bullet ever could, tears welling in your eyes as you nodded. Momo stood and moved to a cabinet near her desk, rummaging through it until she pulled out several containers. She turned to you, her expression soft but serious. You tilted your head in confusion. “What’s this?” She walked back over, setting the containers in front of you. “All the letters I never got to send you.” Her voice wavered, just slightly.

“I want to read them all with you.” Your heart swelled at her confession, and you pouted playfully before leaning in to kiss her lips. “Hey… I love you too,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

Momo chuckled, the sound warm and familiar. “Good to know.” As she sat down beside you, her expression turned thoughtful. “Oh… by the way, Jeongyeon’s okay. She’s with Jihyo and Sana right now, being looked after.” A teasing grin curled her lips. “Unless Sana and Jihyo are making out in a corner somewhere, knowing them.”

You laughed softly, though your ribs protested the motion. Momo kissed your temple before standing again. She turned to a guitar propped up against the wall, picking it up with care. She glanced at you with a glimmer in her eye. “You know how I gave you that sheet of music?”

You nodded shyly, reaching into your pocket after a moment of hesitation. The paper was wrinkled and stained with blood, but you handed it to her anyway. “I’m sorry it’s all dirty.” Momo took it, her touch gentle. “It’s okay, love. Guess you’ll finally find out how it goes.”

She adjusted the guitar on her lap, her fingers finding the strings. With a deep breath, she began to strum a hauntingly beautiful melody. Her voice, soft yet rich with emotion, filled the room.

"Esto es cosa nuestra...

���Esto es cosa nuestra…no creo que lo entiendan.”

[croissantsandblackcoffee]

luigi mangione ⊹ foundering

— luigi’s next courting hearing is on january 18th, but there won’t be any pictures of him until the one later on february 21st. i hope he’s doing well :( i posted this earlier than planned bc i hate having work sitting in my drafts for too long lmao

previous parts: 01, 02, 03

a month later.

the past month has been a rollercoaster for the both of you. the uncertainty and the stress has been getting to you. the constant back and forth in your head, the worry of overthinking and second guessing your every decision.

the prison staff has been a bit nicer, allowing luigi to spend more time with you. however, the guards are always around, watching like vultures.

it’s like they’re almost waiting for him to slip up. for him to do something, anything that would be against the rules. they’re like hawks, and they won’t hesitate to punish him if he steps out of line.

the other prisoners are also watching him from time to time, but not for the same reason. they care for him, luigi tells you.

he’s popular in the prison block, respected by the other inmates. he gets along with almost everyone; he’s well liked and people will go to him if they have any problems.

the other prisoners don’t mind that he’s getting preferential treatment, though. they’re just happy that he has someone to visit him, happy that he’s able to interact outside the prison.

the past month has also been a lot of talking. long, serious conversations between you and luigi. both of you trying to figure things out, to sort out your thoughts and feelings. trying to weigh things up; pros and cons, risks and consequences.

you’d talk for hours, sitting across from each other through the glass.

sometimes you’d get interrupted by a guard, telling luigi that his time was up. to which he would protest, saying that he wasn’t finished talking. other times, his time would be cut short, forcing the two of you to end your conversation prematurely.

but a lot of the time, he’d still have a lot of time left. plenty of time to talk, to keep going, to keep trying to comfort each other.

you’d talk about everything. about your thoughts, feelings, worries. you’d talk about the future, about what the best decision was.

you’d talk about what could happen, all the possible scenarios. if you hadn’t decided to keep the baby. if you chose not to, how would it affect you, luigi, the people around you?

and now that you had, how would it affect your life. would you be able to cope? could you really raise a child.

could you handle it? could he?

a lot of the time, you’d end up crying. it would always start with either a small teary eye and a wobbly lip, that would then progress to a shaking lip and shaky breath. then your eyes would tear up, your breathing quickening, and your nose would start to run. then your breath would get heavier, and a few tears would roll down your face.

then it would progress into a full on sobbing, shaking crying fit. and each every time, it would break luigi’s heart.

he’d always talk soothingly, his voice low and steady, as he tried to calm you down. telling you that everything would be okay, that you’d get through it. telling you to breathe, to take deep breaths.

every time, you’d manage to calm down, get yourself back under control. but the conversation would be cut short as a guard would walk to tell luigi his time was up.

and he’d fight back, begging them to give him just a little longer.

but they would always tell him the same thing, in that cold, emotionless tone. “no,” they’d say, crossing their arms. “time is up. she can come back tomorrow if she wants to talk to you again.”

and luigi would sit there and watch helplessly as you were ushered out of the room. he’d watch as you looked back at him one last time, waving as the door closed in front of you.

that was usually the end of it, until tomorrow. and he’d go back to the cell block, and have nothing to keep his mind off the situation as he laid down in his bed. he’d think about you, about the conversation, replaying it over and over again in his head.

then he’d start thinking about the other scenarios again, starting back the whole endless cycle of overthinking. he’d toss and turn throughout the night, never getting a good, restful sleep.

the next day would roll around, and he’d get up. wash up, get changed. have breakfast with the other prisoners. get his daily dose of exercise.

his mind would be racing the entire time, never taking a break from the constant stream of overthinking.

and then the clock would finally hit visiting hours, and he’d be getting led out to the visiting room again. his mind would start to calm down slightly, finally being able to see you again.

then he’d get to the visiting room. sometimes they’d make him wait, for reasons that they wouldn’t disclose. he’d sit there impatiently, tapping his fingers on the floor, tapping his foot, looking around the room. he’d count the minutes as they ticked by, the seconds.

every minute that passed without you being brought in felt like an eternity to him. it was almost as if time became slower, every passing minute dragging by.

then finally, you’d be brought in as well.

and every time, he’d immediately feel a wave of relief wash over him. the constant overthinking in his brain would quiet down, and he’d be able to relax a little bit. you were there. you were with him. he would no longer be alone with just his own thoughts.

but he doesn’t have to tell you that. instead, he sits down across from you, picking up the phone and holding it up to his ear.

he smiles as he does so, trying to stay casual and composed. on the inside, though, he’s feeling happy, relieved. after being alone in silence all day, he feels like he can finally breathe again. seeing you, being able to talk to you, and having you right in front of him.

“hey,” he says into the phone, keeping his tone light. he watches you through the glass, studying you quietly.

he studies you, looking at your facial expressions, listening carefully to your voice. your body language. anything that might give away how you’re feeling right now.

he can tell, from the expression on your face, that you look a little bit more tired. your eyes look sunken in slightly, darker than the last time he saw you. be picks up on the fact that maybe you haven’t been sleeping either.

you open your mouth to speak, “luigi, i…” but you can’t seem to get the words out. you’re not looking him in the eyes.

he sees you struggling to speak, and that gets his attention. he notices that you’re struggling to look him in the eyes, avoiding his gaze. ge frowns, sitting forward in his chair.

“sweetheart?” he prompts gently. “what is it?”

he’s starting to get worried now, and his heart picks up a little bit. the way that you’re avoiding his gaze is off putting, and his frown deepens.

he leans a bit closer, his heart rate increasing slightly. “sweetheart,” he says again. “talk to me, tell me what’s wrong.”

he can feel anxiety building up inside him, his heart rate increasing even more. is something wrong? has something bad happened?

he leans even closer now, staring at you intently. “sweetheart, please.” he says, his voice soft but almost desperate. “say something, please. you’re making me nervous.”

your breathing is heavier than usual, and it’s not like you had to walk up an entire flight of stairs before getting here. you know you have to tell him sooner or later, before it eats you from inside—

“i lost the baby.”

he doesn’t want to believe it, doesn’t want to accept it.

he swallows again, shaking his head slightly. his hands are curled into fists, shaking ever so slightly. he’s still just trying to process it all. it doesn’t feel real.

he opens his mouth again, and this time manages to say a word. “when?”

“yesterday morning,” you answer, avoiding his gaze, “right before i had to leave for work. it’s been killing me ever since.”

he listens to you speak and closes his eyes, letting the information sink in. he takes a deep, shaky breath.

the day before. you had lost the baby the day before you came to visit him. you had come here, talked to him, and the whole time, you had lost the baby already.

and you never said a thing.

he feels a wave of anger wash over him, but he tries his best to push it down. you’re not at fault for miscarrying. but not telling him, and waiting until now? for a second, he feels betrayed.

he opens his eyes and looks at you, staring you down almost coldly. “you should’ve told me yesterday.”

there’s a harsh, bitter tone to his voice. he doesn’t want to take it out on you, he knows it’s not your fault, but he can’t help himself.

“you came here and talked to me, and the whole time you were keeping this from me? why didn’t you say anything?”

“… i’m sorry.” that’s all you say. you’re feeling a mix of emotions — shame (towards yourself), embarrassment, guilt, sadness, grief. it’s hard for him to read your expression, but you’re not letting him do that at all. you drop the telephone, burying your face in your hands.

he tries to read you, he tries to figure out what you’re thinking, but he can’t see your face. you’ve covered it with your hands, so all he can see is the top of your head. he sits back, staring at you.

he wants to respond, to say something, but he can’t. that wave of anger has been snuffed out by the sight of you, hiding your face with your hands. now he just feels guilty for snapping at you.

for a few moments, he just sits there. watching you.

his eyes are fixed on you, watching as you sit there with your head in your hands. he can’t see your face, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that you’re crying.

the realization suddenly hits him like a truck; here you were, telling him you had lost the baby just now. and you’d been sitting on that information for a whole day.

you’d come here, and sat here for an entire conversation not telling him, while you were hurting.

he feels a rush of guilt and anger again, a sense of betrayal. but he pushes it down. he swallows hard, trying to keep his voice steady.

“… how long were you planning on not telling me?” He asks, his eyes on you, his voice quieter now. the anger is less intense. more hurt and betrayal. “were you ever gonna tell me?”

his heart is pounding again now. he sits forward in his seat, clenching his hand into a fist in his lap.

“what— what were you thinking?” he asks, still keeping his voice soft. “you come here, you talk to me for hours, and you don’t say anything? why? why did you do that, sweetheart?”

his voice breaks slightly on the pet name.

he feels like he wants to break down right along with you, the emotion of the situation hitting him like a freight train. but he pushes that down, keeping it in. He can’t break down, he has to stay calm.

he doesn’t know what to feel. anger at you for not telling him, guilt for snapping, grief at what has happened. it’s a mix of everything.

he’s staring right in your eyes. “come on, look at me.”

“i…” you struggle to find your voice in all of this. why did you hesitate to tell him? he’s the only person who knew you were pregnant, and you didn’t tell him a thing.

“… fuck, it was hard for me to tell you. i was planning on contacting karen to tell you. you think it’s easy for me to show up here and tell you this while i promised you a life if you’ll ever get out of here?”

luigi almost looks wounded by that part. he swallows hard, frowning deeply. you promised me.

that promise plays in his head like a record, the same memory on loop. he lets out a harsh exhale, his heart sinking. he knows you meant it, that you’d meant every word.

and yet you were struggling to tell him this.

he swallows again, trying to push down the hurt. “so you thought it would be easier to let my lawyer tell me?”

the idea of that is infuriating. he’d been sitting here, worrying about you, worrying about what you were thinking and how you were feeling, and you’d been planning on letting his lawyer tell him.

he can’t help the cold tone to his voice. “is that your idea of keeping a promise?”

he looks down for a moment, shaking his head. when he looks back up, his expression is intense, his eyes almost pleading.

“you should have told me yesterday,” he says, his voice almost desperate. “i don’t care if it would have been hard, i don’t care if it would have hurt to tell me. you should have told me, no matter what.”

there’s a sense of desperation to his voice, a sense of hurt. part of him wants to snap again, to lash out at you for not telling him, for going with his lawyer.

“you don’t get to break that promise and then say it was too hard for you to tell me,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady. “you made that promise, sweetheart. you made it and then you want to let my lawyer take care of it for you.”

he’s never felt so frustrated before, so hurt. the idea of karen telling him, when he’d been worrying about it this whole time, when he’d wanted so badly to ask you if you were okay.

he leans forward again, getting as close to the glass as he can. “you don’t get to do that. you don’t get to take back that promise because it was hard to tell me.”

“i’m sorry, alright?” you apologize once again, rubbing your forehead with one hand while the other had a tight grip on the phone, “i’m a shitty person for not telling you about the baby, and for your wanting to break the news to your lawyer, not you.”

he can’t help but feel a little bit hurt by that, but he shakes it off, trying to push down the feeling. he lets out a frustrated sigh, shaking his head.

“i’m not saying that,” he says, his voice softer now. “you’re not shitty, alright? you’re not shitty, you understand?”

he takes a deep breath, his fingers tapping on the countertop. “but you can’t just break a promise and then think that karen’s going to fix it for you.”

“fine, okay, i acknowledge my mistake.” you fidget in your seat, “let’s just change the subject. it’s like I can feel my breakfast coming back up.”

he almost wants to argue more, to keep pressing and keep questioning, but then he sees the way you’re fidgeting, and his expression softens.

he almost scoffs at your sudden attempt at a change of subject, but he stops himself. he just nods instead, giving you a slight smile. “alright. whatever you want, sweetheart.”

it’s hard for him to just change the subject that easily, to just brush it aside and stop talking about it. he’s still upset about it, and he has a lot of things he wants to say.

but the expression on your face and the way you’d started fidgeting just reminded him that he can’t be selfish.

“what do you want to talk about?” he asks gently.

you shrug, trying to think of something.

“do you still have that ring i gave you?”

he perks up a little bit at your question, and he almost laughs. he’s surprised by the change of subject, but he’s grateful for it as well. he nods, reaching into his pocket and pulling it out.

“of course i do, sweetheart,” he says, holding it up to show you through the glass. “you think i would get rid of it?”

“i thought you must’ve traded it in for some money by now. i wouldn’t have blamed you, y’know.”

he can’t help but smile at that, shaking his head. “nah, i would never get rid of it,” he says, holding it up closer to the glass. “this thing means more to me than money, sweetheart. and besides, even if i did trade it for money, i’d use that money to call you.”

you smile. “aw, well, aren’t you thoughtful.”

he laughs at that and shakes his head a little. he can’t help but smile as he looks at you.

“i’m thoughtful? i’m the one being thoughtful?” he asks, grinning at you. “you were the one giving me the ring in the first place,” he points out, holding up the ring to show you again as if he’s displaying the evidence.

“i’m just making good use of it,” he says, twirling the ring between his fingers with a smirk. he knows this is just a way to distract away from the original subject, but he can’t help but play along.

this feels easier to deal with. just talking to you normally, like nothing happened. he almost wishes he could reach through the glass and take your hand.

“you know, the guys in here have been on my case non-stop,” he says suddenly, a lighthearted tone to his voice. “they keep calling me an idiot for not trading it in for money. they say i could’ve bought a whole candy bar with the money from that ring. one whole candy bar.”

you chuckle at his words, amused by how the inmates have been teasing him. “yeah? They tell you that?”

he laughs a little as well, leaning back in his chair now. “yeah. constantly. they also wanted to know why i bothered keeping it when i wasn’t even sure if i was gonna keep seeing you or not.”

he glances down at the ring in his palm, twirling it again. “i just told ‘em they were all morons.”

“i mean, come on, a chocolate bar or my love?” he asks, grinning at you. “seems like an obvious choice to me.”

You raise an eyebrow, “i’m your love now?”

“my love, my sweetheart, my darling, my baby,” he says, listing off all the pet names he’s used for you. “do you need me to keep going?”

“i think i’m good.”

he grins at your response, leaning forward a little. “you don’t need any clarification on that one, huh?”

he’s a little quieter now, but his voice still has that flirty edge to it. “you know i love you,” he says softly, a loving little smile on his face.

it feels a little surreal to sit here talking to you like this. to say these things to you without anyone else listening in, without anyone else around.

he wishes he could hold your face between his hands. he wishes he could wrap his arms around you, pull you close, and kiss you on the forehead.

but he can’t, so he just speaks quietly to you instead, the ring still in his hand.

“wish i could do more than just talk to you like this,” he whispers, sighing a little. he glances around the visiting room, checking on all the guards and other visitors. no one is paying attention to you two.

“wish i could just take you on dates, take you out to dinner and the movies and whatever else you wanted,” he says, turning his eyes back to you. “just be a normal couple doing normal relationship things, y’know?”

he laughs a little, but there’s a hint of frustration to it. why did everything have to be so impossible for the two of you?

“we could’ve had a nice place together by now, and you wouldn’t have to keep coming here, just to talk for a few hours,” he says, shaking his head.

he glances around the visiting room again, taking in all the other visitors and inmates meeting with their friends and families.

“instead we…” he trails off, sighing again. what else could he say. Instead we’re here, stuck with whatever this is.

he looks back at you, letting out a sharp exhale. he wants so desperately just to be with you. to hold you, kiss you. to hold your face in his hands and whisper sweet words against your ear.

all he wants is to be allowed to love you, but the world won’t let him.

“you look tired,” he remarks suddenly, noticing the dark circles under your eyes, the way you’re fidgeting in your seat.

he wonders if you’ve slept at all since yesterday. he can’t imagine that you have.

“i’m fine,” you assure luigi, “i’ll be fine.”

he gives you a skeptical look, but doesn’t press the issue. he can tell just by looking at you that you’re exhausted, and he can see that stubborn determination in your expression.

he doubts he could convince you to take care of yourself even if he tried.

TAG LIST

@ga33y3 @icedchailattebabyy @betty-boop-lips-05 @harrysbestiee @badaspice @tsukishimawhore @guatebabyxo @poohkie90 @lousends @mailuvsnct @raekensluver @nosebeers @techno54 @lolarmy72 @planetsheher @ixdoll

[mistressofstars]

A Lecture on Desire - Part III

Pairing: Kathryn Hahn x Reader

Summary: A lecture on The Price of Salt is supposed to be all about Therese and Carol, but when Professor Hahn locks eyes with you, lines blur. Slow-Burn. Non-magical AU

Word count: 2k

”What else mattered except being with Carol, anywhere, anyhow?“

- Patricia Highsmith, The Price of Salt

Part III

Your hands hover over the keyboard, each key feeling heavier than usual. You’ve drafted three replies and deleted every single one. Nothing feels quite right, polite but not too eager. Eventually, you settle for a reply.

Subject: RE: Glasses

Dear Professor Hahn,

saturday at 2 p.m. works perfectly for me, thank you for the invitation.

I’m glad I could return your glasses; I’d hate to think of you without them.

Kind regards,

Y/N Y/LN

You re-red it. Shit. Did you really just send that? You hit your head against the keyboard in disbelief, that stupid, flirty, awkwardly sincere message is now in her inbox, and there’s no taking it back.

Re-reading it. Shit. Did you really just send that? You hit your head against the keyboard in disbelief, that stupid, flirty, awkward message is now in her inbox, and there’s no taking it back.

You groan into your palms, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks.After a feel minutes you sigh and move the cursor toward the corner of the screen to close your inbox, you just wanted to hide under your blanket.

A notification pops up.

Subject: RE: RE: Glasses

Dear Miss Y/Ln,

I’ll see you at Maury’s Tiny Cove, 3908 Harrison Avenue, Cheviot.

As for my glasses and hating to think of me without them? That’s quite the visual you’ve been entertaining. I hope it wasn’t too distracting.

K. Hahn

You blink, rereading it twice. Three times. The words sink in slowly, her voice practically slipping off the screen, that teasing edge.‘You swallow hard, feeling a strange mix of humiliation and thrill. Did she really just write that?

…

The days leading up to lunch feel impossibly long, each second dragging as your thoughts spin in endless circles. You try to distract yourself , but your mind keeps returning to that email. To her words. The teasing, playful edge in them. You want to stop thinking about it, but you can’t.

It’s Saturday, and you still haven’t figured out how to calm your nerves. It’s like the weight of what’s coming presses on you, no matter how many times you try to shake it off. Lunch with Professor Hahn. The thought alone makes your pulse quicken. You’re about to see her outside of class, outside of the usual boundaries. There’s something so… charged about the whole thing.

You glance at the clock—it’s nearly time to start getting ready. You swallow hard, feeling that familiar flutter in your chest. Time to make a decision. What do you wear to something like this?

Your eyes land on the red sweater you’ve worn a few times it’s simple, but it fits perfectly. The heart-shaped neckline shows off just enough skin. You bite your lip at the idea of Professor Hahn noticing it.

You apply your favorite perfume on your pulse point and on your wrist, letting the familiar scent settle over you. With a deep breath, you throw on your wool coat and reach for the thick scarf hanging nearby.

The restaurant feels warmer than it should. You glance at your watch for what must be the hundredth time. Five minutes past two. She’s late. Or maybe you’re just too early. The thought doesn’t make you feel any better as you fidget with the corner of your napkin, sneaking another glance at the door.

The sound of heels clicking against the floor snaps your attention back to the present. You look up, and there she is.

Kathryn Hahn strides in with an air of ease, as if she owns the room. Her white blouse is crisp, the first couple of buttons undone, hinting at the barest shadow of skin. A navy coat hugs her shoulders perfectly, and her hair falls casually loose, framing her face. Her sharp eyes scan the room until they lock onto yours. Intense. Steady. Unwavering.

You freeze under her gaze, heat pooling low in your stomach as she approaches. When she finally reaches the table, she slips off her coat with a fluid motion, draping it neatly over the back of her chair. The tailored blouse accentuates her figure, skimming over curves that make your throat dry.

Kathryn smirks, sitting down with deliberate grace. She leans in slightly, resting her elbow on the table. Her glasses dangle loosely from the open button of her blouse, the movement drawing your attention to the soft curve of her collarbone and the subtle hint of cleavage revealed beneath the crisp white fabric. Your eyes are lingering for a moment too long before you snap your gaze back up to her face.

“Hello, Professor,” you manage, your voice quieter than you intended, trying not to let your gaze drop again.

Her lips curve further, a touch of satisfaction colouring her expression. “Miss Y/LN,” she replies smoothly, her tone laced with something you can’t quite place.

You swallow hard, gripping the menu like a lifeline as she leans back slightly, crossing her legs.

Her fingers move to the glasses resting at the edge of her blouse. She pulls them free, slowly, painfully slowly and deliberate. The glasses catch briefly against the fabric before she unfolds them with a practiced ease. Sliding them onto her nose, low enough to peer over the frames, her eyes flick to the menu, as if entirely unaware of the way your breath hitches.

The waiter arrives, and Kathryn orders a Greek salad without hesitation. “And Texan Ranch Water,” she adds.

You scramble to order the same salad, your mind still racing over her drink choice. Texan Ranch Water? You scan the menu again, trying to figure out what it is, but before you can, you glance up to find her watching you.

She’s holding her glasses by the tip, her lips brushing the arm of the frame as she waits. Her eyes are locked on yours, her expression unreadable. You squirm under her gaze, heat prickling at the back of your neck.

“Something on your mind?” she asks, her voice low and teasing. Her lips quirk just slightly.

Your face burns. “Just, uh, trying to figure out what you ordered,” you mumble.

“Well, you don’t know what’s in a Ranch Water?? Honey…”, her eyes twinkling with a mix of surprise and amusement. It’s tequila, it’s lime juice,” she says, making a squishing motion with her fingers, “and it’s sparkling mineral water.” She chuckles lightly. “How old are you again? I would have thought you’d know something as classic as a Ranch Water by now.”

You tell her your age, and her smile widens, eyes flashing with mischievous delight. “Really?” she draws out the word, letting out a soft, almost teasing laugh. “That young, huh?”

She leans back again, her eyes never leaving yours, a slow, knowing smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “Well, sweetheart, there’s always time to educate you,” she adds, her voice drops slightly.

“So, Y/N…” she says, your name rolling off her tongue like melted chocolate. Your eyes widen slightly at the intimacy. “That’s a lovely name. Where’s it from?”

You hesitate for a moment, stumbling over your answer before offering a brief explanation. She listens intently, her chin resting on her hand, her eyes flickering with curiosity and something more playful.

“You’re not from here, though, are you?” she presses, the words slipping out with the ease of someone who knows they’re right. “I can hear it in your accent.”

You nod and tell her about your upbringing, feeling strangely vulnerable under her scrutiny.

The waiter arrives with your plates, interrupting the charged air between you.

Professor Hahn spears a tomato with elegant precision before raising a brow. “Afraid to ask about me?” she says, her tone teasing but pointed.

You swallow, pulling your nervous energy together, forcing a smile. The tension is unbearable, but you manage to say, “Was about to ask.” The smile lingers, a little more confident this time.

Her grey eyes gleam, intrigued by your shift in tone. She sets her fork down and leans back slightly. “Cleveland,” she offers casually. “But I studied in New York. Lived there for years.”

Kathryn’s drink is set down beside her. You watch her pick up the glass, her fingers curling around the rim as she brings it to her lips. Her eyes flick to yours as she takes a sip, and your stomach twists. She sets the glass down.

Without thinking, you find yourself asking, “Can I try it?”

Kathryn looks at you for a beat and without saying a word, she slides the glass toward you, your fingers brushing.

You focus on the faint lipstick stain on the rim of the glass. With a steady hand, you bring the glass to your lips, deliberately sipping from the spot where her lips had just been. The taste is sharp and refreshing, the tequila cutting through with just the right bite.

Licking your lips the taste is lingering as you meet her gaze. Her eyes darken, it makes your stomach tighten. You feel like prey.

“It’s good,” you say, your voice casual. You lower the glass, smiling at her as you hand it back. “I like it.”

“I’ll get you your own then.” She looks over at the waiter, raising her hand slightly and ordering one for you.

Kathryn leans back slightly, her expression shifting. It’s subtle, but you notice the change immediately—her posture straighter, her voice taking on that polished, professional edge. “So,” she begins, her tone a bit more measured, “The Price of Salt… How’s the reading going? You enjoying it?”

”I finished it. It’s a masterpiece, really. How Highsmith builds tension and captures desire… it’s mesmerizing.“

Expression unreadable, ”One of my students posed a question after class and I’m curious to hear your thoughts on it.”

”He suggested that Therese… ” She draws out the name, a soft emphasis as if weighing the idea. “….should have never gotten involved with Carol. That Carol, with all her complexities, is far too… perilous for someone as tender as Therese. And instead, they argued, Therese would have been better off with Richard—the safe, predictable choice.”

You take a large zip from your drink, the emotions bubbling up despite yourself. “Richard is everything Therese doesn’t want to be tied down to,” you begin, the words spilling out faster than you expected. “He’s suffocating. He doesn’t see her as a person—he sees her as some… accessory to his perfect life plan. Someone to mold into what he wants.”

Your voice sharpens but you feel the effect of the drink as you continue, fingers tightening around your glass. “Carol—Carol is dangerous, sure. But she’s also alive. She’s everything Richard isn’t. She’s freedom. She’s, longing, desire … lust.

You pause, your breath quickening as you think about it. “Being with Carol isn’t about playing it safe. It’s about choosing the fire, knowing it might burn you but stepping into it anyway. Because sometimes, the risk is worth it. That’s what makes it so—” You search for the word, your voice softening. “So irresistible. Richard could never be that. He could never make her feel this way.”

You glance down at the table, momentarily lost in your own words. When you lift your eyes back to Kathryn, her expression hasn’t changed. She’s still watching you, her grey eyes locked on yours, unblinking, as though she’s dissecting every word. The quiet that follows feels heavy, thick with unspoken tension, and you realize your heart is pounding.

Her fingers trail along the rim of her almost empty glass before she speaks, her tone impossibly calm. “Miss Y/L/N,” she says, “would you like to continue discussing this in my office?”

The words hang in the air, thick. There’s no mistaking the pull in her tone, no question of what she’s offering—or demanding.

You nod.

Author’s Note: A little homage to some of Kathryn Hahn’s iconic pop culture moments sprinkled in here, couldn’t resist! Next chapter? No more slow burn. That’s all I’m going to say.

[cherrysurf]

Tall blonde and evil! | Katsuki Bakugo x f!reader

chapter 8; stupid event ★

Today was the 2024 hottest man award event, the media was buzzing to get everyone with final votes, celebrities have been rushing to get ready and have been talking about said event. You’ve been trying not to pull your hair out from the nerves all morning as for bakugou he’s been sleeping since he decided to wake up at 5am to head to the gym, get a haircut, get a facial, and then a massage got home at 7am left you a message and proceeded to fall asleep so he didn’t have eye bags for the event—

the text made you sigh “typical bakugou” you decided to hop in the shower for a much needed everything shower, as you stand there scrubbing your hair with shampoo you can’t help but think of how different yours and bakugous relationship as grown over the past few months—

sure you bickered and fought especially in the beginning where he almost fired you, but as of late he’s been really nice or as nice as he can be which in some sick sinister way made your stomach feel weird almost in a loving nervous way but why? and as much as you try to figure out some weird odd conclusion or reasoning there seems to be none all you can do is stay professional because at the end of the day makes it’s just nerves from all this build up towards the event that was making you feel this way after all maybe you didn’t really know bakugou as you thought you did. Especially after the interview where he said that one line maybe there's a side to him that you have yet to discover, you roll your eyes at the fact that there is more to this man than just the surface and wait he portrays “ugh i hate when he’s right” you say out loud as you continue to shave your legs—

soon after you step out the shower staring at tonight’s outfit that was hung up on your doorframe rolling your eyes “yayyy” you say sarcastically. Now it was time for your skincare routine because from bakugous words “he wanted the best of the best” whatever the fuck that meant. It was now about 12 in the afternoon when you decided to send Bakugou his lunch and coffee because you knew he was going to wake up soon— then you got a phone call from him not too long after.

“Did you eat?” he said over the phone in a groggy tone.

“no i'm in the middle of my skincare” you responded as you had him speaker while applying an eye mask for the eye bags you’ve been wearing since college.

“why didn’t you buy yourself lunch when you got me some? Are you really that dumb?” he said in more of a mean tone.

“I wasn’t aware I could do that you know?” you say rolling your eyes.

“i can hear your stupid fuck ass eye roll from over the phone ya know…you stress me out so bad i’m gonna grow a grey hair before this event.” he said with annoyance.

“Really i could’ve sworn i saw one coming in already during the interview a couple days ago” you say laughing

“You know i would’ve believed you but i got my haircut today and they checked for me” he said.

“i didn’t know you cared so much about your appearance” you said actually worried if he was insecure

“It's my job to worry about my appearance, gosh anyways i have to go get food i’ll pick you up later goodbye.” he said annoyed hanging up the phone

“bye.” you say even after he hung up the call feeling like you said something wrong? but we’re sure what…

After that embarrassing conversation you throw your phone on the bed and start doing your makeup the goal was to make sure it matched with the dress, so you kept it classy with a nice smooth base and a simple eye look with a bold red lip, you did your hair in old hollywood curls that were very bouncy and sleek “i swear if this isn’t up to bakugou's “standard” im shoving my heel up his ass” you say rolling your eyes as you put on your dress it was almost time for him to pick you up for the event— you put on your heels applied perfume your signature scent of vanilla and cherry, and got your purse and made sure you had stuff to touch up your makeup during the event. You stand in your living room looking at yourself in the mirror nervously and now pacing around your living room until you feel your phone buzzing—

“hey i’m 5 minutes away are you ready?” you hear him say.

“yeah i’m ready” you respond yet your stomach starts to feel like your about to throw up this afternoon's lunch

“Why does your voice shaking?” he asked

“Nervous i guess i mean i am the one who’s gonna be doing most of the talking as you said.” you say rolling your eyes

“You shouldn’t be. Just see them as your co-workers” he responded calmly

“Hopefully that works.” you say taking a deep breath out to ground yourself

“It will. anyways i’m here come outside” he mentions

“k.” you say hanging up the phone

As you walk out your house you find him there waiting for you by the passenger side with the door open “what a gentleman” you say in your head amused and impressed by his whole demeanor that makes you wonder how the night will play out.

a/n- FAT JUICY CLIFFHANGER anyways the gala/event is gonna take place on new years bc i said so, and it makes sense but i hope you enjoy this chapter and are excited for the next chapter aka the new years special

big shoutout to shari for being my motivation on getting this done and helping me!

taglist; @kalulakunundrum @sweetadonisbutbetter @rednicotine @ikissfade @bakugouswh0r3 @allurearia @themultifandomgirl @junehasnotbeenfound @darhinadadragon @kodzubaby @harryzcherry @sahrii @kholethecutie @s4ikooo1 @babylambdietcoke @lover-no-lover61 @sikuthealien @homeless-clown @bookaholicfangirl4life @idexmids

[sheepispink]

୨✧୧˚ ACTING DIFFERENT ˚୨✧୧

✧ resident evil masterlist

✧ tags: fluff, reassurance, hurt/comfort, leon kennedy x afab! escort!reader

✧ Summary: You’re an escort for Leon, and you’re pretty confident in your own abilities. Although, it’s pretty funny to see you two together, especially since he looks pretty brooding on an actual job. Despite that, some jealous interns make it their mission to put you down for the way you act with him, calling you selfish and the like. You shift, trying to be ‘better’ but Leon is determined to get the bottom of this.

✧ a/n : technically this is a part of my series ‘the escort protocol’ found here, however it is a standalone too.

————————————————————————

It would’ve been a normal day in the office, that is if you hadn't just walked straight past him whilst he drank the largest coffee cup known to man. He grumbles as you ignore him for the third time that day; he saw you glance at him and then the cup and then still decide to carry on. He lets out a l huff as he tosses the cup behind him into the bin before resting his head in his hands; the cup was empty, of course—he just wanted to see you react. That is the exact problem actually, because you haven't reacted to anything he’s done for a whole week now. The first day was already crossing the line, but he figured you were in a bad mood. Then the second day you continued and by the third he started questioning if this was a new symptom of your menstrual cycle. He felt a bit bad if it was (and also for blaming your mood swings on that) so he gave you a chocolate bar randomly. It was your turn to be confused that day because it turned out he just gave you chocolate for nothing and you were in fact not on your period.

All of this started last Friday. He hadn't been at the office on Thursday because quite literally he couldn't be bothered and would rather continue work at home— plus he was feeling a little more tired than usual. Of course you text him, asking if he was okay and offering to drop off food if he was sick, that was before you scolded him upon realising he had been slacking off. When he came in on Friday, he expected a huff of frustration before you made him buy you a coffee but there was nothing except an “Are you feeling better?” and then you were disappearing into your small box desk again. He raised an eyebrow but didn't think much until you walked past him downing a soda and barely said anything. The next day was the same, and then the next and the next until he was fed up. If there was a guiness world record for the most crap ingested in a day, he’d take the gold medal home. He had eaten a burger every lunchtime, had way too many cups of coffee each morning and even munched sweets instead of cereal and you still didn't say anything. The worst part was that you always just stopped, stared before eventually deciding to walk away again.

So today he tried for the last time before he finally gave up. He’s just going to have to ask you head on; there’s no way he’s letting you off the hook this time. He finds you in your usual spot at lunch, munching your sandwich on the park bench near the office. It’s quiet and no one really comes to the park here and whilst he’s never actually joined you before, he knows you come here often.

“Hey.”

You lift your head to meet his, suddenly caught off guard by his presence in the quiet park. “What are you doing here?”

“Y'know—just thought I'd ask if you wanna grab a drink with me?”

“What kind of drink?”

“Uhh… a slushie.”

You pause and then raise an eyebrow at him, confused. He’s sure he’s got you now; there's no way you can turn a blind eye to a slushie at break time. But you do. “Oh um, i’m okay, but if you want to-“

“What the hell is wrong with you?” You blink at him in confusion, shocked as he huffs loudly, breaking the tranquility of your spot, and stands right before you.

“Um, nothing?”

“It’s not nothing! You’ve barely commented on anything I've done all week. I drank soda for a week straight and you barely breathed wrong about it!”

“Shouldn’t you be happy about that? They all said that you would-“ This time he crosses his arms and stares you down and for a moment you’re actually kind of scared of him. You haven't seen him this annoyed since his superior in the DSO joked about blackmailing him with Sherry again.

“I’m sorry— who said what?”

“It’s not a big deal, I was just talking to some people..” But he’s already cutting you off and you know you can't escape the truth when he speaks again.

“If it's not a big deal, then you can tell me right? Go on.”

You let out a long sigh, attempting to make it seem like it's not that serious. His eyes are locked onto you and you have to avert your gaze to stop yourself messing up when you speak. “It was just a passing conversation between me and some interns last Thursday.” You shrug, taking a bite out of your sandwich as you look at the scenery, attempting to act nonchalant about it.

“And? That's not all, I know it isn't.” You groan and shift uncomfortably, letting out another huffed breath. “They just said I keep you in check a lot; I stop you from doing a lot of stuff.”

He’s not buying a second of it though and you don't even have to wait for him to urge you on to know he wants the full story.

“Fine, okay, they said that I was really bossy towards you and that I should let you do what you want.”

“What else? I know you wouldn’t care if a mere intern said that, so what's with the sudden change?” He rolls his eyes, sitting beside you on the bench as you groan and fiddle with the food wrapper in your hand. “They said I'm just an idiot who took the first job she could get and now I'm acting all high and mighty when I have the status of a mere assistant. Apparently you always look annoyed when I “scream at you” for doing anything i dont like and I'm also just an attention seeker or something. I left soon after..” The words are mumbled and he hates the way he can tell you’re ashamed of yourself when you avert your eyes like that and take the last bite of your sandwich.

“You’re such an idiot, yknow? Why on earth would you ever be bossy?” He scoffs, letting his arms settle in his side and he leans back into the bench. You dont reply, and he can't help but feel a gut full of worry for you. “You believe it, don't you?”

“I mean- it’s true a bit, is it not? You’re a higher status than me and I just.. decide what you can and can't do.”

“You do realise if i really had a problem with it, i just wouldn’t listen to you, right?”

“Yeah but- either way, surely I'm still annoying with my constant remarks.”

Your gaze shies away from him again and it causes a pang of guilt knowing you really did take some of their words to heart. He lets out a small sigh and shuffles up beside you, resting an arm on the back of the bench.

“Sometimes I forget that this is technically your first job out of university. You haven't done anything wrong in the slightest, alright? They’re just putting you down because they’re jealous. Just interns, that's all they are. But you’ve got authority and a position here. Hasn't every other staff here been nice to you and respectful? Hey, even the reception lady encouraged you to scold me the other day, didn't she?”

“..I mean yeah, she did and everyone else laughs about it too..” His hand slips down from the bench, patting your shoulder lightly before rubbing at it.

“Exactly, and you don't do it to annoy me do you?” He loves the way your lips curl into a frown at the accusation, horrified he would ever assume that.

“What? No, I only do it because you drink way too much coffee and you end up not sleeping well. Plus you always tend to eat fast food like every lunch, it’s not good for you.”

“So what's the harm done, hm? You’re not trying to be mean, I clearly don't mind it at all either. So stop beating yourself up about it.”

He gives you another quick squeeze as you mumble “okay”, and then finally retracts his arm, Though not before poking your forehead with his finger, intent on cheering you up. “I can't believe you’re actually three years younger than me. You’re so little, you know? I can’t believe you’ve only had one job your entire life.” The way you roll your eyes and stand up has him chuckling at your exasperated expression.

“I know what you’re going to do, don't even try ruffling my hair.”

“Would you prefer I carried you over my shoulder like a kid instead?” He wont forget the glare you gave him, crossing your arms at him and staring him down until he chuckles and stands himself.

“You know you’re not very intimidating, maybe you should try dressing up as a bioweapon— might even scare yourself. Anyway, cmon,” He remarks, picking up your work bag and slinging it on his shoulder before throwing your sandwich wrapper into the nearby bin.

“I think I have to go move some interns to a new state.” He smirks at you when he says it but deep down he’s dead serious; he won't let anyone put that ashamed expression on your face again.

Bonus:

“Hey, you know all those days i saw you eating that junk food, did you actually want to eat all of that?” You tilt your head up at him, almost about to scrunch your face up in disgust. He can't exactly blame you, after all, a burger for lunch every day isn’t appealing in the slightest.

“Well, the coffee was fake.”

“What about the food?”

“…” He’s already anticipating the punch you plant on his arm, huffing in annoyance.

“Leon!”

[siilent-wanderer]

Between Us, Unspoken

Summary: During preparations for a special stage, buried connections resurface when shared histories collide, blurring the lines between past and present.

Genre: fluff, slight angst

Word Count: 2.3k words

Yu Jimin (Karina) x aespa 5th member! reader x An Yujin

A/N: I loved “Killer” so much and had a delulu moment while traveling, so here it is ◡̈

Heels clicked on the polished floor of SM Entertainment's expansive dance practice room as Karina and Yujin rehearsed their intricate choreography for the upcoming Gayo Daejeon collaboration. The room was filled with the sound of their synchronized steps and the faint echo of their pre-recorded track looping on the speakers. Both idols were drenched in sweat, their determination shining through as they perfected their moves.  

"One more time?" Karina asked, brushing a strand of dark hair away from her damp forehead.  

"Definitely," Yujin replied with a polite smile, though her breathlessness betrayed her exhaustion.  

Just as the two repositioned themselves, the door creaked open, revealing a familiar face.  

“Y/N!” Karina beamed, breaking out of her stance.  

Y/N, clad in casual wear and holding a brown paper bag that emitted the tempting aroma of takeout, stepped into the room with a bright smile. “Figured you two could use some fuel,” she said, her voice light and cheerful.  

Yujin froze for a split second, the familiarity of Y/N's voice striking a chord she wasn’t prepared for. As Y/N approached, placing the food on a nearby bench, her eyes briefly met Yujin’s. A flicker of recognition — and something unspoken — passed between them.  

"You're a lifesaver, babe," Karina said, throwing an arm around Y/N’s shoulder. She pressed a quick kiss to Y/N’s temple, completely oblivious to the subtle tension that had settled in the room.  

Yujin quickly averted her gaze, focusing on her water bottle as if it were the most fascinating object in the world. Her throat felt dry despite having just taken a sip, and a flood of memories threatened to resurface — days spent with Y/N during their Produce 48 journey, quiet moments shared behind the scenes of IZ*ONE activities, and the bittersweet goodbye that had ended it all.  

“So, how’s it going?” Y/N asked, glancing between the two idols.  

“It’s been great!” Karina answered enthusiastically, not noticing Yujin’s stiff nod. “Yujin’s a total pro. She’s basically carrying me through this choreo.”  

“I wouldn’t say that,” Yujin said quickly, her voice quieter than usual.  

Y/N chuckled, though her eyes lingered on Yujin for a moment longer. “Well, I’m sure you’ll both kill it on stage. Anyway, I’ll leave you two to eat and get back to practice.”  

As she turned to leave, Karina called after her, “Wait! Stay for a bit. You haven’t seen our routine yet.”  

“I—” Y/N started, but Yujin interrupted.  

“I’ll just... head to the restroom real quick,” Yujin mumbled, her voice tight. Without waiting for a response, she turned and briskly left the room, leaving an awkward silence in her wake.  

Karina frowned. “She’s been acting kind of weird today.”  

Y/N hesitated, her heart pounding. “Maybe she’s just tired?” she offered, forcing a smile.  

Karina shrugged, brushing it off. “Probably. Anyway, stay and watch, yeah? I want your opinion.”  

“Of course,” Y/N said, but her mind was elsewhere — on the girl who had just left the room and the emotional minefield they all seemed to be tiptoeing around.

Y/N settled herself on the bench, trying to steady her thoughts. She didn’t need to be a mind reader to sense how fragile this situation was. Seeing Yujin again had brought back memories she thought she had tucked away for good — some fond, some painful.  

But Karina, blissfully unaware, was already queuing up the music again. “You’ll love this part, Y/N. The dance break? It’s something,” she smirked, radiating excitement as she gestured for Y/N to watch.  

“Can’t wait to see it,” Y/N replied, her voice steady despite the knot in her stomach.  

As Karina moved into position, the door to the practice room swung open again, and Yujin reappeared, her expression carefully neutral. “Sorry about that,” she murmured, rejoining Karina on the floor.  

“All good!” Karina chirped. “We’re running it for Y/N now. Ready?”  

“Ready,” Yujin said, though her eyes flicked briefly to Y/N, who gave her a small, reassuring smile.  

The two idols launched into the routine, their movements fluid and precise. Karina’s energy was sharp and commanding, while Yujin’s softer grace balanced it perfectly. They were a stunning pair on stage — every sway, turn, and transition seamlessly executed.  

When the music cut off, Y/N had her mouth open and clapped enthusiastically. “That was incredible. You two have amazing chemistry.”  

Karina grinned, her chest heaving as she caught her breath. “Told you the dance break was something.”  

“It was,” Y/N agreed, though her gaze lingered on Yujin for a beat longer than intended.  

Yujin quickly looked away, grabbing her water bottle. “Thanks,” she said quietly, her voice clipped.  

Karina, oblivious, flopped down onto the bench beside Y/N, her head resting on Y/N’s shoulder. “We still need to clean up a few parts, but it’s getting there,” she said.  

“You’ll be great,” Y/N replied, her hand brushing against Karina’s arm instinctively.  

Yujin cleared her throat, drawing their attention. “I should probably get going, unnie. I have a schedule later,” she said, avoiding eye contact with both of them.  

“Oh, already?” Karina asked, disappointed.  

“Yeah. Thanks for the practice, though,” Yujin said. She bowed slightly and grabbed her bag, slinging it over her shoulder. As she moved toward the door, her footsteps faltered, and she glanced back at Y/N. For a moment, it seemed like she might say something, but instead, she gave a small, polite nod and left without another word.  

As the door clicked shut behind her, Karina sighed. “She’s so hardworking. No wonder she’s so good.”  

“She is,” Y/N said softly, her gaze fixed on the door Yujin had just exited.  

Karina straightened up, looking at Y/N curiously. “You okay? You’ve been kind of quiet since Yujin got here.”  

Y/N hesitated, weighing her words carefully. “I guess it’s just… surreal, seeing her after all this time,” she admitted.  

Karina frowned, tilting her head. “What do you mean?”  

Y/N exhaled slowly. This wasn’t how she wanted Karina to find out, but the truth had been hanging in the air all afternoon. “Yujin and I… we were close during Produce 48. Really close.”  

Karina blinked, her expression caught between curiosity and surprise. “Close as in…?”  

Y/N nodded, her voice quiet. “We dated for a while, back then. And during the IZ*ONE days, too.”  

The silence that followed felt deafening. Karina’s eyes widened, processing the revelation. “Wait, what?”  

“I should’ve told you sooner,” Y/N added quickly. “I just… I didn’t think it would matter anymore. I didn’t know we’d end up in a room together like this.”  

Karina’s lips parted as if to say something, but no words came out. She looked at Y/N, then at the door where Yujin had left moments ago. Finally, she let out a breathless laugh, shaking her head.  

“This… is a lot,” she said, running a hand through her hair.  

“I know,” Y/N said, her voice tinged with regret. “But it’s in the past, I promise. You’re the one I’m with now, Kari.”  

Karina studied Y/N’s face for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then she sighed, leaning back against the bench. “Okay. I believe you. But… this is still really weird.”  

Y/N smiled faintly. “Trust me, I feel the same way.”  

Karina gave a small laugh, the tension in the room easing slightly. “Well, at least now I know why Yujin was acting so awkward.”  

“Yeah,” Y/N said, glancing at the door again. “Me too.”

As the air between them settled into a slightly more comfortable quiet, Karina stretched her legs out and leaned against Y/N. “So… what was she like? Yujin, I mean, when you two were together?”

Y/N hesitated. “You really want to know?”

Karina tilted her head with a small pout. “Of course. I mean, it’s not like I’m jealous or anything. Just curious.”

Y/N gave her a knowing look but decided to humor her. “She was… sweet. A little shy, but really thoughtful. She always tried to take care of everyone, even when she was struggling herself. And, well, she worked harder than anyone I knew back then. She still does.”

Karina nodded slowly, her lips quirking into a thoughtful smile. “That sounds like her. She’s such a perfectionist during practice. It’s kind of intimidating, honestly.”

“It doesn’t surprise me,” Y/N said, leaning back on her palms. “She’s always been like that. But it’s also why… we didn’t work out.”

Karina turned to her, her brows furrowing. “Why not?”

Y/N sighed, her gaze dropping to the floor. “She was so focused on her career, on making sure everything was perfect, that there wasn’t much room for anything else. And I understood that—I really did. But it got to a point where we were just... growing in different directions. I wanted something more, and she needed to put herself first, which was the right thing for her at the time.”  

Karina considered this, her expression softening. “That must’ve been hard. For both of you.”  

“It was,” Y/N admitted. “But looking back, I think it was for the best. She’s doing amazing now, and so am I. And…” She glanced at Karina, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I ended up where I’m meant to be.”  

Karina’s cheeks flushed faintly as she leaned her head on Y/N’s shoulder. “That’s such a cheesy line, but I’ll allow it.”  

Y/N laughed, the sound easing some of the lingering tension in the room. “What can I say? I’m a romantic.”  

Later that evening, after Karina and Y/N had left the practice room, the revelation still lingered in the air. Karina wasn’t angry — she trusted Y/N — but the idea of her girlfriend having such a complicated history with her duet partner was… still confusing and unsettling. She didn’t know what to make of it, and, for the first time, she felt unsure about how to approach Y/N.  

Meanwhile, Yujin couldn’t stop replaying the encounter in her head as she sat in her dorm. She had retreated to the bathroom earlier not just to calm herself but to keep from saying anything reckless. Seeing Y/N again, happy and carefree with someone else, had left her with a strange mix of emotions she couldn’t fully understand.  

But fate, as it often does in the idol world, wasn’t done complicating their lives.  

Two days later, during another practice session for the Gayo Daejeon collab, Karina and Yujin were deep in conversation about a move when the door opened, and Y/N walked in again — this time unannounced.  

“Hey,” she greeted casually, holding a smoothie cup. “Figured you might need something cold after practice.”  

Karina smiled automatically, but Yujin stiffened. “You didn’t have to,” Karina said as she took the smoothie. “But thanks.”  

Y/N glanced at Yujin, who was staring intently at her sneakers, and sighed inwardly. She had been debating whether or not to address the lingering tension between her and Yujin, and now, with Karina in the room, the moment felt unavoidable.  

“You’re welcome,” Y/N said, her voice light but firm. “Actually, can I talk to Yujin for a second? Alone?”  

Karina blinked in surprise. “Uh, sure?” she said, looking between the two of them.  

Yujin’s head snapped up, her expression somewhere between startled and reluctant. “It’s okay, we don’t—”  

“Please,” Y/N interrupted gently.  

Karina hesitated, sensing the weight in Y/N’s tone, before nodding. “I’ll just go refill my water bottle,” she said, leaving the room with a wary glance at Yujin.  

As the door closed, the silence between Y/N and Yujin stretched.  

“I didn’t mean to make things uncomfortable the other day,” Y/N began, taking a step closer. “But I think we need to clear the air.”  

Yujin’s lips pressed into a thin line. “There’s nothing to clear,” she said. “You’re with Karina now. That’s all that matters.”  

“It is,” Y/N agreed, “but that doesn’t mean I can ignore how weird this must be for you. For both of us.”  

Yujin looked away, her jaw tightening. “It’s not weird. It’s just… unexpected.”  

Y/N sighed. “I know. I didn’t think we’d ever be in the same room again, let alone like this.” She hesitated before continuing. “Yujin, I didn’t mean to hurt you back then. I want you to know that.”  

Yujin’s shoulders stiffened, and for a moment, Y/N thought she wouldn’t respond. But then Yujin exhaled, her voice soft and laced with vulnerability. “You didn’t hurt me. Things just… ended. That’s life, right?”  

Y/N nodded, though her chest ached at the words. “Still, I’m sorry. For everything.”  

Yujin finally looked at her, the guarded expression in her eyes softening. “Thanks. I didn’t mean to hurt you too,” she said quietly. “But… I’m happy for you. Really.”  

The sincerity in her voice caught Y/N off guard. “You mean that?”  

“I do,” Yujin said. “Unnie’s great. You two seem happy together.”  

Y/N smiled, a small, bittersweet feeling settling over her. “We are. But if you ever feel like this is too much — working with Karina, seeing me — please tell me. I’ll make sure to step back.”  

Yujin shook her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. Besides, this collab is important, and Karina unnie’s putting her heart into it. I won’t let anything mess that up.”  

Y/N felt a surge of admiration for Yujin’s professionalism. “Thank you,” she said sincerely.  

Yujin gave her a small nod, and the tension between them eased, replaced by a tentative understanding.  

Just then, the door opened, and Karina walked back in, looking curious but relieved to see the two of them talking calmly. “Everything okay?” she asked, glancing between them.  

“Yeah,” Yujin said, her tone lighter than before. “We’re good.”  

Y/N nodded, her smile genuine. “We’re good.”  

Karina’s eyes flickered with curiosity, but she didn’t press further. “Great. Now let’s finish this routine so we can blow everyone away on stage.”  

The three of them shared a small laugh, and as the music started again, the air in the room felt lighter — no longer burdened by the weight of unspoken history but filled with the promise of moving forward. 

A/N: Thoughts? I do have a backstory for Yujin if that’s anyone’s cup of tea. ◡̈

[tropics43]

Title: Remember When part 2

Azzi x Paige

Flashback

It’s been 6 years since Paige has known Azzi. The first time Paige had seen azzi was at a Christmas basketball tournament in Virginia. Azzi and her AAU team were playing in the 2nd game of the night. Paige was in town playing in her own AAU basketball tournament when Paige’s coach had suggested to the team on going to scout the other competition. Once in the gym the team had gotten separated and it was a free for all on seating. Paige and her teammate Destiny somehow found their way courtside and sat in the only two empty seats in the gym. Throwing back some popcorn and exchanging laughs with destiny it seemed to Paige this was going to be a fun experience.

The starting lineups were being announced and Paige was closely paying attention. The announcer on the PA system announced the 5’10” 8th grader wearing the number 35 jersey. When Azzi stood up to high five her teammates, eyes looking directly in front of her locked on to Paige. It was almost as if Azzi was giving Paige the 1000 yard stare. Paige immediately felt a warm sensation rush her chest and cheeks almost embarrassed. Thinking to herself, who is this girl… within the first 4 minutes of the game Azzi already had 3 steals, 8 points and 2 blocks. Paige can hear someone talking in her ear but she can’t make out the words. All Paige can seem to concentrate on is the girl wearing the number 35 jersey. “Earth to Paige” Destiny says, waving her hand in front of Paige’s face. Paige quickly snaps back to reality saying “huh”. Destiny says “number 35 is pretty good, she has handles like you” “yeah” Paige says but doesn’t really have any other words. All Paige knows is 2 things.

1. Paige needs to be on the same court as her

2. Paige needs to hear her voice

The game had ended with a score of 72-53 in favor of the curly haired brunette’s team. With the conclusion of the handshake line ending, Azzi had went to the bench to grab her gym bag and to scan the crowd for her parents. When Azzi had successfully spotted them she had turned to tell her teammates goodbye but only found a 6’0 blonde standing in front of her with a shy grin on her face.

Azzi: uhh

Paige being nervous couldn’t control the rapid fire of questions about to leave her mouth. All she wanted to know was what her voice sounded like.

Paige: not gonna lie you were pretty good out there..I’m Paige by the way, My team is playing here tomorrow. Are you playing again tomorrow?

Paige was about mid question when Azzi hears her dad yell for her.. Azzi turns back towards Paige and all she says is “I’m azzi, I gotta go..” she then proceeds to turn and walk away.

“Azzi” Paige’s says almost as a whisper to herself so she doesn’t forget her name.

Present

With the dynamics of Paige and Azzi’s friendship/relationship there have been multiple occasions where Azzi has often wondered if there would ever be a turning point for them to actually become serious.

There once was a brief moment back in USA basketball where Paige was the most vulnerable and expressed to Azzi that there was a possibility of liking her more than just a friend.

But that was very short lived because Paige never brought it up again and Azzi was still trying to figure out who she was and what she wanted.

The banter from this morning’s activities between Azzi and Paige were always the same. Pet names, forehead kisses, touches that seem to linger a second to long, random pictures of hearts on mirrors.

Azzi was in love with Paige, her best friend. The girl who she came to UConn for.

Paige was in love with Azzi , her best friend. The girl whose voice she fell in love with the moment she heard it.

But both were too scared to admit it

Azzi stood in the middle of her dorm room, staring blankly at her phone screen. The words “we need to talk” had been sent, and now she felt a suffocating weight settle over her chest. It wasn’t a message she ever thought she’d send Paige, not like this. But the yellow piece of paper she had just posted on the bulletin board—the one that had been snatched away in a matter of seconds—felt like a ticking time bomb.

She took a shaky breath, her pulse racing. In her heart, she knew the message would throw Paige off, but there was no turning back now. She couldn’t keep suppressing what she felt—not when it was slowly eating away at her every day. The words she’d wanted to say for so long threatened to burst out of her like a dam ready to break.

Meanwhile, Paige walked back to her seat across from Aubrey, trying to shake off the weird feeling Azzi’s text had given her. Aubrey raised an eyebrow, her mouth full of homestyle potatoes.

“What’s up?” she asked once she swallowed.

“Azzi just texted me,” Paige replied, still staring at her phone. “She said, ‘We need to talk.’”

Aubrey’s face lit up in mock surprise. “Ooh, the dreaded ‘we need to talk.’ What’d you do, Paige?”

“I didn’t do anything!” Paige snapped, though the nervousness in her voice betrayed her calm façade.

Aubrey smirked. “Relax. I’m just messing with you. It’s probably nothing.”

But Paige wasn’t so sure. Something about the way Azzi had rushed into the café earlier and posted that note—it had left her with an uneasy feeling. She’d never seen Azzi so… frantic.

“What if I screwed something up?” Paige muttered to herself, pushing her plate of pancakes away.

Aubrey gave her a side glance. “You? Screw something up with Azzi? Come on, Paige, the girl worships the ground you walk on. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

Paige forced a smile, but the pit in her stomach remained.

Back at her dorm, Azzi paced the room, replaying the moment from earlier when she’d posted the note. She hadn’t expected it to be snatched up so quickly. That had to be a good sign, right? Someone was interested. Someone who wasn’t Paige.

Her chest tightened at the thought. Was this what moving on was supposed to feel like? A constant push and pull between longing and letting go?

She sank onto the edge of her bed, gripping her phone. The memories of Paige’s forehead kiss from earlier that morning felt like a cruel reminder of everything she couldn’t have. Paige made it seem so effortless—the playful touches, the inside jokes, the way she made Azzi feel seen. But that was just who Paige was: open, carefree, and full of love for everyone around her. It didn’t mean Paige loved her that way.

“I’ll never forget the day I realized I loved you, but most importantly, I’ll never forget the day I realized you didn’t love me back,” Azzi whispered to herself, the words ringing hollow in her ears.

She knew Paige cared for her deeply, but not in the way Azzi wanted. And that was the hardest part. Being close to Paige but never close enough.

The team gathered in the film room a little after 10 a.m. The hum of conversation filled the room as players settled into their usual spots. Paige and Aubrey sat near the back, while Azzi took her seat at the front, headphones around her neck and her focus on the laptop in front of her.

Paige noticed immediately. Azzi always sat near her during film study, but today she was keeping her distance. Paige frowned and leaned over to Aubrey.

“Something’s definitely up with her,” Paige whispered.

Aubrey shrugged. “Maybe she’s just in a mood. You know how she gets sometimes.”

But Paige wasn’t convinced. She glanced toward Azzi again, her stomach twisting.

The film session dragged on, but Paige barely paid attention. She couldn’t stop staring at the back of Azzi’s head, wondering what was going on. By the time Coach Geno wrapped things up and dismissed the team, Paige had made up her mind.

“Azzi!” Paige called out as the players filed out of the room.

Azzi paused but didn’t turn around. Instead, she waited for Paige to catch up, clutching her water bottle like it was a lifeline.

“Hey,” Paige said softly, her voice laced with concern. “What’s going on? You’ve been acting weird all morning.”

Azzi avoided her gaze, her heart pounding. She couldn’t do this here, not with the rest of the team lingering nearby.

“Can we talk later?” Azzi said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Paige frowned but nodded. “Okay. After practice?”

Azzi hesitated. “Yeah. After practice.”

The hours dragged on, and by the time practice ended, Azzi felt like she was going to implode. She hadn’t been able to focus at all. Every missed shot, every fumbled pass—it was as if her emotions were physically weighing her down.

Paige, on the other hand, was sharp as ever, hitting shot after shot and calling out plays with her usual confidence. Azzi watched her from the corner of her eye, wondering how Paige could be so oblivious to the storm brewing inside her.

When practice finally ended, Azzi lingered on the court, wiping sweat from her brow as the rest of the team filed out. Paige stayed behind, walking over to where Azzi stood.

“Alright,” Paige said, crossing her arms. “Talk to me.”

Azzi looked down at her shoes, her chest tightening. She had rehearsed this moment in her head a thousand times, but now that it was here, the words wouldn’t come.

“Azzi?” Paige prompted, her voice softer now.

Azzi took a deep breath and finally met Paige’s gaze. “I… I posted something on the bulletin board this morning. It was an ad.”

Paige tilted her head, confused. “An ad for what?”

Azzi hesitated. “For a date.”

Paige’s eyes widened. “A date?”

Azzi nodded, her throat dry. “Yeah. I figured it was time to… you know, put myself out there. Meet new people.”

Paige stared at her, a mix of emotions flickering across her face—surprise, confusion, and something else Azzi couldn’t quite place.

“That’s what you wanted to talk about?” Paige asked, her voice quieter now.

Azzi nodded, her chest aching. “I just thought you should know.”

Paige opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out. For the first time, she didn’t know what to say.

Azzi took her silence as a sign to leave. “I should go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Before Paige could stop her, Azzi turned and walked away, leaving Paige standing alone in the middle of the empty gym, her heart pounding in a way she couldn’t explain.

[storiesforallfandoms]

something about a man in uniform ~ ethan kopek;carry-on

word count: 2122

request?: no

description: in which nothing turns her on more than seeing her boyfriend in his uniform

pairing: ethan kopek x female!reader

warnings: swearing, smut (dom!ethan, face fucking, a lil rough, praise, lil bit of a breeding kink), FULLY just porn without a plot because my brain chemistry changed after seeing taron in carry-on

masterlist (one, two, three)

It was so late you were struggling to keep your eyes open when the front door opened and slammed shut. You sat up, trying to wake yourself up enough to greet your boyfriend. He came around the corner and let out a heavy sigh, throwing his bag onto the floor.

"Welcome home," you said, sleepily.

"Sorry I'm so late getting home," he sighed. "We had an issue in my line and Sarkowski made me stay till it was figured out."

"What happened?"

Your eyes followed Ethan's hands as he started to unbutton his uniform shirt. Suddenly, you were very awake.

"Some idiot with a huge bottle of sunscreen in his carry on got flagged. When I went to do a search of his bag, he starts freaking out. Causes a huge scene and has to be detained. Since it was my line, Sarkowski made me be there for his whole interrogation and shit. The guy refused to cooperate, so we were there for hours until we finally found out it was just a stupid sunscreen bottle."

Ethan had been pacing while he talked. He had finished unbuttoning his shirt, now letting it hang open with his black under shirt on display. He stopped pacing when he noticed your silence. He thought maybe you had fallen asleep, but instead when he turned to look at you, he found you staring. It was like you were hypnotized, staring blankly at him; at his body.

He smirked then moved to stand directly in front of you. He put his fingers against your chin, tilting your head to look up at him. "Like what you see?"

You blinked out of your daze. Heat from embarrassment crept up your face. "Sorry. I was...distracted."

"Yeah. I noticed. What's got you so distracted?"

You swallowed. You weren't exactly sure how to tell him that seeing him in uniform turned you on.

You weren't the only person in the world who found uniforms attractive. That was definitely an an uncommon thing. There was just something slightly embarrassing to you about having to admit to your own boyfriend that seeing him in his work uniform really turned you on. No matter how often you saw it, every time Ethan would pull on his blue TSA shirt and tuck it into his dress pants, you'd feel a tingling sensation between your legs.

When you took too long to answer, Ethan leaned over you. He put his hands on the back of the couch, on either side of your body. You were trapped, no choice but to look in his eyes.

"Do you like seeing me in my uniform, pretty girl?" he asked.

You were at a loss for words, so you just nodded. At the same time, Ethan shook his head. "No, no. Use your words, pretty girl."

"Y-yes," you managed.

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, I like seeing you in your uniform."

He was still smirking. "Good girl."

Before your brain had much time to grasp (or rather, short circuit because of) that comment, his lips were on yours. He was kissing you with a kind of passion and hunger that lit a fire in you. It was the kind of kiss that bruised your lips, that lit your body aflame. One of his hands moved to cup your cheek. It was gentle, a juxtaposition to the way he was kissing you.

His hand moved from your face to his belt. He pulled away from the kiss to stand over you again. Your heart was racing as you watched him undo his belt, and then his dress pants. You could see the outline of his dick through his boxers, and he was already rock hard. His hand moved to take yours and placed it against the bulge. You instinctively started palming his length. His head lulled back, a low moan escaping from his lips.

"Don't tease, baby," he said.

There was a bit of a stern tone to Ethan's voice that made you clench your thighs. You had tried some sub-dom scenarios before, which you had really enjoyed, but this was different. This was not a planned moment of dominance. This whole situation was entirely spontaneous (not that you ever planned the times you had sex). And it was so fucking hot.

You slid off the couch onto your knees in front of Ethan. You reached for his boxers, pulling them down to his mid thigh. His cock sprang free, standing at attention for you. You took hold of the base and pumped a few times. You weren't about to tease him, but the moans from him as you stroked his cock were so delicious.

When you wrapped your lips around his tip, his hips immediately bucked forward, shoving himself further down your throat. You knew it wasn't on purpose and he wasn't trying to make you gag or anything, but you still couldn't help but try to move away from him due to the sudden intrusion. To your surprise, Ethan took hold of your hair and pushed you down onto his length again. His hips started moving, not enough to gag you but enough that he was completely fucking your face. You looked up at him through your eyelashes. He was still in his uniform shirt, which somehow turned you on even more. His eyes were closed and his bottom lip was between his teeth, muffled grunts slipping from his mouth.

You could feel your own slick between your legs, pooling in your underwear. You held onto Ethan's thighs, bracing yourself for every inward thrust. Drool was starting to drip down your chin and onto the floor between your legs. You watched Ethan's head tilt down to look at you. His blue eyes met yours, and they were so clouded with lust. He loosened his grip on your hair to move his hand to your face, gently cupping your cheek again.

When he pulled himself out of your mouth, you tried to chase him. He pulled you to your feet instead, hungrily kissing you again. His hands desperately grabbed at you wherever he could, pressing himself as close to you as he could.

"Off," he muttered against your lips, his hands reaching for your pajama top. He broke away from you to pull it up over your head and tossed it somewhere behind him. He gently pushed you down onto the couch, grabbing for your pajama bottoms next. "These too." You lifted your hips so he could pull the bottoms and your underwear off, discarding it with your shirt.

You were left completely bare, trembling under his gaze. He pushed his boxers down and kicked them to the side. You were watching him take off his uniform shirt when he paused and made a gesture for you to turn around.

"On your knees," he commanded.

You did as he said; turning yourself around so you were braced against the back of the couch, perched up on your knees with your ass raised to him. You heard the last of his clothes hit the floor before feeling his presence behind you. You yelped at the quick sting of his hand against one of your ass cheeks, before he was pulling that same ass cheek open. He ran his cock between your wet folds, teasing you. You moaned at the feeling of his hot tip against your clit. You weren't sure how long you'd be able to last through the teasing.

When he finally pushed past your entrance, you almost sighed with relief. He pushed himself into you very slowly, letting you feel every inch of him as he filled you up. You put your head into your arms, moaning at the feeling of him inside of you. Ethan's hand ran up your back and to your hair again. You gasped at the sting of his hand closing around your hair, pulling hard at the strands until your head was tipped back.

"Don't you dare try to be quiet," he growled. "I want to hear how good I make you."

He pulled out just a little, before snapping his hips forward, driving himself back into you. You cried out in pleasure. Ethan decided this was the perfect pace: brutally drilling into you while he still had a hold on your hair. You were nearly bent in half, pushing yourself up from the back of the couch as much as you could. Part of you was concerned about potentially breaking the couch with how roughly Ethan was fucking you, but a bigger part of you didn't care. All you could think about was the feeling of Ethan's cock abusing your g spot.

Your legs soon began to shake, and you felt your orgasm slowly building within you. You tried to tell Ethan that you were close, but any words that came out just sounded like babbling. He pulled you so that your back was flush against his chest, his mouth mere inches from your ear.

"What's that, pretty girl?" he asked.

"C-Close," you managed to get out.

"You're close?" he asked. You nodded. "Do you think you can wait for me, baby? I want to feel you cum on my cock as I fill you with my cum."

You whined in response. You weren't sure if you could wait. Although it wasn't quickly approaching, you didn't think you'd be able to stop yourself when you finally reached your high. You didn't want to wait, either. You were chasing a high you had been working towards the second you saw Ethan's body perfectly framed in that TSA uniform.

"You can do it, baby," he whispered in your ear. "You can wait for me. Wait for me to pump you full of my cum, maybe even plant a baby in there. Would you like that? Would you like it if I put a baby in you, pretty girl?"

You nodded, although you weren't fully comprehending what he was saying. All you could focus on was the feeling of Ethan's body against yours, the feeling of him so deep inside of you, the feeling of his hot breath against your ear, and then his lips on your neck.

Luckily, it didn't take long for Ethan to get close. When he did, he reached between your legs and started to rub circles against your clit. You cried out, both in pleasure and due to the overstimulation. It was enough to tip you over the edge, trembling and moaning, a white hot flash of pleasure ripping through you. Seconds later, you felt Ethan pulse inside of you, coating your walls with his cum. He leaned his head against your shoulder, also shaking as he rode out his high. His hand dropped from your clit and you almost sighed.

Your body quickly fell back into exhaustion. You sleepily slipped out of Ethan's grasp and leaned forward, against the couch. He still had a hold on your hips, but eventually let himself slip out of you. You felt the remnants of him slipping down your thighs. You slowly lowered yourself onto the couch until you were laying down again.

"I guess I should've done this before," you said.

"What do you mean?" Ethan asked.

"Lay down," you responded. "To make sure I didn't let anything run out."

He looked at you in confusion before it dawned on him what you meant. He chuckled a little. "I didn't mean it too literally. I mean, I would like to have a kid with you eventually, and I wouldn't be upset if we found out this is the time it happened, but I don't think I'm completely ready to be a dad yet."

"I won't hold my breath, then."

He chuckled against. He helped you up and to the bathroom so you could take care of the post-sex things, then he helped you to your bed. You settled into the comfortable bedding, laying on your side and curled up a little. Ethan moved behind you, taking you in his arms in the spooning position.

"I didn't go too rough or anything, did I?" he asked.

You shook your head and mumbled a soft, "No."

"Okay. I was a little worried after. I didn't mean to take out my work frustrations on you."

"You can take out any frustrations on me anytime," you mumbled. "But maybe at an earlier hour. I'm exhausted."

He chuckled and kissed your shoulder. "Deal. Goodnight, baby."

"Goodnight."

There was a brief moment of silence where both of you began to drift off to sleep. With your last few seconds of consciousness, you managed to say, "Don't forget to get our clothes from the living room in the morning."

The last thing you heard before you fell asleep was Ethan's laugh.

[neuvilette-tea-party]

Hello! I hope you’re doing well :) this is my first time requesting honestly but i was wondering if i can request for a steb x reader fluff or nsfw oneshot story about the reader starting their job as an enforcer in the same station as steb 🥺

They have a friendly coworker relationship that slowly became more than that. They started to interact after getting paired together from their schedules or go on patrols together. They figured to interact with each other using notes or sign languages and leading the conversation to subtle flirting and maybe some slight nsfw moments. Eventually they developed feelings for each other too

I LOVE YOUR WRITING AND I’M SORRY IF THE TERMS IS A BIT CONFUSING ITS MY FIRST TIME USING THEM BUT I’LL BE SO HAPPY WITH WHATEVER YOU’LL WRITE IT 😭

Thank you so much dear! ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ Steb is such a sweetheart, I love writing for him ❤️❤️❤️

︶⊹︶︶୨ Steb x GN!reader ୧︶︶⊹︶

Wordcount: 1011

Tags: Date, fluff, slow dance, dessert

request open for best boy Steb

You smile as the waitress of your favorite cafe brings you their new melted chocolate lava cake and Steb’s usual consomme. 

“Thank you, Lara.” You thank her. 

“You’re welcome, honey. Have a nice one together.” She smiles back. 

You two are a regular of the place and know everyone by name, they know you always try their new dessert while Steb always has a consomme. You inhale with delight under the setting sun of Piltover, looking at the park next to the terrasse where families slowly stroll around, both of your helmets on the table. 

A simple rendez-vous à deux. 

You take your spoon and dive into the cake to see the fondant inside, giggling with excitement while Steb starts eating his consomme with more dignity. 

“So! You were telling me you’ve been chosen to be part of Caitlyn Kiramman’s special task force?!” You ask. 

Steb silently nods, sipping his soup, but his ears shake with a single tremor or excitation. 

“Oh my gods, Steb!” You melt, “This is wonderful! It was time they noticed your hard work! Are you happy?” 

He pats his lips with his napkin, eyes focused as he thinks before nodding frankly. He puts down his napkin and starts signing his true thoughts. 

“I am very proud of you too! You deserve it! I heard you will have new weapons. With the hextech thingy?” 

Steb frowns and shakes his head, his cheek fin waving with displeasure as he talks to you with his hands. 

“I never knew you disliked hextech that much... It interferes with your senses ?” 

He curtly nods, his lips pressed in a thin line. 

“You get migraines? Oh... Did you ask for non-enhanced weapons then?” You slow down your cake tasting to focus on your deary. 

He nods again. 

“Tonfas, obviously.” You nod too, “Your favorites. You think you’ll be able to manage Maddie’s overflowing enthusiasm?” 

He tilts his head left and right, as to say he isn’t sure. 

“I know she tends to bypass your authority, but she will be forced to behave with Kiramman. Everything is going to be all right I am sure!” 

He shrugs but doesn’t appear all worried about all of that. You silently look at him with sparkling eyes as he elegantly eats. 

He is so handsome! 

And so, so nice... How many times did you see him help a child with a scratched knee? It never fails to make you melt on the spot. 

He blinks his third eyelid, noticing your stare. 

“Yes, it’s you I am looking at, handsome.” You cheekily smile. 

He coughs as his gulp goes the wrong way, hiding his mouth behind his hand. You hand him your own napkin with a chuckle. 

He clears his throat, a rosy shade on his cheek. 

“I love admiring your face. It is so well made.” 

He coughs once more before calming down and taking back control of his expression. He turns his head as a jazz band arrives under the gazebo as night falls on Piltover. 

You observe the musician taking out their instrument while eating and smear some chocolate on your face. 

“Oh!” You laugh. 

Steb stands up and leans forward, taking your chin between his fingers to wipe off your lips corner with his thumbs, coating it with the chocolate. 

He sucks it with a hum of appreciation, savoring the chocolate while you look at him flabbergasted. You brush where he touched you with the tip of your fingers, a sparkle of excitement in your heart, breath short. 

He looks at you and grins, satisfied with his effect. 

The band starts to play and he puts his spoon dow, seizing your hand, inviting you to follow him. You stand up and let him pull you near the gazebo where other people started to gather. He turns toward you and slides his hand in your back, taking the other in his gentle grip and starts to tenderly slow dance with you. 

You bite your lower lips, eyes fixed on his as the rosy shade is back on his cheeks and his ears twitch with excitation. You feel him a bit tense in your arms, the result of the wounds he received during the memorial attack... He reassures his grip on your back, pulling you just a bit tighter and guiding you in a gentle dance, spinning endlessly in each other embrace. 

You just cannot detach your eyes from one another. 

You let go of his hand to clasp both of yours behind his solid neck while he circles your lower back, swaying lovingly with the soft jazzy tune. 

All around you candles are being lit, surrounded by other couples under the shiny stars for a light and sacred moment of intimacy. He pulls your hips closer as his ocean eyes lower from your gaze to your cheekbones, to your nose... 

To your lips. 

He licks his own lips as he approaches his face from yours terribly slowly to give you all the time to evade if you ever wanted it. 

Like you ever wanted to evade a kiss from him. 

You press your mouth with a gasped giggle, surprising him with your eagerness. But he slowly closes his eyes in the kiss, savoring the moment. 

You gently kiss each other, your lips dancing in harmony, fondly rediscovering each other like a first time. 

It feels so... right 

And good. 

Like it was meant to be all along. 

All those missions, those patrols, those training sessions together, and those stolen moment hidden in the closets of the barracks, all cumulated for this suspended instant. 

You part very slowly and breathless, hugging each other tight like never before, forehead against forehead, eyes in eyes. 

Anonymous in the crowd but lovers as everyone else, embraced by the soft music for a magic evening. 

 “I love you, Steb.” You confess, your heart in a frenzy. 

He presses your foreheads together, gently cradling you with a light purr, his cheek fins twitching with joy. 

Happy to be alive and together for a moment of frivolity among the chaos. 

☆☆Taglist☆☆

@dance-like-russia-isnt-watching @brandy-and-bane @sp-the-fae-queen @aeeliy @sanktastuff @telephoneonawire @daichisito @sofiyathelast-blog 

[grapejuice32]

Make it work: Part 2

Spencer Reid x reader

Part 1 here

Notes: a part 2 of reader meeting the team was requested by @aasmalfoy but I got a bit carried away so reader will meet the team in part 3 along with having a well needed talk with Spence! <3

Two months had passed since you told Spencer you were pregnant, and you had finally had a week long break in filming. You were barely showing yet and luckily your character on the show wore pretty baggy clothing, so you were able to get away with it for the time being. You were flying back to Washington and would finally be meeting Spencer's team and sharing the news with them. You weren't entirely sure that they were aware the person they would be meeting was Spencer's girlfriend considering, from what he told you, he only asked them to come to dinner with him and someone he'd like them to meet. But equally, you reminded yourself that they were a team of profilers so it didn't take a genius to figure out who he wanted them to meet. You shook your head and rubbed your eyes, you knew you were overthinking things, but you couldn't help it. What if they didn't like you? What if they weren't happy for Spencer? What if- you groaned and threw your head back against the seat, trying to knock the thoughts out of your head, to no avail.

After you landed and went through bag check, you walked out into arrivals, you'd allowed some part of you to hope that Spencer would be there to collect you, a disappointed sigh escaping you when you couldn't see him. A share pain shot through you as you bit the your lip too hard, blood slowly seeping from the cut you'd just made, you sniffed and blinked away the tears that had started to line your eyes.

"Are you okay?" A man's voice came, you turned to face the stranger and nodded, "Oh, uh, you're bleeding." His voice came a bit panicked, you watched as he rifled through his pockets and found a pack of tissues, he pulled out a clean one for you and you held it out to your lip until it stopped bleeding.

"Thanks," you whispered, too caught up in your own thoughts to notice the pictures that were being taken of you and the stranger.

He shrugged, "It's no problem, but seriously, are you okay? You look like you've been crying."

"Yeh, it's just um, I thought my boyfriend would be here to pick me up, I've not seen him for two months...but he's not," you weren't sure why you were telling the stranger all this but you couldn't help it, you felt so isolated, it's not like you could vent to anyone you worked with because Spencer had requested that you still kept your relationship a secret until he had told the team, with you being in the public eye and all, "and I mean, I know he's probably busy with work and all but I'm only here for a week and I just thought that maybe..."

He sighed and nodded, "I'm really sorry about that, if it helps, I was here to pick up my girlfriend and when I got here, she said that she wasn't coming anymore because she wanted to break up as she had found someone new where she lived."

"Oh my god," you laughed, "sorry, I don't mean to laugh but."

"No I-its okay, it's kind of funny," he laughed with you, "I'm Tom, by the way."

You introduced yourself and the two of you shook hands, Tom began to speak again, a smile on both your faces, "Hey look, if you need a friend in the city while your here, or just a friend in general..."

"Thank you," you grinned, "I may just have to take you up on that"

"You know, since your boyfriend isn't here to pick you up, um, did you want to like get lunch? There's a pretty good burger place on the ro-"

"I know exactly which one you mean, I love it there." You nodded, agreeing to his lunch invite.

The two of you had a pretty good time getting to know each other, it was really freeing to make a friend who you could actually confide in, sure you had your family etc but it wasn't the same. Tom had offered really great insight and had just sat and listened as you were finally able to talk about the past few months, a weight lifting off of your shoulders now that you were finally able to tell someone about everything that had been troubling you. Sure you could tell Spencer, but it wasn't the same, you needed someone to talk to who wasn't your boyfriend and now you finally had the, you had a friend. The both of you sat there talking for a couple of hours before you grew sick of the smell of the burger and decided to go to a park, you had swapped over and he was now wheeling your suitcase for you. You'd both been sat on a park bench when your phone started ringing, you picked it up, seeing that the caller ID read Spencer.

S: Hi, sweetheart, 'm so sorry I wasn't there to pick you up. Did you get home okay?

You: I, um, I'm not a home yet, I went to the park. S: Oh, okay well, be careful if you're there on your own. You: I'm not, on my own I mean, I'm with a friend.

S: Okay, well listen...I'm um, I'm not going to be home until tomorrow at the latest there's a c- You: There's a case, yeah, I gathered. S: Are you okay? You sound upset You:... S: Hello? Sweetheart? Are you still there? You: Mhm S: Are you okay?

You: Yeah, the job comes first, right? S: I mean, yes but it's, look if you want me to come back I- You: No, don't, the team needs you I'm sure. S: Angel, look 'm really sorry I'm not there, okay... You: You should probably get back to work

S: No I can- You: It's fine, the faster you get back to it the faster you can come home, right? S: I, no not exactl- You: Okay, well be safe, yeah? I'll message you when I'm home. S: Sweethe-

You hung up, tears filling your eyes again, you turned to Tom, "Am I being dramatic?"

He exhaled thoughtfully, "If he's making you feel like shit, then I don't think it's dramatic at all. Especially if stuff like this is a regular occurrence."

You bit the inside of your cheek, "I guess, but when we first got together, he made it clear that the job came first, you know? I knew what I was getting myself into, but it-its really hard, and I-I just feel so isolated." Your voice broke as the tears began to slowly roll down your cheeks.

Tom placed a hand on your shoulder, comfortingly rubbing his hand up and down your arm, "Maybe that's the case, but either way, you're the mother of his child...you should be first, not the job, even if he told you when you first got together that the job came first, its sort of cruel...he didn't even tell you that he wouldn't be able to pick you up."

You shrugged, but you knew he was right, "I guess."

"I think you should talk to him about it, you have a baby on the way, it can't go without being addressed."

You just nodded in agreement. That night you didn't make it home till about 6pm, having spent the rest of the day in the park before it had started to go dark and get a bit cold with the sun setting. Similar to two months ago when you came to see Spencer, you ordered takeout and rewatched Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith, the pregnancy hormones causing you to react more severely to how you usually did, despite having watched the film countless times.

You hadn't heard from Spencer since he liked the message you sent about you being home safe so you decided to just call it a night, worn out by the crying you had done at the end of Revenge of the Sith. The next morning, you woke up, groaning when you checked the time only to see it was already midday. There was still no word from Spencer and you became slightly worried that something had happened, you knew that he was probably okay, but there would also always be the possibility of him getting in trouble considering what his job was. You weren't able to find much motivation to do much of anything today, so instead you lay in bed pretty much all day, eating leftover takeout and reading one of the many books strewn about the room. By the time it hit 10:30, you found yourself already exhausted, despite doing nothing at all with your day, you'd still heard nothing from Spencer and had therefore barley been on your phone al day apart from messaging back and forth with Tom when texted to check in on you.

Not willing to fight see any longer, you turned off the bedside lamps you'd had on and wrapped the sheets around you, finding yourself more on Spencer's side of the bed than your own. A few hours into you being asleep, you faintly heard the sound of the front door opening but it didn't manage to wake you, too consumed in your deep sleep. It was only when you felt the bed dip and an arm slide around you that you slightly opened your eyes in a squint, you could faintly make out the figure in front of you, but still mumbled groggily, "Spencer?"

" 'S okay, go back to sleep, sweetheart," he whispered, his voice instantly bringing you comfort, "we'll talk in the morning, okay?"

You nodded and buried your face in the crook of his neck, mumbling a sleepy, "love you."

You were just able to catch him whispering, "I love you, angel." into your hairline after pressing a kiss to your temple before you fell back into a deep and peaceful sleep, knowing now that Spencer was safe and with you.

Please lmk what you guys think, I'd love to hear from you! I'll also be happy to try and write any requests you may have <3

[midnight-mourning]

Night Ride

❄️❄️Midnight's DCA December Day 23❄️❄️

Another fun one! decided to have a little bit of a twist with the storyline, mainly to add a bit of extra fluff and the likes, hope you all enjoy!

Prompt: Polar express au! Perhaps yn as the conductor and sun/moon as the engineers? Or perhaps eclipse and yn are both conductors. My favorite segments are them getting over the frozen lake and the roller coaster ride right after while the main characters are stuck at the front!

Word Count: 1819

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

"What do you mean we're out of marshmallows? How does a magic train to the north pole run out of marshmallows?" You say, exasperated, then shake your head. "I've got twenty kids in that car alone that are going to want marshmallows with their hot chocolate. I don't care if you have to get in contact with Mrs. C herself, you get marshmallows, got it?"

The sous chef nods, hurrying off as you sigh. This trip has been such a disaster already. One kid almost missed the train, someone was missing their ticket, and now no marshmallows! Thank goodness you only did one of these a year, you don't think your stress levels could take anything more. 

A pair of hands rest on your shoulders, massaging. "Breathe, love. They'll figure it out, we always do, right?" 

"I know, 'clip. I know." You lean into his touch with a sigh. "This year's just been a bit of a mess and it's getting to me."

Eclipse bends down to your line of sight, chuckling. "Be honest, when is it not?"

"True. That's... true."

He kisses your cheek, releasing you again after a moment. "I'll see what I can do about our marshmallow situation. Can you handle our missing ticket problem?"

"Yes. And thank you." You reach out for his hand as he turns to leave, giving it a squeeze. "I appreciate it."

He nods, lifts your hand for a kiss, then heads off to one of the other cars. You sigh, shake your head, and get back to work. After a bit of discussion with the kids, you're thankfully able to resolve the matter. Eclipse—somehow—manages to find marshmallows, thus averting utter disaster. 

You think the trouble is over, but when the train comes to a halt, you feel dread overtake you once more. Not wasting any time, you make your way to the front, bursting into the cab only to find—

"I, Helpy, what are you doing in here? Where's Sun and Moon?"

The small bot is standing on a stool, one of the boy's hats on his head. He waves to you, then points outside.

You peek out the window, and spy sun's rays around the front area of the train. Looking further you see—"Caribou?! We don't have time for this." You duck back inside, nodding to the small bear bot. "Guess it was wise they put you in charge after all."

He salutes you and you hurry out to the front of the train. 

When you get there you see the two bots bickering back and forth. You hop up onto the platform, and quickly move between the two. 

"What exactly do you two think you're doing?" 

Sun ducks his head. "Changing the light... Or at least we would be if someone wasn't being so difficult!" He turns back to Moon. 

The other bot chuckles, arms crossed. "You were doing it wrong~"

They start to argue again and you push them away from each other further. 

"Listen, I do not care if you did it right or wrong or whatever, we have bigger problems here." You nod to the massive heard of caribou. "That, needs fixed or we're going to be more than just a little late. So get to it."

You usher the two of them off the platform, grumbling as they go and start shooing them away, with little success. 

You check the time again. Still five minutes to midnight. You click the watch shut and shove it back in your pocket. 

"You never cease to amaze me with your patience, Starlight."

You glance up, seeing Eclipse peering down at you from the top of the train. "Tell me about it. This'll take hours to clear out, we don't have time for that."

He hops down to stand beside you as you turn back to where Sun and Moon try in vain to get the caribou to retreat. Going so far as trying to shove them this way or that, with no success. 

"Ah, you forget, my sweet, what train we're on." He whistles to the other two, waving them to come back. "Return to the cab, Helpy can't do all your work for you."

Shoving each other back and forth, they trudge back to cab. Not before shooting a glare to Eclipse and wink and kiss respectively to you, however. 

You turn back to the herd. "What do you think we'll be able to do?"

"They know." Eclipse's arms wrap around you. "Believe it or not but when they put their heads together they can be quite clever."

Sure enough, the train's whistle suddenly blows, startingly you and the caribou. After a few quick blows, they finally clear the tracks, and you're moving again. 

You relax into Eclipse's hold. "Right. Should have thought of that."

"You're stressed, and you certainly can't be expected to think of everything." He presses a kiss to your hair, then moves down to your neck. 

You laugh, hands coming up to grip his arms. "Clip, we're working. Save it for later."

His grips tightens, and does not stop. Figures. 

"You know, speaking of clever, if this was all a ploy to get me alone, I'm not going to be happy with you." 

He tsks against your skin. "No, never. You know our control doesn't go beyond the train."

"Uh huh,"—you say, then notice that the winds picked up significantly—"Hey, don't you think we're going a little fast?"

Eclipse pauses his assault on your neck, looking up and out to the path in front of you. "It would appear so. Too fast for what's up ahead."

"Yeah, that's what I thought." You remove yourself from his hold, going over to the side of the train to yell back. "Boys! Slow it down. Glacier Gulch is up ahead, remember?"

Nothing but the wind as a response. 

You curse under your breath as you continue to pick up speed, going back to the front railing. "Not good. This is not good."

"The train and everyone inside will be perfectly fine, love. It's you that I'm worried about." Eclipse comes up behind you again, hands encircling your own as they cling to the railing, holding you securely against it. "I think we're in for a ride."

You see the hill prior to the gulch rapidly approaching, your stomach already dropping in fear.

You press your back into his chest, hands shifting to be able to grip his in some regard. "I'm worried about you two, you big dummy. Sorry in advance for the screaming I'm about to do."

"No need for apologies. I don't think you're going to be the only one."

You make it to the top of the hill, and only have a second before you plummet to the bottom. You both scream, clinging to each other and the railing for dear life as you ride up and down, and up and down through the mountainous terrain. Your heart lurches into your throat several times over, and if you weren't facing every the track head on you think this might be fun. 

Forcing yourself to glance up after a moment, your eyes widen as you see there's ice over the tracks up ahead. 

The train bursts out onto the ice, tilting this way and that as you twist around and hug Clip as tight as you can, burying your head against his chest. He returns the gesture ten-fold. 

After seconds that feel like hours, the train comes to a halt. Before you can even think to react, Eclipse has let you go, on the move as he storms back to the engine's cab. From here you can hear him chastising his siblings for the situation, and you sigh for the umpteenth time that night. 

You climb the steps and head back as well, coming to stand by the other conductor on the top of the train. 

"Do you have any idea the danger you put them in—" You put a hand on his arm and he stops immediately, voice softening. "Oh, hello, love."

You smile and don't miss the scoffs and muttering you hear from below. You squat down and address the two yourself. "I'm sure you two were trying your best back here. Thank you for getting it under control again."

Eclipse huffs as Sun's rays spin and Moon tugs his hat down to avoid your gaze. A cracking sound to your left however interrupts you. 

Across the lake, rapidly getting closer are massive cracks in the ice, with waves of water following right behind. You step into action. 

"Compliments later. Get us the hell out of here right now!"

The two below spring into action, getting the train moving again as you wobbly get to your feet. Eclipse reaches out to balance you, helping you turn around to face the other side of the lake. 

"Tracks ahead! Follow my signal." You look up to Eclipse, shifting so that he's behind you. "Keep me balanced and an eye on that back there for me."

"Always, sweet."

Zeroed in on the tracks across from you, you call out commands to Sun and Moon. 

"Left! Right! Left! Give it more steam!"

You hear the cracking noise growing louder and louder but keep your attention forward. 

"Right! Left! Left! Come on! More power!"

You feel the train drop behind you and assume the worst, just a little further—

The wheels hiss and screech as they make contact with the tracks again, lurching forward suddenly as you climb the hill. Before you can fall, Eclipse catches you, holding you close as you regain balance, and your sanity. 

You all but melt into his arms, stress leaving your body and leaving nothing left but a puddle of a person. 

"I think... I need a nap..." You collapse into his arms, drained. 

Several minutes later, after regaining your composure, you're sentenced to the stool in the corner of the engine's cab. There's hot chocolate—with marshmallows—in your hands and a blanket around your shoulders as you decompress. 

You think if they didn't have to drive the train, the engineers would be taking turns holding you, so instead they stick to walking by to for a kiss every now and then. Something you're sure is going to upset a certain conductor. But, it was arguably his fault you'd needed this break in the first place, so he'd just have to suffer until after your trip was done and over. 

You take a sip of your drink and lean your head against the cool glass of the window, staring out into the night sky with its lovely hues. A sign you were nearing the North Pole by the minute.

It was a good thing you only did this one night a year, but that didn't mean you didn't enjoy it any less. Not when you had moments like these to remember it by.

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

Thank you for the super fun request @rosescarletful!! Enjoyed rewatching the clips of the movie for context, forgot how much fun it is lol, hope you enjoyed the moments with the boys, thought i'd be cheeky and include all three ^-^

Masterpost link

Tag list (if you would like added, see this post for more info):

@scarletcowboy @beemyhuneybee @fishm0ther @deviouscrackers @elsajoyagent8

@luckyyyduckyyy @zenkaiankoku @jogimote @local-shrub @amarynthian-chronicles

@robinette-green @everlightreader @sinister-sincerely @starredeclipse @dangerva

@juukai @crystalmagpie447 @mothgutz236 @lizyxml @divinit3a

[sturn777]

7 DAYS

sypnosis : chris has seven days to prove he’s more than the cocky, reckless guy you’ve always seen him as. from awkward dates to unexpected confessions, he’s determined to win you over—no matter how messy or ridiculous things get. will seven days be enough to change your mind, or is he just setting himself up for heartbreak?

chapter two : peace offering

the soft hum of the coffee shop buzzes around you—espresso machines steaming, quiet chatter blending into the warm acoustics of the space. it’s a safe haven, one of the few places where you can exist undisturbed. that is, until a familiar mop of curls enters your peripheral vision.

you don't need to look up to know who it is. the scuffed vans appearing in your line of sight confirm it before you even hear his voice.

“peace offering.”

you glance up to find chris standing over you, smug grin firmly in place, looking too good for your liking, a tray in his hands. there’s a latte in front of you, your exact order, which is already suspicious and a pastry you’ve ordered one too many times. you raise an eyebrow but don’t say a word, just pluck your earbuds out and tilt your head as if to say, what now?

“what?” he says, sliding into the seat across from you uninvited. “figured if i’m gonna win you over, i might as well start with caffeine. you’re, like, addicted, right?” you snort, wrapping your hands around the warm cup but not drinking it just yet. “bold of you to assume this bribe is gonna work.”

“it’s not a bribe,” he corrects, leaning back in his seat with that insufferable confidence. “it’s a peace offering. step one of operation ‘make you fall in love with me in seven days.’” you almost choke on air, and his grin widens. “what are you, a walking rom-com now?” you ask, shaking your head.

“maybe. but give me a few days, and you’ll be the one swooning,” he fires back, unbothered. you roll your eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t get stuck, but there’s an amused edge to your voice now. “this isn’t 10 things i hate about you, chris.”

“no, but if it was, you’d definitely be kat. and i’d be—”

“—the guy trying too hard?”

he feigns a wince, clutching his chest. “ouch. that’s cold, even for you.”

“is it?” you deadpan.

he chuckles, leaning forward now, elbows resting on the table as his expression softens just slightly. “look, i’m not saying you have to like me right away. just… give me a chance. one chance. one hour today. if i can’t impress you, i’ll back off.”

“one hour?” you repeat, leaning back and crossing your arms.

“one hour,” he confirms.

there’s something in his tone—earnest, bordering on vulnerable—that catches you off guard. for all his bravado, there’s a flicker of something real beneath it. curiosity tugs at you, but you bury it quickly.

“fine,” you say after a long pause, grabbing your bag and standing. “one hour. don’t waste it.” he scrambles to follow, his grin growing impossibly wider as he practically jogs to keep up with your pace.

“you won’t regret this,” he says, falling into step beside you. “oh, i’m sure i will,” you shoot back, but the faintest ghost of a smile flickers across your face when you’re certain he’s not looking.

taglist : ( @emely9274 ; @bluestriips ; @loveparqdise ; @flouqissss ; @st4rcs ; @starwebber9 ; @conspiracy-ash ; @sweetrelieef ; @chris-hallelujah ; @leoslaboratory ; @matttsangel ; @awnmaneez ; @heartss4clauu ; @mattsstarlet ; @madisturni ; @marrykisskilled ; @beautyloves ; @mattsdemi ; @sturnioloangell ; @ivyandthebeans ; @kitty-kats-54 )

lana's note : i'm sorry part 2 took so long but i've been strugglingg lately . i'll try and write some more, pls send in asks of what u want to see <3

[syndrossi]

resonant ch33 dvd commentary

This was a problem child of a chapter as I tried to figure out the best path toward the next set of plot points, which, combined with the work months (Nov and Dec) from hell meant it ended up a bit late and thereby thwarted my hopes of breaking 200K words of Resonant by year's end, alas.

Favorite line(s):

“I want his head,” Daemon croaked, unable to calm the racing of his heart. “I want to swing the blade that cleaves it from his shoulders. Do not deny me this, I beg of you.”

SOMEONE PLEASE GIVE THIS MAN SOMEONE'S HEAD, HE DESERVES IT. Reyne's, Crayne's, Allard's...he's not picky right now.

Daemon glanced at the red on Viserys’s white-and-gold sleeve, still bright somehow despite being half-dried. How is it that you seek to spend my blood, brother?

The "blood to be spent" is one of my favorite of the candle's refrains to weave in, and it was fun to have a literal representation here.

[The sobs] were as quiet as they were heartbreaking, each wracking him violently, as though the pain of it were trying to bend him in half.

Anyone who's had a really intense cry knows exactly what that feeling is.

Rhaegar seemed to read his expression, and his arms tightened around Qelebrys briefly, as though apprehensive, before steeling his face and turning toward his brother. It was an impulse that was all too familiar to Daemon. He does not want his brother to think him weak.

You know it's bad when Daemon is seeing parallels with him and Viserys, rather than Aemon and Baelon.

Favorite Details

Daemon's victory

As someone pointed out in the AO3 comments, this is a rare occasion where Daemon outplayed Otto, who seemed to be expecting his leaked information about Daemon being seen visit Mysaria in Flea Bottom to result in far more dire consequences for him. He didn't realize that Daemon had been withholding information of his own.

(Granted, Daemon would gladly have continued to withhold the information about the bounty on his own head, had it not been useful in the confrontation.)

Redfort brothers

Sorry, @textbookchoices, I think you were envisioning something quite different when I promised Redfort content...

I don't know, just the utter heartbreak/tragedy that was the Redfort twins' lives in those early years, where they didn't understand why people behaved so strangely and why there were so many unspoken rules. And adoring their older half-brothers, only to be utterly crushed when they never returned, convinced it was their own fault for daring to impose/ask. (When the reality was that this was near the time when Raymar's dye started failing and Allard was eager for the Redfort brothers to halt their visits anyway...)

But also the vulnerability Rhaegar/Raymar was willing to show, and the love the Daemon met it with. Raymar got a lot of much-needed affirmation this chapter, as much of an unsettling rollercoaster of emotion as it was for Rhaegar. They both needed that, and with the stress/upset over the rift with Jon, they were due for a meltdown.

Valyrian histories

I like to imagine Aegon entertained his sons with stories like that of House Dewald (the name itself me making a bad German pun, since the holdfast was near the edge of the forest aka "der Wald"), and Aenys passed it on to Jaehaerys who passed it on to his sons and grandsons. So much of that purely oral history would have been lost in the Dance, with only the children surviving.

And the Valyrians love their stories of "why you should never try to steal dragon eggs, aka because we'll kill you really, really dead."

Dynamics

Daemon and Viserys

Not Viserys's best day ever, though he's not quite as clueless as he seems in giving Reyne an extension. (His reasoning is "I'll need a little time to get a replacement ready and minimize the harm during the transition if he truly is a traitor," hence the one week for Reyne to "prove" himself.)

If things go poorly (aka proof of treason is found), Reyne could very well lose his head!

But that's little comfort to Daemon, who continues to feel (rather fairly) that Viserys won't go beyond half-measures for him, while he'll bend over backward for everyone else.

@marmari33 had a very insightful ask on the topic of how Viserys acts when Daemon is on the verge of a breakdown (aka he's most willing to act the comforting big brother then), so I won't rehash it here, but that's another complicated piece of their dynamic.

At the end of the day, the problem is still that although you can't go around beheading everyone without proof, Viserys's touch is far too light given how serious the treason that was committed by House Royce (and Redfort) under House Arryn's stewardship. Viserys being willing to cede the negotiation ground to the Vale give them the home field advantage/the sense that he's willing to be lenient.

Rhaegar and Raymar

These two have been more integrated than Jon and Jon Redfort by a wide margin, but Rhaegar was feeling it this chapter. As mentioned above, he's eight-years-old and he's in a cold war with his brother who he idolizes and doesn't trust him, which hurts, so he's primed for a breakdown. The hair dye background, which is a particular pain point for Raymar, just opened the floodgates.

Those with a keen eye will notice that Jon has also been more affected by his counterpart of late, so there may be a ticking time bomb there to reckon with...

Quick hitters

It felt almost like a simulated D&D session, the events at the end of the chapter. There were about ten different things that could have happened instead, but this is what the dice (and Daemon) landed on.

It remains ambiguous just how much of Reyne's failure is incompetence, malice, or both.

Larys is back at the Red Keep now, btw...

What was Jon so cheerful about when he found them at the enclosure? We'll find out next chapter...

Daemon's violent outbursts are never not nerve-wracking for the poor Kingsguard. Granted, he's never harmed Viserys, but the sounds of a man breaking a chair by slamming it repeatedly into the ground are not gentle.

The one thing about Daemon's hunger for Allard's head is that it doesn't take into account what the boys might want.

How did Reyne come to know of Daemon's visit? He only showed his face to the woman at the "front desk" so to speak of the establishment, and Mysaria herself. Is Mysaria still informing on Daemon to Otto for a price? Does that still make sense, given the promised rewards from Daemon? Or is it another source?

Daemon's anger tends to have an insulating effect against the candle, while despair/grief make him susceptible, and we see both sides of that coin in this chapter. Though it also remains an open question of whether there is always a warlock "manning" the candle, or if it has any passive effects.

Daemon remains best dad when it comes to finding ways to cheer up his sons. Plotting the perfect flight path to find some natural beauty for Rhaegar followed by interesting ruins of a military defeat for Jon.

The saddle refitting is complete, meaning the boys can take a field trip at any given moment...

Cut scenes/moments

“If I tell you of my own troubles with my brother, will you tell me of yours?” Daemon asked. His son’s grip tightened on the cup, then slackened. “It is nothing.”

The scene was already pretty long, and it didn't feel the right time/moment to veer into the Rhaegar-Jon conflict.

That was the provence of Allard Royce, for those years of cruelty. Lorent Reyne, for dismissing the whispers from the Vale that would have united Daemon with his sons years before. Rhea Royce, for devising such a heartless scheme, and the Redforts for aiding her in it. I will see them all burn.

Just a little extra seething from Daemon that I ended up cutting. I think it's pretty well understood within the chapter that Daemon is hungry for blood/revenge.

“He does not trust me. He thinks that I am weak.” “I am certain that is not so,” Daemon said. Rhaegar’s shrug was listless. “I understand why he believes it to be true. He is able to resist the candle, where I have failed. I was the one foolish enough to drink the cider at the Saltpans and be taken. When we were captive, he challenged Crayne and I—I feared him.” His voice grew thicker with upset, each word escaping him quickly than the last, until he was stumbling over them at the end. Daemon pulled him onto his lap, resting his chin atop his hair as he held him. “You are a child. You are allowed to be frightened.” Rhaegar twisted free, springing to his feet with fists balled tight. “Jon isn’t. He is never frightened. He thinks that he must keep me safe, whatever the cost to himself.” “I am your father. That is my duty.” Daemon caught one of his small fists, clasping it between his hands. “I will keep you safe, both of you.” His son regarded him with a solemn expression that pierced his heart. Aemon. “You will not always be there to protect us.” The chill of winter gripped Daemon suddenly, bitter and harsh in his lungs. The crimson of his blood on Viserys’s white sleeve swam before his eyes, only it was snow he saw now, stained with lifesblood, more than a body could spare. “Do not say that,” he whispered, heart seizing.

A little more of the Rhaegar-Jon conflict that I was a bit sad to see go because of the "blood to be spent" imagery melding with the Wall vision.

And there's one more cut scene (the longest) I'm holding onto in case it's relevant next chapter. If not, I'll share it in that DVD commentary!

[ldrfanatic]

oh AND if thats not too much, from a different angle, can i also request, also for theodore nott, prompts f12 and l13? 🌟🌟 im all for mirrorball the archer reader hehe and i looove this whole lyric prompt idea!! 🤍

all i do is try, try, try

theodore nott x fem!reader

f12 - "I'm still trying everything to keep you looking at me"

l13 - "Who could ever leave me darling, but who could stay?"

p.s. i'm adding the following line - "i've never been a natural, all i do is try, try, try."

synopsis - when you start to push theodore away, he knows something is wrong. but maybe he'll be the first one to fight for you.

my bookcase slytherin boys masterpost

theodore didn't confuse easily. sure, he was no hermione granger, but he liked to at least think that he was the smartest of his friend group. still, he couldn't for the life of him figure out why you seemed to be avoiding him the past few weeks.

your relationship was finally starting to get serious. so why now of all times would you possibly be avoiding him.

a dramatic huff left mattheo. "stop moping aurelius." his words were followed by a surprised yelp as pansy smacked him upside the head. "shut the hell up riddle. theo, if you're worried she's avoiding you, just ask her."

"i can't. every time i try to talk to her, she runs away from me."

pansy sighed. an internal battle was raging within her. she wanted to honor the girl code. and it was definitively not girl code to tell your homegirl's boyfriend when and where you'd be somewhere when he was precisely the bloke you were avoiding.

but she knew you. and she knew how good theo was to you. how good you were together. and it certainly had to be girl code to look out for your best friend's heart when she was too blindsided to do it herself, right?

"she'll be in the potions section of the library in..." she trailed off and took a quick glance at the clock. "exactly nine minutes. she asked me to meet her there at 7:30 but maybe..."

pansy didn't have to finish. theo had already jumped to his feet and was pulling his forest green jumper over his head. he had one shot to confront you. if this didn't work... who knows, really.

pansy parkinson was dead fucking meat.

when you'd arrived the potions section at 7:30, at your usual study table, you'd expected to see the familiar dark hair and resting bitch face of your closest friend.

you had not expected to see your very handsome boyfriend who you were very much so avoiding. and you were most certain the only person who knew of your session tonight was pansy, thus she was the only person who could've mentioned anything to theo.

an internal sigh rolled through your being. it was going to be really fucking inconvenient to have to kill your favorite friend.

it wasn't that you were unhappy to see theo. in fact, in the days you'd been ignoring him, you'd missed him. significantly. but you were a fake. you had to try so hard at everything that should come naturally to you. being in slytherin, being a good student, hell even just being a fucking person felt like a never ending battle.

you couldn't stand the thought that one day theo might really look at you and burst his illusion of you. the thought that one day he may stop looking at you altogether? terrifying. it was easier for things to end this way, now.

one thing you hadn't anticipated is that theo is a true slytherin. when a slytherin wants something, they will stop at nothing to get it. there was nothing that could deter them. nothing that could stand in their way. and right now, what theo wanted more than anything, was you. ill conceived notions and insecurities be damned.

"you've been avoiding me, dolcezza."

theo's voice was deep and commanding. he really wanted to be soft and gentle with you, but your little disappearing act had scared the snake right out of his skin. and for that, he had to punish you at least a little.

"i haven't--"

"you have." theo stood abruptly and took a few strides towards you until your back was pressed against the bookcase behind you. "but that ends now."

shit.

shit.

theo was really close now. he had a certain look in his eyes, too. like he was a king cobra, and you a field mouse. theo was looking at you like he might consume you whole in one bite.

"i'm only going to ask you one more time." a large hand came up to palm at the back of your neck and your brain short-circuited. this man could have anything, anyone he wanted. and here he was with you. "why are you avoiding me?"

you wanted to be angry. to match his fire with fire. but you'd grown so tired of always pretending. all you could do now was cry. tears welled in your eyes and theo's demeanor changed very quickly.

"no, no, no. calma, baby." he cooed softly into your ear. his large arms circled around you in a rather warm bear hug. "don't cry."

"i'm so tired of pretending. and i'm sorry i can't be the smart popular cool girl that someone like you should be going out with."

theo's brows drew together in confusion. what on earth were you talking about? but when he really thought to himself, he saw it. the fake laughter and forced smiles in the great hall. the way that sometimes you had to try a little harder at certain assignments. you felt out of place.

at once, theo felt like a complete tosser. the one person that you should feel most at peace with was theo. and this whole time, he'd been oblivious to your internal plight. his heart broke a litte. how long had you been fighting this war against who you thought you should be, and who you really were?

"stop it." your tearful mumbling came to an end and theo could see in your eyes that you had all the wrong thoughts running through your pretty little head.

"you don't have to pretend with me. you don't have to fake anything. and there's nothing wrong with you for not being like everyone else. i was drawn to you because you're different." his words were thick with emotion, and you thought you saw his eyes get a little glassy. "it tears me up that you've been battling with yourself this whole time. i'm here to love you, y/n. please let me do that."

your mouth dropped open in shock. pushing people away had always been easy in the past. but theo wasn't finished with you.

"you can push and shove and scream at me to leave. you can argue with me, and we can fight, and you'll be right every time and you can call me names. and it's okay because i will still love you. but you don't get to turn away from something so perfect because you're afraid of the flaws that i already adore."

you stood there in his arms, tears slowly subsiding as you processed his words. every single one of them felt like they were reaching into the very core of you, unraveling the carefully constructed walls you had built. You could feel his warmth, his heartbeat, and suddenly, you weren’t so sure why you had been running. theo was here. Right in front of you. not just physically, but emotionally, too—offering something you didn’t even realize you wanted.

“i’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice breaking once more. “i didn’t think… i didn’t think anyone could love me like that. like you do.”

theo’s arms tightened around you, pulling you closer, as if to make sure you could feel his unwavering presence. “don’t apologize.” his voice was so soft now, the commanding tone from earlier gone, replaced with something much gentler. “you’ve always been more than enough for me.”

your heart raced as you looked up at him, his eyes filled with an earnestness that sent a shiver down your spine. you had spent so long doubting yourself, so long convincing yourself that you were unworthy of something like this. but here he was, offering you everything. love. acceptance. patience.

and for the first time in what felt like forever, you didn’t feel like you had to run. the fight had left you. all that was left now was to surrender to him, to this love that you had been too afraid to fully embrace. you took a shaky breath, your hands gently curling into the fabric of his jumper as you leaned into him.

“i'm scared,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “i’m scared you’ll see all of me, and you won’t want to stay.”

theo cupped your face, his thumbs gently brushing away the remnants of your tears. “i’ve already seen you, dolcezza. all of you. and I’m not going anywhere.” his lips brushed against your forehead, a sweet, quiet promise.

you let out a shaky laugh, the weight in your chest beginning to lift. “i don’t know what i did to deserve you, theo.”

his response was simple, but it felt like everything: “you don’t have to deserve it. you just have to let me love you.”

you kissed him then, soft and slow, as if to seal the promise he’d just made. the kiss wasn’t a grand declaration, but a quiet, intimate thing—an understanding between the two of you that this was real, and it was enough.

theo wasn’t going anywhere. and neither were you.

maybe pansy parkinson could live.