#I started and deleted each answer like four times

[bueckets]

Prophecy | Finale

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

Parts: Part One | Two | Three (you're here)

Description: Following the viral video of Paige and Azzi, you spend the next three months redefining what perfect means. Each shot becomes a statement, each swish echoing with something colder than precision. Your teammates watch you stay late every night, turning heartbreak into headlines, until even UConn's dynasty seems breakable.

The game approaches like destiny. Harvard versus UConn in the Final Four, a collision course that ESPN calls "The Game Women's Basketball Has Been Waiting For." Twenty thousand tickets sell out in minutes. The whole sport holds its breath.

You haven't spoken to Paige since that night in the snow. Haven't read her texts or opened her letter. Instead, you let your game speak - 47 against Princeton, 51 against Yale, perfect shooting in both. They call it The Revenge Tour, though you never bother correcting them.

Now Dallas looms like a storm on the horizon. One game to prove that some things break you, and some things make you unbreakable.

This is the story of which one you become.

WC: 11k

WEEK ONE

After that night in the gym, you don’t miss. Not once.

Every shot is a calculation, a release, a fury of physics and heartbreak. Each arc is perfect, each swish feels like vengeance. The ball obeys because it has to. Because it’s the only thing left that makes sense.

Paige’s texts come in like a storm. Desperate, raw, and relentless:

Monday (3:47 AM): please just let me explain.

Monday (4:15 AM): it wasn't what it looked like.

Monday (4:22 AM): i miss you.

Monday (4:45 AM): please answer.

You sit on your bed staring at the ceiling, the blue glow of your phone lighting the room like a taunt. Sierra grabs it from your hands and sets it face down on your desk. “Nope.”

By Tuesday, the messages get sharper, more frantic

Tuesday (2:13 AM): i know you’re mad. i’d be mad too.

Tuesday (3:01 AM): rocket, please. you mean everything to me.

Tuesday (3:45 AM): i never meant to hurt you. i’d do anything to take it back.

By Wednesday, she calls. Seventeen times. Sierra’s thumb hovers over the block button. Jasmine glances at you, but you just lace up your shoes and head for the gym.

Thursday, the texts shift to something softer, almost pleading:

"i know you're reading these."

"just tell me you're okay."

"god, i miss you."

"please just talk to me"

Sierra and Jasmine take turns deleting the messages before you can see them, but you know. You always know.

“She’s hurting,” Jasmine says carefully one night, her voice soft like she’s walking a tightrope.

"Good," you respond, and sink another three.

WEEK TWO

The texts get longer, more rambling.

"i know i screwed up. i don’t even know how to start fixing it. all i know is that i want to."

"i miss how you made me feel like the best version of myself. like i could do anything."

"i miss you solving equations while watching film. i miss your voice. i miss you."

"rocket, i love you. i don’t care if you don’t believe me right now, but it’s the truth. i love you."

"please just tell me to fuck off or something. anything is better than this silence."

You don’t read them, but Sierra does. She updates you with clipped summaries: “She’s still apologizing. Still desperate.” You just nod, focusing on your form. Release. Swish.

“She says she loves you,” Sierra says one day, her voice careful.

“Doesn’t matter,” you reply, grabbing another ball.

WEEK THREE

Thursday evening, it snows. Heavy, wet flakes that stick to the ground and blanket campus in white. You’re in the gym, as always, the only sound the steady rhythm of the ball hitting the floor, then the net.

Sierra bursts in, out of breath, snowflakes clinging to her jacket.

“She’s here,” she says, voice strained.

You pause mid-shot, the ball resting heavy in your hands. “What?”

“Paige,” Sierra says. “She’s outside. Just standing there. She’s not leaving until you talk to her.”

You blink, your pulse quickening. “In the snow?”

“Yes. In the snow,” Sierra snaps. “Want me to handle it?”

You glance at the door, at the faint glow of the snowstorm through the windows. Your chest feels tight.

“I’ll do it,” you say quietly.

Sierra looks surprised but doesn’t argue. “You sure?”

You nod, dropping the ball onto the rack. “Yeah. I’ve got it.”

You push open the gym door, and the cold hits you like a slap. The snow is coming down hard now, heavy flakes swirling in the wind and catching in your hair, on your lashes, melting instantly on your skin. The air bites at your face, sharp and unforgiving, and you pull your sweatshirt tighter around you as you step into the storm.

Paige is there.

She’s standing under the dim glow of the parking lot light, a lone figure against the blanketed white. Her coat is too thin for this weather, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as if that could keep the cold out. Snowflakes dust her hair, her shoulders, even her lashes, sticking there like delicate glass. Her nose and cheeks are red, raw from the wind, and her breath comes out in uneven clouds that catch the faint light before disappearing.

Your heart pounds as you take her in. It’s not fair, how seeing her still makes your chest tighten, how her very presence feels like it could knock you off balance. You feel your feet ache against the frozen pavement, the sting of cold air in your lungs, but it’s nothing compared to the burn in your chest.

She looks up as you approach, her eyes locking onto yours immediately. They’re red, glassy, the unmistakable sheen of unshed tears making them glisten. She uncrosses her arms, her hands trembling, and takes a single step forward.

“Rocket,” she says, and her voice cracks. Just that one word, and it’s enough to make your knees threaten to buckle.

You stop a few feet away, planting your sneakers firmly into the snow to keep steady. Your throat feels tight, your tongue heavy. For a moment, you can’t speak. You just stare at her, the silence between you as thick as the snow falling all around.

“What are you doing here?” you manage finally. Your voice is sharper than you intended, but the lump in your throat makes it hard to sound anything but cold.

She shifts, wiping her hands on her coat as if that’ll stop them from shaking. “I—I had to see you,” she stammers. “You weren’t answering, and I just—” Her voice breaks again, and she swallows hard, trying to steady herself. “I just needed to try.”

The words hang in the air, weighty and raw. You bite the inside of your cheek, forcing yourself to stay grounded, to not let your emotions spiral. The wind picks up, whipping snowflakes against your face, and you blink hard against the sting.

“You’ve said enough,” you say, your voice flat.

“I know,” she says quickly, stepping forward again. Her boots crunch against the snow, and the sound feels deafening in the quiet. “I know I’ve said everything wrong. I don’t even know if there’s anything left to say. I just—” She takes a shaky breath, her hands balling into fists at her sides. “I need you to know how sorry I am. How I got into my head leading up to it. I was scared. I’m sorry. For everything. For ruining us.”

Your breath catches at that, and your chest tightens even more. Her words hit like a weight, heavy and suffocating, and for a moment, you don’t trust yourself to respond. You feel the sting in your fingers, the way the cold air pinches your ears, the dull ache in your feet from standing still too long.

“It wasn’t just a mistake, Paige,” you say finally, your voice trembling despite your effort to sound steady. “It was trust. It was everything we had.”

She nods quickly, tears finally spilling over. She swipes at her face with the sleeve of her hoodie, trying to hide it, but her hands are shaking too much. “I know,” she whispers, her voice barely audible over the wind. “I know I broke it. And I hate myself for it. I hate myself for hurting you.”

The tears keep falling, streaking down her red cheeks, and she doesn’t bother wiping them anymore. Her shoulders shake, but she doesn’t look away from you. You want to turn away, to stop seeing her like this, but you can’t. Your eyes burn, your throat feels raw, and the weight in your chest only grows heavier.

“I loved you,” you say softly, the words slipping out before you can stop them. Her breath catches audibly, and you see her shoulders slump further, like the words are knives she’s been bracing for.

“I love you,” she says, her voice breaking entirely. “I still love you. I’ll always love you.”

The snow falls harder now, coating everything in a thick, suffocating white. You feel it collect on your shoulders, your hair, melting down your neck. Paige shivers, wrapping her arms tightly around herself, her breaths coming out in ragged clouds.

You swallow hard, the lump in your throat threatening to choke you as you stare at Paige. The snow falls heavier now, landing on her lashes and melting against her flushed cheeks. Her nose is red, her hands trembling as they clench at her sides. The cold bites at your skin, your ears pinching, your feet aching, but none of it feels as sharp as the weight in your chest.

“Go home,” you say, your voice cracking slightly despite your attempt to sound firm.

Paige doesn’t move. Her wide, red-rimmed eyes stay locked on yours, brimming with fresh tears. Her lips part, but no words come, just a soft, shaky breath. Then:

“Please,” she whispers, barely audible over the wind. Her voice is raw, broken, and it hits you like a punch. She takes a step closer, her boots crunching in the snow, her hands twitching at her sides like she wants to reach for you but knows she can’t. “Please,” she says again, the word shaking with everything she’s trying to say but can’t.

You inhale sharply, your chest tightening as you force yourself to stand your ground. “Paige,” you say, softer now, almost pleading yourself. “Go home.”

She flinches, like the words physically hurt, but she doesn’t argue this time. She nods slowly, blinking hard against the tears streaming down her face. Her shoulders slump as she turns away, her steps hesitant, dragging in the snow like she’s leaving pieces of herself behind with every step.

You watch her walk toward the far end of the parking lot, her figure blurry through the curtain of falling snow. She stops once, just for a moment, her back to you. She swipes at her face with the sleeve of her hoodie, but the motion is weak, almost futile. Then she moves again, trudging toward the lone car parked under the faint glow of a streetlamp.

The driver’s side window rolls down as Paige approaches, and you see KK leaning out, her face a mix of concern and frustration. KK says something—low and sharp, the words lost in the wind—and Paige shakes her head, opening the passenger door and climbing in without another glance in your direction.

The car idles for a moment, exhaust puffing into the frozen air, and you catch a glimpse of KK glancing your way, her gaze hard but questioning, like she’s debating whether to come out and say something. But she doesn’t.

The brake lights flare as the car shifts into gear, and then they’re gone, disappearing down the snow-covered road.

You stay rooted to the spot, the cold seeping through your clothes, the sound of their departure fading into silence. You don’t move for a long time, staring at the empty space where they’d been, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath.

You stand there long after the car disappears into the swirling snow, the cold seeping into your bones. Your feet ache from standing still, your fingers sting from the frost, and your chest feels like it’s caving in on itself. You force yourself to turn, your legs heavy as you walk back toward the gym, the door looming like a safe haven you don’t feel like you deserve.

The moment you push it open, the heat rushes out to meet you, thick and suffocating. It hits your face like a wall, and suddenly, you realize how cold you were—how raw your skin feels, how your ears throb with the warmth sinking in. You blink against the hot air, your vision blurring, and that’s when you feel it. The damp streaks on your cheeks, the burning in your eyes.

You were crying.

The thought stuns you for a moment, but there’s no time to process it. Your feet move automatically, carrying you deeper into the gym. The echo of your footsteps bounces off the empty court, the sound sharp and hollow in the stillness. You make your way to the locker room, the familiar scent of sweat and rubber hitting you like a memory you didn’t ask for.

Inside, Sierra and Jasmine are waiting. They’re sitting on one of the benches, their expressions tight and unsure, like they don’t know what to say—or if they should say anything at all.

Your eyes meet Sierra’s first, and the look she gives you is soft, pitying, like she’s trying to hold you together with just her gaze. Jasmine looks away quickly, her hands fiddling with the strings of her hoodie, her shoulders tense with unspoken guilt.

Neither of them says a word.

You don’t either. You don’t have the energy.

You walk past them, your legs threatening to give out, and sink onto the bench in front of your locker. The cold from outside is still in your body, lingering in your muscles, making everything ache. You press your hands to your knees, trying to ground yourself, but the weight in your chest is too much.

It breaks.

You bury your face in your hands, your shoulders shaking as the sobs finally come. They tear out of you, raw and uncontrollable, and you can’t stop them even if you wanted to. The locker room fills with the sound of your crying—ugly, unfiltered, and nothing like The Prophecy at all.

Sierra shifts behind you, and for a moment, you think she’s going to say something. But she doesn’t. Neither of them does. They just sit there, giving you space to break apart, their quiet presence the only thing holding you from completely falling apart.

Your tears soak into your palms, your breath coming in gasps, and for the first time in weeks, you let yourself feel the full weight of it all. The cold, the betrayal, the way her voice cracked when she said, “I love you.” It crashes over you, relentless and unrelenting.

And you let it.

Because in this moment, you don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to calculate the pain away or turn it into fuel.

For now, you just let yourself break.

WEEK SIX

Her last attempt comes in the form of a letter. Handwritten. Twelve pages. Sierra finds it slipped under your door one gray morning, the paper just slightly bent, as though it had been clenched tightly before being left there.

“Want me to burn it?” Sierra asks, holding it up like it’s fragile, like even touching it too long might do damage.

You don’t answer at first, your eyes fixed on the envelope. Your name is written in Paige’s handwriting, unmistakably hers—soft, looping, careful. It looks like she spent a long time on just that one word. The ink is smudged in places, faint blotches where you know she must have paused, maybe wiped her eyes.

“Rocket?” Sierra asks again, her voice gentler this time.

You reach out, hesitating before your fingers brush the paper. The weight of it feels heavier than it should, like it’s holding every unsaid word she couldn’t force into those desperate texts, every plea she couldn’t voice the last time she saw you.

“No,” you say quietly, your voice firm despite the knot in your chest. “Don’t burn it.”

Sierra doesn’t press. “What should I do with it?”

You swallow hard, still staring at the envelope like it might crack open on its own. “Keep it,” you murmur finally. “For after March.”

The corner of her mouth twitches in a faint, understanding nod. She tucks the letter carefully into her bag without another word.

Because that’s what this has all been about, hasn’t it? Every ignored call, every perfect shot, every breath you’ve taken since that night in the gym has been leading to one thing: March.

Two weeks later, the bracket drops.

Harvard vs. UConn. Sweet Sixteen.

You hear whispers everywhere—teammates speculating, reporters asking veiled questions about how you feel about the matchup. You stay quiet, dodging the noise with an unshakable focus that keeps the world at bay.

Paige doesn’t text. She doesn’t call. But one night, you see it.

It’s subtle, so subtle you almost miss it: a photo on her Instagram story.

She’s sitting on the floor of her dorm, the soft golden light of a bedside lamp pooling around her. Her knees are drawn to her chest, her head resting on her arms. There’s no caption, no obvious sign of you. But in the corner of the frame, hanging off the back of a chair, is your Harvard hoodie.

The air leaves your lungs.

It’s so small, so quiet, but it feels loud in your chest.

Sierra notices you staring at your phone and gives you a sharp look. “Don’t,” she warns.

“I’m not,” you reply, locking your phone and sliding it across the table.

And you aren’t.

Instead, you lace up your sneakers and head to the gym.

30 DAYS TO MARCH MADNESS

The bracket predictions start rolling in. Every analyst has the same storyline: Harvard and UConn are destined to meet in the championship.

ESPN calls it "The Game Women's Basketball Has Been Waiting For."

You don’t watch their coverage. You don’t need to. You just shoot.

Paige’s last text comes at 2 AM:

“i still miss you.”

You delete it without reading. (Sierra tells you about it later anyway.)

25 DAYS

“Did you hear?” Jasmine says as she slides into the locker room after practice, her voice quieter than usual.

You don’t look up. “Hear what?”

“Paige was at some party last night. Someone saw her with... someone.”

You pause mid-lace, your fingers tightening. “And?”

“She’s... moving on. Or trying to.”

Later, Sierra shows you the photo: Paige with her arm around a tall blonde, both laughing like the world doesn’t hurt them.

You close your phone, drop it in your bag, and hit the gym for 200 straight shots. Each one lands, clean and precise, but your chest tightens with every swish.

At midnight, Sierra finds you still there. “She’s doing this on purpose,” she says softly.

“Doing what?”

“Trying to make you feel what she’s feeling.”

You grab another ball, square your shoulders. “Bold of her to assume I still care.”

(You do. God, you do.)

20 DAYS

Your game is evolving. Whatever limits you thought existed don’t anymore. You’re not just making shots—you’re erasing boundaries.

Reporters ask Coach about it after Harvard crushes Penn by 30 points. “Have you ever seen anything like it?”

She shakes her head, her voice filled with awe. “She’s playing like someone who has nothing left to lose.”

Because you don’t.

15 DAYS

Another photo surfaces: Paige dancing at a club, the same blonde close enough to blur the line between friendly and intimate. The image spreads through whispers, not headlines, but it’s enough to reach you.

The next morning, Jasmine deletes all your social media apps. “Focus on what matters,” she says, her tone leaving no room for argument.

So you do:

47 points against Princeton.

51 against Yale.

Perfect shooting in both games.

The whispers around you grow louder. People call it The Revenge Tour, though you don’t bother correcting them.

You let your game speak for itself.

10 DAYS

Harvard enters March Madness ranked #1 for the first time in school history. UConn is #2.

The narrative writes itself:

Ice vs Fire.

You hear the buzz but tune it out. Paige posts a hype video for the tournament. There’s no sign of you in her clips, but you don’t need to be.

That night, you shoot until your arms shake. The sound of each swish reverberates through the gym, the echoes cutting through your chest like heartbreak.

5 DAYS

The tournament begins, and you burn through the first two rounds like wildfire:

45 points against Florida State.

52 against Tennessee.

You still haven’t missed.

UConn advances too. Paige plays like she’s on fire, dropping 38 against Duke and 41 against LSU. But she misses. She stumbles. She’s human. She’s flawed.

You tell yourself that’s why she couldn’t keep you. Because perfection is lonely.

2 DAYS

The Final Four is set: Harvard vs. UConn. The matchup everyone’s been waiting for.

Your teammates feel the weight of it, the buzz of history swirling around them, but you stay quiet. Focused.

“Are you ready?” Coach asks after practice.

You glance at her, your expression steady. “Always.”

1 DAY

The press conference is brutal. Every question is a thinly veiled attempt to dig into the drama. Paige. The rumors. 

You give them nothing.

“I’m here to play basketball,” you say flatly. “Nothing else matters.”

Later that night, alone in your hotel room, you stare at the letter Sierra saved weeks ago. It sits on the desk like it’s daring you to open it.

Your hands shake as you unfold the pages.

The first three lines hit harder than you expect:

"I know I don’t deserve forgiveness. I know I broke something perfect. I know I lost the best thing that ever happened to me."

You stop reading. You don’t need to see the rest.

The paper burns easily in the sink, the edges curling in on themselves like the words are folding into ash.

Tomorrow isn’t about forgiveness.

It’s about proving that some things break you.

And some things make you unbreakable.

Time to show her which one you are.

THE FINAL FOUR: HARVARD VS UCONN

The arena in Dallas feels alive, like it has a pulse of its own. Twenty thousand fans pack the stands, and the roar of the crowd is more than sound—it’s energy, crackling in the air, vibrating through the floor. You can feel it in your chest, in the way your heart beats a little faster as you stand in the tunnel, waiting.

This is the game. The one people will talk about for decades.

“Harvard vs. UConn,” ESPN’s voices echo faintly from the screens overhead, carrying over the din “The Game Women’s Basketball Has Been Waiting For.”

“Harvard’s perfect season against UConn’s dynasty.”

“Two programs. Two stars. One unmissable collision course.”

You don’t look at the screens. Don’t let the noise creep in. You focus instead on the rhythm of your breathing, the weight of the ball in your hands, the perfect arcs playing out in your mind. Force vectors, trajectories, momentum. The physics of what’s about to happen.

Sierra steps up beside you, her face all business, her game face as sharp as you’ve ever seen it. “You good?”

You nod once. She doesn’t ask if you’re sure. She’s seen you these past weeks—seen the extra hours, the obsession, the way you’ve turned heartbreak into something almost unrecognizable. She’s seen you rewrite what’s possible when perfect turns to steel.

“They’re out there,” Jasmine says quietly, stepping up on your other side.

Your stomach tightens, but you don’t let it show. 

“You’re sure you’re good?” Sierra presses, glancing at you out of the corner of her eye.

“I’m perfect,” you say flatly, the word cold and sharp.

The crowd’s roar deepens, and you know UConn must be taking the court for warmups. You can picture it without looking: Paige leading them out, her stride confident, her expression poised. She feeds off this energy, always has, like she was built for these moments.

You think about everything—every ignored text, every late-night practice, every time Paige’s name appeared on your phone screen and you turned away. You think about the letter, folded and burned, its words turned to ash: "I know I broke something perfect."

“I’m ready,” you say, voice steady.

Coach nods. “Good.” She turns to the team. “Ladies, listen up. Everything we’ve worked for comes down to tonight. They’re bigger, they’re stronger, and they’ve got more banners in their gym than we’ll ever see. But we’ve got something they don’t.”

She looks at you, and there's something fierce in her eyes.

"We've got perfect."

The team huddles up, hands in. But before they can do their usual chant, you speak. It's the first time you've addressed them all day.

"When we take that court," your voice is quiet but carries weight, "you're going to hear a lot of noise. They're going to talk about everything except basketball. But that's not why we're here."

Your teammates lean in closer.

"We're here because I made you all a promise three years ago. That we'd make history. That we'd show the world what Harvard basketball really is. That we'd be perfect when it matters most."

You look each of them in the eye.

"Tonight, we keep that promise."

The tunnel erupts in fierce agreement. Your teammates are ready for war.

"One minute!" calls the official.

You close your eyes for a moment, center yourself. Think about all the shots that led here. All the nights in empty gyms. All the physics problems solved between free throws. All the moments that built The Prophecy.

And yes, you think about her. About early mornings in her dorm. Late nights watching film. The way she said your name like it was something precious. The way she looked at someone else the same way.

The anger rises, cold and precise. You use it, let it sharpen your focus until everything else falls away.

The tunnel lights flicker as the official signals. It’s time.

"Ready?" Sierra asks one last time.

You step toward the light of the arena, toward the noise, toward destiny.

"Perfect," you say.

And then you emerge into madness.

The sound hits you like a wave the second you step onto the court. It’s not just noise; it’s a force, a physical thing that presses against you, vibrating in your chest.

"THE PROPHECY! THE PROPHECY! THE PROPHECY!"

The chant rolls through the arena like thunder, swelling as the crowd rises to their feet. Signs wave above the sea of faces:

"PERFECTION WEARS CRIMSON"

"847-2: THE PROPHECY SPEAKS"

Your entrance stops UConn's warmups cold. Every player freezes mid-drill, even the legendary Geno Auriemma turns to watch. You catch Paige's reaction in your peripheral vision—the way she stumbles slightly, ball slipping from her fingers. But you don't look at her. Won't give her that.

The Harvard section is delirious, but it's more than that. The neutral fans, the media, even some UConn supporters are on their feet. This is what happens when you spend three months turning heartbreak into headlines, when you take "perfect" and make it look easy.

Your teammates hit the court, their warmups sharper, fueled by the energy of the crowd. But your routine is different. Quieter. Singular.

You start at the three-point line, the ball resting in your hands. The noise fades as you focus, your heartbeat steadying. One shot.

Swish.

The explosion of noise is deafening. You don't react. Just catch, shoot, swish. Again. Again. Again.

On the other end, UConn's trying to maintain their composure, but you can feel their eyes on you. Feel the way their usual swagger has been replaced by something else. Something that looks like doubt.

Your teammates are feeding off the energy now. Sierra drills a corner three, the ball cutting through the net with a satisfying snap. Jasmine blocks one of Taylor’s layups in a mock defensive drill, both of them grinning fiercely.

"Focus on our game!" Geno barks, but even he keeps glancing your way.

The media's having a field day. Every camera in the building is trained on you, catching every perfect shot, every ice-cold expression. ESPN's commentary carries over the speakers:

"We're watching something unprecedented here, Rebecca. The Prophecy isn't just perfect anymore—she's transcendent. Look at the way UConn's players are watching her. They're supposed to be the dynasty, the standard-bearers, but right now they look shook—"

And still, you don’t look at Paige.

The crowd's volume keeps building, impossibly louder with each perfect shot you make. NBA players sitting courtside are shaking their heads in disbelief. Olympic champions in the stands are filming on their phones. This isn't just a warmup anymore—it's a statement.

Finally, mercifully for UConn, the buzzer sounds to clear the court for final preparations. As the teams head to their benches, you allow yourself one glance at their side. Just one.

Paige is standing near the sideline, her hands resting on her hips, her gaze fixed on you. For a split second, your eyes meet. Her expression shifts—shock, pain, something that might be regret.

You hold her gaze for a beat longer, then turn away, your face unreadable.

You turn away, face impassive. But inside, the cold fire burns hotter.

Because this isn’t about her anymore.

This isn’t about heartbreak or revenge.

This is about showing the world what happens when perfect stops trying to be loved.

And starts trying to be legendary.

The starting lineups are about to be announced, and the arena hums with anticipation, the kind of energy that makes the hair on your arms stand on end. It’s not just loud—it’s electric, like the walls themselves are holding their breath. Every cheer, every chant, every flash of a camera feels sharper, brighter, heavier. History is about to be made.

The announcer’s voice booms, reverberating through the cavernous space, calling out names that blur into the roar of the crowd. You barely hear them—don’t need to. You’re locked in. You can feel the ball’s weight in your hand even though you’re not holding it, the phantom rhythm of your dribble steadying your pulse.

The Prophecy is about to speak.

And everyone—Paige, UConn, the world—is about to listen.

Sierra wins the tip with authority, the ball snapping to Maria like it’s been rehearsed a thousand times. Harvard’s ball. The crowd leans forward collectively, the sound dropping to an expectant hum as you cross half court, their energy feeding into the moment.

UConn’s defense is already set. You see it as soon as you step over the timeline: box-and-one. Four players sagging into a tight zone, leaving Paige on you.

Of course they’d make her guard you. Of course.

She’s close, closer than you expected, the kind of tight defense that borders on personal. Her eyes flicker for a moment, uncertainty bleeding through her usual focus.

“Please…” she whispers, so quiet it almost gets lost in the noise. “Can we just—”

You don’t let her finish.

A crossover—quick, precise, lethal—cuts her off mid-sentence. The crowd gasps, a collective intake of breath, as Paige stumbles, her footing faltering for just a second. But a second is all you need.

You rise up from 25 feet, the motion as natural as breathing. Perfect form. Perfect rotation.

Swish.

The crowd detonates.

3-0 Harvard.

"THE PROPHECY STRIKES FIRST!" The announcer can barely contain himself. "ICE COLD FROM DEEP!"

UConn pushes the ball upcourt fast, their transition game as polished as ever. Paige has that look now—the one that used to make your chest tighten, the one that once made you believe she could do anything. Now, it’s just data to process, another variable in the equation you’ve already solved.

She drives hard to the right, her speed and body control flawless. She’s counting on you to back off, to avoid contact, to give her just enough room for the pull-up jumper she’s perfected.

But you don’t.

Your body stays with hers, every step mirrored, every shift anticipated. When she rises for the shot, your hand is already there, contesting at the perfect angle. The ball leaves her hands, spinning slightly off-axis.

Clank.

The sound of the ball hitting the rim feels louder than it should, the miss reverberating through the arena like a misstep in a symphony.

“REJECTION!” The crowd erupts again, their voices rising to a fever pitch. “THE PROPHECY WITH THE PERFECT DEFENSE ON THE PRINCE!”

Maria grabs the rebound and pushes the break. You trail deliberately, your movements fluid, waiting for the play to unfold. The ball swings to you on the wing. Another catch. Another perfect release.

Swish.

6-0 Harvard.

Geno Auriemma doesn’t hesitate. Timeout, 47 seconds in. His voice carries across the court, sharp and commanding as he pulls his players in, trying to steady a ship that’s already rocking.

The ESPN commentators are incredulous. “I’ve never seen anything like this! The Prophecy isn’t just scoring—she’s controlling the entire game. And having Paige Bueckers guard her it’s psychological warfare at its finest.”

In the huddle, Coach Matthews stays calm, her voice steady amidst the chaos. “Keep executing. They’re rattled.”

Your teammates nod, feeding off her composure. You don’t say anything, don’t need to. The look in your eyes says enough.

Back on the court, UConn shifts their defense. KK Arnold takes over guarding you, her physicality immediately apparent. Paige shifts to Jasmine, but you feel her eyes on you anyway, like a weight pressing against your back.

You make her pay for it.

A quick backdoor cut—sharp, timed to perfection—leaves her a step behind. Maria sees it instantly, the lob arcing perfectly into your hands. You lay it in cleanly, barely breaking stride.

8-0 Harvard.

The UConn section is restless now, the nervous energy rippling through their chants.

From the crowd you hear, “She's not that special! Lock her up!"

The next time down, you catch the ball at the top of the key, KK’s hand pressing into your hip. You rise anyway, unfazed. The ball barely brushes the net on its way through.

11-0 Harvard.

Geno is furious, calling out defensive adjustments. But there's something different about UConn's energy—they're not just trailing, they're shook.

Paige tries to take over, driving hard to the rim with an intensity that feels more desperate than controlled. Her first step is sharp, her movements calculated, but there’s something frantic in the way she moves—like she’s trying to match you shot for shot, trying to prove something to herself as much as to the crowd.

Her floater arcs high but catches the back iron and rolls out.

The crowd groans, the sound rippling through the UConn section like a wave of disbelief. Paige’s jaw tightens as she sprints back on defense, but you’ve already moved on, focused, untouchable.

On the next possession, she pulls up for a three. It’s a clean look, her form textbook, but the ball rims out again, drawing a gasp from the fans and a loud clank that echoes through the arena.

Then she drives again, barreling into the paint, trying to force her way through Sierra’s perfect positioning. The ball pops loose, Sierra’s quick hands stripping it clean, and the Harvard section explodes in cheers.

Meanwhile, you’re somewhere else entirely.

Athletes talk about it, but few ever get there: the space where time slows, where the game feels less like competition and more like art. The roar of the crowd fades into a low hum, the edges of the court softening as everything sharpens around the ball in your hands.

It’s not just instinct—it’s control, precision, the physics of perfection in every step. Each shot feels inevitable, each movement unfolding like an equation you’ve already solved.

On defense, you can feel the tension radiating from UConn, their movements tighter, their communication louder. When Emma finally scores off a put-back—muscling through a sea of Harvard defenders—the UConn section celebrates like it’s a game-winner.

11-2 Harvard.

You glance at the scoreboard, then at your teammates, your calm focus unshaken. They know what’s coming next.

You show UConn what victory really looks like.

KK Arnold presses into you as you bring the ball up the court, her hands swiping aggressively, trying to throw you off balance. You shift your weight left, plant your foot, and cross over so quickly it sends her stumbling, her arms flailing for balance as the crowd gasps.

You take one step back, rising effortlessly over Caroline’s outstretched arms as she contests, her fingertips barely brushing the air beneath the ball.

Swish.

16-2 Harvard.

The Harvard bench leaps to their feet, arms raised, while the UConn section sits frozen, unsure of how to react. Geno is pacing now, barking orders to his team, his sharp voice cutting through the tension.

"We're watching history," the announcer's voice trembles with excitement. "The Prophecy isn't just winning—she's rewriting what's possible in this sport."

Paige is pressing harder, trying to shoulder the burden of momentum, but it’s slipping through her fingers. She forces another drive, this time straight into Sierra, who holds her ground like a wall. The whistle doesn’t blow, and Paige stumbles as the ball goes loose again, Maria scooping it up and feeding you on the wing.

The moment your hands touch the ball, you already know what’s going to happen.

Perfect rhythm. Perfect form. Perfect swish.

UConn tries everything: double teams, traps, full-court pressure. Nothing works. You split defenders like they're standing still, find teammates for open shots when they sell out to stop you, and when they give you any space at all.

The quarter ends with one final dagger. UConn tries to hold for the last shot, but you read Paige's eyes—you always could read her eyes—and jump the passing lane. The steal leads to a breakaway with three seconds left.

Most players would lay it in. Safe. Smart.

But The Prophecy isn't most players.

You take off from just inside the free-throw line, rising up as the buzzer sounds. The ball leaves your hands at the perfect angle, with the perfect spin, following the perfect arc.

Swish. As time expires.

29-10 Harvard.

The arena absolutely detonates. Your teammates mob you as you walk calmly to the bench. Even Coach Matthews cracks a smile.

In their huddle, you can see Geno gesturing frantically, see Paige's head hanging.

But none of that matters.

Because this isn't about them anymore.

This is about perfect.

And perfect is just getting started.

The second quarter opens with UConn desperate to change the momentum. Their energy is sharp, frantic, the kind that comes from a team not used to being punched first. Geno has abandoned the box-and-one, switching to a triangle-and-two defense. It’s designed to suffocate you—two defenders shadowing your every step, cutting off your air, daring the rest of your team to beat them.

You glance at Paige and KK as they close in, their feet shuffling in sync. Paige’s jaw is tight, her expression unreadable, but there’s tension in her shoulders, the kind you’ve seen in every film session this week. KK is louder, her movements brash, barking orders at the rest of the defense.

The first possession, you take the ball at the top of the key, waiting for the defense to swarm. KK gets there first, her hands low and active, trying to force you left. Paige closes in immediately after, her presence suffocating.

You don’t flinch. You shift just enough to pull both defenders with you, then flick a no-look pass to Sierra cutting baseline. The ball drops into her hands, and she lays it in cleanly, untouched.

31-10 Harvard.

"The Prophecy showing she can dominate without scoring!" ESPN's excitement builds. "This is basketball genius at its finest!"

Then it happens.

Four minutes into the quarter. Harvard up 37-15. You shake loose from the double team, slicing through the defense like a knife through fabric. Sierra's screen creating the perfect angle of separation (47 degrees, optimal for catch-and-shoot scenarios), your feet set precisely shoulder-width apart, knees bent at the textbook 110-degree angle.

The ball feels good leaving your hands—perfect, even. The rotation is clean, the arc flawless, the trajectory straight out of a physics textbook. It’s the kind of shot you’ve made thousands of times. The kind of shot you don’t even need to watch to know it’s good.

But sometimes, the universe has other plans.

The ball hits the back rim, bouncing straight up, a little too high, a little too slow. It hovers for an agonizing second.

The entire arena holds its breath. Twenty thousand people frozen, watching the impossible happen. The ball hangs there, defying gravity for one more precious second, before falling away.

You’ve missed.

The UConn bench explodes, their cheers wild and unfiltered, like they’ve just won the championship. Their fans echo the celebration, chants swelling and overlapping.

"SHE’S HUMAN! SHE’S HUMAN!”

Paige takes a step toward you, instinct guiding her more than logic. It’s the same look you’ve seen in practices, in dorm rooms, in quiet moments when her guard was down. She wants to reach out, to say something, to bridge the gap between who you were to each other and who you are now.

But she stops herself. Her foot hovers for half a second before she steps back, her hand falling limp at her side. She remembers where she is. Who she’s supposed to be to you now.

And still, everyone waits.

Your teammates glance at you nervously. They’ve seen what happens when you miss. They know the last time you broke. They know why.

But you're not the same person who broke in that dark gym.

Instead of shattering, you do something no one expects.

You smile.

It’s small, controlled, more ice than warmth, but it’s enough to send a ripple through the arena. The silence shifts into something sharper, heavier.

The message is clear: Missing doesn’t break me anymore.

Nothing does.

"Oh my," the ESPN announcer’s voice is barely above a whisper. "That might be the scariest smile I’ve ever seen in basketball."

Next possession.

You take the ball at half court, KK and Paige closing in again. Their energy is different now—more cautious, less certain. They’re waiting for you to pass, waiting for you to hesitate, waiting for the doubt to creep in.

But it doesn’t.

You glance at the defense sagging just slightly, expecting hesitation, and then you do the thing no one else would.

You rise from the logo, the shot pure and effortless, the ball spinning through the air like it was destined to fall.

Swish.

40-15 Harvard.

The arena erupts.

Your teammates are screaming, their hands raised in disbelief. Coach Matthews stands for the first time all game, clipboard forgotten, her face a rare mix of awe and pride.

"THAT'S HOW YOU RESPOND TO ADVERSITY!" ESPN's voice cracks with excitement. "The Prophecy isn't just perfect anymore—she’s unstoppable!"

UConn calls timeout, but it's too late. They've lost whatever psychological edge they thought they'd gained. The rest of the quarter becomes a masterclass:

You hit threes over double teams.

Thread passes through impossible angles.

Turn their defense into a highlight reel of broken ankles and shattered hopes.

By halftime, the score is 52-27 Harvard. You've got 31 points, 8 assists, and a message that's louder than any perfect streak:

Some things break you.

Some things make you unbreakable.

And sometimes, becoming unbreakable is better than being perfect.

The teams head to their locker rooms, but the story of the second quarter isn't the score. It's the smile after the miss. The logo three that followed. The moment when The Prophecy proved that she's not just a perfect player.

HALFTIME

The locker room feels like it’s vibrating, the energy practically bouncing off the walls. Your teammates are loud, voices overlapping in a chaotic chorus of disbelief and celebration. Sierra’s pacing, too hyped to sit, while Jasmine reenacts your logo three for the tenth time, miming your shooting form with exaggerated flair.

"DID YOU SEE THEIR FACES?" Sierra's practically dancing. "When you smiled after that miss? I thought they were gonna pass out!"

"That logo three was DISGUSTING," Jasmine adds, mimicking your shooting form. "The disrespect!"

You let their voices wash over you, grounding yourself in the chaos without joining it. Sitting on the bench, you pull a water bottle to your lips, its coolness a sharp contrast to the heat radiating from your skin.

But Coach Matthews raises her hand for quiet. "They're going to come out desperate. Geno's never been down this much in a Final Four. Expect everything."

You nod slightly, her words steadying you. She’s right. The storm is coming. You can feel it brewing beyond the walls, the hum of the arena like distant thunder.

Through the locker room door, the halftime show filters in faintly. ESPN’s voices carry over the noise of the crowd:

“Harvard leads UConn 52-27 in the most lopsided first half of a Final Four in recent history…”

“31 points, 8 assists, 12-of-13 shooting, 5 steals. These aren’t just numbers; they’re history in the making…”

“And it’s not just the stats. That smile after the miss? That was the moment The Prophecy stopped being perfect and became something more. Something immortal.”

Sierra catches you listening and grins, holding up her phone. “You’re trending worldwide. Again.”

You wave her off. You don’t care about that. You’ve never cared about that.

But then Jasmine nudges you, her expression shifting from playful to serious as she shows you another text. This one’s from KK.

Paige is crying in the bathroom. Whole team’s shook. 

Good.

THIRD QUARTER

The second you see UConn retake the court, you can tell they’ve changed. There’s a new energy to them—sharper, more desperate. Paige’s eyes are slightly red, a telltale glint betraying her earlier tears. But there’s also something dangerous in her expression, the kind of desperation that makes even the best players reckless.

Geno’s thrown everything at the wall. UConn opens with a full-court press, their defenders swarming like bees, aggressive and chaotic.

It’s laughable.

You slice through them on the first possession like they’re standing still. A quick pass to Maria in the corner. Perfect release.

55-27 Harvard.

Paige tries to respond immediately, driving hard to the basket with her head down. The play is pure determination, her shoulders hunched as she barrels into the lane, but you’re ready.

Sliding over, you plant yourself perfectly, your feet set, your body immovable. When she crashes into you, the impact reverberates through your chest, but you don’t budge.

The whistle blows. Offensive foul.

Paige hits the floor hard, her hands slapping against the hardwood. For a split second, instinct kicks in—the memory of a hundred practices where you’d help her up, offer her a hand, a joke, a smile.

But that was then.

Now, you simply turn and walk away, your expression colder than the ice under her feet.

“Ice. Cold,” the announcer breathes, the disbelief palpable.

On the next possession, Paige picks you up full court, her body language bristling with frustration. She presses in close, practically stepping on your toes, her voice low and cracking.

“Please,” she whispers. “Just look at me. Just once.”

You don’t respond.

Instead, you hit her with a combination that feels less like basketball and more like poetry:

Crossover right.

Behind the back left.

Through the legs.

Step-back three.

The crowd doesn’t even wait for the ball to hit the net. The moment Paige stumbles backward, they’re on their feet, screaming.

The shot, of course, is perfect.

58-27 Harvard.

The UConn section is dead silent now. Even Geno has stopped pacing, his arms folded as he stares helplessly at the court. Paige glances toward their bench, her eyes briefly meeting Geno’s, but he has no answers either

Next possession, you wave off the screen, motioning for everyone to clear out. The court feels impossibly wide as Paige crouches in her defensive stance, her body coiled with tension. You can see the tears threatening at the corners of her eyes, the way her breathing hitches as she exhales.

Time slows.

Can see the tears threatening at the corners of Paige's eyes.

Can feel twenty thousand people holding their breath.

Perfect isn't about not missing anymore.

Perfect is about what you do next.

The move is pure poetry.

Crossover so quick the cameras barely catch it.

Through the legs at half speed, letting her think she's got you.

Then the acceleration – zero to legendary in a heartbeat.

Paige lunges, trying to stay in front.

The crowd rises as one.

But they don't matter.

Nothing matters except the physics of this moment.

You rise up from 30 feet, Paige's hand right in your face.

Time stops.

The ball arcs through the air like destiny.

Swish.

The arena detonates.

Your teammates mob you as you jog back, their faces alight with disbelief. Even the referees exchange glances, one shaking his head like he’s just witnessed the impossible.

61-33 Harvard.

Paige doesn’t move. She stays rooted to the spot where you left her, her head bowed, her hands on her knees. The weight of the game—of the moment—presses her into the hardwood.

The UConn bench looks like a graveyard.

Perfect breaks back.

The quarter ends with Harvard up 73-41. You've got 45 points on a shot chart that looks like abstract art. Each bucket more impossible than the last. Each move designed to teach them all the same lesson.

FOURTH QUARTER

Ten minutes left in the biggest game in women’s college basketball history. Harvard up 73-41. The crowd buzzes with anticipation, sensing the inevitable.

Paige opens the quarter like someone with nothing left to lose. Her movements are sharper now, more fluid, like she’s untethered from the weight of expectation. There’s desperation in her eyes, but also glimpses of what made her special.

What made her yours, once upon a time.

She hits a deep three. Then another. Her teammates respond, pressing full court, fighting for every inch, clawing for one last stand.

On the next possession, UConn doubles you at half court, but you see the opening before they do. A quick bounce pass threads the needle, hitting Sierra in stride for an uncontested layup.

75-44 Harvard.

The press comes hard again, but you stay poised, letting it collapse around you before sending a no-look pass over your shoulder to Maria in the corner. She drains the three, and the crowd explodes.

78-44 Harvard.

Paige tries to answer with a contested jumper at the other end, and it rattles in. She’s pressing now, forcing every play, trying to drag her team back into a game that’s already slipping away.

Back on offense, you hesitate near the arc, drawing in the defense before flipping a behind-the-back pass to Jasmine cutting baseline. The ball barely touches her hands before it’s in the net.

80-46 Harvard.

Coach Matthews calls timeout to sub you out with 1:32 left. The ovation is deafening—every single person in the arena on their feet, cheering until their voices crack. You’ve got 34 points, 15 assists, and 7 steals, but the numbers barely scratch the surface of what just happened.

You jog to the bench, your teammates mobbing you, their hands slapping your back, their voices a chaotic blur of celebration.

As you pass Paige one last time, there are no words. No need.

You both know what this moment is.

The final buzzer sounds: Harvard 89, UConn 51.

Confetti falls, a blizzard of crimson and gold, as your teammates tackle you in a storm of laughter and tears. Cameras flash everywhere, their lenses capturing history in real time.

You stand at center court, calm amidst the chaos, the weight of the moment settling over you.

Because you did it. You won.

The locker room is a storm of joy, the kind that only comes from rewriting history. Music blasts from a speaker in the corner. Sierra’s leading a conga line with the championship trophy hoisted high. Jasmine and Maria are filming every second, screaming into their phones about being “FINAL FOUR CHAMPIONS, BABY!”

You should be reveling in it. You are, to an extent—smiling as Sierra shoves a bottle of sparkling cider into your hands, laughing as Jasmine accidentally sprays half the team with the foam.

But deep down, there’s an itch you can’t scratch.

You made the statement. You dominated the game. You won the war.

But the battle inside you—the one that started long before tonight—is still unresolved.

Later, when the celebration starts to wind down, you find yourself leaning against a corner of the locker room, still clutching the now-empty bottle of cider. The room feels quieter, though the energy still hums faintly in the air. Your teammates are scattered—some FaceTiming family, others sprawled on benches in blissful exhaustion.

Sierra catches your eye from across the room. She doesn’t say anything, just tilts her head slightly, a silent question.

You shake your head. Not yet.

An hour later, you’re back in your hotel room, the championship hat still perched on your head, your phone buzzing endlessly with texts and notifications. Most are from reporters, friends, family. A few from Jasmine and Sierra, who are probably still partying somewhere downstairs.

You scroll through them aimlessly, not sure what you’re looking for until you see her name.

Paige.

She hasn't texted. Not since before the game. Her name sits there like a ghost in your messages, daring you to make the first move. To break the silence that's grown between you like a wall.

For a while, you just sit there, staring at the empty message thread. You replay every moment of the game in your mind—the way her voice cracked when she guarded you, the way she pressed harder and harder as the score slipped further out of reach. The way she nodded, warrior to warrior, as if she knew what you’d just written into history.

And yet, it doesn’t feel complete. Not entirely.

Before you can overthink it, you start typing.

you can come by if you want

The message is simple. No explanations, no context. You don’t even wait to see if she reads it before tossing your phone onto the bed and heading to the bathroom to wash off the night.

When you come back, the screen is lit with her reply:

where?

Your heart stumbles over itself as you type the room number. You sit on the edge of the bed, fingers playing with the hem of your sweatshirt, trying to ignore how your pulse picks up with each passing minute.

The knock, when it comes, is so soft you almost miss it.

For a second, you just stare at the door, your pulse thudding in your ears. The part of you that has spent months building walls tells you not to answer, not to let her in.

But tonight isn’t about walls.

You open the door.

She’s standing there, still in her UConn travel gear, hair tucked under a beanie. Her eyes are tired, rimmed with dark circles, but there’s something in them—something vulnerable, tentative—that catches you off guard.

“Hi,” she says softly.

“Hi.”

You step aside to let her in. She moves hesitantly, as if unsure whether she belongs here.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The room feels heavy with unspoken words, with everything the game couldn’t settle.

“You played…” Paige starts, then stops, biting her lip. “You were unbelievable.”

“Thanks.” You cross your arms, leaning against the desk. “You weren’t bad yourself.”

She lets out a breathy laugh, the sound awkward and raw. “I tried.”

Silence stretches between you again. The words you want to say stick to the back of your throat, stubborn and heavy. You watch her hands fidget with the strings of her hoodie, a nervous tell you used to find endearing. Now it just makes your chest ache.

Finally, it’s Paige who breaks the tension.

“I thought it would feel better,” she admits, her voice cracking slightly. “Losing, I mean. Seeing you win. It’s like I needed you to win. I needed you to be okay without me. But it didn’t make it hurt any less.”

Her honesty feels like a gut punch. You unfold your arms, suddenly unable to stay distant. “Paige…”

“I’m sorry,” she rushes out, words tumbling over themselves.“For all of it. For hurting you, for not fighting harder, for—”

“I know,” you cut her off gently, your voice quieter now. “I know.”

She looks at you, her eyes shiny with unshed tears. “Do you?”

You nod, stepping closer. “Yeah. I do. And I…” You take a shaky breath. “I’m tired of being angry. I don’t want to carry it anymore.”

Her shoulders slump, the tension leaving her body all at once. “I don’t either.”

For a moment, the two of you just stand there, the weight of everything unsaid filling the room.

And then, slowly, you reach out, your hand brushing hers. She looks down at the contact, her lips trembling, and you feel something shift.

Forgiveness isn’t instant. It’s not easy. But it starts here, in this quiet room, with the two of you trying to find your way back to something that feels whole.

“Sit,” you say softly, gesturing to the bed.

She hesitates, then sits down, and for the first time in months, the space between you feels less like a chasm and more like a bridge.

And maybe, just maybe, you’re ready to cross it.

She sits on the edge of the bed, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her shoulders hunched like she’s bracing for something. You grab a water bottle from the mini-fridge, needing something to do with your hands.

“Want one?” you ask, holding it up.

Paige glances at you, nodding slightly. “Yeah. Thanks.”

You hand it to her, and your fingers brush—just for a second. It’s such a small, fleeting touch, but it makes the air between you feel charged, like something fragile and important is hanging there.

She twists the cap off the bottle but doesn’t drink, just stares at it like it holds answers. “I wasn’t sure if you’d actually let me in,” she says softly.

“Neither was I,” you admit, sitting down beside her. The bed dips slightly under your weight, and for a moment, you’re hyper-aware of the small space between you.

Her lips curve into a faint, rueful smile. “Fair.”

The quiet stretches, not uncomfortable but heavy with unspoken things. You look at her out of the corner of your eye—the way her hands tremble slightly as she holds the water bottle, the way her hair falls messily over her shoulders, the way her shoulders rise and fall with each shallow breath.

“I meant what I said earlier,” Paige murmurs, breaking the silence. “You were… unbelievable tonight. I mean, you always are, but tonight…” She trails off, shaking her head like she can’t find the words.

“Thanks,” you say softly.

“I wasn’t just talking about the game,” she adds, her voice quieter now. “The way you handled everything—the pressure, the expectations, even me. It was like watching someone I didn’t even know existed.”

You glance at her sharply, caught off guard by the rawness in her voice. “You know me better than anyone.”

“I thought I did,” she says, her lips twitching into something that’s not quite a smile. “But I think I only knew the parts of you that let me in. And I don’t think I earned the rest.”

Her words hit something deep inside you, something you’ve been trying to bury. You look down at your hands, twisting the cap on your water bottle. “You didn’t need to earn it,” you say quietly. “It was always yours.”

She turns her head to look at you, her eyes wide and vulnerable, and you can feel her staring, feel her trying to read between the lines of your words.

“I should’ve fought harder,” Paige whispers. Her voice cracks, and she drops her gaze back to her lap. “For us. For you. I should’ve—”

“Stop,” you interrupt gently, surprising even yourself with the softness in your tone. “You don’t have to keep apologizing. I’ve already forgiven you.”

She lets out a shaky breath, her shoulders slumping like a weight has just been lifted. “Really?”

You nod, your throat tightening. “Yeah.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The sound of her breathing fills the room, slow and uneven, and the faint hum of the city outside filters in through the window.

“It’s weird,” you say after a while, breaking the silence. “I thought beating you tonight would feel like closure. Like I could finally move on. But it didn’t.”

Paige looks up at you, her brows furrowed. “What did it feel like?”

You hesitate, the words catching in your throat. “Like I was still waiting for something.”

She doesn’t ask what, doesn’t press, but the way she looks at you tells you she knows.

The silence stretches again, but this time it feels different—like the space between you is slowly shrinking, like the air is shifting.

You shift slightly on the bed, your knee brushing hers. The touch is small, accidental, but neither of you pulls away.

“Do you want to stay?” you ask suddenly, the words tumbling out before you can overthink them.

Paige blinks, her eyes widening in surprise. “What?”

“Stay,” you repeat, your voice steadier now. “Just for tonight.”

She looks at you, searching your face for something—hesitation, doubt, anything that might make her say no. But she doesn’t find it.

“Okay,” she says finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

You nod, standing up and grabbing a spare blanket from the closet. “You can take the bed. I’ll—”

“No,” she interrupts quickly, shaking her head. “I mean, we can… share. If that’s okay.”

You hesitate for a moment, then nod again. “Yeah. Okay.”

The bed feels impossibly small as you both lie down, the silence stretching between you like a fragile thread. You’re on your back, staring at the ceiling, trying not to think about how close she is. Paige shifts slightly, the mattress dipping under her weight, and you catch the faint scent of her shampoo.

You try to focus on anything else—the faint hum of the city outside, the muffled sound of someone laughing in the hallway, the rhythm of your own breathing. But your mind keeps circling back to her.

“Hey,” Paige whispers after a while, her voice tentative in the dark.

“Yeah?”

“Can I…?” She trails off, and you turn your head to look at her. Her eyes are wide, uncertain, the soft light from the window catching the gold flecks in them. “Can I hold you?”

The question catches you off guard, but only for a second. Then you nod, shifting onto your side to face her.

She hesitates, like she’s still waiting for you to pull away, and then she closes the space between you. Her arms wrap around you carefully, like she’s afraid you’ll break, and you feel the warmth of her body settle against yours.

You exhale slowly, your head resting against her shoulder, your hand curling slightly against her chest. Her heartbeat is steady, grounding, and for the first time all night, you feel your own racing pulse start to calm.

“Is this okay?” she asks softly, her breath warm against your hair.

“Yeah,” you murmur, letting your eyes close. “It’s okay.”

For a while, neither of you speaks. The quiet hum of the room wraps around you like a cocoon, the world outside fading into the background. You focus on the small details—the way her fingers trace absent patterns against your back, the steady rise and fall of her breathing, the way her cheek brushes against your temple.

“I missed this,” she whispers, the words barely audible.

You don’t answer right away, your throat tightening with emotions you’re not ready to name. Instead, you shift closer, tucking your face into the crook of her neck. “Me too.”

Her arms tighten slightly around you, and you feel the faintest press of her lips against your hair. It’s not a kiss, not really—just a gentle, fleeting touch, like she’s afraid to ask for more.

You stay like that for what feels like hours, the weight of everything unsaid hanging in the air. But for now, it’s enough. Enough to share the silence, to let yourselves be close again, to let the cracks start to heal.

“I don’t want this to be the end,” she says quietly, breaking the silence.

You open your eyes, your gaze meeting hers in the dim light. “Maybe it doesn’t have to be.”

The faintest smile tugs at her lips, hopeful and tentative, and you let yourself smile back.

For now, it’s enough.

For tonight, it’s everything.

The End

A Note from the Me

Thank you for following The Prophecy's story through these three parts. Your comments, messages, and support have meant the world to me. You've helped shape this story of what happens when perfect meets human, when physics equations meet matters of the heart, when being unbreakable becomes more important than being flawless.

Thank you for being part of this journey (cornball moment lol). If enough people want I can do a 6 year time jump as a short story where they're married.

[bills5lut]

delivered pt 2

masterlist prompt list

warnings: angst. bilie being a bitch. 

synopsis: the distance only grows, and eventually breaks. 

The days start blurring.

You stop keeping track of time in hours or meals or anything logical. It’s just: since she texted last. Since she called. Since you heard her voice that didn’t sound like her voice. It’s been… what, three days? Four?

You don’t know, and it doesn’t really matter. Your body feels like it’s drifting slightly behind itself, like you’re walking underwater. Going through motions. Answering emails. Microwaving leftovers. Folding towels you don’t remember washing.

You check your phone so often it makes your chest feel bruised. You delete the messages app. Reinstall it an hour later.

Nothing.

You leave the apartment once in the morning, just to breathe different air. You buy a coffee and forget to drink it. By the time you get home, the cup is lukewarm in your hand, and your throat aches for no reason you can explain. You haven’t cried. Not really.

Until now.

You don’t even notice it coming. Just a tightness that builds and builds until you’re curled up on the kitchen floor, back against the cabinet, gasping through it. Your hoodie sleeve is damp with the soundless sobs you’ve been swallowing all week. You think of her hands. Her mouth. Her stupid, soft voice when it wasn’t like this. When she used to say I miss you so much, baby, it hurts.

You pull your phone out without thinking. Hands shaking. You press her name.

It rings.

And rings.

You suck in a breath that stutters in your chest. Your ribs feel like they’re pulling in opposite directions.

Then it connects.

A crackle. Muffled noise in the background. She doesn’t say hello.

“Billie,” you whisper, your voice already wrecked. “Please. I, fuck, I, sorry, I didn’t mean to, ”

A sharp exhale cuts through the line. Like a sigh, but colder. Harder.

“What?” she snaps.

You freeze. Your mouth opens. Closes. You can’t make your voice work.

“I just, ” Your breath stutters again. “I don’t know. I needed to hear you. I just, I feel like I can’t breathe lately.”

Silence. A shift of fabric. Then: “You’re always doing this.”

“Doing what?” you ask, small and confused. “I’m just, Billie, I miss you.”

“You always say that like it’s a burden.”

“I love you,” you say, like it’s your last defense. “When you’re back, I just, God, I want to hold you. That’s it. I just want to hold you for like ten minutes. That’s all.”

A pause.

Then she laughs.

Not sweet. Not soft. It’s dry, sharp. Like she’s laughing at you.

Your stomach caves in.

You don’t speak. You just let the silence stretch, because you don’t trust your voice anymore.

Then, her voice again. Not laughing now. Just flat. Unapologetic. “Baby, I don’t think I wanna do any of that when I’m back.”

The room goes very still around you. A high whine starts behind your ears, blood pressure or heartbreak, you’re not sure.

“What…” you start. Your throat is closing up. “What do you mean?”

She sighs again. Drawn-out. Annoyed.

“I mean this is too much,” she says, like she’s explaining something obvious to someone stupid. “You’re too much. It’s always something with you. Always needing more. It’s like, I don’t have room for that right now. Or maybe ever. I don’t know.”

You blink, and hot tears fall without your permission. Your chest is tight, aching like a muscle that’s been held wrong for too long.

“So… you’re saying we’re… done?”

“I’m saying this isn’t working for me anymore.”

You sit with that. The words land slowly, each one a dull hammer to the ribs.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Your voice cracks. “You just let me hang there. You couldn’t even say I love you back the other night.”

“I didn’t know how to say it,” she says. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

Your laugh is wet and bitter. “So instead you ignored me until I begged for crumbs.”

“I didn’t ask you to do that,” she snaps. “You made this into some, thing. You spiral. You cling.”

“I was lonely, Billie. I was in love with you.”

She’s quiet again. Then: “I know.”

It’s not an apology. It’s not anything.

“I hope you take care of yourself,” she adds. Flat. Final.

You close your eyes. It feels like your whole body is trying to pull itself inside out. Like grief has put its hand around your throat and won’t quite squeeze, but it’s there, threatening.

“I don’t know how to do that without you.”

“Yeah, well,” she says. “You’re gonna have to learn.”

The call ends. Just like that.

You stare at the screen, the words Call ended sitting there like a slap.

You’re still on the kitchen floor. The lights are too bright now, like they’re exposing every crack in you. Your heart keeps trying to outrun itself. Your hands are cold.

You lower the phone slowly to the floor, like it might break. Like you might. And then, for a long, long time, you don’t move.

[seuonji]

彡 are they dating? —times your relationship was almost revealed / time you both got caught.

๑ idol!svt x idol!yn secret relationship series! no storyline, just fun.

—yn is a hybe artist!!

★my bestie that proofreads my writings gave me the wonwoo scenario <333

one ๑ two ๑ three ๑ four ๑ five ๑ six ๑ seven #mlist

laying down with jun/soonyoung/seokmin/mingyu on his bed and taking selfies using instagram for the filters until he drops his phone and accidentally clicks on the add to story button— you both screamed until one of you deletes it or turned off the wifi so it wouldn’t post but you guys knew how persistent your fans were, you didn’t know if deleting it was good enough. he would probably say, “should i just delete my account?”

when your group won an award at an award show, during your comment the camera briefly pointed at jeonghan/wonwoo/jihoon’s face which showed his sweetest and softest smile. that picture went viral the next hour. anon: “i want someone to look at me the way he looked at yn when they won an award.” / “he wouldn’t just look at them like that for no reason they have to know each other more deeply right!?.”

passing by the seventeen practice room where seungcheol/jeonghan/minghao’s was practicing alone. he recognises your figure even though the door was translucent. he practically ran outside and looked if they coast was clear before giving you a hug. little did you guys know the one or some of your fellow hybe artists from another group was walking around that floor— they instantly said they wouldn’t tell anyone but would also be in shock and would take awhile to process what they just saw.

after an afternoon of hanging with joshua during your short break in one of the rooms in the building, you had a schedule to go live when you got back to your designated room. you soon left and looked in the mirror to make sure everything was okay and you met up with the staff then went live. you enjoyed reading the comments and answered some until you saw a specific comment. anon: yn! your necklace is so cute! where did you get it?

you mentally froze for 3 seconds and looked at yourself in the screen. you touched your neck and saw that you were wearing the necklace joshua gave you literally 30 minutes ago. you nervously laughed and said that you recently got into the activity of making jewellery and that you were testing its durability. “do you guys want one?” you smiled at your viewers. you got comments that were constantly mentioning joshua— anon: “you’re like joshua!” // “joshua from svt also makes them!!“ — but the really annoying ones would tell you you’re copying him.

during a live, a fan pointed out that wonwoo was wearing more jewellery recently. “sort of, but it’s mostly rings,” wonwoo says as he placed the back of his hand infront of the screen to showcase his rings. later on in the live he started giving the origins of each ring, “this was from a recent trip, this one is from mingyu…”

he got to a simple silver ring and he held back a grin, “this one is a typical ring but i like it a lot.” he showed the rings once again. he faced his palm to the camera but realised, on the simple silver ring, your name was engraved onto it and it was legible. he mostly had it turned inwards for reasons like this tho. he quickly took his hand away from the camera and read other comments to change the topic— the fandom became super curious, they noticed there was some writing on the ring. it was the same curiousity as to when scoups was revealed to have a tattoo.

[writtenbyan-aries]

need a soul crushing colby angst

maybe seeing him again after a breakup and hes like so indifferent and nonchalant while reader is going nuts

∶ Summary: anon sums it up

∶ Warnings: angst, wine, breakup flashbacks, upset reader, ex!Colby, quick talk of depression, kind of a fluff end

∶ Word Count: 3.2k

I wanted to incorporate a song into this and Haunted was the first one that popped into my head because the lyrics instantly gave me ideas - enjoy!

────────── •✧✧• ──────────

For the last three years, you’ve given Colby everything you had to offer. All of your love, time, effort. He got it all. You spent each free moment you had with each other. Went to sleep together. Woke up together. Had breakfast, lunch, dinner together.

Everything. You didn’t think you’d ever live to see what you had with him break.

You were so blindsided by the breakup, that when it happened, it sent you through all the stages of grief.

Denial - For weeks, you kept telling yourself it’s not over. There’s no way it’s over. He’s not gone, he can’t be gone. Telling yourself, your closest friends that he just needs a break, he’ll come back. There’s no way he won’t come back. You couldn’t wrap your mind around the fact that three years was just gone, like it didn’t matter. You kept texting him, asking him to talk more about why he did it, asking him if it’s really over, and you just got the same response back, silence. That then pushed you into the second stage of grief.

Anger - You were angry that he didn’t answer. Angry that he didn’t give you any closure that you felt like you desperately needed. Angry that he could just drop you like you meant nothing. You let him hear it, too. Even if he didn’t respond, you gave him a peace of your mind. You ultimately moved into being angry with yourself, wondering if you could have put up a harder fight for him, and that led you into the third stage.

Bargaining - You became sad all over again, rethinking everything. You kept thinking, what if I had done more and what if we’re only meant to be just friends. You thought you had it all figure out, him all figured out. If you just give him time he’ll come back. But, over time, you felt a huge sense of guiltiness wash over and drown you in his place, leading you into the fourth stage.

Depression - You haven’t left your house in few weeks. Ordered in. Rotted on the couch and in your bed. It took your best friend coming over to tell you that you needed a shower for you to actually get up and get one. You were drowning, feeling like something’s gone terribly wrong. You felt like you had been shattered into a million tiny pieces, and no matter how much ‘glue’ you had, nothing made them stick together. Just when you thought you were getting better, you fell apart all over again. Wanting to text him, talk to him, hear his voice, but knowing he wouldn’t even give you that, hurt you even more. Eventually, with the help of your friends and their pep talks, you gradually floated into the final stage.

Acceptance - It took a few months, but you finally got to a place to where you didn’t cry when you thought about him, or when you seen something that reminded you of him. You were finally starting to feel like yourself again. You avoided looking in your camera roll because you just didn’t have deleting all of your photos in you yet, so you left them go. But you managed. You left your house, accepting the fact that you were a single, semi-healed girl, and staying in the house wasn’t going to help.

It’s been six months since the day you and Colby broke up. Four months of those six, weren’t spent dwelling and laying in a pool of self pity, but the last two you spent focusing on yourself, coping and moving forward.

You were actually feeling pretty good. You had heard through the grape vine that Colby was seeing someone new, but you tried not to let it get to you, no matter how haunted by him you felt.

“Are you okay? How do you feel?”

You gave your best friend, Leah, a confused look, “I’m fine? Why?” You set your phone down and turn towards her. She shakes her head, “No reason, I just- you have your first date with Noah tonight, and I’m just making sure you didn’t have the jitters.”

“I’m good, Leah. I promise. Noah and I have been talking for a few weeks, and it seems to be going well. I told him I wanted to take things slow, and tonight just feels like the right time to actually take things public.”

“Does he know you used to date the Colby Brock?” She raises her brows and you scoff, “That shouldn’t have anything to do with my future. Clearly, Colby wanted to stay in the past, so. Why should I care?”

“I’m just saying, Colby is-“

“Enough about Colby, Leah.” You take a deep breath, “I’m over him. I got myself all healed and glued back together, I don’t understand why-“ you pause and Leah tilts her head, “It’s okay if you’re not.”

“I have to be.” You could feel your eyes burn, but you fight back the tears, “I have to be. Colby moved on, so it’s time for me to as well.”

“Noah is really sweet.” She gives you a soft smile, “I just don’t want you hurting him, or yourself, by rushing into something you’re not fully ready for.”

You shake your head, “I like Noah. Noah.. he’s good for me.”

She smiles, “What time is your date?”

“Picking me up at six, then he said about going to the beach, taking a walk along the shore.” You feel your cheeks grow warm, “It’s new. It’s a clean slate.”

She nods, “Let me know how it goes.”

────────── •✧✧• ──────────

Noah knock on your door and led you down to his car like a gentleman.

The car ride to the restaurant was subtle, full of small talk and him telling you how beautiful you looked.

You felt good, but there was still a little part in you that held onto Colby. More so, you weren’t able to trust anything now, because of what he did to you.

You swallowed, pushing down the thoughts that creeped in and gave Noah a smile, “Have you ever been to this place before?”

He nods, “When my family comes to visit, my mom always takes us here. It’s one of her favorite spots, and mine.” He chuckles, “The food is phenomenal.”

“That’s good, I don’t think I’ve ever been to this place before. I was googling it before you came to get me, it looks fancy.” You glance down at your dress, “I hope I dressed up enough.”

“You dressed perfect.” He smiles, “We should be, ah.” He points, “Here we are.”

Your eyes can over the building. It looked rich.

“Wow. This place looks expensive just by the architecture.” You laugh, “Are you sure you-“

“I’m sure. You deserve a place like this.” He smiles, unbuckling to get out. He walks around, opening up your door. You take his hand as you get out, smoothing your other hand down over your dress.

As you’re walking through the parking lot, your heart sinks as you see a familiar looking car, but as you grow closer, it’s not who you think it is.

You let out a relieved sigh and give Noah’s hand a squeeze. He smiles and opens the door, “After you.” He motions and you nod, “Thank you.” You smile as you walk in, coming to a stop at the host stand.

“Good evening.” The gentleman smiles, “Name for the reservation, please.”

“Reynard. Noah Reynard.”

“Perfect. If you will follow me this way.”

Noah takes your hand and walks with you through the restaurant, stopping at the table, “Thank you.” He smiles at the host and moves to pull your chair out, “Here we go.”

You sit down and help him move your chair in towards the table, “Thank you.” He nods, “My pleasure.” He smiles as he sits down and the host nods, “Your waiter will be with you in just a moment.”

“Thank you.” You give the host a smile and look back at Noah, “What’s good here?”

“Everything.” He chuckles, “I usually go for the lobster and foie gras, but I can guarantee you that no matter what you get, you’ll like.”

“Hmm.” You look down over the menu, “Well see.” You smile as you glance up at him and he raises his brows, “Oh, I see you have accepted the challenge.”

You shrug, “I guess I have.” You laugh and let out a sigh as you continue perusing the menu.

A little bit later, after placing your orders and downing a glass of wine, you were in the middle of talking about where you both grew up.

As you were listening to Noah, someone in the corner of your eye, caught your attention.

Internal panic sets ablaze. You realize you were staring at Noah, but you weren’t listening, “Sorry.” You laugh, “I um, what did you say?”

“I just said that I grew up in Dallas, but moved here when I turned eighteen.” He smiles, “Have you ever been to Dallas?”

You shake your head, “No, I haven’t. But isn’t the saying, um, everything is bigger in Texas?”

“Yeah, yeah they do.” He nods with a laugh, “You said you grew up in Virginia?” You nod, “Yeah, pretty much the same story with you. Well, only the states are different.”

“I knew I’ve always wanted to come to LA, it’s always been a dream of mine to live where there’s sunshine and palm trees.” He smiles, “To think, if we never moved here, we probably would have never met.”

You smile, trying to hold it as you see Colby and his date walk behind the host across the restaurant to a table, his seat, directly in line with your view.

“Yeah, it’s, um.” You laugh, “It’s crazy how the universe works, is the waiter coming back?” You finish your glass of wine, “I need another drink.”

“Yeah, he should be coming back any- oh, here he is.” Noah moves his napkin out of the way and you do the same, laying it on your lap. You smooth out the fabric a few times, taking quick breaths as you try and settle the now full inferno inside of you.

What are the odds of seeing Colby for the first time some the breaking while you’re on a first date with someone new?

Slim to none, you’d think.

“Y/n?”

You look up, Noah staring at you, “Huh?” He laughs slightly, “Another glass of wine, you said?” You nod, looking up at the waiter, “Oh, yes, yes please.” You swallow, “I’m actually- I’m going to run to the bathroom real quick, wash my hands before I, uh, dig in.”

“Are you okay?” Noah furrows his brows and you nod, “Yes.” Your face turns into confusion, “Why?”

He shrugs, “You just seem nervous all of a sudden, I hope I wasn’t laying it on too thick, I know you said you wanted to take things slow.”

“I’m good.” You give him a smile, “Just going to wash my hands really fast.”

You get up, keeping your head down, but as soon as you look up, Colby’s eyes are already on you, and they’re cold.

Just his look alone sent you right back to the day he left.

“No, come on, come on, Colby. Don’t leave me like this.” You sob, “Please, you’re all I want, p-please. We can- we can work this out, please. Colby, I can’t- I can’t do this.”

“It’s for the best, y/n. We can’t- you want more in life, and you can’t get that if I’m not ready.” He runs a hand through his hair, eyes glistening as he locks them onto yours.

“I-I love you, Colby. I don’t think I’ll ever stop. You’re- you’re the best thing that’s ever h-happened to me, I can’t just move on from this, I can’t, I won’t.” You shake your head, walking up to him, “Please. Don’t leave me like this, please, Colby.”

You stood there, watching him, figuratively, walk further and further away from everything you had. His eyes growing colder and colder with each second, almost like he’s making himself not have a choice with doing this.

Your head pounding more and more with each sob, “Colby-“ your voice breaks, “Please don’t do this.” You gasp for air, “What went terribly wrong? We’re all we’ve ever wanted, I don’t-“

“I just know, that right now, doing this will benefit us both.” He closes his eyes, quickly wiping a stray tear away, “I love you, and with that, I need to let you go.”

Your lip quivers as the sobs start all over again, your hands moving to cover your face as you gasp for air. The sound of the door shutting sends you into a full on breakdown.

You felt like you couldn’t breathe with him being gone.

You thought you had it all figured out, but you were wrong. You thought you were good, fine without him. You thought that being with someone else would help, but seeing Colby sit there, with another girl, acting so nonchalant and like he didn’t rip your heart out six months ago makes you feel sick.

You felt like you were spiraling out of control, standing in the bathroom, holding your breath as you try not to let the feelings of six months ago take over.

You were trying so hard not to lose it all over again, and the fact that you had to go out there and act like everything was fine made it all worse.

You calm yourself down, slowly reaching for the lock and twisting it. You move to the mirror, leaning in to make sure your makeup isn’t out of place.

As you turn, the girl Colby is at dinner with, walks through the door. She gives you a small smile and you just stare at her, moving your eyes down to the floor.

She was beautiful.

You swallow, taking a deep breath before walking back out to Noah.

“I thought I was going to have to send in a search and rescue team.” Noah jokes, “seriously, though. Are you okay?”

You nod, grabbing your glass and taking a sip, “I’m perfect.” You smile, fully acting like you aren’t going nuts on the inside, “This look delicious.” You look at your plate and Noah nods, “So, let’s see if I was right.”

“Oh, right.” You laugh, “Yes.” You cut off a piece of your food and take a bite. Your eyes go wide, “Oh, you were right.” You hum lowly, “This is delicious, my god.”

The whole time you were eating, especially before Colby’s date came back, his eyes were on you. Watching your every move, listening to every fake laugh that slipped from your lips.

As dinner came to a close, you motioned, “all of this wine in going right through me.” You laugh, “Do you want me to-“

“I got it. You go, I’ll meet you back here.” Noah smiles, “That beach walk is calling our names, I can hear it.”

You smile, “that’s what I’m most excited about.”

He scoffs, “Well if I would have known that, I wouldn’t have taken a loan out to pay for dinner.” Your jaw drops and he laughs, “I’m joking, I can pay for this all on my own.”

You let out a sigh, “Jokster, I see.” You smile, “I’ll be right back.” You get up, avoiding Colby as you walk by, entering the bathroom.

You walk into the stall, doing what you need to do, and stand up, walking out to the sink. As you’re washing your hands, you stare at yourself in the mirror, taking a few calming breathes as you try to push Colby from your head.

You straighten up, letting out a sigh and walking to dry your hands. As soon as you open the door, you stop, your heart dropping into your stomach as you see Colby standing there.

“I don’t..” he turns, dropping his hands, ���I don’t know why I’m here.”

“Aren’t you on a date?” You swallow, trying to keep the upper hand, “That’s what I’m doing here.”

“No i-“ he scoffs, “Yeah, I know that.” He clenches his jaw, “I just-“ he shakes his head and you sigh, “You and I are walking a fragile line here, Colby.”

“Yeah, I’ve known it all this time, as soon as I seen you sitting there with him.” He tilts his head, “I- you look good.”

“Thank you.” You look down, “I um, I have to-“

“Do you miss me?”

You stare at him, “Do I miss you?”

You scoff, “Colby, I-“ you shake your head, “Does it even matter? You seemed to move on rather quickly, sitting there, acting like seeing someone you once gave everything to doesn’t hurt you in the slightest.” You wait for him to speak, but he doesn’t say anything, so you sigh, “but.. yeah, of course I do. I still mean every word I said to you.”

“I’m haunted by you.” He laughs slightly, “I still look for you in everyone I come across, I don’t-“ he shakes his head, “I don’t kn- I was so stupid to let you go.”

“But you did.” You tilt your head, “For months, I was a wreck, thinking I had you figured out, figuring out a way for us to make it work, but in the end, I was the one who looked stupid. Telling everyone that you had your reasons when I literally had no idea why you left, other than you thought I wanted more, but in reality, Colby. I wanted you. No matter what.”

His eyes fall to the floor, his head nods slowly, “I’m sorry.”

“That’s all you have to say?” You sniffle, “I just- I don’t need this. I don’t need you messing with my head, you did that enough when you first sat down at the table.”

You go to walk away but he grabs your hand, and sparks trickle up your arm, “Wait.” He pulls you in, “Tell me you’re happier with him.”

You stay quiet for a moment, your eyes staying on his hand in yours, “He might try to take my pain away and he might make me smile, but..” you look up at him, “the whole time, I’m wishing he was you instead.”

He nods, eyes bouncing from your lips to your eyes and you knew what was about to happen, but you pull away. You clear your throat, “I um..” you shake your head, trying to gather your thoughts.

“What?” Colby asks, “What’s going on in that mind of yours?”

You shrug, taking a deep breath, “A part of me wants to know where we go from this, but then another part of me can’t trust anything now and I don’t want to keep holding onto nothing.” You look up at him and he nods, “Why don’t you just go back to your table, I’ll go back to mine, and then maybe..” he shrugs, “One of us is dumb enough to call the other later on.”

────────── •✧✧• ──────────

Thank you so much for reading! I love you so much! Catch you in the next one! 🖤

Like and reblogs are majorly appreciated!

[mapsthewanderer]

Plated IV

The knives are sharp. The heat’s real. Love has no place here—so why does it keep showing up?

Synopsis: In a heat-soaked kitchen where pressure simmers and perfection is law, you stand shoulder to shoulder with a team of brilliant misfits—each carrying their own scars, secrets, and fire.

From Caleb’s controlled intensity to Sylus’s velvet power plays, Rafayel’s chaotic beauty, Zayne’s surgical focus, and Xavier’s quiet steadiness, every shift cuts deeper than the last.

This is a story of tension, taste, and slow-burn hearts—where trust is plated, feelings are forbidden, and love might just be the most dangerous ingredient.

Details: 8600ish words (omg sorry). The Bear AU. Non MC! reader. 18+ harem drama. Sylus insisted on taking the day off—so, you’ll be getting to know Raf a little (okay, a lot) better. Consider this my dedicated Raf and Sylus chapter (so far), with bonus appearances from Xav the star and Zayne, the… umh no spoilers. It’s time to start climbing out of the mess. Expect slow-burn, banter, flirting, stress, kindness, and yes—some (adult) fluff. All part of the build-up for what’s coming next (next one is probably Zayne bonanza).

Chapters: pilot, chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter five, chapter six, chapter seven, chapter eight

Tags: @gavin3469 @animegamerfox @beaconsxd

Character | Chapter four

You wake up aching.

Not in a bad way—nothing bruised but your pride, and honestly… not even that. Just a warm, bone-deep soreness that makes you stretch slow and smile to yourself before your brain catches up.

Xavier.

Last night.

… Last night.

You exhale, pressing your palms to your face, grinning into your fingers like a guilty little secret is trapped behind them. You turn your head slightly, half-expecting to still be in his bed—but you’re home. Tucked in. Hair still faintly smelling of his detergent.

You roll out of bed, tug on soft clothes, and do your best not to think about the one thing looming today.

Sylus.

Before you can overthink it, your fingers are already moving—typing fast, like if you don’t ask quickly, you’ll talk yourself out of it.

YOU: Hey. Just checking— Is it really okay if I take today off? Or… even a few days?

You hesitate. Thumb hovering. Then hit send.

The message feels too light for what you’re asking.

But it’s already gone.

Your phone buzzes just as you reach for coffee. You glance at the screen, half-dreading it.

SYLUS: You woke me. Bold move, chef.

You blink. Check the time. It’s nearly noon.

Another message pings, slower this time—smoother.

SYLUS: Still recovering from last night’s wine selection. And your taste in distractions.

You bite your lip. Your thumbs hover.

YOU: Wait…You really meant it? About me taking the day off?

Another message, quickly after:

YOU: I mean— Are you sure?

You hold your breath.

The reply takes a moment. Then—

SYLUS: Are you questioning my generosity? Or just afraid of what you’ll do with it?

You almost laugh. Almost.

And then the real message arrives:

SYLUS: You’re off the schedule. Zayne’s running the pass. I’ve deployed every favor, threat, and underpaid chef at my disposal to fill your spot. Take the day, chef.

A final ping, no flourish this time:

SYLUS: I’ll be at the restaurant after close. If you need to talk.

You stare at the screen. The weight of last night still blooming across your skin like fingerprints you don’t want to wash away.

Sylus always sees the storm coming.

And today?

He’s giving you shelter.

Even if it feels like warning.

You thumb open your messages again. Hesitate. Then type:

YOU: Sorry for being a mess. I swear it won’t affect the line.

The reply comes faster than expected.

SYLUS: It will. If you don’t take the time. Rest. Or I’ll make it mandatory.

Your thumb hovers over the keyboard.

You stare at the blinking cursor.

One word typed. Deleted. Typed again. Deleted.

You shouldn’t ask. You don’t want to need the answer.

But the silence around it is louder than any service bell.

You think about his voice, the empty place on the line, how he looked at you like a future and a mistake at the same time.

Caleb.

You type the words.

YOU: Did you fire him?

And then you wait.

Not breathing. Not blinking.

Just waiting for the man who never answers anything directly to decide if this time—he will.

The typing bubble appears.

Disappears.

Appears again.

Then stops.

No answer.

Just silence.

Then, finally—

SYLUS: Caleb won’t be stepping into Plated anytime soon.

Another pause. The message hangs in the thread like condensation on cold glass.

SYLUS: He’s walking his own path. And I’ve stopped trying to reroute him.

A pause. Another bubble appears.

SYLUS: You don’t hold a kitchen by burning through it. Try not to scorch yourself, chef.

You sit with that for a moment, phone cradled loosely in your hands. For all the velvet menace, the sharp suits and sharper eyes—he’s kind.

Not gentle.

But kind.

And right now?

That’s enough to steady you.

The apartment is bathed in that rare, sun-drenched glow that only early spring can manage—warm but new, just on the edge of real heat. You pad barefoot through the kitchen, the wood floor pleasantly cool beneath your soles as you crunch into a perfectly ripe pear. Sweet. Sharp. Sticky juice gathers at the corners of your mouth—and that’s when you feel it. A faint throb, low and lingering at your lower lip. A bruise.

You wince, dabbing the corner of your mouth with your thumb as you pass the hallway mirror. The light catches just right, and yeah—there it is. Not awful, but visible. A soft, blooming smudge of a darker shade at the curve of your lip. You grab your gloss from the side table, swipe on a tinted coat—just enough shimmer to blur the edges. Camouflage by hydration. Nothing to see here.

You’re halfway to the door, sunglasses already perched atop your head, purse slung over your shoulder, tasting the day like something freshly opened. Your hoodie’s soft. Your jeans are worn just right. You feel loose for the first time in this day.

And there’s a whole day ahead.

You think about walking. About just… moving. Maybe down by the canal, where the cherry trees are starting to blush. Maybe you’ll stop by the new Asian market around the corner—see what treasures they’ve got. You could make something slow tonight. A proper meal. Braised fish with fermented black beans. Maybe something with lychee. Use the nice rice. Open the good oil…

The possibilities bloom as you move—small luxuries you’ve denied yourself for weeks, now suddenly right there. Yours. You earned this break. Sylus gave it like a command, but you’ve taken it like a gift.

You toss the pear core, then smooth out the gloss again in the mirror by the door. Just in case. The sunlight outside is warm enough to melt stress off your skin, and you smile—genuinely, softly, because it feels good to mean it.

And then—

Your phone buzzes.

RAFAYEL: hiii, flame. You busy?

You pause in the doorway, pear juice still glossing your fingertips. The message pulses against your palm, harmless—but knowing Raf?

There’s no such thing as casual.

You hesitate, thumb hovering.

Then, smudging the remains of juice from the corner of your mouth with the back of your wrist, you type:

YOU: Not really. Why?

It takes a few seconds. Then:

RAFAYEL: Feeling kinda bleh after yesterday. Everything was weird. Wanna be my pick-me-up?

You pause again, guilt tugging at your gut. Raf had been trying to host something nice, and the group chaos completely derailed it. You turn in the doorway and move to the sink, washing your hands in cool, running water. You dry them on a nearby towel, before you type:

YOU: Sure. What are we doing?

His response comes almost immediately.

RAFAYEL: Already signed us up. You’re gonna love it. Dress light. No heels. Bring curiosity and low expectations :*

YOU: What does that mean??

RAFAYEL: Chocolate studies. 12 PM. You’re my emotional support truffle taster now. You don’t get a say. See you there.

Chocolate studies.

Of course. Of course this is how Raf picks himself back up—by dragging you into a high-end, unnecessary, probably vaguely sensual workshop about cocoa. Yet—

YOU: Shouldn’t you be at work?

RAFAYEL: Shouldn’t you also be at work?

YOU: Touché.

RAFAYEL: Besides, I move on a more artistic schedule than the rest of you kitchen trolls. Also I had a hunch you’d be off today, so—guess what? It’s my day off too.

YOU: Did Sylus say it was fine?

RAFAYEL: Flame, puh-lease. I said it was fine. And he muttered something vague and terrifying in Latin, so I took that as a yes.

RAFAYEL: Anyway—it’s technically culinary research. It involves tasting. It’s chocolate. It’s extremely relevant to my line of genius.

YOU: This is you taking dessert way too seriously again.

RAFAYEL: Correction: this is me rescuing you from the spiral you were clearly about to dive into.

YOU: I spiral efficiently, thank you.

RAFAYEL: Oh, I know. You told me that the morning before the critic showed up. Remember?? Naturally, I’m dying to see your technique. So. Let’s spiral. Together. We’ll make it couture. With truffles.

You stare at your screen.

You check the time. You’ll just make it if you hustle.

And honestly? It’s exactly the kind of distraction you need.

Ten minutes later, you’re outside in the golden spring sunlight, walking toward the address Raf sent you—some absurdly bougie culinary studio nestled between boutique flower shops and quiet cafés. The sign on the door reads:

——————————————————————————

Private Class – Chocolate, Chemistry, Craving.

——————————————————————————

You pause.

The door swings open before you can knock, and Raf is standing there—wearing a linen shirt, sunglasses on his head, and that charming, slightly smug smile that screams I bought this class because I felt sad and rich.

“Perfect timing,” he says, stepping aside to let you in. “Our chocolate awaits.”

You blink at him.

“You okay?”

He shrugs, lips twitching like he doesn’t want to admit it. “Eh. We’ll talk. But first—let’s get a little messy.”

Then, unexpectedly, he pulls you into a hug.

Not dramatic. Not prolonged.

But real.

His arms loop around you like fabric meant to drape, not confine. Warm, grounding, floral-scented. He squeezes—just once—and murmurs near your ear, softer than usual:

“The real question is… are you okay, little flame?”

Before you can answer, he lets go like nothing happened, smoothing out an imaginary wrinkle in your sleeve.

Then he catches your hand in his—elegant, confident, no hesitation—and tugs you toward the door.

“Come on. There’s chocolate that needs judging. Let’s earn our sugar crash.”

The space smells like heaven. Not the fake-sweet, candy-store kind—this is rich, warm, expensive. Notes of vanilla, toasted nuts, and something darker linger in the air, wrapping around you like a silk robe.

Raf leads you through the space like he’s been here a dozen times. You’re not even sure if he’s taken the class before or if his sheer confidence just wills doors open and people to nod.

“Tell me you didn’t bribe someone to get this spot,” you murmur, glancing around at the pristine marble counters and soft jazz playing in the background.

“I didn’t bribe anyone,” he says smoothly, then adds, “Just… implied I was going through something emotionally complex.”

“Ah,” you say. “Weaponized charm.”

“Correct.” He offers a small bow.

You’re handed aprons—black, minimalist, high quality. The kind of thing that says we’re learning… but glamorously. There’s a petite instructor named Lisette, who has the serene energy of someone who could build an entire tasting empire from her sheer passion for chocolate.

She gives a quick intro about the origins of cacao, the alchemy of heat and tempering, and how chocolate isn’t just a treat—it’s an experience.

Raf leans in, voice low like you’re co-conspirators. “Did you hear that, Flame? She gets it.”

You smirk. “Are we actually learning something, or are you planning to flirt with chocolate until your serotonin resets?”

He winks. “Both.”

Lisette sets you up with tempered slabs, bowls of molten ganache, and trays of infused truffles for scent testing. Raf rolls up his sleeves with unnecessary flair, like he’s preparing for an edible art installation.

He’s in his element. Bright-eyed, hands steady, focused in a way you rarely see when he’s surrounded by people. You realize—this isn’t just a distraction. It’s personal.

“You’re weirdly good at this,” you murmur as he pipes an elegant swirl onto a petit four. “Like, intimidatingly good.”

Raf glances at you, smile softening into something quieter. “Didn’t go to culinary school.”

You blink. “What?”

He shrugs. “Didn’t have the money. Or the patience. Or maybe I just didn’t believe I could do it.”

That throws you for a second. Raf? Doubting himself?

“I was working some low-end bakery gig,” he continues, attention back on the chocolate. “Decorating cupcakes in a strip mall with buttercream that came in buckets. And then one day Sylus just—showed up. Tried a raspberry truffle I’d been messing around with, didn’t say a word about it. Next day, he offered me a job.”

You stare at him.

His smile curves a little sharper, a little prouder.

“Sylus sent me to Copenhagen first. Said if I was going to be good, I had to learn where the best got weird. Then Paris. Then Switzerland, Austria, Naples… I apprenticed. Shadowed. Ate things that changed how I understood temperature.”

He flicks a chocolate crumb off his sleeve, casual as ever.

“All experience. All instinct. No degree. Just a few stamps in my passport and a terrifying ability to pair florals with acid.”

Your lips part, stunned by the imagery. Not just Raf’s quiet doubt, but Sylus stepping in—seeing something, doing something—without ever needing credit.

“He doesn’t show it,” Raf adds, more to the ganache than to you, “but he pays attention. Picks people up when they’re about to burn out.”

You’re quiet for a second. Processing. “I didn’t know that about either of you.”

Raf shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Wasn’t planning to share it. Chocolate makes me sentimental.”

You nudge his arm gently. “I like sentimental Raf.”

He smiles. “Don’t get used to it.”

But then… he hesitates. Just for a second. His hands still, the piping bag hovering mid-air like his brain forgot what it was doing.

“I mean—” he starts, then glances sideways at you, lips tugging like he’s trying to hold something back. “You’re kind of the reason I’m still doing this, you know.”

You blink. “What, chocolate?”

“Nooo,” he says, softer now. “This place. This job. The whole circus.”

He sets the piping bag down, more carefully than he needs to, and turns toward you. The light from the window catches on the gloss of melted cocoa across his wrist, but his eyes are what hold you—clear, impossible to misread.

“I’ve thought about leaving,” he says. “So many times. I have the name now. The attention. I could open a patisserie somewhere absurd and overpriced and live off tartlets and scandal.”

You laugh, quietly.

But he doesn’t.

“I stayed because of you, Flame.”

Your breath catches.

He shrugs, like it’s no big thing. But it is.

“You make it feel worth showing up. You remind me this doesn’t have to be soul-crushing. That it can still be… joy. Even in the madness.”

The words hit you like warmth straight from the oven. No dramatics. No winks. Just quiet truth, offered up in the middle of a chocolate-covered counter like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Your throat tightens.

“Smell this one,” he says, holding a tiny square under your nose. “Cinnamon and yuzu. Bold, dramatic, slightly unhinged. A little like someone I know.”

You raise a brow. “Is that supposed to be me?”

“Absolutely.”

You throw a dusting of cocoa powder at him.

He gasps like you’ve mortally wounded him, flings a berry back at you, and just like that—things snap back into their usual rhythm. But that softness doesn’t leave the air.

And even as he laughs and flirts and swipes ganache across your nose with dramatic flair, the words stick.

I stayed because of you.

Soon you’re elbow-deep in the process, and for a while, it’s easy. Fun. You both laugh. Raf makes you rate every flavor on a made-up scale he calls “emotional resonance per melt second.”

But eventually, you catch the quiet shift.

The way Raf’s hands pause a beat longer over the molded chocolate. The way his gaze flickers toward the window, where sunlight spills over the countertops.

“You okay?” you ask softly.

He doesn’t answer right away.

Then he lets out a slow breath. “I wanted it to be a good night. That’s all.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” you say.

“I know,” he replies, too quickly. Then shrugs, looking off toward a tray of dark chocolate curls like they might offer wisdom. “But still. I like when we’re all… okay. Together.”

You hesitate, then murmur, “Might’ve been… umh… a little my fault.”

Raf turns, one perfectly shaped brow lifting. His eyes flick briefly to your lip—then back to your eyes, a slow smirk curling.

“Mm. I figured,” he says, voice all honey and trouble. “That doesn’t look like kitchen stress, Flame.”

You brace—but he just waves a hand, flicking imaginary dust into the air.

“I don’t pry,” he says. “Don’t care who’s sleeping with who, or not sleeping, or emotionally combusting in the dry storage.” Then, gentler: “Just want the vibe back. You know? I don’t need group therapy. I need group harmony. We’re artists. We fall apart together.”

He nudges your elbow lightly with his own. “So. Fix it. Elegantly. With frosting, if possible.”

You rest your hand on the edge of the table beside his, close but not quite touching.

“You’re a good glue person,” you say gently.

He gives a half-laugh. “Puh-lease, that sounds so unhealthy.”

“Only mildly,” you smile. “But also kind of beautiful.”

He looks over at you. His smile returns, softer this time. “Thanks for coming, Flame. I needed this.”

Raf leans in with another chocolate sample, holding it between two fingers like an offering.

“Try this,” he says. “I swear it tastes like hope.”

You take it. You bite.

He’s right.

The chocolate is warm. Rich. Melts the moment it touches your tongue.

But it’s nothing compared to the heat under your skin—the low hum of tension in your body that still hasn’t faded since last night. Not fully.

Because Xavier was… a lot. And no matter how much sleep or tea or luxurious ganache you drown yourself in, your body remembers. It’s still running on nerves and overstimulated afterglow, like every cell has forgotten how to relax.

And now Raf is here. Warm, charming, painfully pretty in the sunlight, making you laugh like nothing ever hurt. And your body—traitorous, sensitive, greedy—is trying to decide whether to melt or combust.

He doesn’t miss the way your breath catches when his hand brushes yours during a tasting. Or how you shift slightly away when he leans in a little too close. Not in rejection, just… overload. You’re full of feelings, and your skin is already singing.

His smile falters for half a second. Just a flicker.

But then he straightens, schooling it into something lighter.

“You know,” he says, gently swirling a spoon in a bowl of molten dark chocolate, “you’re really not one for affection in public, huh?”

You look up, guilt tightening in your chest.

“Raf, I’m—”

He lifts a hand, stopping you with a warm, quiet look. “It’s okay. I get it. Not your thing. That’s allowed.”

You feel the guilt shift. Morph into something tender. Grateful. But then—he does something stupid.

He steps in closer, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth—wiping away a tiny smear of chocolate you hadn’t noticed. The second he touches you, you feel it: the bruise, the tender throb, the warm pressure of his skin against yours.

His thumb lingers, dragging slow across your lip, pressing just enough to make the ache flare. Then, without a word, he brings that same thumb to his mouth. His lips close around the tip, his stare still locked with yours. Loaded. Hungry.

It’s nothing.

It’s everything.

Your breath stutters. Your entire nervous system flares like it just got rebooted. Because his thumb lingered for a second too long. Because he watched your face, and you know he saw it—the ripple under your skin. The goosebumps. The chaos.

He smirks softly. “That did something to you, didn’t it?”

You narrow your eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet…” He steps back, palms raised in mock surrender, but the warmth in his voice is unmistakable. “My little flame is absolutely forgiven now.”

You laugh. Quiet. Wrecked in a new way.

He doesn’t push it further. Just gives you a chocolate truffle shaped like a heart and walks away with a wink.

And your body?

Still doesn’t know what the hell to do with itself.

You pop the truffle in your mouth mostly to shut yourself up, but it doesn’t help. If anything, the rush of flavor—rich, bittersweet, stupidly sensual—makes everything worse.

Your skin still tingles where his thumb brushed. That easy charm of his—that smirk wrapped in silk—is suddenly quieter. Warmer. A little more dangerous.

And now Raf is looking at you like that.

Like you’re not just forgiven. Like you’re something sweet he’s been saving. Something decadent. Melting.

You glance at the truffles cooling behind him. Think about chocolate—how it’s long been called an aphrodisiac, how it opens blood vessels, stirs the pulse, wakes heat just beneath the skin.

And now his voice is echoing in your head.

My little flame is absolutely forgiven.

Maybe that’s what he’s tasting now. Not chocolate.

You.

You try to keep things light. Casual. But your brain short-circuits, and suddenly the words are leaving your mouth before you can stop them.

“Where can we make out?”

He blinks.

You stare at him, wide-eyed, mildly horrified, but also too far gone to take it back.

“I—sorry. I just…” You gesture vaguely toward the chocolate, your body, the entire room. “I need to get this out of my system. Now. Immediately. I don’t care if we’re in public. I’m—melting.”

Raf blinks again. Then grins.

He steps in close, too close, like he’s about to say yes and sweep you into a very well-lit corner of a very expensive chocolate studio. You feel his breath at your jaw. He leans in like he’s about to kiss you and—

Stops.

You blink at him, lips parted.

He looks at you gently, gaze suddenly clearer, softer, and much more dangerous. His hand lifts to rest lightly on your waist. Not pulling, just grounding.

“Not here,” he says, voice low. “Not with fluorescent lighting and Lisette judging our technique from three feet away.”

You exhale—half frustrated, half achingly grateful.

Raf pulls back just enough, lips quirking in that easy, infuriating way. “I’ll bring the chocolate. The good stuff. We’ll do this properly.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Properly…?”

He leans in—just enough for the soft scent of dark chocolate and spice to wrap around you.

“Slow,” he murmurs, voice like poured ganache. “Sweet. Possibly blindfolded. Definitely ruined.”

Then, with the barest shift, he straightens a little, curls falling forward as his mouth quirks up—less smirk, more promise.

“Or,” he continues, casually reaching for a truffle he doesn’t eat, “a sailboat. Secluded port. Copenhagen.”

His fingers trace idle circles on the countertop, like he’s drawing out the idea in real time.

“I’ll show you the markets. The coastline. Let you drive me mad somewhere between dessert and dusk.”

His eyes find yours again—cool rose-hued shadows beneath long lashes, masked but unmistakably knowing.

Then he leans in, lips a breath from yours, close enough that your pulse skips, but far enough that the kiss remains just a suggestion—one he clearly enjoys not giving.

“I know a bakery,” he says, voice soft like a stolen secret. “Hidden little place near a bridge. No menu. Just a chalkboard and a woman who bakes like it’s a love language.”

He grins then, slow and dangerous.

“I want to see you tear into something fresh from her oven. Crumbs on your lips. That look in your eyes.”

A pause, then quieter:

“Copenhagen’s lovely in spring...”

He doesn’t kiss you. He just lets the moment linger—warm and rich and aching—with that sinful smile of his. Like dessert served just out of reach.

“We’ll see who melts first,” he says, lower now. “But I’m betting on you, little flame.”

Your knees wobble.

He grins. “As soon as possible, then?”

And just like that, he turns back toward the truffle station, completely casual, humming to himself like he didn’t just derail your whole internal operating system.

Everything is a mess.

And it’s only noon.

——————————————————————————

You barely make it home before the scream escapes you.

Face down in your pillow, you let out a sound that’s somewhere between a sob and a laugh—feral, exhausted, done. Your body is vibrating with leftover tension, confusion, and whatever flavor of emotional whiplash comes from being flirted with by three completely different men in a 24-hour window.

You push yourself upright, hair a tousled halo, skin warm and flushed, and you swear—you smell like melted chocolate. Sweet and heady, clinging to your skin like memory. There’s a trace of it on your lips, in the corner of your mouth, and the heat of it still hums low in your chest. You mutter:

“I need eggs. And authority over something. Anything.”

You march to the kitchen and make yourself the fanciest omelette your dignity will allow. Gruyère, caramelized onions, fresh herbs, a sprinkle of flaky salt like a damn chef’s kiss. You fold it perfectly, plate it like you’re on a magazine cover, and eat it slowly—like it’ll save you. Like it might remind your body you still know how to nourish it.

But halfway through the third bite, you reach for your phone. Type quick, like sealing a pact with yourself.

YOU: Taking the day off. Officially.

The response is instant.

XAVIER: Figured. Did you find the chamomile tea yet?

You glance at your jacket, reach into the pocket, and pull out the tea bag—still there, slightly crumpled but intact.

You snap a quick selfie—hair tousled, eyes soft. You hold the tea bag up beside your cheek and kiss it with exaggerated tenderness, brows raised like you know exactly what you’re doing.

Send.

A beat.

Then your phone buzzes:

XAVIER: Cute 🐰🎀. Next time, pick something that kisses back.

You roll your eyes and shake your head, a soft laugh puffing out. Of course he would say that. Of course…

You try to shake it off—try to stay grounded in the scent of caramelized onion still in the air—but there’s a warmth curling in your chest now.

You take another bite.

Let yourself savor it. Slowly.

One golden forkful at a time.

Then, the spa begins.

Facial. Hair mask. Legs shaved like you’re preparing for a date with your soul. Candles lit. Lo-fi beats playing like you’re not desperately spiraling in a silk robe. You pour over your wine notes like you’re in sommelier school. Compare flavor profiles. Create a cheese pairing menu you’ll never serve anyone but yourself.

It works.

Almost.

For a few minutes, your brain lets go. It floats—lazy, soft—drifting somewhere imagined but vivid.

You start thinking about Raf.

Not under kitchen lights. Not muttering about desserts. But on a sailboat moored in some secluded inlet just off Copenhagen’s edge. The sky is clear, the sun low and golden.

He’s layered in sleek, Nordic couture—minimalist, elegant, unforgivingly expensive. A soft graphite turtleneck hugs his throat like it was spun from fog, disappearing beneath a sharply cut coat in ash-blue wool. The silhouette is precise, tailored within an inch of sin. A broad scarf—half rich ochre, half muted charcoal—is knotted with careless perfection, the plush wool thick and fringed, fluttering faintly in the wind like it knows it’s part of a look. Buttery-soft leather mittens—thin, elegant, unlined for spring—dangle from one hand, unused. And his hair, plum-dark and windswept, catch in the breeze like they were painted there.

He looks like a magazine ad that developed a soul.

There’s a paper bag between you on the sun-warmed deck. Pastries from a bakery he insisted on—delicate things with names you can’t pronounce. You break one in half. He watches you eat it, eyes tracking your mouth like it’s art he helped frame.

And then he says something ridiculous and perfect like, “You chew with such conviction, little flame. I’m in love.”

You almost laugh.

Almost stay there.

But then—

Xavier.

Caleb.

Sylus.

Too much.

Too many heat sources. Too many people who know exactly how to touch you and none who know what to do with you after.

You step into the shower.

Second time in two hours.

This time, it’s cold.

Ice cold.

You don’t flinch. Not at first. Then—you scream. Quietly. Once. Into the stream. Just to let it out.

Water pelts down your back like punishment, or maybe absolution. And as it numbs your skin, your thoughts begin to slow.

… Zayne.

Of course.

Zayne—cool, composed, annoyingly steady.

Zayne, with his clean knife work and colder words. The only one who hasn’t burned you lately. The only one who never tried to melt you in his hands. Back in school, it had been the same—Caleb loud and brilliant at the front, but it was Zayne beside you, calm and steady, who made you feel like you could hold the line. Like you already were.

Maybe… maybe that’s what you need.

Not heat. Not fire.

Cold.

Steady.

Something surgical.

You turn off the water. Step out, still dripping, and brace your palms on the sink. Your reflection looks flushed and exhausted and just barely stitched back together.

But your jaw sets.

“I need to work,” you whisper. “That’s all. Just work.”

You grab your towel. Move like muscle memory—wrapping, drying, dressing with mechanical calm. Kitchen pants. Tee. Jacket slung over your arm.

You pin your hair back in silence. Pull on your boots. Pocket your keys. Then you pause at the hallway mirror.

You stare yourself down.

The light catches the faint smear of pink rising at your collarbone, the ghost of a bruise just barely blooming at the corner of your mouth. You press your lips together, then let them part—checking the damage, checking the memory.

It looks like chaos. It looks like being wanted.

It looks like the kind of mess you only make when you’re trying to outrun yourself.

You breathe out. Slow.

You smooth your shirt. Adjust your jacket. Tilt your chin, just slightly.

Not perfect.

But here.

You stare yourself down, eyes locked in the glass.

“I’m a cook,” you whisper. “But I’m also human.” Your voice catches. But you don’t back down. “And I can fall apart. I can get messy. I can want too much. But I still belong in that kitchen.”

A beat. A breath. The smallest shake of your head.

“Sylus was wrong. I don’t need rest. I need rhythm. I need the line. I need the burn. I need the chaos to mean something.”

Your fingers curl at your sides, grounding.

“Because I’m not just built for this—I was made for this.”

You hold your own gaze a moment longer, throat tightening.

“I’m the anchor.”

The words fall out low, but sure.

“I keep the line steady. I hold when the rest of them start to slip. That’s what I do. That’s what I’ve always done.”

Your reflection doesn’t argue.

“And if I lose that—if I fall—this whole place sways.”

You swallow, straighten your spine.

“So I don’t get to fall.”

You exhale once, clean and hard.

“I don’t need Caleb to steady me.”

A breath.

“I hold,” you whisper.

Another beat.

Your gaze sharpens, quiet but solid.

“I can do this without him. I am the anchor.”

Then you nod to yourself. One sharp, final motion—like sealing a pact. And softer, with the weight of everything behind it:

“I believe in you.”

And you turn.

And open the door.

——————————————————————————

You walk through the service doors and the sound hits first:

Voices bounce off steel and tile—unfamiliar voices. Confident, but disconnected. The brigade feels doubled, maybe tripled, but there’s no cohesion. Just a flurry of sharp skills with dulled purpose.

Hired hands. One-night miracles. Sylus’s trick.

They fill the space like they’ve always belonged, but the energy’s off. There’s no rhythm. No real pulse. Just survival.

You give a silent nod to the expeditor, signaling you’ll take a backline role. Your station’s already prepped. You’re placed next to Xavier, whose eyes flick to you once—just once—and then back to his cutting.

Acknowledged. Nothing more.

Because Zayne is at the head. Holding the line with precision. Focus. Control.

But it’s slipping.

Zayne’s holding it together through sheer force, but it’s fraying. You see it in the clip of his voice, the way his orders punch the air instead of thread it. His jaw’s locked tight, unmoving. Focused, yes—but brittle. His body moves with memory, not ease.

He’s not blinking enough.

And he feels it.

You see it. Then—

A shift behind you. Quiet. Soft. Not footsteps, just presence.

You feel him before he speaks—a gentle graze of his fingers down your back. Just… a reminder. That he’s there. And that maybe you shouldn’t be.

“What are you doing here, Second set?” Xavier murmurs, low. “Besides making me nervous.”

You glance sideways. Blue eyes are soft but sharp. Studying you. Reading more than you’re ready to say.

You shrug. “Call it instinct.”

“Call it obsession,” he counters gently. “You shouldn’t—”

“But I’m here.”

His lips press together—just barely a smile, just barely frustration. “You always are.”

And then, like mist, he’s gone. Moving through the kitchen like a ghost made of quiet judgment. Not angry. Just… watchful.

You’re left with the heat of his touch still fading across your spine. And Zayne—still blinking too little. Still trying too hard. Still about to break.

And you?

You tighten your apron.

Because if it comes down to it—

You’ll catch the line before it falls.

You move in.

Quiet at first. A whisper here. A plate corrected there.

Until he misfires. An order goes out too early. Dishes backed up. Garnish misplaced. A server’s standing at the window too long and the tension fractures.

Zayne’s voice falters. Not loud, but audible. A sharp inhale. A clipped correction. His hand tightens around the pen like it betrayed him. You see it—the way his jaw sets, the way his eyes flick to the board and don’t move.

He doesn’t say it out loud. But the guilt is immediate. Immediate and deep. Like he’s already rerunning the mistake in his head, whispering that’s on me over and over, too quiet for anyone else to hear.

And you remember.

The way it happened in school, too—during those brutal service challenges. How Zayne, calm and surgical by nature, would start to fray at the edges when the pressure pinched too hard. The hand tightening, the stare that stuck too long to a single task, like he could will the chaos into stillness.

You’d seen it then.

And you see it now.

Same tells. Same internal storm.

And just like back then—you move.

“Hold the pass,” you say, louder. Firm. Yours. “Fire table twelve again. Plate clean. Timing reset.”

Zayne doesn’t argue. He nods. Not defeated. Just relieved. He steps back a breath, letting you take it. You slip in like you never left.

He exhales, just audible over the clang of the kitchen. “Feels like school all over again.”

You glance sideways as you start calling orders, a small smile tugging at your mouth. “Then let’s pretend it is.”

And just like that—you’re both back where you started.

And you call. The kitchen answers.

“Fire table twelve. Two scallops, one lamb, walking in five.”

“Yes, Chef.”

“Hokkaido purée on the pass. Silky—not soup.”

“Yes, Chef.”

Xavier moves beside you like a second breath, matching pace without ever needing direction. He swaps out a burnt towel before you ask. Nudges the microgreens closer when your focus narrows. His calm tempers your fire—barely.

Zayne hovers on your other side, responding to your calls with the precision of muscle memory. His voice never overlaps yours, just slides into the rhythm like it was always meant to be there. He doesn’t question. Doesn’t second-guess. You catch him watching once—just once—as if confirming this is real. That you’re holding the line. And for now? He lets you.

“Check sear on those scallops. If it’s not gold, it doesn’t go.”

“Yes, Chef.”

You pivot on instinct. Spoons flick. Plates land. The pass hums beneath your control—tight, precise, steady. For now.

But it’s close.

Your voice is sharp. Clear. Orders fly. Plates land. Timing locks.

You’re not just in control.

You’re dominating.

You don’t stop to think. You just anchor. But underneath it all, you feel it—the coil tightening in your chest. That fire Sylus warned you about. That Caleb carried like a curse.

And you realize you’re not anchoring. Not really. You’re burning. And everyone’s watching.

The line keeps moving. Service flows. But your lungs feels like acid. Your fingers cramp from the grip. And still—you don’t stop.

The final table setting is about to enter—twelve more plates, twelve more chances to either break or finish strong. You hear the soft murmur from the host stand, the shuffle of coats being removed, chairs pulled out. The room breathes in again, waiting for the last performance.

You tighten your grip on the tongs. Your apron’s soaked through. And the ache in your shoulders feels like a bell tolling just beneath your skin.

But you don’t stop. Because you’re still the anchor. And the last round is yours to hold.

Until Xavier nudges your arm.

“You’re stepping out. Five minutes.”

You hesitate. You shake your head.

“I’m fine.”

He doesn’t budge. “You’re glowing like you’re about to detonate. Come on.”

You don’t have the energy to argue.

He pulls you out the back entrance—just for a moment. The night air hits like balm. Sharp. Honest.

You brace your hands on your knees.

Your shoulders shake once.

Xavier stands nearby, arms folded loosely. Watching. Guarding.

He doesn’t speak for a while.

Then:

“That bruise on your lip?” A slight smile. “Looks good on you.”

You roll your eyes, half-laughing. “Don’t start.”

His voice drops a little. “You’re not anchoring tonight, Second set. You’re burning.”

You stiffen.

“I’m fine.”

He gives you a look. Calm. Cutting. Kind.

“You’re doing great. I’m just saying… you’re starting to sound like him.”

You blink.

And you go quiet.

Because you know who he means.

And you know he’s not wrong.

But you’re not Caleb.

And this fire? You’ll carry it your way.

You push back into the kitchen—where Zayne’s waiting. Not commanding anymore, but moving cleanly in rhythm with yours. He falls into step. He thrives in it. Supporting. Not leading. Sous-chef again. And good at it.

There’s a moment, just as you hand off the next call, when your elbows bump. He doesn’t pull away.

He just says, low and even, “We still make a good team.”

Then, after a beat—his gaze steady on the pass, his hands mirroring your motion with clean precision—he adds, “Like always.”

The memory flickers between you like a shared heat. The long nights, the frantic prep, the quiet glances across the line when Caleb disappeared mid-service. The way Zayne would hold the station without ever asking, the way you would catch each other before either could drop.

“You’re on fire tonight,” he murmurs.

A pause. Measured. Meaningful.

“But careful, Ace. Fire doesn’t always choose what it takes down.”

He doesn’t look at you—but you hear it. The weight behind the warning. And the quiet, steady pride that still came with it.

You glance at him, but he’s already back to plating—like he didn’t say anything at all. But the corner of his mouth twitches. The smallest, briefest smile.

Your voices sync.

You call, he answers.

The brigade follows.

And the final plate? It sings.

——————————————————————————

The bench is cool beneath you, your posture folded in on itself—shoulders drawn, breath shallow, apron loosened like it’s the only thing still holding you together.

In the quiet hum of post-service cleanup, you think back to how Zayne left. No fuss. No lingering. Just a solid hand pressed briefly to your back—a rare gesture from him. “Thanks for taking the line,” he’d said, voice steady. And then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “Think I need a drink.”

That part stuck. Not because it was dramatic—Zayne never is—but because he so rarely says things like that aloud. He doesn’t drink unless he’s trying to shut something off. And maybe you would’ve asked, would’ve caught it, if you weren’t so fried yourself. But your body was humming, your breath shallow, your skin still stung from the heat of the night. So you just nodded, too tired to chase the meaning behind it.

And by the time you looked up again, he was gone—coat slung over his shoulder, disappearing into the dark like the night owed him something.

You barely register the sound of approaching footsteps until a soft rustle at your side pulls you back.

Xavier.

He doesn’t say anything.

Doesn’t need to.

His sleeves are rolled neatly at the forearms, his hands clean, his movements efficient even now. He stands for a moment, eyes scanning your face like he’s reading tension by the line. Then—without a word—he settles beside you, not close enough to touch, but close enough that you feel it. The choice. The weight of his presence.

From his pocket, he pulls a small, neatly wrapped candy—something sharp and citrusy from the color of the foil. He holds it between two fingers and offers it to you.

You take it with slow fingers.

He watches.

Still, nothing said.

His gaze flicks to your lip, the faint bruise just visible. He doesn’t react to it. Not directly. Just notices. Registers.

Then his hand moves again—light—and tips your chin gently toward him, thumb grazing along your jaw with no pressure, just contact.

Your eyes meet his.

You try to look away.

He doesn’t let you.

And then, with that same hand, he tugs his phone from his back pocket, flicks it open, types something—quick, precise—and turns the screen toward you.

One word glows across the screen:

Careful.

You stare at it.

When you look up again, Xavier’s already slipping the phone back into his pocket.

He leans in.

Not to kiss your lips.

Just your forehead.

A soft press. The barest pause. Like a seal. A tether.

And then—

He’s gone

And you sit alone.

Burning.

And then—presence.

A pause.

A figure settling beside you on the bench.

You don’t have to look to know who it is. The scent hits first—amber and spice, smoky and clean, like heat tucked into silk. Sylus is unmistakable. Towering.

Black blazer draped elegantly over his shoulders like it was made to fall just that way. He doesn’t sit so much as occupy the space—one knee crossed over the other, posture relaxed, hands folded loosely in his lap like he’s got all the time in the world and none of it belongs to anyone else.

He doesn’t speak right away.

Just breathes in, tasting the moment.

Then—

“I was going to ask how you’re holding up,” he murmurs, voice warm and rough like velvet brushed the wrong way. “But I think I already know.”

He doesn’t sigh. Doesn’t smirk.

Just… exists beside you.

For a while, that’s all you get. Just silence.

Then—

His fingers tap lightly once against his knee.

And he offers his hand.

Palm up.

You hesitate.

Then slide yours into his.

His skin is warm. Unshaken. Like nothing in this world could move him unless he lets it.

He stands. Brings you up with him. Wordless.

The kitchen is empty behind you. The front of house?

Even emptier.

He leads you there—quiet footsteps across worn floors—and gestures toward the bar like it’s a stage you forgot belonged to you.

The lights are low. The champagne is on ice. And Sylus moves behind the bar. He pours. Just enough. A glass for you. One for him.

Then, finally—

“Could’ve been worth celebrating,” he says softly, swirling his own glass. He doesn’t look at you. “Shame you’re too tired to raise one.”

You try to sit on the stool. You miss. Just a little. You land—but barely. Your elbow hits the bar. Your breath’s shallow. You blink down at the bubbles like they’re moving too fast.

Sylus notices. But he doesn’t reach for you again. He watches. Closely. Quietly.

Then—

“My generosity,” he murmurs, voice dipped in silk, “wasn’t wrong, was it?”

He leans against the bar, eyes unreadable. “That day off. That moment to breathe.”

You try to answer.

You really do.

Maybe to ask if Caleb’s ever coming back. If he’s still part of Plated. What Sylus knows. What he meant in his texts this morning.

What happened after they walked away?

What was said when the doors closed?

But all that comes out is air.

Just a breath that doesn’t carry words.

His mouth twitches. Not a smile. Not quite. But something close.

You drain your champagne with a sigh, heart still fluttering too fast for your liking.

“You can drink more later,” he says. “I’ll keep it cold.”

Then, with the same fluid elegance he brings to service, he tops off his own glass again. The bottle hisses softly as the champagne meets crystal—bubbles rising like a secret just uncorked.

And then—he reaches for you.

Just his hand again—open, waiting—offered like a question with no pressure behind it.

His other hand still holds the glass. But this one?

This one is for you.

You blink. “What—?”

“Come on,” he says, low and smooth. “You look like you’ve been carrying the whole brigade on your spine. We’ll sit somewhere that doesn’t require posture.”

You hesitate only a moment before placing your hand in his. His grip is steady, warm, solid. He leads you through the quiet restaurant, into the tucked-away lounge—the kind of space reserved for VIPs, where the lighting is soft, the walls listen, and the real decisions get made.

The room itself is exhaling.

Sylus sits first, settling into the couch with all the ease of someone who’s used to owning a room without ever raising his voice. He gestures lightly for you to sit beside him.

You do.

And for a while, he says nothing.

The only sound in the room is the slow, decadent fizz of champagne in his glass—like wealth whispering. It fills the silence between you without crowding it, soft and luxurious, like even the bubbles know better than to interrupt him when he’s thinking.

Then, without looking at you, he speaks. His voice quieter now, like he’s sharing something meant to live in the hush of this room only.

“I was sixteen when I learned how to make stock properly. The chef didn’t teach me. He threw a pot at my head and told me to stop being useless.”

“I dodged,” Sylus says, not unkindly. “Mostly. Caught the edge of the pot.”

You wince. “Jesus.”

His fingers lift, slow, tracing the slope of his own nose with a featherlight touch—absent, almost amused. “That’s why it’s arched. Clean break. Didn’t heal back straight.”

You stare a second too long.

“It suits you,” you murmur, before you can stop yourself.

His eyes flick to yours. Something unreadable lingers in them—quiet and crimson. Then the corner of his mouth curves, just faintly.

“Character,” he says smoothly.

You lift an eyebrow. “You mean menace.”

That earns you a sound—a low, amused hum. He leans back just enough to sip his wine. “Same thing.”

You catch it again, the way his mouth twitches like he’s tamping something down. Like compliments—especially from you—hit different.

“You really don’t hide it well,” you say, casually, like it’s not a loaded weapon. “When you like being told you’re handsome.”

Sylus doesn’t blink. Just tilts his glass toward you, the wine catching the light. “Only when it’s earned,” he says. “And only when it’s you.”

The words settle like warmth in your ribs. Then, quieter, as if he’s giving you something rarer than praise:

“After that, I read. Everything I could find. Stayed late. Burned through pans. Learned the line from the bottom up. Didn’t have a mentor. Didn’t need one. What I wanted didn’t come with help.”

You’re quiet now. Not because you’re unsure what to say, but because his voice is hypnotic. Low and warm, like a blanket thrown over your shoulders.

“I started saving,” he says. “Opened my first place at twenty-six. It bombed. The second got press. The third got stars.”

He leans back, one arm draped casually over the back of the couch, like this is just another story, just another night. But his eyes are fixed on you—steadier than before, like he’s weighing something far more valuable than his past.

“I want that for you,” he adds, voice softer now, but no less sure. “The stars. The legacy. The press, if you want it.”

A pause.

“But not the pot to the face. That’s why I’m giving you the kitchen—mine. Safe. Fierce. Yours to ruin or raise. I didn’t have that. But you can.”

And then, like it’s nothing:

“You just have to want it hard enough not to flinch.”

You glance at him—jaw relaxed, sleeves still rolled, collar undone. Not a single hair out of place. And yet there’s something in the way he’s telling you this. Like it’s not a resume. It’s a confession.

“You make it sound easy,” you murmur.

“It wasn’t,” he says at last, voice quiet but edged. Then, after a pause, he turns to you. “And it won’t be for you either. But as I said…” His gaze holds yours, steady. “It will be safe. That much, I’ll make sure of.”

You blink at that. The weight of it. The truth behind it. You shift slightly. “Why are you telling me this?”

He shrugs, his eyes still on you. “You need to cool down. And you won’t do it unless someone slows your brain for you.”

You exhale—because he’s right.

Somewhere between the champagne, the tone of his voice, and the way the room feels like a cocoon—you soften. Shoulders relax. Muscles unwind.

And then, before you can stop it, you’re leaning sideways. Your head finds its way to his lap.

He stills. You wait for a quip. A comment. A dismissive joke.

It doesn’t come.

Instead, you feel his fingers—slow and impossibly gentle—brushing against your hair. And his voice, low and patient, murmurs something soft you can’t fully catch.

But it’s enough.

You fall asleep like that. Warm. Safe.

On the lap of a man who knows how to hold silence like an art form.

——————————————————————————

You wake slowly.

The kind of slow that feels like floating—like your body forgot it had weight. There’s a soft warmth draped over you: smooth fabric, expensive, faintly scented with bergamot and something darker beneath. Amber. Sandalwood. Not yours.

You blink against the low light and realize: it’s Sylus’s blazer. Draped over you like a blanket.

You shift slightly—and only then do you register the hand resting gently against your arm. Warm. Still.

Sylus is still there. Seated. Silent.

You glance up, expecting him to be reading, on his phone, doing anything other than this. But he’s just… watching. Calmly. Like you falling asleep on him was an inevitability, not an inconvenience.

His eyes meet yours. No smirk. No teasing. Just a steady, unreadable gaze that softens—barely—when he sees you waking.

“You… covered me.”

He nods once, like it’s the most mundane observation in the world. “You were cold,” he says. Then, after a beat—his voice softer, a flicker of dry amusement—

“Unusual, for someone who burns so bright.”

He waits just long enough for it to sink in before adding, almost offhand:

“And you talk in your sleep, by the way.”

You blink. “What?”

“Just once,” he murmurs, lifting the empty glass to the light, watching how it catches nothing. “Said my name.”

You gape at him. “I did not.”

He rotates the glass without looking at you. “You did. Sounded… convincing.”

You bury your face in your hands. “I—… I’m never sleeping again.”

“That would be unfortunate,” he says, entirely unfazed. “You looked good like that.”

Your heart squeezes. Not because he says it with feeling—but because he doesn’t. Because it’s just a fact to him. Obvious. You were cold, so he fixed it. Of course.

You shift beside him on the couch, trying not to look as emotionally compromised as you feel. “That was… really kind of you, Sylus.”

He tilts his head. “Kindness isn’t performative. It’s practical, chef.”

You huff a laugh, still sleepy. “God, even your softness is intimidating.”

That earns you the smallest of smiles. Not smug. Just… real.

“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” you say, half-apologetic, half-overwhelmed.

“I know,” he replies. “If I’d thought you planned it, I wouldn’t have let it happen.”

You stare at him. “You trust me that much?”

“I read people,” he says simply. “You’re honest. Even when it’s inconvenient.”

You don’t know what to say to that. So you just sit there, wrapped in his blazer, warm from head to toe in ways that have nothing to do with body heat.

Eventually, he checks the time, glancing at the window, where the city lights are beginning to dim with the promise of dawn.

“I’ll call you a car,” he says, standing. “You’re not walking home like that.”

You nod, rising slowly. He straightens the blazer around your shoulders before pulling his hand away.

Then, as he turns to leave, he pauses—one hand on the doorframe, head angled just enough for his voice to carry back.

“Next time,” Sylus says, calm as ever, “tell me when you’re about to burn out.”

A beat. No glance over his shoulder. Just a final addendum, velvet-wrapped and absolute:

“If you insist on working—inventory. With Xavier. Nothing else.”

And then he’s gone.

Just like that.

A shadow slipping into the quiet spaces of his kingdom, still somehow managing to hold the room even in absence. The door closes with a hush, and you’re left there, wrapped in the weight of something that might’ve been a blazer—but felt like protection. Like a shield.

Like someone saw you cracking.

And chose to cover the break before it splintered deeper.

You remember what Raf said this noon, fingers dusted in cocoa and truth:

He doesn’t show it, but he pays attention.

Picks people up when they’re about to burn out.

And maybe now…

You see it.

You exhale, letting your head fall back, surrendering to the stillness around you.

It lingers, wrapping itself around you, as smooth and soft as the velvet drapes in the next room. It’s a calm that comes with age, with patience, with knowing exactly what should be heard and what never needs to be.

It’s Sylus’s silence.

Curated. Controlled. The kind that doesn’t demand attention, but commands it anyway.

And then—your phone buzzes.

A single text.

CALEB: Can we talk now? Please. I’m outside Plated.

——————————————————————————

Chapter five

——————————————————————————

Writer’s note: Geez, peepz—I’m having way too much fun. Writing Raf is like mainlining serotonin—he’s just pure joy in character form. I may have gone a bit overboard with his arc (sorry not sorry), but aaaa I love where it’s going. At this point, I don’t just want to write him—I want to book a trip to Copenhagen with him and vibe.

That said… yeah, we definitely needed that nap on Sylus’s lap. Reset button: activated. But I wanted to keep things strictly professional with Sylus in this chapter—because let’s be real, he’s not the type to take advantage. He’s kind. He’s patient. He’s the greenest flag in the entire game (imo). And yes, I absolutely made up my own nose lore for him.

All in all, I’m just really happy with where everyone’s arcs are going—and I seriously can’t wait to write more Zayne in the upcoming chapters. Things are definitely cooking, and I’m just the chaotic chef trying to keep up and take notes. What am I cooking now? Oh, just you wait. There are at least two more chapters simmering in this brain already.

And thank you—seriously—for the support. I’m kinda at a loss for words over how kind you’ve been about this AU. I’m so happy you’re enjoying it—you have no idea how much that means to me. My heart is doing backflips. Okey then, thank you for reading 🫶🏻

[hungermakesmonsters]

Love, Sick Love

Chapter Ten

Plot summary : Working at one of the shadier bars in Brooklyn, you have one rule; don’t mess around with the patrons. Most of them are criminals, dangerous. None more so than Billy Russo, but Billy believes that rules are made to be broken. Especially your rule. One lapse in judgement is all it takes for Billy to decide that you’re his, and he’s never been the sort of man to take rejection well.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R 

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] Mentions of child abuse. All chapters will deal with dark and smutty themes, including but not limited to stalking. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story. 

Word Count : 5.9k

A/N : 😅😅😅

CHAPTER ONE | CHAPTER TWO | CHAPTER THREE | CHAPTER FOUR | CHAPTER FIVE | CHAPTER SIX | CHAPTER SEVEN | CHAPTER EIGHT | CHAPTER NINE

Master List

Chapter Ten

You knew from the moment Billy left that there was nothing stopping you from going into the bathroom and removing your cum-stained panties. But you didn’t. In fact it only crossed your mind as a fleeting thought, not because you were scared Billy might find out and certainly not because you felt like you had to obey him, but for some other third, more nebulous reason.

As uncomfortable as you were, as much as you hated it, some part of you... enjoyed it.

It was that same strange and conflicting mix of emotions that you’d felt the morning after sleeping with him; that feeling that you weren’t supposed to enjoy rough sex as much as you had. Shame. That was it. You felt ashamed, but every time you thought about your panties, you remembered the way you’d felt, bent over the table and at his mercy. You remembered how good it had felt.

So, you didn’t remove your panties and you didn’t think twice about slipping into the bathroom after closing while Jenna emptied the cash register. 

It took you a couple of minutes to work up the nerve to stand in front of the mirror and pull up your skirt to snap a picture, though it took you a lot less time to grip your phone in such a way that you could flip him off in the process. When it was done and sent, you deleted the photo from your phone and, once again, found yourself glad that you still had Billy’s number blocked.

That feeling of conflict, of knowing how you should feel versus how you did feel, followed you home and had your stomach tying itself in knots when you thought about his other demand.

At first you told yourself that you wouldn’t call him, slipping out of your clothes and straight under a hot shower, but the longer you were left to think about, the more your stomach seemed to coil itself in knots. 

Did you want him to show up? Did you want to finish what you’d started with him earlier? 

No.

Yes.

Fuck.

Finally, you settled on calling him - but you were only going to allow it to ring three times before you hung up. If Billy missed the call, that was his own fault.

Unfortunately, he answered on the second ring, as if he’d been sat there all night, just waiting for your call.

“Hey,” he said, and you could almost hear his smile in his voice, “you get home safe?”

“Yeah,” you answered, wanting to keep things short and sweet.

“You’re late.”

There wasn’t any accusation of malice to it, it was just a statement of fact; the bar had closed almost an hour ago and you only lived a few blocks away.

“I needed to take a shower.”

“Yeah, I guess you did,” Billy said.

You were grateful that he held back his laughter, but you didn’t know what to do with the silence that followed.

“How was your night?” He asked.

“Really? That’s really the game you want to play?” You said, unable to stop the irritation from filing your tone.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“This - getting me to phone you, feeding your ego, thinking you can make me do whatever you want. I -”

“That’s not why I asked you to call.” He interrupted.

“You didn’t ask, Billy. You told me to. You threatened me.”

There was another few seconds of silence and then you heard a sigh from him.

“Fine, whatever, but that’s not why I wanted you to call me.”

“Then why?” You asked, barely biting back a sigh of your own.

“I wanted to know that you got home safe.” 

Your heart stuttered in your chest, that strange feeling of butterflies taking flight in your stomach again, but you did your best to tamp it down. You were confused. More than that, you were still angry with him, even if you couldn’t quite pinpoint the reasons anymore. 

Because he kept pushing, kept taking you by surprise.

Because one minute he was sweet and gentle, and the next minute he left you wanting to strangle him.

“Why?”

“I told you. Because I care about you.”

The comment caused the feeling in your stomach to get worse.

“How can you care about me? You hardly know me...”

In the moment of silence that followed, you steeled yourself for whatever argument he’d try to make, hoping that you could finally take some control of the situation. 

“I’m trying to get to know you, kitten, but you’re not exactly making it easy,” he said. You remained silent, so Billy decided to push the matter. “Fine. Why don’t you tell me about yourself?”

You let out a forced and particularly loud sigh, sinking back on your bed and staring up at the ceiling, not sure what you could tell him or if you even wanted to tell him anything at all. He’d been right earlier when he’d said you didn’t like honesty - you didn’t like anything that let people get too close.

The longer the silence dragged on, you knew you had to say something.

Honestly, you weren’t sure if you felt the need to talk just to fill the silence and placate Billy, or if it was because you felt shitty for refusing to answer when he was making such an effort to get to know a little more about you.

You took a breath, not sure what you wanted to say until words started to pour from your mouth. And, by the time you realised what you were doing, it was too late to stop yourself.

“When I was twelve, my dad died. My mom had no money and there were debt collectors just waiting to take everything away, so she took my and my siblings back to her family home in Virginia.” You took a breath, stomach churning. “Her family was loaded but my mom had been cut off and taken out of the will for marrying my dad.”

Billy remained silent, as if he was hanging on your every word, so you continued.

“Our grandfather was a cruel old bastard - or so our mom told us. Her plan was to win him round, but she couldn’t do that with kids in tow. So, her and our grandmother hid us in the attic. It was only supposed to be for a couple of days while she fixed things with her father, but... we ended up stuck up there for three years, never allowed to leave the attic until we eventually managed to run away.”

You hated yourself as you finished speaking and, this time, allowed the silence to hang in the air. Billy let it linger for almost a minute before speaking again.

“Nice try, kitten, but that’s the plot to Flowers in the Attic.”

The worst part was that he didn’t even sound angry about catching you in another obvious lie. He just sounded resigned, almost hurt.

“You’ve read Flowers in the Attic?” You weren’t sure why that was the question you chose to ask. 

The feeling in your stomach continued to get worse, as if some part of you felt bad about lying to him and pushing him away. The worst part was you weren’t even sure why you did it, why you couldn’t just offer him some watered down version of your past, something that was true but only to a comfortable extent.

“What can I say? I’m a man of hidden depths.”

“Yeah?” You asked, doubling down on your course of action. “They have a lot of VC Andrews in the prison library.

“No, I came across a copy on base in Afghanistan,” he answered, pausing for a beat before; “... have you just been assuming I was an ex-con all this time?”

“Wouldn’t exactly be the only one to drink at Sam’s,” you offered, feeling a little silly at your assumptions. Military made more sense, though you supposed you’d only given fleeting consideration to him being an ex-con as yet another reason not to get close to him.

Again there was a silence and, then, another soft sigh.

“Why do you do that?” He asked.

“Do what?”

“Lie like that?” When you didn’t answer he continued. “What is it about your past that has you so scared?”

“I’m not scared,” you said automatically, like a reflex kicking in. You weren’t weak. You weren’t going to let him think you were weak.

“Then why have the go-bag?”

You felt a chill run through your body when you thought about the backpack nestled in your wardrobe. You still hated that he’d seen it, that he understood what it was.

“It’s in case I need to get away from my stalker who spent weeks breaking into my apartment without my knowledge,” you answered coldly. 

“Cute, but I know it’s been there longer than that.”

He didn’t elaborate and you didn’t ask him to explain, already knowing you wouldn’t like any answer that he had to give you.

“Nothing’s gonna hurt you,” he said softly after a few moments of quiet.

“I don’t need protecting, Billy. I can take care of myself.”

“Can you?” He asked and you were sure his lips were pulling into a smirk on the other end of the call.

“I could kill someone if I had to.”

“Really?” His tone shifted and that hint of playfulness that you were used to started to creep back in.

“I’ve killed before,” you said casually, leaving him to guess if it was just another one of your lies.

“Did he deserve it?” Billy asked, not seeming at all bothered that you might potentially be a murderer.

“Who said it was a he?” 

“Educated guess. So, did he deserve it?”

“Yes.” 

“Did he hurt you?” 

You heard the sharpness slipping back into his voice as he asked the question.

“Yes.”

“Then I’m glad he’s dead. I’m just sorry I wasn’t the one to do it.”

Your mouth felt dry and you could feel your heart pounding harder in your chest, practically knocking against your ribs. You weren’t sure what you’d been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t a response like that.

Again, there was a pregnant pause while you tried to think of what to say.

“Is it really that black and white for you?” You asked.

“No one who hurts you should ever get away with it,” he said, quickly adding; “but you don’t have to worry about that now. You’ve got me for that.

“Right...” you said, rolling your eyes even though he couldn’t see you. Honestly, you should have expected that answer from him.

“You never asked how I hurt my hand,” Billy said, seemingly changing the subject.

You didn’t say anything for a few seconds, taking the time to wonder if he was trying to set you up and walk you into a trap.

“How did you hurt your hand?” You finally, reluctantly, asked.

“I paid a visit to the guy that spiked your drink.”

It felt like all the air had been sucked from the room, and a part of you worried that Billy could hear the way your heart was racing through the phone. Even though it had only been two days since it had happened, you didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to think about what had almost happened.

And, now, you didn’t want to think about what Billy might have done to protect you.

“Is he -” you started to ask, words coming out as little more than a whisper.

You weren’t even entirely sure what you were asking and, worryingly, you weren’t sure what you wanted his answer to be. It was hard to care too much about the fate of someone who’d spiked your drink, someone who might have done it to other women before you and planned to do it to other women after you. He didn’t deserve any sympathy. 

But that didn’t mean you wanted Billy to be hurting people in your name.

“He’s still alive,” Billy answered. “He might be eating through a tube for a while and, if he’s lucky, he might walk again, but I don’t think he’s ever going to think about messing with someone’s drink again.” There was a hint of laughter in his voice that sent a shiver down his spine and, when you didn’t respond immediately, Billy asked; “you okay, kitten?”

“I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“You didn’t have to,” he answered. “Besides, I couldn’t let him keep doing that to people. He needed to be stopped.”

There was that edge in his voice again, a pain that you were certain he didn’t realise gave so much away. Maybe it didn’t around other people, but to you it was a punch to your gut, a feeling of like recognising like.

“Someone hurt you,” you said softly. Again. 

All Billy offered was a grunt.

Another lull in the conversation had you rolling onto your side and letting out a sigh, the phone still clutched tightly to your ear - though when you’d started holding the phone like that, you honestly couldn’t say. Despite how you’d felt when you’d dialled his number, there was no part of you that wanted to hang up now.

Later you might blame it on exhaustion or loneliness, but right then, all you wanted to do was keep talking.

But Billy wasn’t saying anything and that left it to you to fill the void.

“When I was nine my mom started dating her dealer,” you offered quietly. “She moved us into his place. He used almost as much as my mom did, and when he was wasted...”

You trailed off, the words sticking in your throat, forcing you to stop.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Billy finally said.

“You said you wanted to know me.”

“I do, but not if it hurts you.”

Again, the butterflies took flight in your stomach, and the feeling was enough to prompt you to continue, to finally share a piece of you that was real.

“He was violent. With my mom and with me,” you continued, hearing the way Billy’s breath caught through the phone. “Then, one day, my mom went out and didn’t come back. She just upped and left me with him. About a week later, he got wasted and I... I hid from him in the basement.”

Billy didn’t say a word, you couldn’t even hear him breathing, but you could picture the look on his face; that expression of barely contained rage.

“When I refused to come out, he locked the door from the outside, and left me down there.” At some point your voice had turned quiet, almost like you were whispering a secret to Billy, something that you needed him to guard with his life. And, somehow, you knew that he would. “I was trapped down there in the dark and cold... with the spiders...”

You heard a sharp inhale.

“There was this sweet old lady across the street... if she hadn’t called social services, they never would have found me...”

“How long?” Billy dared to ask, though you knew that wasn’t really the question that he wanted to ask you.

“Four days,” you answered. “Felt like longer.”

You expected more questions, pity - or one of those perfunctory I’m sorry’s that those kinds of events tended to garner. Instead you were met with nothing but another gentle sigh.

“Thank you,” he said softly, “for telling me. It means a lot to me.”

Despite being on the phone, your response was to nod, pressing your head further against your pillow.

“I should let you sleep,” Billy continued. “It’s getting late.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll sleep soon.” He said and you were almost disappointed that he didn’t offer to come see you (though that thought was definitely one you’d chalk up exhaustion). “Goodnight, kitten.”

“Goodnight, Billy.”

And, like that, the line went dead.

For the longest time after the end of the call you stared at your phone, some part of you expecting it to light up with a message or for him to call back, even though you knew you still had him blocked.

It was strange, you felt somehow lighter for having been honest with him, even if what you had told him had only been scratching the surface.

Falling asleep, you felt like things had finally reached a turning point.

But you had no idea just how right you’d turn out to be.

The next evening you arrived at the bar to find it mostly empty, save for a well dressed woman sitting at the bar, talking to Jenna. The suit she wore screamed law enforcement and the subtle look that Jenna flashed you confirmed it.

It wasn’t often that cops dared set foot in Sam’s, and it definitely explained why the place was so empty. But you and Jenna had dealt with this sort of situation before, and you knew exactly what to say. Or what no to say, as the case may be.

You took your time ditching your coat in the back before stepping out to start your shift and getting a proper look at her.

The moment her eyes lifted to meet yours and she cast you something of a forced smile, you changed your mind. Definitely not a cop. Her clothes alone looked like they were worth more than you made in a year. And she was - well, stunning was the first word to come to mind. 

“Agent Madani, Homeland Security,” she said, flashing you her ID before placing it in her pocket again.

You offered your name. Just your first name.

“What can we help you with?” You dared to ask, ignoring the roiling sensation in your stomach.

“Yeah, no offence, but having a cop sat at the bar isn’t exactly good for business,” Jenna added.

“I’m looking for someone,” she said, lifting her phone from the bar and bringing up a photograph. “Have you seen this man? His name is Billy Russo. There have been reports placing him in the area.”

Your heart stuttered in your chest as you looked at the photo; it was him, but it wasn’t. Those dark eyes were unmistakable but his hair... his face. The man in the photo was every bit as beautiful as you’d assumed Billy used to be when you’d first gotten a good look at him.

Without the scars he had been perfect but, somehow, you found you preferred your Billy more. There was something about the eyes; the man in the picture looked soulless, but your Billy... his eyes gave away so much.

Despite your shock, your face remained neutral.

You spared Jenna a glance and then shrugged. “I don’t think I’ve seen him in here, but we get a lot of people passing through.”

“Yeah,” Jenna agreed, taking a closer look at the phone. “Though I’d remember serving someone that hot. What did he do? Looks like one of those Wall Street guys...”

“He’s wanted in relation to several murders,” Madani stated,  and you damn near threw up in your mouth.

“Several murders? Is he a serial killer or something?” Jenna asked, keeping Madani’s attention away from you while you regained your poker face.

“No, not as such...” she shook her head, dropping her phone back into her pocket and placing a business card on the bar. “But if he comes in -”

“Is he dangerous?” You asked before she could finish.

“Extremely.”

“If we see him, we’ll be sure to call,” Jenna was quick to answer.

There were more words exchanged and you simply nodded along, feeling like you were spiralling into some dark abyss that you might never escape from. The Homeland agent kept glancing between you and Jenna but, if she noticed you were freaking out, she didn’t say anything.

Once she was gone, neither you nor Jenna spoke for at least a minute.

“Fuck,” Jenna said, “you don’t think -”

“No,” the word tumbled out of your mouth before you could even stop to think about it. “No, it - I mean... she must be wrong. He couldn’t...”

“Wow, not like you to jump to his defence.”

You tried to ignore the smirk on her lips, instead focusing on the way your heart was pounding in your chest. 

It felt wrong, though you couldn’t place your finger on why. You’d always assumed that Billy was dangerous, that he could hurt people if he wanted to - hell, he’d put someone in the hospital for spiking your drink - but murder? Murders, plural?

“It’s just... you don’t think he’s -”

“A serial killer? I doubt it... unless he’s really good at hiding how much of a psycho he is,” Jenna answered.

Ah. That was it. Billy was good at hiding it, at pretending to be some sweet and charming guy to everyone while simultaneously stalking you.

“But, look... maybe you should stay away from him until we know for sure?” She carried on, and you nodded.

Jenna was talking, saying something, and you barely even realised you were stepping back.

“I... I need to -”

You didn’t even finish the thought before heading into the back and pulling out your phone, calling Billy. As it rang, you steeled yourself for him to answer and for all the questions to start pouring out. Part of you felt betrayed, lied to, while another part just couldn’t accept anything that Madani had tried to tell you.

It felt like you were falling, like you’d been hanging off the side of a cliff for so long, looking for something stable to cling to. The last few days had made you dare to think that maybe Billy could be that for you. But, now, the rockface was crumbling beneath your hands and you were falling.

“Kitten?” 

His voice was a dry rasp, like he’d just woken up, and just hearing him again had your heart pounding painfully in your chest.

“You - you can’t come to the bar anymore, Billy. It’s not safe for anyone and I just think -”

“What? Kitten, slow -”

“There was a Homeland Agent at the bar. She was looking for you,” you tried to explain, word fast and frantic, almost running into one another. “She said you killed people, Billy. She’s looking for you, and we can’t -”

“Hey-hey, take a breath.”

You did as you were told but it didn’t help. Your heart continued to pound wildly in your chest while you struggled between what you thought you knew about Billy and what the Homeland Agent had told you.

Was he capable of murder?

Yes.

There wasn’t a single doubt in your mind that Billy could and would kill someone if he had reason to. That alone should have been enough to make you end the call, enough to go home, grab your bag and leave the city. But, really, were you in any position to judge him?

“Tell me what happened,” Billy said, breaking through your racing thoughts.

There wasn’t much to tell really, just that the Homeland Agent had been there and she’d told you and Jenna that Billy was a killer, that he was dangerous. But you also made sure to tell him that you and Jenna hadn’t said a word - though you had no idea why that piece of information felt so important to share.

Then came the pregnant pause, the silence that you couldn’t stand.

“Did you do it? Was she telling the truth?” You asked in little more than a whisper, not sure you even wanted an answer.

“I...” he trailed off into an uncomfortable sigh, “I don’t know. I still don’t remember.”

You nodded, at a loss for what to say.

“I wish I could tell you that it wasn’t me or that I had a good reason but I don’t remember,” he continued. “Fuck. I wish I remembered, just so I knew, just so...”

“I... I think you should stay away from me, Billy.”

“Kitten...”

You’d lost count of how many times you’d told him to stay away, how many times you’d told him to leave you alone but this was the only time you’d heard him sound so broken about it, like your words had finally hit home. Just hearing the pain in your voice had you wanting to take it all back, but you knew that you couldn’t.

“Even if you didn’t do it, I... I can’t have cops - or Homeland Agents - sniffing around,” you said, and there was no hiding the way your own voice seemed to want to break and betray you.

Billy paused and you dared to hope that he was actually thinking about what you’d just said, thinking about how he could ruin your life if he persisted. 

“I can’t,” he said softly, “please... don’t ask me to give you up.”

“You said you wanted to keep me safe. You being around me, bringing law enforcement to the bar - that puts me in danger.”

Silence fell again and you heard Billy take a ragged inhale and it reminded you of the panic attack that you’d witnessed him having, and it made your heart ache all the more.

“I can’t,” he said again. “I won’t. I’m sorry, kitten. I won’t let any of it come back on you, but I can’t let you go.”

“Billy -”

The line went dead.

He’d hung up on you.

You felt sick and you spent the rest of the night feeling like your stomach was twisting and tying itself in knots. Of course, Jenna noticed and tried to talk to you about it, tried to help convince you that it was probably for the best if you didn’t see him again until everything blew over. If it ever blew over. But all you could think about was Billy and how he’d sounded on the phone.

Jenna tried to convince you not to worry and that, one way or another, the truth was bound to come out.

There were so many questions and thoughts, but no answers to be found. If he didn’t remember, was he even the same person who’d done it? Was it fair to blame him for things he couldn’t remember? Were you in any position to judge him? Is that why he’d been hurt so badly by a man who’d been his best friend?

Each question only brought with it more uncertainty, and you had no way of knowing what was true and what wasn’t. All you knew was Billy, the person he was when he was with you.

Jenna offered to let you stay with her that night but you turned her down, not wanting to spend the night being scrutinised every time you mind wandered to Billy and the chaos you’d invited into your life.

No, you just wanted to go home and crawl into bed, hoping that in the morning everything would be back to normal.

Some time around four a knock at the door startled you awake.

Slowly, you climbed out of bed, staring at the door, your heart beating a mile a minute. For a second you expected the door to be knocked off its hinges and for armed cops to swarm your apartment.

The second knock had you tensing, ready to grab your go-bag and make a break for it down the fire escape.

But then you heard him.

“Kitten, it’s me.”

It didn’t exactly make you feel any better that Billy was at your door at four in the morning, but you still let out a sigh of relief. You kept the chain on the door as you opened it and heard him sigh.

“Let me in, kitten.” It wasn’t quite a demand but you already knew that saying no wouldn’t end well.

“It’s four in the morning,” you said, not moving. “What do you want, Billy?”

“I want to see you.”

“Well, now you’ve seen me,” you answered back.

“Just let me in before I kick the door down and disturb all your neighbours,” he said. As firm as his demand was, he sounded tired but, given the time of night, you didn’t think much of it.

It wasn’t just an idle threat, you knew him better than that now, and you couldn’t risk your neighbours calling the cops. So, with a frustrated huff, you took the chain off the door and took a few steps back, making sure there was plenty of space between you and him.  

His movements were slow, closing the door and locking it behind him. He looked tired, exhausted, and it was almost enough to spark a hint of sympathy inside you. 

Billy immediately took a step towards you, unhappy with the space you’d created, his eyes taking in the sight of you and the light blue satin slip you were wearing.

“Christ,” he muttered, “you’re gonna drive me crazy, kitten.”

“What do you want, Billy?” You asked again, folding your arms in an attempt to cover the way your nipples were poking through the silken fabric. “I told you... you need to stay away from me.”

“I can’t. I needed to see you.”

“It’s four in the morning. What could you possibly want to see me for?”

“I -” there was a noticeable hesitation, something you’d never really seen from him before, “- I want to stay the night. With you.”

“No,” you answered flatly. “No, I’ve told you, I don’t want -”

“Just to sleep,” he interrupted before you could complete your rejection of him. “I just want to sleep next to you.”

“Billy, they think you’re a murderer,” you said, hugging yourself all the tighter. 

“I don’t remember,” he told you, equal parts frustration and pain. “I don’t know what I did or why I might’ve done it. All I know is that I’d never hurt you.”

You didn’t say anything. There was nothing you could say. There was no figuring out the truth of the matter and, if there was one thing you did believe, it was that Billy wouldn’t lie to you and he’d never hurt you.

“Please,” he tried again, “I’m... I’m so tired, kitten. If I knew about any of it, I’d tell you. But it’s all still jumbled up. And I - I don’t even know if I’m that person anymore. This - me, now - I’ve never been like this before. That Agent, Madani, I think we used to sleep together... she used to visit me in the hospital, used to taunt me every single day... I don’t know why.”

The more he spoke, the more confused things became, but Billy made no attempt to move any closer to you.

“I just want to sleep,” he said again.

Common sense told you to say no, to stick to your guns and tell him to leave but, seeing the state of him, the thought of turning him away made your chest ache regardless of all the uncertainty surrounding him. Without a word, you sighed and turned back towards your bedroom, crawling back into bed and pulling the covers up over your face.

You heard him slowly follow after, heard the sound of clothes hitting the floor before you felt the mattress dip behind you. Billy waited a moment before shifting closer, pressing himself against your back and draping his arm over you. He let out a soft sigh as he buried his face against the back of your neck.

He felt warm against you, cosy - though you tried to ignore it as best you could.

“Why are you doing this?” You asked quietly, half-hoping he wouldn’t answer.

“I just wanted to see you.”

“No, I mean why are you doing any of this?” The million dollar question. “Why me? Why are you dragging me into this shit, Billy?”

“Because you’ve been stuck in my head since the first time I saw you,” he told you, his fingers softly tracing patterns on your stomach through your slip. “Every time I close my eyes, I think about that night in this bed with you. You’re under my skin, you haunt me.”

“It wasn’t that mind blowing,” you muttered.

“Right,” Billy grumbled, sounding half-asleep already “‘cause you still want to pretend that I’m the only one that enjoyed it...”

“Why would I lie?” You answered back, not willing to give him the last word.

“‘cause you’re scared of admitting that you like the way I touch you,” he answered. “Or maybe it’s ‘cause you’re scared of admitting that you might actually like me.”

“I don’t like you. All you’re doing is making my life more difficult,” you huffed. “I must be fucking crazy to have you in my bed like this, not knowing if you’re some psychotic killer...”

You didn’t expect him to pull away, to roll on to his back behind you and let out a sigh. More than that, you didn’t expect to feel the loss of his embrace so acutely.

Had you managed to hurt your stalker’s feelings?

And why did it bother you if you had?

Drawing your knees up to your chest, you tried to ignore the feeling of awkwardness that was starting to gnaw at you, closing your eyes and trying to fall asleep. But you couldn’t. Not when you knew he was right there, not when you didn’t know what was running through his mind.

You weren’t even sure what was running through your own head anymore. It was almost enough to make you laugh at how ridiculous the whole thing was; you had a man who was wanted for murder in your bed but, still, you felt safe with him, comfortable in a way you hadn’t for a long time, despite what your protests might have suggested.

And he was right. You were scared that some part of you liked him - that some part of you still liked him, even after everything you’d learned.

It was all such a fucking mess and you had no idea how to deal with any of it.

But, now there was something, some feeling in the pit of your stomach that felt so wrong but, at the same time, it felt like it was the only thing in your life that made any sense. 

Cautiously, you rolled over, your heart skipping a beat at the way the heel of his palm was pressed against his eye. It was another headache. He’d come to be with you because he was in pain, because he’d needed comfort and, for whatever reason, you were the only person he thought he could find it with.

Everything you knew about him seemed to twist and alter, leaving you more confused than ever. 

Without a word, you got out of bed and headed for the bathroom, running a washcloth under the cold water before returning to him.

Billy hadn’t moved, he didn’t even look at you as you climbed back into bed beside him. His eyes didn’t open again until he felt you press the cold cloth to his brow. A relieved breath slipped from his lips but, the moment he looked like he was going to say something, you silenced him.

“Don’t say a word.”

Defiance flashed across his face, but exhaustion quickly overtook it. His eyes shut and you continued to gently press the cloth against his forehead, trying to soothe him, watching as the tension slowly seemed to leave him and he fell asleep. 

Once you were certain he was asleep, you laid back down beside him, curling into his side, resting your head on his shoulder, not sure what the morning would bring.

End Note : 😅 this is slowly starting to move towards the endgame now, I think there's about four chapters left? Maybe five depending on how I decide to do the ending.

As always your comments/likes/reblogs/asks/general screaming is always cherished and appreciated. I hope you all have an amazing weekend!

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters! If tagging doesn't work for some reason (aka Tumblr being dumb) I post most Fridays around 7:30 gmt (and on AO3 at some point in the hours after).

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[awkwardgamergirl]

Best games for mental health&relax?

As someone who deals with anxiety and depression when I want to relax or am just feeling low and drained I’ll usually choose what others would consider “cozy games” because I don’t want any stress from shooters, strategy games, or anything that has a lot of stakes. I’ll do switch games for now since it’s my main console but I do have a 3ds, psvita, and my computer so I’ll make a list of those games later 💕

So my favorite games to relax to are:

~ stardew valley~ (you already knew this was coming) it’s just a really cute game with lots of options on how you can spend your time. You can farm, fish, forage, travel the mines, talk to the towns people, interact with love interests. There is just a lot to do in it and it has a really cozy small town cottagecore vibe that a lot of people find relaxing. Amazing replay value. I have like four different lives just so I can choose different farms, partners, things like that.

~ animal crossing~ (second most obvious answer) we all know animal crossing is a chill low stakes game that has a lot of similar elements I listed for stardew valley. You get to interact with cute little animals, decorate your house and character, forage, fish, find fossils, shop. It’s just a relaxing and positive game and is very popular for a reason. Idk about replay value because I really couldn’t imagine deleting my island tbh.

~ fashion dreamer~ if you like cute dress up type games this one is a decent lil game. It’s got lots of different styles for whatever your lil fashion heart desires and you basically walk around dressing up characters and they rate your outfits. It’s from the creators of style savvy and while it’s super cute I would wait for it to go on sale because it’s a bit overpriced imo. Style savvy is definitely the way to go if you have a ds/3ds. Still cute though. Don’t know about replay value because I’m fairly new to the game and haven’t come close to finishing or restarting anything.

~ unpacking~ this one is pretty cute and definitely a game that helps with anxiety. It’s a relaxed little puzzle game that unlocks parts of the story as you go along organizing each room to your home. You can try to solve the puzzles or you can just organize the furniture to your liking. Either way you want to play it’s super cute and relaxing and has some decent replay value after you complete it.

~calico~ super cute game where you run a cat cafe in a magical town with unique characters, little missions, and lots of cats you can pet and play with. There is magic, desserts, and you can ride giant cats like horses. Super soothing game. Character customization and decorating your cafe. The only drawback is it can get a bit glitchy but for the cuteness and the price I have no complaints. The music is really cute too. Not sure about replay value because my cafe is so cute I wouldn’t want to start over.

~coffee talk~ you run a coffee shop in the future and talk to all the incoming guests and learn their stories as you give them their coffee. This one is super relaxing and how I like to spend my evenings before bed if I want that extra cozy time to destress and relax. Cute art as well with different species and how they interact. I haven’t restarted yet but I’m sure there will be replay value with just how cozy and in depth the story is.

~rune factory 4 remastered~ this was originally a 3ds game they remastered for the switch and it’s so amazing that they did. One of my favorite 3ds games that is an offshoot of the harvest moon series with very pretty art, farming, cooking and crafting, romance, monster fighting, and just really fantastic story telling. Very cozy and hard not to get sucked into. Such a gorgeous game imo. Fantastic replay value.

~good pizza, great pizza~ you run a lil pizza shop and upgrade it to get better ingredients and equipment. Super cute chill game to pass the time and hard not to spend hours mindlessly making pizzas. Haven’t replayed it because I haven’t completed it but I imaging replaying it would be fun because you’re just making pizza and unlocking different ingredients. Relaxing game with cute art.

~monster prom~ cute game where you have to convince one of the monsters to go to prom with you. Funny writing, pretty art, and the ability to romance any gender while choosing your pronouns. It’s funny, the game play is question based, and it’s like little rounds of 15 mins and either you get them to go to prom or you get rejected. Then you get to try again. Replay value is obviously strong because I keep playing it no matter how often I’m rejected 🥲 being real though this game is funny, unique, and worth the price. I just have to beat the first one so I can try the second.

~what comes after~ you play as a character on a train of ghosts and you process the grief of passing to the afterlife and try to learn and console the other ghosts on the train who are passing. Pretty game that is mostly story based and worth a try. I haven’t finished this game so I’m not to sure on the replay value.

~little mouse’s encyclopedia~ a cute little game where you play as a little mouse exploring the outside and the dirt and you spend your time finding other little animals and bugs and plants and you read about them and what they are. Cute little educational game I purchased because I loved the art that ended up being super cute in the long run.

Honorable mentions:

- speed dating for ghosts (cute funny little game where you go on dates with ghosts. Short, sweet, and to the point. Decently priced for how quick you get through the game)

- cattails (you play as a cat that travels through its little territory you that you share with your other cat group. You gather little things, complete missions, scrap with rival cat gangs, and just walk around as a cat. Cute but a bit slow for my tastes.)

-rune factory 5 (don’t get me wrong, I love the fourth one and I’m sure the more I play this one I’ll learn to love it to. The gameplay is just set up a bit different and is a bit more similar to the harvest moon style than the fourth rune factory. The art is gorgeous though I was just hoping for more rune factory and less harvest moon when it came to the actual playing)

Games I’ve wanted and heard amazing things about:

The only reason I haven’t purchased and played these games yet is because games aren’t cheap and I need to finish the ones I’ve already purchased. That being said I’ve been looking at a lot of these for a long time and they are definitely going to make this list. I’m sure some of them would be ranked very high in the favorite games category as soon as I actually start playing them. Here’s the list:

* Spiritfairer

*Bear and breakfast

*Creepy tale

*Cozy grove

*Witchy life story

*Potion permit

*Hoa

*Littlewood

*Potion craft

*Gris

*When the past was around

*strange horticulture

*Lemon cake

*Wytchwood

*How to say goodbye

*Dreamlight valley

*Storyteller

*Cult of the lamb

*Little misfortune

*Night in the woods

* Sally face

And that’s it 🎉 sorry for such a long list but I wanted to include a bit of everything so you had lots to choose from. These are the games I play when I need a comfy happy place to go when life gets to be a bit too much to handle. I enjoyed making this list to be honest so there will most likely be more lists in the future. Maybe I’ll make a list of favorite otome games, anime/manga, kpop groups. Things like that. Anyway, hope you enjoy reading the list as I enjoyed making it 💖

[bbrissonn]

𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞 - 𝐠𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲

↬ in which after years of pinning after you, gavin finally decides to go for what he truly wants. ↬ pairing: gavin brindley x casey!reader ↬ wc: 5.3k ↬ warnings: slightly nsfw, read at your own risk, not proofread, lowercase intended ↬ disclaimer: gavin's lowkey an asshole for a bit, but they get a happy ending ! ↬ autors's note: this was requested by an anon, but i accidently deleted it so oopsie, was supposed to just be a small blurb but i got carried away like always. i was listening to a random playlist when experience by ludovico einaudi started playing and this became so angsty to sorry about that

you and seamus had always been close. when he started playing hockey, so did you. hockey wasn't all that popular in florida, the boys barely being able to have a team for their age group each years. meaning the possibility of having a girls team was pretty much impossible. which lead to you joining seamus' team when you turn 8. you joining the team meant you were now teammates with gavin brindley, a boy from your neighborhood, who also happened to be shea's best friend.

the two of you were never close, whenever is familly came over you'd chose to spend time with his sister. even if the two of you were on the same team, you were still just his best friend's little sister.

when seamus left for the NTDP, everything was weird. not only did you lose your defense partner, but it also felt like you had lost a part of yourself. which is why when the umich women's hockey team offered you a spot on their team, you waisted no time accepting their offer.

of course it wasn't going to be like before, you and shea playing together, but it was close enough. the two of you would be back in the same time, having the time of your lives playing the sport you love the most.

unfortunately, the two of you couldn't share a dorm like you hoped. so, shea opted for gavin as his roommate, and you with another freshman on your team. but you barely ever spent time in there, always being over at shea's dorm. the brindley boy never minded much attention to the two of you, leaving the two of you to be in your own little world.

you and gavin had maybe spoken no more than four sentences to each other since you both arrived in michigan. couple of greetings here and there, but nothing more. which is why when he showed up along with your brother to your team's home opener, you were shocked. even more when you saw him waiting outside of the locker room after the games, your brother no where in sight.

"hey." he smiled at you when you walked out, making you stop in your tracks. you looked around quickly, seeing if seamus was near, but no one else seemed to be around.

"hi?" you spoke confused. this was probably the first time the two of you had ever spoken to each other with no one around.

"you did great." he said with a smile. a small one of your own grew on your face, rocking backwards on your heels.

"thanks. uh, i don't wanna come off as rude or whatever, but what're you doing here exactly?" you questioned him with an awkward smile. he stared at you for a couple of seconds before snapping out of whatever weird trance he was in.

"i came with shea."

"i meant what are you doing here?" you repeated, looking around the hallway.

"oh. um, well, i was waiting outside but one of your teammates brought me here."

"gavin, you know that's not that i meant." you pushed. you weren't exactly sure what game he was playing, but you were already growing tired.

"honestly?" he asked, making you nod your head, which made the boy in front of you sigh. "i don't know." he answered, making you scoff slightly.

"gavin we played on the same team for 7 years and you barely ever spoke to me. now, all of the sudden, you wait for me after my games? what's going on? did something happen with shea?" you panicked. normally, it was always seamus waiting for you after game, and vice-versa, never seamus' friends.

"shea's fine. i, uh, i went to the bathroom and when he came back he was gone."

"it's a five minute walk, gavin." you mumbled as your last teammate left the locker room. the boy in front of you looked down at the ground, biting his lip slightly as he realized he had been caught, no more excuses coming to him.

"i wanted to see you." he whispered honestly, a slight shade of pink taking over to apple of his cheeks. he sighed when his eyes met yours, your brows furred. "i just... i don't know, ever since we got to michigan, it's just been different."

"what do you mean?" you questioned confused. you truly didn't understand what he was trying to say, and you were growing tired of him beating around the bush.

"you've always been shea's sister to me, right?" he started. "but i don't want you to just be his sister anymore." he continued when you nodded. your brows furred again at his words, still confused.

"gav..." you trailed off as the boy started avoiding eye contact again.

"when i came over for the first time when you guys moved, i wasn't there for shea. i wanted to have a playdate with you, but my mom called yours and then i got dragged to your garage. i've always wanted to get to know you, but seamus told me to stay away from you, but i don't wanna stay away anymore." he finally admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

"gavin..." you trailed off again, being at a lost for words. he had always been seamus' best friend. always. the two of you have known each other since you were kids, yet he felt like a total stranger because of how little you knew about him.

"i've seen the way you look at me, y/n. and i know you've seen the way i look at you." he whispered softly, taking a stop closer to you. your fingers brushed against each other, your heads inches away.

"shea-"

"what shea doesn't know won't kill him." he smirked, using a phrase he's heard you use so many times during your gossip sessions with your twin.

"he's gonna know, i physically can't lie to him."

"then we can just tell him, y/n/n. why do you think he left without me?" he asked, his pointer finger coming bellow your chin and lifting your head so you were looking at him. you could feel his breath against your face as his eyes looked down at your lips, and that's all you needed before leaning in and connecting your lips.

both of his hands quickly flew to your waist as yours went to the back of his neck and head, your fingers brushing through his curls. your kiss quickly went from soft and slow to messy and quick. his arms fully wrapped around your waist as your tongues met in the middle. a groan left his mouth as you pushed your body against his, your chest flat against his as your hands travelled deeper in his curls.

after a minute or two, one of your hands came to his chest, your fingers looping in the necklace that adored his neck. when the boy pulled away from you to catch his breath, you were quick to pull him back after a couple of seconds. the two of you smiled into the kiss, your teeth clashing together as a small giggle escaped your lips.

gavin's hands started to travel down further your back, until a loud couch was heard in the hallway. the two of you pulled away, looking in the direction of the cough, only to see one of the janitors staring at the two of you. a dark shade of read appeared on your face before the brindley boy grabbed your hand and started guiding towards the exit of the arena.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

it had now been a week since that night, and you had yet to tell your brother about your new found romance with his best friend. it wasn't like you didn't want to, you did, you really did, and you tried. you were planning on telling him after three days, but that plan quickly dissipated when seamus started rambling on and on about how thankful he was that gavin had chosen michigan as well, and how grateful he felt to have a brother by his side.

guilt took over as you couldn't shake the feeling that you were betraying your brother. scared of how he was going to react, you decided to keep it to yourself, and you had yet to find another moment to tell him about it. you called gavin, freaking out about what the two of you had done, but he was quick to calm you down. he reassured you that seamus should be happy that the two of you were happy together, and if he wasn't, he'd have to get over it.

which lead to this moment, gavin's large frame above yours as the two of you were in nothing but undergarments. his lips slowly travelling down your body as soft moans echoed in his shared dorm room.

seamus had a class, meaning gavin had the dorm to himself, and you two were quick not to waist a single second you could have alone. shea's class was two hours long, and his professor often went beyond that time by thirty minutes, meaning the two of you had plenty of time.

"gav!" you gasped when his fingers started rubbing small circles against your clit. you had quickly rushed to his dorm from your class after seeing his text almost an hour ago, your body still full of need after the previous night. the two of you were sharing a heated make out in your dorm until your brother called gavin, urging him to come back to their dorm.

thankfully you and gavin shared a class, so using the excuse that you were helping him study was one your twin brother believed quite easily. he did find it a little weird how quickly the two of you became close, but he decided to brush it off, telling himself he was probably just overthinking it.

but this, this he was sure he wasn't overthinking. the first thing he saw when he walked into his dorm was your bra flying to the ground. at first, he just though gavin had decided to use up their free room and get laid. he couldn't blame him, sharing a dorm was making the two of them quite sexually frustrated as hooking up with someone while your best friend is laying on the bed at the end of yours was pretty awkward. seamus was supposed to be gone for at least three hours like always, but his professor's wife went into labor and ended the class early.

he was about to walk away when he heard gavin mumble something that made him stop dead in his tracks. he wasn't sure if he had just misheard what his best friend said, but when gavin repeated himself louder, he was sure he was hearing right.

"fuck, y/n/n."

"gav, hurry up, please!" he heard you whine as what sounded like a condom packaging was being opened. seamus felt his heart drop in his stomach. he had left gavin at the rink after your game because he just wanted the two of you to be friends, not have sex in his room while he was gone.

"don't worry, baby, shea won't be back for another two hours. we got plenty of time. gonna make you feel so good." when he heard those words, his hands went numb, and the door handle slipped from his grip, making the door slam shut. the loud noise made you and gavin jump slightly.

"y/n?" you heard seamus' shaky voice ask. when you looked to your side, no one was there, meaning he was still standing at the door. your heart broken at the sound of your brother's voice, the guilt once again coming back. gavin had a finger over his mouth, telling you stay quiet, but you couldn't.

"shea." you breathed out loud enough for your brother to hear as you pushed gavin off of you. your hands reached for your shirt that was on the bed, quickly throwing it on as you avoided making eyes contact with gavin. the boy tried to stop you from reaching for your underwear, which were also on the bed, but quickly gave up when you brushed him off, standing up from the bed and slipping them on.

you grabbed both your pair of pants that were laying at the end of the little hallway leading to the door, your eyes meeting seamus' when you leaned back up. your brother was frozen, tears starting to form in his eyes. you were about to started walking towards him, but gavin joined you. one of is hand reached for his pants you were holding, while the other landed on your back. his pressed a small kiss to your temple, trying to reassure that everything was going to be okay.

but his action only seemed to make the situation even worse. seamus' brows furred as anger now took over. his eyes went from broken to angry and the words he spoke next were not the ones you wanted to hear.

"get out." he whispered harshly, his eyes staring into gavin's.

"shea-"

"it's fine." gavin mumbled in your ear before grabbing a hoodie. "i'll be outside." he added before making his way to the door. your brother's eyes never left his best friend until the door was close, and they shifted to you.

"with gavin? really?"

"i tried to tell you, i swear i did-"

"how long?" he asked firmly, cutting you off. "a month? two? five? a year?"

"no, god, no, shea. a week. it was after my game, when you left gav at the rink. i never meant to hurt you, but i deserve to be happy, shea." you admitted, the two of you still standing in the same spots.

"and you couldn't find somebody else to be happy with? it had to be him?"

"shea you've known since we were kids how i've felt about him."

"you said he was just some childhood crush, y/n!" seamus spat, raising his voice slightly as he approached you.

"he is! he was! but he's felt the same way about me all along, and i'm tired of not letting myself be happy just for you." you said, standing up for yourself. all your life you had always just listened to seamus without really questioning what he was saying, almost letting him dictate your life, but you were tired of that.

"you really wanna be with him?"

"yes."

"then go be with him, but stay the hell away from me." he mumbled harshly before pushing past you and going over to his desk where he dropped his bag.

"shea, please."

"leave." he said firmly. his back was facing you and it wasn't until he heard the door close that he let a tear slip from his eyes. on the other side of the door, gavin was met with your red eyes filled with tears. the boy was quick to bring you into his chest, holding you tight against him. thankfully your dorm was on the same floor as theirs, so the brindley boy waisted no time bringing over there.

your roommate was gone, having a class of your own, something you were grateful for as you started breaking down in gavin's arms once the two of you were sitting on your bed. the mood completely different from the last time the two of you were there together.

"it's okay, sweetheart. he just needs some time." gavin mumbled as his thumbs rubbed small circles on your arm and back, trying to help you calm down.

"he hates me." you cried out, and gavin felt his heart ach for the two of you. you had always been so close, and he couldn't help the guilt he felt for making the two of you drift apart.

"i'm sorry."

"it's not your fault, gav. he's an asshole."

"he's your brother. twin brother."

"who's an asshole." you spoke through your sobs. gavin chuckled slightly at your words, you were never really one to use foul language, expect when it came to your brother.

"hey, look at me. i promise, everything's gonna be okay. he's just shocked right now, and the way he found out wasn't... ideal." he said, trying his best to comfort you.

"i'm scared he's gonna hate me forever."

"he's your twin, y/n/n, he can't hate you. just give him some time to clear his head, okay?" gavin said, his hand cupping your face and pressing a kiss to your lips after you nodded slightly.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

the next couple of days were weird for everyone. gavin and seamus barely ever spoke to each other, something everyone on their team noticed. nolan had tried to make them fix whatever the problem was, but neither of them wanted to talk about it.

whenever gavin would leave their dorm during the evenings, seamus would shoot up a dirty look, making gavin roll his eyes every time he would end up in the hallway. things between you and gavin were amazing, no one had ever made you feel as happy as he did. he was doing an amazing job at making sure you were okay at all time, waiting for you outside the class you shared with your brother.

it was truly perfect, well besides the fact that seamus still hadn't talked to either of you. even your parents all the way in florida could sense something was wrong, especially when the two of you joined the weekly family face time from your own dorms and barely spoke during said facetime.

but that all change one morning when you and gavin got woken up by a loud knock at the door. you let out a loud groan as the person once again knocked. your roommate had gone home for the weekend since he family lived in detroit and you guys had the weekend off.

"can you go open it, please?" you asked gavin, who had officially asked you as his girlfriend the night before. the boy didn't answer, instead just pressing a kiss to your forehead before getting out of your bed and going to open the door.

"hi." you heard your brother say, almost making you jump out of your bed. gavin stood at the door, only wearing boxers, giving your brother the very wrong idea of what he just walked into.

"we were sleeping." gavin mumbled harshly, knowing where his best friend's mind went to.

"can i come in?"

"depends. are you gonna yell at her again?" gavin asked, crossing his arms over his chest. before seamus had the chance to answer, you appeared next to your boyfriend. the two hockey players were both looking at you, waiting to hear your answer. your fingers interlocked with gavin's, his hands squeeze yours lightly before you nodded, stepping to the side to let your brother in.

you and gavin ended up sitting on your bed, your hands locked together, while shea sat at your desk chair.

"i'm sorry for how i reacted. i shouldn't have gotten mad like that, 'm sorry." your brother spoke after about a minute of awkward silence. you could tell by the look in his eyes that he truly felt bad for how he acted.

"i'm sorry we lied to-"

"we didn't lie. we just didn't say the truth." gavin cut you off, making you let out a sigh. you knew he was right, but him saying that wasn't going to make the situation any better.

"you know, i don't remember asking you to be here for this conversation." seamus said harshly, his eyes staring into gavin's. the younger boy scoffed at your brother's words, making himself comfortable on your bed.

"i'm apart of this."

"doesn't mean i was talking to you."

"she's my girlfriend, you talk to her, you talk to me." gavin said protectively. he hated having to see you cry in his arms almost every night for the past week, and he wasn't going to let seamus off the hook so easily for what he did. seamus' started throwing daggers gavin's way, and you knew you had to intervene before the situation escalated.

"gav, can shea and i talk for a moment, please? alone." you said making gavin take a deep breath as he started into seamus' eyes. you squeeze his hands slightly, making him look over at you. "i'll be fine. i'll text you if i need you, okay?" you added as gavin leaned his forehead against yours, your free hand cupping his cheek as you pressed a small peck to his lips.

"i'll go see what the fants are up to." he whispered in your ear before standing up from the bed, sending a glare in shea's way, before leaving your room.

"so... you guys are official?"

"yup."

"i'm happy for you, y/n, i really am. and you were right. you deserve to be happy and be with someone who makes you happy. but i want you to understand how it makes me feel. gav's been my best friends since forever, and you've been my best friend forever. i don't want to lose you to him, or lose him to you, y/n/n." he explained.

"you're not losing anyone, shea. your my twin, you're stuck with me forever." you joked, but when your eyes met his you were reminded of why he was here. "you were an asshole, shea."

"i know, and i'm so sorry, y/n/n."

"if you do it again, i'm gonna have to snitch to mom and dad." when his brain registered what you had just said, he finally realized that you weren't mad at him. "but you can't be mad at gav, shea. if you're not mad at me, you can't be mad at him, it's not fair."

"y/n-"

"no. he went behind your back just as much as i did. it's not fair, shea. we never meant for you find out the way you did, and i'm sorry it happened that way, but you can't be mad at him." you cut him off.

"i can’t not be mad at him, y/n/n. he promised me nothing was going on between you two, he lied to me.” shea spoke, making you a little confuse.

"he lied? when?"

"you know when i went on that little rant about him, i asked him earlier that day if anything had happened after your game, and he swore nothing happened. he lied."

"he only lied because i told him i wanted to tell you, shea, not because he wanted to. he wanted me to tell you that same night, but i... i was too scared of how you were going to react. and clearly i was right for being scared." you stated, getting a little angry at the end. your brother scoffed at your words, standing up from your chair and pacing around the room.

"of course you're gonna side with him." he mumbled under his breath, but it was still loud enough for you to hear. his words made you stand up from your spot on your bed, placing a hand on his chest to stop his pacing.

"okay, now you're being an asshole again, shea." you said, a stern look on your face as you stared into his eyes.

"whatever." he whispered, rolling his eyes before leaving your room. you let out a loud sigh before hearing the door open and close once again. a pair of hands landed on your hips, lips pressing a kiss behind your ear.

"you lied to him?" you mumbled as you leaned back against the brindley. he let out a sigh of his own as his arms wrapped around your waist.

"i did." he confirmed. he knew that lying to his best friend was eventually gonna come back and bite him in the ass, he just didn't except for it to come from you.

"you could've told me."

"i know, and i'm sorry i didn't. but you already had so much to worry about, i didn't want shea's and i's friendship to worry you even more." he whispered softly in your ear, pecking the shell of your ear after.

"things were going so good, and then he just started being an asshole again." you informed him, turning around in his hold so you were chest to chest. your hands went to the side of his neck, your fingers playing with some of his curls.

"he's mad at me, baby, not you. heard him and rut talkin' 'bout it." gavin mumbled in the shell of your ear as he pulled you into him.

"it's not fair."

"i know, baby, but it's gonna be okay. listen, i know it's bad timing, but coach wants me to go down to the rink. i'll be back as soon as i can, okay?" he said, as the two of you pulled away slightly. you nodded your head slightly and gavin pressed a kiss to your lips before leaving the room with his things.

you decided to meet up with some of your friends to go grab a quick breakfast at a cafe near your dorm. you talked with them about what happened, desperate for some advice. you eventually settled on a plan, and as soon as you got back to your building, you went straight to seamus' room.

when your brother opened the door, the two of you just stared at each other, before you pushed past him and into his room. you heard him let out a long sigh before joining you in the middle of the room.

"sit." you said, looking at his desk chair. he quickly listened, wanting to get this over with. "gavin's your best friend, shea. he's always been your best friend. he loves you, and he cares about you. and this you being mad at him thing is stupid and selfish of you. we're happy together, and you should be happy for us, not mad at us. he's your best friend, and he's hurting because you're not talking to him. i am the one who waited to tell you, if you're gonna be mad at anyone be mad at me, but not him." you cried out, tears forming in your eyes as memories from two nights ago filled your head.

gavin was over at your dorm, watching a movie when the two of you started talking. he eventually admitted to you how much it hurted him that shea was ignoring him. he even cried a little in your arms because of it. never had you seen gavin cry, not even after he was injured or a hard lose. never.

"i know, but i can't be happy for you, y/n. i know how he is, he breaks hearts, y/n. i don't want him to hurt you. even if he wasn't my friend, i wouldn't be happy for you. this isn't about you being with my best friend, this is how about how he treats girls. and i'm not just stand there and act like i'm okay with you being with him. i don't want you to see you hurt. he cheated on his last two girlfriend's, y/n, and i don't want that to happen to you too." seamus explained. tears started falling from your eyes as the more he talked.

"that's not true, he isn't like that."

"i was there, y/n, both time! i was the one who told them! i don't want the next girl i'm stuck giving that talk to is you, i can't. i won't be the one who hurts you." your brother added, as tears of his own pilled in his eyes. meanwhile, more started rolling down your cheeks.

"i really like him, shea. he makes me really happy, and he's different now."

"you don't know that." seamus exclaimed, standing up from his seat.

"he's not like that, shea. please, just give him a chance. i really want this, shea. i really wanna be with him." you begged. the look on your face finally making him break his protective big brother roll.

"fine, but i swear, y/n, if he does anything-"

"thank you! thank you!" you said, rushing into your brothers arm. your arms wrapped around his torso as you let out a small sniffle, while his went around your shoulders.

"if he hurts you-"

"he won't."

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

"what's going on?" you asked walking into your dorm room later that week. after your little talk with seamus, he had a long with gavin. first talking to him as your big brother, warning him about what would happen if he hurts you. then as his best friend, telling him not to mess it up because he could tell how happy you two were.

gavin wasn't really sure what you had said to him while he was at Yost that morning. but whatever you said, he was thankful you did. you could hangout outside of your dorm room, hold hands whenever you wanted, and you could swear you had never been happy before.

"thought we could finally have that playdate." gavin said, walking towards you as he held a hand out. the lights were out, a bunch of candles light up on your desk as he guided you into the room.

on your bed were a bunch of your favourite snacks, along with some flowers. next to those was a box, the words guess who? written on it, making your jaw drop.

"you remember?" you asked excited, but at the same time embarrassed.

"do i remember you harassing shea until we were like 12 to play guess who every day? of course i do."

"gosh, i am so glab puberty's a thing."

"so am i." gavin smirked, his eyes staring at your boobs. you were wearing a shirt with a very deep v neck, the bra you were wearing making your boobs show even more.

"hey, eyes up here mister." you said, snapping a finger in his face. the boy chuckled slightly before grabbing the flowers and handing them to you.

"my lady."

"thank you kind, sir." you answered, also using a british accent. the two of you laughed slightly before gavin pressed a long kiss to your lips.

the two of you spent the night eating snacks, playing guess who over and over again until gavin finally won. you had also convince him to finally start watching pretty little liars with you.

that night spend together was probably one of the best night of your life. it only made your feelings for the boy that much stronger, and the he felt the same way.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

"okay, could you at least not shove your tongue down each other's throat while i'm here." seamus mumbled from his bed, making you and gavin pull away from each other. "i don't want any nephews or nieces."

"you're just jealous."

"your boyfriend has a bigger butt than you, y/n." seamus said bluntly, making you and gavin gasp at his words.

"it's not that flat." you said, looking at your brother before turning to look at gavin. "right?"

"it's not. gavin's butt is just huge."

"i do have a pretty big booty."

"and i still can't believe you won't share your ass workout with me." you sassed your boyfriend, making seamus chuckle slightly.

"and i'm telling you it's genetics!"

"i'm serious though. if you guys wanna get all freaky, go to your dorm." seamus cut your little chat off. his eyes were looking at your eyes, making you roll your own.

"it's girl's night over there."

"sucks for you, but you're not having sex here."

"shea, when two people love each other..." you started, but you were stopped by your twin brother throwing one of his extra pillow on you.

"shut up! i'm going to sleep. get that smile off your face, brindley. i'll still hear you."

[bagopucks]

J. Hughes - Can’t Break Up Now [Old Dominion & Megan Moroney]

✄————————————

Jack Hughes x Fem!reader

Word Count: 904

Warning(s): talk of major fight, self deprecating thoughts, thoughts of self harm

I promise this fic will not hit the same if you don’t listen to the song while reading. This song quickly became my favorite as soon as I heard it, and I knew it just had to be a Jack fic.

—————————————

You know the color of my coffee

Too many t-shirts in my closet that you bought me

At this point, I can't unlearn the things you've taught me

About myself

It was our biggest fight yet. Jack and I had both said things we didn’t mean. We were scared of the unknown. Scared of a disagreement with our future. Jack had merely said he could easily see himself leaving the city if he ever got traded. But I had a stable job and family here. I couldn’t leave…

I had been frozen in shock when the door slammed shut. He’d left. Perhaps rightfully so. I’d called him horrible things. I broke down on the carpet in the bedroom when he left.

You pick the music when I'm driving

Your mama always takes my side when you fight me

And these days, my dog likes you more than he likes me

You can just tell

Jack hadn’t thought the answer through, and in the end he got too defensive to admit how wrong he was. When he left he didn’t know where he was headed. Jack just knew he was going somewhere. The yelling, the accusations, the hateful words spoken… they’d all been too much.

Jack gripped the steering wheel of his car impossibly tighter than before. His knuckles were white. He wanted to pull the wheel and turn himself into oncoming traffic. He wanted to spend his life with this woman. What had he done?

So what am I supposed to, unlisten to every song written?

Take you out of every melody?

You know my secrets, my demons, and I know your weaknesses

All of your doubts and your dreams

Jack knew she was alone, just as he was. Crying, panicking, asking herself what to do. He just couldn’t bring himself to go back. He didn’t know how to face her. But where were they supposed to go from here? The only way to know was if they could talk it out. Jack knew if they didn’t talk, it had a 100% chance of ending badly. Maybe if they spoke they could fix it.

So we

Can't break up now

No, we

Can't break up now

Four years. Four solid years of loving and growing. There for each other in every scenario. Every rise and fall. Every accomplishment and failure. There was such a deep history, how could they end things?

I hate the thought of starting over

If you left, I know I'd never get closure

Can't imagine letting anyone get closer

Than you are to me, oh

I flicked through photos in my phone, scaling back too many years. If I deleted them, four years of my life would be gone. Four years of so much effort. How could I leave him? I folded my legs beneath myself on our bed. Our bed. I needed Jack. The photos on the wall? His clothes? His towels in my bathroom. His dishes in my cabinets. His movies, his gaming consoles, his furniture. Everything would be gone.

Yeah, I'll battle this out all night 'till we fix it

If the ship's going down, I'm going down with it

Time alone did nothing to ease either mind. So perhaps it was better to be together.

Your friends are my friends

Jack turned his car around the moment he knew what he wanted.

I start where you end

I stood from the bed to leave the room. I decided I’d leave the front door unlocked. Yet when I got there, I couldn’t gain the courage to actually unlock it. Instead I sat against the wall next to the door, waiting to hear his knock. His voice.

We've got too much history

This was the right choice.

So we

Can't break up now

No, we

Can't break up now

We've come too far and we're in too deep

We love too hard just to let it go

So we

Can't break up now, oh

It didn’t take Jack long to drive back to the apartment. Mostly because he was speeding. He’d tried to fix his disheveled appearance before knocking on the door, plastered with fake gold numbers that clacked every time the door shook.

So what am I supposed to, unlisten to every song written?

Take you out of every melody?

I shot up at the sound, no hesitation in my body this time as I unlocked the door and opened it. We were met with one another’s faces, silent, blank. Where would this go?

No, we

Can't break up now

No, we

Can't break up now

“I’m so sorry..” Jack’s broken voice reached my ears. “I love you so much.”

No, we

Can't break up now

No, we

Can't break up now

“God Jack I never should have said any of that.” I fell into his arms, quiet sobs falling from our lips as we held each other tightly.

We've come too far and we're in too deep

We love too hard just to let it go

“Please let me in,” Jack whispered against my neck. It wasn’t even a question as to whether I would or not.

So we

Can't break up now

“Come in, honey.. let’s sit down.” I held onto his hand as I ushered him in, tears streaming down both of our faces.

No, we

Can't break up now, oh

It was better to heal together than alone.

Can't break up now

✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾

[icameheretoreadstuff]

When I met you, all I wanted to do was to get on my knees

Pairing: Toji x F!Reader Warnings: 18+, MDNI!, NSFW, Alcohol, Smut, Oral, Deepthroat++ Summary: Your at a party with your friend, when you meet Toji. In a dare he gets carried away, infront of everyone. A/N: masterpost & links are pinned on my tumblr. I needed a friend in this smut, and didn't know who that might be so we are gonna call her Samantha/Sam for short and the guy Sam is seeing is called Mike. The story is about you and Toji after all, so please ignore the names if they're bothering you. Comment if you come up with better names and I'll change them. 🙈 I wanna point out People have their own idea/opinions about how Toji would react and stuff, but I just had to write this && i do not own this pic, found it on pinterest. This Smut was deleted, but has now been edited and reposted.

You walked off the buss with your friend Sam "Where is this place anyway?" you asked, "it's just nearby" Sam responded as she lighted up the cigarette "want one?" she asked, you shaked your head "I need to borrow the toilet asap" you answered as you began to walk faster. You both walked around the corner "It's that house right there, you go ahead" You looked where she pointed with her cigarette.

As you walked inside the house, there were people blocking your way in the hallway. You stood up on your toes when you saw a door that might just look like the bathroom "move bitches" you yelled, feeling the shot you took on the bus starting to kick in. People turned to look at you and moved to the side, forming a path. You chuckled lightly and mouthed sorry as you were about to walk over to the bathroom, when a hand grabbed your shoulder.

"Move bitches?" someone chuckled, you turned around and your eye sight were met with muscled man boobs. you looked slowly up as you couldn't stop checking him out. You could feel your clit throbbing by just looking at him.

Turns out they didn't move out of the way because of you, but for him. "A-are you the owner of this house?" you asked as you couldn't help but mentally lick every inch of his body.

You stepped back to look up at him. He crossed his arms as he looked at you "youre pretty cute calling my friends bitches" he smirked. You blushed as you scratched your neck, looking down "Thanks I guess? uhm, can I borrow the toilet?" you asked him, "sure princess" he pointed with his head twoards a room at the end of the hall. You smiled at him, when you saw your friend come in "didn't you need to pee?" she asked you, "yeah, join me" you blushed and grabbed her hand and walked into the bathroom.

Sam closed the door behind you as you sat down on the toilet to pee. "So I guess you met Toji, huh" she giggled as she walked over to the sink to reaply her lipstick. "That's the guy you've been telling me about?" you asked her, and she nodded as he leaned forward to the mirror. "He's tall" you commented while cleaning yourself up and slid your pants back on.

"He could honestly do whatever he wants with me, and I would be ready on all fours" you giggled and walked over to the sink to wash your hands. "Honestly, damn" you said as you dried your hands. Sam smirked "I knew you would like him" she said as she put her lipstick inside her pocket "trying to hook me up huh?" you asked her as you shot up your eyebrow, she shrugged "well obviously"

Sam lurked out two small bottles from her purse, "let's do one more" she smiled devilish, you looked over at what she was holding and you sighed "one more?" you asked her as your shoulder sank "liquid currage, it looks like youre gonna need some" she giggled "I don't even know what youre talking about" you scoffed and crossed your arms.

She dingled the bottle infront of you "so youre ready to face him, huh?" she teased "On all fours?" she giggled at your reaction, you sighed "give me that" you grabbed the bottle. You opened the bottle and you both looked at each other "to me for hooking you up big time!" she cheered and clincked the bottle to yours, "To you" you chuckled and threw down the liquid into your throat.

"shit" you swallowed and coughed, feeling the strong liquid slowly burn in your throat "what was that?" she laughed evilish "it's like a breathmint on bottle, youre welcome!" she threw down the liquid and coughed as well. "The way he was looking at you, I think youre gonna need some" she laughed. You gasped and laughed "fuck you very much."

Someone knocked on the bathroom door "hurry the fuck up" Sam grabbed the empty bottles and threw them into her purse. "lets go" She said as she opened the door and grabbed your hand.

You were welcomed with music, laughter and chatter throughout the house. Sam grabbed your hand and guided you twoards the kitchen "let's find some glasses" she said.

After Sam had poured some wine into some glasses to the both of you, you walked into the livingroom. There was a big circle of people around the coffe table, drinking and playing a game.

Your eyes went straight twoards Toji, He was drinking a beer as he was openly checking you out even though he was in a middle of a conversation.

"Let's sit here" Sam said and found available seats. You sat down with Sam on your right and Toji on your left. "This is the guy I've been telling you about" Sam smiled and pointed to her right, you leaned over her to greet him. "Hi! my name is y/n" you smiled and he nodded "pleased to meet you, I'm Mike" He took a sip of his beer "We are playing truth or dare, wanna join?" he asked as he grinned devilishly at Toji, before you could answer Sam said "ofcourse we'll join!"

You could feel Toji staring at you as you sipped your drink, you looked up at him "was it your idea?" you asked him, He laughed loudly "Not my idea of fun, no" he said with a stern look on his face, He looked over at Mike as he sent him look. Mike just laughed in response "Relax, everyone is having a good time."

You placed your drink in your lap while looking at Toji "So, what is your type of fun?" he grinned as he leaned forward "I could show you if you want" he flirted, not caring if anyone was listening in. He watched your reaction and half smiled. You blushed and took another sip.

Before you could answer, Sam bumped into your arm. "your turn" she said, you turned around and thought for a while "Dare" you answered finally and someone said "I dare you to say something dirty to the person on your left"

You felt chills as you could feel him staring at you, you knew what you wanted to say but you weren't sure. You looked at him and thought fuck it as you took a big gulp of your glass. You looked at Toji and smiled before you chuckled lightly, he crossed his arms "let's hear it" You took a deep breath as you said "When I met you all I wanted to do was to get on my knees" You said and cheered your glass into the air with everyone as they were cheering, you began to blush hard.

Toji's reaction was priceless. His lips were slightly parted for a second before he grinned in the most seductive way possible making your clit begg for attention.

While everyone was cheering and laughing, he said "That can be arrenged" and winked at you as he took a sip of his beer. Your eyebrow flew up as you couldn't help but to giggle, and then sighed sexually frustraited as you took a sip of your drink.

"It's your turn to ask Toji" Mike said to you, "well?" you smiled at him. "Dare" he sighed and drank up the rest of the beer bottle. "I dare you yell out the first thing that comes to mind" you said, he stared at your lips and just chuckled "blowjob" he winked at you. "you have to yell it!" you said in return "so you want everyone to know, huh?" he flirted, you blushed hard and just hid your mouth with your drink.

Toji bumped into the person beside him while still looking at you as he took a sip of his beer. The guy answered "dare" and Toji instantly smirked. "dumbass" Mike commented and the guy looked at Mike and then Toji with fear in his eyes and just started to laugh "try not to overdo it" he said and waved his hands in defeat already. "I dare you to shot this" he smirked and pulled a bottle up from beside him.

The bottle was black with a chilli on it. He poured it into a shotglass and gave it to him, "Dont be a child and smell it" he said and the guy shaked his head as he regretting his choice "What do you expect when Toji's the one who's coming up with your dares?" Mike told the guy.

"come on" Toji said impatient and took a sip of his beer, and turned to look at the guy. "I had to pick something! no matter what I pick I lose anyway" the guy shrugged, Mike laughed loudly at his response "its your funreal" The guy looked at Mike "What do you mean?" he panicked, Toji sighed loudly and the guy just accepted his fate and threw the liquid down into his mouth.

He panicked instantly "swallow" toji smirked and clapped on the guy's back causing him to swallow. He coughed and coughed "What was that?" He asked Toji as the guy was panting and tried to drink something to earase the taste in his throat. "Chilli" Toji answered and shrugged "not that bad, right?" he smiled with a devilish grin. "My throat is burning" the guy said and stood up "I need milk" Everyone laughed and some left to help the guy out.

Sam poked into your arm "wanna join me on the toilet real quick?" she asked you and pleaded, you chuckled and nodded "sure" you sighed and smiled at Toji as you left.

You were walking twoards the bathroom when you saw the long queue. You sighed loudly as you stood almost with the front door in the queue with Sam. "So, what do you think?" she asked you, you looked twoards the livingroom where you knew Toji was and just smiled. "I-I, Yeah" you mumbled "yes" you nodded, not being able to form any words. "I should tell you, I have talked allot about you to him" she said, you looked up at her with a confused look on your face.

"wait, what?" you asked her as you grabbed her arm "tell me what you said" you asked with a concerned look. "I was picking up Mike to go on a late night snack after thay had hit the gym together and we kinda just started talking in the car" she shrugged "I told him that youre my besfriend, so ofcourse youre awesome" you sighed out loud feeling thankfull "so nothing bad?" you asked her, "why would I do that?" she laughed at you as she shaked her head "youre my bestfriend y/n, that would not make sense if I was trying to hook you two up" she giggled.

Mike came behind Sam and grabbed her hips "There's a bathroom upstairs" he whispered into Sam's ear "I can show you" he said and you looked at your friend for confirmation "you sure?" you asked her, not caring what he just said.

She smiled as she sighed and kissed your cheek "Thank you for your concern y/n, but I'm ok" she said and waved you off "I promise" she giggled as she and Mike walked upstairs.

When you returned to into the livingroom you saw your seat was taken. Toji was sitting sipping a beer deep into a conversation with someone. But there was a woman who was sitting right next to him, where you just sat.

Someone asked Toji a question "Toji, Truth or dare" he was about to sigh and curse probably by the looks of it until he noticed you, Then he leaned into his seat and crossed his arms, smirking.

The woman beside him giggled and leaned into toji, you couldn't help but to see a woman beside him, holding onto his arm, giggling.

"Toji! I dare you to make out with someone!" The instant Toji heard the question he raised up releasing his grip from the woman and walked over to you, he grabbed your hips and drew you close as he grabbed your neck and crashed his lips onto yours.

You held your hands on his chest as you forgot that you were currently standing in a room infront of people cheering in the background.

The people were tuned out and the only thing you could focus on was how soft Toji's lips was. His tight musles under your hands. His tounge tasted sweet from the alcohol and his arms felt so comfertable around you. You silently sighed as you grabbed his neck to deepend the kiss.

You don't know how long you stood like this, just making out heavily. But when you came up for air, he looked down at you and he felt like he weren't nearly done yet.

You grinned as he grabbed your tighs and carried you out of the livingroom. You could hear the cheering in the background and the woman who tried to hit on Toji was giving you a side eye, you couldn't help but to giggle as you kissed him deeply.

He opened a door and closed it behind him, he let you down as he locked the door. "Toji-" you tried to say before he crashed his lips onto yours again, hungry for more.

He grabbed your hand and put it into his pants as you could feel his big hard dick, you felt so aroused and turned on that you couldn't think clearly. "you feel how hard I am for you?" he smirked "fuck" you moaned into his lips and then you grabbed his pants and pulled them down, when you looked down on his shaft you instantly gasped.

"Fuck youre big" He grinned at your reaction "on your knees" he answered. You obeyed and he grabbed his massive dick with both of your hands and leaned twoards his tip "let me feel your sweet mouth on my dick, princess" You looked up at him as he was smirking.

You opened your mouth and sucked his precum. It tasted so sweet, you let your tounge out and cricled around his tip. "let me see how well you can take me" he huffed, you opened your mouth more as you pushed yourself onto his hard throbbing dick.

You could feel tears running down your face as you tried to bobb your head onto his length. "just like that" he groaned "good girl"

You pulled back for air as you licked his entire length while keeping eyecontact. He parted his lips and let out a sigh as you inhaled his length again, you moaned as you licked his length and tried to inhale his dick again. Finding a rythum that made him huff and slightly move his hips.

You grabbed his hips as you breathed through your nose. You moaned as you could taste his precum inside your mouth, you swallowed as you looked up at him. "You're so good at this" he groaned, You bobbed your head as you kept eyecontact with him.

You moaned as you kept up with the rythum, You grabbed his length and stroked while bobbing your head, you pushed deeper and managed to get half of his length inside your mouth.

You breathed through your nose as you managed to push further, you felt that his length was inside your throat now. Tears fell down your cheek "Fuck, you look so beautiful on my dick" he huffed and let out a deep sigh. You pulled back and panted as you looked up at him with a smirk.

"y/n" he groaned as you licked his balls. "Come here" he said and guided you twoards his bed. You lied down onto your back, waiting for what he had planned. He pulled off his shirt and you instantly took a mental picture. you could honestly just climax by rubbing your clit onto his abs.

He sat onto the bed and then he pulled down your pants and threw them away. "I gotta make sure you can take me" he smirked and laid down between your thighs, wrapping his massive muscled arm around your thigh and he lifted your thigh with the other, spreading your legs as his tounge crashed into your clit.

The instant his tounge came into contact with your clit you let out a silent moan. He smirked while watching you as he licked your clit, you huffed as you grabbed the sheet and curled it into your fists.

He pushed a finger into you, as he was checking how tight you were. "you taste so good" he hummed as he licked and flicked his tounge onto your clit. "mmfh" he said as he was licking up all your juices, he thrusted one more finger into you. He curled his fingers up inside your entrance as he was massaging your g-spot. "toji" you moaned as you bended your back, he groaned and gripped you tighter.

"Fuck I want to fuck you so bad when you moan my name like that" he said as he watched you while thrusting his fingers hard into you, you grabbed your nipples and pinched hard.

"Fuck" he said in awe as he thrusted four fingers into you "toji" you moaned "I'm g-gonna cum I-If you keep d-doing that" you managed to say between deep breaths, he groaned as he sucked and licked your clit.

You gasped silently and curled your toes as he thrusted his fingers harder into you. "Fuck" you managed to breathe only to feel your entire body feel electrified with arousal. You panted as he kept thrusting "Cum into my mouth, princess" he groaned as he licked and sucked, thrusting his fingers even harder into you. "Toji" you moaned and climaxed loudly.

He leaned up and smirked at you as he cleaned off your juices and tasted the remains on his fingers. "mmfh" he hummed, "so sweet" he hummed.

You panted as you looked up at him "please" you moaned you managed to say "please what?" he smirked and crawled over you. He grabbed his length and grinded into your folds, teasing you.

"Please kiss me, fuck me, choke me or do whatever you want with me" you flirted and leaned up to kiss him, you laid down onto the pillow and could see him smirking "be carefull of what you wish for" he said as he smacked his hard dick onto your clit making you wince.

He kissed you as he pushed his dick inside you slowly "Fuck youre tight" he huffed "breathe for me, princess" he said as he grabbed your chin "do it" he said as he stopped moving his hips.

You breathed calmly "good girl" he purred as he moved his hips, rolling them as he pushed deeper. You could feel his massive dick stretching your walls, you breathed just like he said as you tried to take in his length. "Fuck" you moaned as he thrusted out fast and rolled his hips, pushing his length slowly inside you.

He smirked as he felt he was getting addicted watching you fucked out on his big dick. He let out huffs and smirked as he began to snap his hips and thrust faster into you.

You panted as you could feel his length all up to your stomach, "fuck" you moaned and tried to breathe, you gripped his arms and dugg in your claws hard against his skin while letting out a loud moan.

He couldnt hold back anymore "Fuck y/n" he wrapped his hands around your neck as he kissed you. He pinned you down under him.

You swallowed hard as you felt you were finally kinda used to his size, the movement of his hips began to bring more and more pleasure. causing you to be a moaning mess, unable to think or talk.

He smirked as he changed the rythum and snapped his hips and began to thrust hard into you, his speed was fast as you had to hold your hands around him.

He held you tight, clapping his hips hard into you, pinning you down like he was going feral. You moaned uncontrollably as you digged your claws onto his back.

He panted and groaned shamelessly loud as he thrusted hard you. You gasped silently, feeling your chest heave and your gspot tingling like crazy.

"cum on my dick, soak my sheets" he purred into your ear, the heat from his breath sent you over the edge. you climaxed "Fuck" you moaned as you squirted, "fuck" he groaned, feeling your wet juice squelching as he thrusted hard into you sending him over the edge, he groaned as he pulled out and climaxed onto your stomach.

He collapsed down beside you as he exhaled deeply, he rolled over and looked down onto where you just climaxed and smirked.

You panted as you laid there completely drained and fucked out from his massive cock. "you ok?" he asked, you nodded and tried to breathe calmly, getting a hold of yourself.

He stood up out of the bed "just lie here, I will find something to clean you up with" you looked at him confused, was he really going to go out naked? He picked up his pants from the floor and found his phone

"but-" before you could finish your sentence "Everyone has left, its 4 in the morning" you looked up at him shocked "what? we have had sex-" he smirked and finished your sentence "4 hours" He chuckled and opened the door wide as he disapeared, you instantly covered yourself up with the duvet.

He came back with a towl and closed the door behind him. He didn't even try to cover himself up at all.

you tried to comprehend of how long you've been going at it but came to the conclusion that time flies when youre dumbfucked on Toji's massive cock.

[magnificentstrawberryomen]

Red Is The Color Of His Secret: Chapter four (Noah Sebastian fanfiction)

Authors note: just aaaaalll the feels came flooding over me as I wrote this chapter. all of them. 😩 u've been warned. also, if u want to get taglisted in new chapters, let me know!

--

Chapter four

I focus my eyes on Nicholas again as I answer him, my heartbeat quickening as I have decided that I want to unravel the mystery that is Noah Sebastian Davis. 

‘That is… both interesting and strange,’ I say. I must admit, this party has been one hell of a ride so far and only forty minutes have passed. Jesus. 

‘I think I need another drink… you need some too?’ I then ask Nicholas, nodding at his almost empty cup, but he politely shakes his head at me.

‘I’m good, thank you. I usually don’t drink too much,’ he says with a small smile, and I nod as I mirror the same kind smile. I like him. 

We wave each other goodbye after, and I make my way towards the table full of even more drinks, clearly being added by Nick and Jolly. I stare at it whilst slightly biting my lip, both deciding which drink I want to get next and thinking about everything Nicholas has just told me about Noah. 

When I then finally have decided what I want to drink, I now pour a slightly stronger drink into my cup, sipping it in thought as I then sit down on an empty, dark blue leather couch opposite of the table.

I can feel some pair of eyes on me, and as I follow the feeling, I catch Noah looking at me, his stare intense and full of emotions I can’t quite unravel for myself, it being way too many. But it definitely makes me feel some time of way, making me quickly look away from him as I get flustered for the millionth damn time this night.

Then, I take my phone out of my purse with a sigh, scrolling as I take another few sips of my drink. Honestly, parties suck when you don’t know many people, no matter how wasted you get. 

Just when I get stuck on a thread on Twitter about the strangest tweets people have deleted, a tall shadow hovers over me, making me look up from my phone. Noah stands in front of me and greets me with a small smile and wave, then sits next to me on the couch. It’s not quite broad, at least not for two people, causing him to sit so close to me that our arms almost touch, and I’m able to breathe in his nice cologne. My heart makes a little jump at us sitting so close right now, causing me to nervously swallow. His knees have to bend pretty high as it’s just too low for his tall figure, which makes me let out a small, quiet giggle before I greet him back with the same small wave.

It makes a small smirk form on his lips, his eyes slowly roaming over my body before meeting my eyes again. ‘Having fun?’

I sigh, needing to fight the urge to roll my eyes at his sarcastic question. ‘So much,’ I respond just as sarcastically, as I hold up my phone.

His smirk only grows just a little more, his eyes slowly flickering over to my phone. ‘Really? Looks to me like you’re bored shitless,’ he says bluntly in response, his eyes now going back to my face.

I can’t help but slightly smirk at his response, letting out a drunk giggle again after. ‘I am very much, yeah.’

The smirk on Noah’s lips slowly grows into his famous cocky smile. ‘Yeah? Can’t even manage to have a little fun at a party?’ he responds, shooting me a teasing grin, making it unable now to hold back an eye roll.

‘Maybe I could if the people here actually would be fun,’ I tease him back, scrunching my nose up with disgust when my eyes rest on Skylar for a moment.

Noah lets out a small chuckle, following my gaze to Skylar. He then sighs and rolls his eyes as well. ‘Ugh, don’t get me started on her. Biggest bimbo I’ve ever seen,’ he groans, his arms now crossed in front of his chest.

My eyebrows slightly raise at that comment, but also because I feel a lot of amusement going through me when he calls Skylar that, and I try to fight back a grin. ‘Oh really now?’

He nods in response, his signature cocky smirk returning on his lips. ‘Yeah, her and a bunch of other girls here only care about looks, popularity, and parties. She’s a goddamn airhead and a half. Can’t even hold a proper conversation.’

I can’t help but let out a loud laugh at that, shaking my head in even bigger amusement. ‘Oh, I believe you in that,’ I mumble back, narrowing my eyes at Skylar hanging all over some guy. Of course. 

He lets out a half-scoff, his own brown eyes flickering over to Skylar once more. ‘She’s the definition and embodiment of a damn airhead. I don’t even get why so many guys seem to be so whipped for her.’

I shrug at that, deciding to fire a comment at him, just to get him back a little. ‘Don’t get it either. I mean, you have to get it just a little right?’ I say, as I think back of the picture of them together.

Noah stiffens a little upon hearing that, hesitating for a moment before letting out a dry chuckle, his confident smirk returning to his lips again. ‘What are you getting at there, nerd girl?’

I shrug again, a small smile on my lips as I then take a sip of my drink. ‘Nothing.’

He lets out another dry chuckle at that, his grin turning oh so cocky once again. ‘Bullshit. You’re definitely implying something there, princess.’

‘Princess, huh?’ I reply with a sly smile, the nickname stirring a pang of something by hearing his new nickname for me, making my heart skip a slight beat. 

His grin only grows more at the way I react to the pet name, letting another low chuckle again, scooting a little closer to me, his muscular leg now barely inches apart from yours. And not only my face, but my whole damn body is set on fire as I feel the slight touch, my heart beating even faster. 

‘I only call smartass and pretty girls princess,’ he teases, winking at me. My face must be a goddamn tomato because of that, Jesus Christ-why do I find him so damn hot all of a sudden?

I clear my throat, squeezing my thick thighs together for a moment, trying to collect myself together. ‘Sure,’ I mumble back, taking a few sips of my drink again.

‘Don’t believe me, princess?’ Noah replies, his leg slowly creeping closer to mine again, his knee now almost pressed against my thigh. 

I just mock his words underneath my breath as I try my hardest to keep my cool now that I feel us touch even more, my breathing a bit quicker and my hand slightly trembling. And of course, that encourages him to scoot even closer to me, practically glued against my side at this point, his knee now fully against my thigh, the warmth of his body now seeping through my own as he leans in to whisper in my ear. 

‘What was that?’ he murmurs, causing a whole flood of fire and… maybe something else to appear in me. His voice is low, deep and clear as it is so close to my hearing, his breath softly stroking the skin of my neck, making a shiver go down my spine. 

‘Nothing, chump boy,’ I then fire and tease back, hiding my little smile behind my cup. He lets out a small chuckle again, his hand slowly moving over towards my thigh, his large and calloused hand gently pressing down against the soft flesh. 

‘Oh, you’re a feisty one,’ he says and I hear his stupid smirk in his voice.

And fuck-just… fuck. His touch has way more effect on it then it should have, and I slightly wiggle underneath his hand to try to subtly get it off me, it being way too intense for me. 

‘I… I just called you by your usual nickname. Nothing new,’ I mumble back in response, my gaze now going to the people in the room, trying to distract myself from his touch and the way he is so close to me, just like his lips still against my ear.

Noah slowly moves his hand upwards on my thigh, gently grasping the supple flesh underneath the fabric of my dress as his hot breath fans against my ear again.

‘I’m not even doing anything, princess,’ he says about my response to his indeed still light touch, leaning in even closer to me, his body now fully and completely pressed against mine. 

I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment, his embrace and the hold he has on me driving me absolutely insane, lighting a fire inside of me that has never met its lighting match before, something I have never experienced before as well.

‘I… completely forgot that I would leave the party, actually,’ I then blurt out, causing his brows to rise. ‘Yeah. Because it’s… boring. And I have better things to do in… my room,’ I then continue, stumbling over my words, my cheeks heating up because I know my excuse is just… lame.

Noah lets out a small and almost amused chuckle again, his free hand now resting on the couch’s backrest, just behind my head. ‘Better things to do in your room, huh?’

My eyes now shoot back to him, slightly widening, scared that I might gave him the wrong idea with that. ‘Which you’re still not invited to, by the way.’

He lets out an amused laugh once again, his hand still firmly grasping my soft and warm thigh. ‘Aww… Why not, princess?’ he says, his stupid cocky smirk on his lips again, his voice having an almost fake and whiny tone to it. ‘Afraid I’ll do something… naughty to you?’

A pang shoots through my stomach, it heating up and fluttering like some crazy butterfly cage is getting opened and they escape out of it, all at once. My eyes widen even more at his words, and I feel myself getting more and more flustered by the second. 

‘N-no, I just… like my privacy,’ I then stammer, my heart hammering into my chest. 

His stupid smirk only grows bigger by seeing how I react to his words, his hand slowly creeping higher and higher up my thigh, his body then practically pinning me against the couch as he leans even closer. He lets out a low and deep chuckle, his breath gently fanning against my ear once again. ‘You sure? You’re getting pretty damn red right now.’

My breath hitches in my throat even more, and I try to swallow the big lump there away, my chest rising up and down as my eyes flicker over his face, still looking so damn attractive with the dim lights now being switched to red again falling over it. 

‘That’s just because of… the alcohol,’ I then squirm as it must be half of the truth though, trying not to let out a whimper because of his hand getting dangerously high on my thigh. 

His eyes grow a little darker as his fingers then slowly draw small circles on my sensitive place, slowly and gently squeezing at the plush and juicy flesh once again. His mouth is still close to my ear, speaking to it again with his smooth and low voice.

‘You sure, though? Looks like you’re flustered as hell right now.’

Panic now rushes through me as well, as I realize he has me exactly where he wants. Even though I like his touch more than I should admit, his fingers still circling on my thigh, making electricity shoot through every inch of my body, I shouldn’t trust his moves, let alone lean into it. Especially when Jolly’s text from earlier today runs through my mind again-what if everything Noah is doing right now is some kind of game to him and his friends? To see who gets ‘nerd girl’ first, a classic story I’ve heard way too many times?

‘I-I should go,’ I then stammer, pushing him off me asI quickly stand up again and stroke my dress neat, making me feel a little light headed because of the alcohol still swimming through my veins, causing me to stumble for a moment, but I catch myself right on time so I can get the hell away from here.

And even though I hear him call back for me behind me, I keep on walking, almost tripping over my own damn sneakers as I try to make my way out of the room, just wanting to get out of here. 

As I keep on walking, and walking, and walking, panic shoots through me even more-I can’t seem to get my way back to my own direction of campus, making me feel lost as I probably walk around in circles at some point. My drunken state doesn’t fucking help with this. 

Tears begin to sting in my eyes, and with a deeply frustrated sigh I just burst through the first door I can find, sending the sky a quick, heartfelt thank you as the random dorm is not locked, so I go inside and shut the door behind me, resting my head against it as my chest is heavily moving up and down.

Great, here I am, in some random ass dorm room of someone, having a damn panic attack. I slowly walk towards a bed I spot and sit down on it, the room still being dark and only being lit up slightly by the street lanterns outside. I burrow my face into my hands as I then let out some quiet sobs, and someway somehow I can’t ignore the scent that his room has, it being oddly familiar for some reason.

After I cried for a little, I guess out of frustration, humiliation and just the alcohol making me feel all my emotions way stronger, I remove my hands off my face, silently cursing at myself as I see mascara stripes on them. Great, that means that my face must be messed up with it, and no way I can leave this room now. At least not until I find something to get it the fuck off my face.

Then, I hear footsteps sounding through the hallway, coming dangerously close, making me panic all over again, biting my lip in distress. Well shit. How the hell do I have to explain to the person that is probably headed to this room why I am here in their room, crying because of a stupid boy, his stupid friends, that stupid slutty Skylar girl and just my stupid self right now? 

The door handle is being turned, and I hear the door now cracking open, making me glad that my back is turned to the door so I can wipe my last tear quickly away with the palm of my hand. 

‘Sorry,’ I sniff, trying to laugh off the situation. Maybe it is funny, but it’s probably just because of alcohol. ‘I’m sorry that I’m just sitting here in your room… It was open, and I just… had to calm down,’ I then further explain to the person. 

‘It’s… It’s alright,’ the person behind me says, still standing beside the door, and my heart seems to stop beating for a moment-it’s the familiar soft voice of Noah talking back to me, making my eyes widen for a moment. Of course. Of course the first room I can find unlocked to calm down… is Noah’s damn room. 

I now slowly turn around, seeing him leaning against the door frame, an amused yet also worried look on his face as his arms are crossed over his chest as usual. He takes me in for a moment, sitting on his bed, his eyes roaming over my mascara covered face. I sigh, and slowly get up to my still slightly unsteady feet.

‘Well, this is not at all embarrassing,’ I then mumble, stroking my dress neat. ‘I’ll… leave you in your room. Sorry.’

Noah lets out a low chuckle with still the same emotions in his eyes, still studying my form with a slight curious look as well. He then slowly pushes himself off the doorframe when I’m about to leave, walking over to me and carefully grabbing my wrist with his fingers. 

‘Hey… wait a moment,’ he softly says, and my eyes look from his grip around my waist back to his eyes again, blinking a little as slight embarrassment is still on my face, but also curiosity now.

He lets out a soft sigh as he sees my gaze flick back to him, his hand still gently and delicately wrapped around my wrist. ‘You’re not leaving just yet,’ he then tells me, his eyes roaming over my mascara smudged face. ‘Sit back down, princess.’

A slight nervous pang fills my stomach as he says that, my heart fluttering again as I hear him giving me that damn nickname again. I then just nod, his fingers slowly releasing my wrist as I slowly sit down back on his bed, causing him to sit down next to me. His eyes take me in again, seeming to hesitate for a moment before he his fingers then gently grab my chin, slowly tilting my head to make me face him completely. My heartbeat hammers just as madly as it did before at the party when we were so close on the couch together.

‘What… What is it?’ I then slowly ask Noah. He gently runs his thumb over the underside of my chin, stroking the soft skin there, starting to wipe the mascara away there. 

‘Why were you crying?’

My nostrils flare up as he asks me that, embarrassment again boiling up all over inside of me like some kind of stupid tea flute. My eyes flicker down as I then softly reply to him. ‘Just… this whole party I guess. It was intense.’

Noah gently tilts my chin up again, so I have no choice but to look at him. ‘What do you mean… intense?’ he asks, his voice having a strangely gentle undertone now, and I don’t understand why he cares so much about my wellbeing now.

I shrug at his question. ‘The attention, I guess… people staring at me… people suddenly noticing me, but not in the way I want.’ I then pause, swallowing as I look at him for a moment. ‘You.’

He lets out a soft sigh and gentle hum, as he hears and sees the way I explain my feelings. ‘Me? What about me?’ he then wants to know, his fingers still gently holding my chin in place.

My goddamn cheeks flush up again, and I swear, at this point I just wish that function of my body didn’t work, and of course his slightly widening grin shows how amused he is by that, as he always is. 

‘Just… You… We-’ I stammer out, not being able to get out a proper sentence for a moment. I then take a deep breath, trying again, as my hands nervously fiddle with the fabric of my dress. ‘You were just… really close to me. And touchy. And stuff.’

He lets out a soft, amused chuckle. ‘And… did you not like the way I was being close… and touchy?’ he asks, his voice having a more teasing tone now.

My eyes now shoot away from him once again, not being able to physically look at him as I answer. ‘I… don’t know…’

Noah tilts his head a little to the side as he looks at me, his smirk widening. ‘You don’t know…? What do you mean, you don’t know?’

I groan in response, now covering my face with both my hands. ‘Because… I don’t know!’ I sigh in frustration. ‘I… never really felt this way before. The way I felt when you touched me, I mean. It’s confusing. It’s new.’

Gently, he places his fingers over my wrist again, pulling my hands away from my face. ‘You’ve never felt this way…?’ he repeats me, his eyes tracing over my face again.

I madly blush at him, as our eyes now lock again, his dark brown eyes glinting in a pretty way in the dark of his room, the street lights reflecting against them. I then slowly shake my head in embarrassment. ‘No. I mean… I know what it means, I guess. But nobody really… made me react that way. Inside.’

A soft sigh escapes from Noah yet again, his fingers still wrapped around my wrists. ‘Nobody… made you react this way?’ he repeats me once again, as he slowly leans in a bit closer to me.

I shake my head at his question, my heart drumming madly at his close movement. His eyes still trace over every part of my face, his eyes lingering on the way I then slightly swallow. 

‘You sure no one else has ever made you this worked up like that before?’ he gently mumbles, his fingers slowly releasing my wrists. 

‘Mhm,’ I squirm in response, my voice coming out all high pitched and cracked because I become a nervous mess by the way his face is so close to me now, almost being able to feel the way he breathes through his nose.

Yes, it’s embarrassing to admit-compared to Noah, I have little to no experience with… intimacy. I have kissed before, not all too wild or exciting or anything, but more than that? Nope.

Once again he grabs the underside of my chin again, forcing me to look up at him again, his eyes gentle yet curious. ‘You’ve kissed before, at least?’ he asks me, his voice almost a whisper now.

‘I-I have,’ I softly respond, now being able to hear my  crazed heartbeat in my own ears at this point. ‘Just not… not…’

Noah watches intently how my cheeks slowly flush again, noticing the way I hesitate on my next words, his eyebrows gently arching as he looks at me silently for a moment, waiting for me to continue. His hands then grab at my thighs now, gently as well, his warm palms touching my skin. ‘Not what, princess?’

I slightly whimper at his touch, a shaky breath escaping from my lips after. ‘I’ve never had sex before,’ I then blurt out, wanting to end myself right here, right now, just jumping out of his window or something, to run away from him-the embarrassment is killing me. 

Noah looks at me for a moment with a look I can’t quite explain, it being too many emotions at once it seems, and that kills me even more. 

‘Never?’ he then repeats after a silence, his voice being a mere whisper now.

‘Never,’ I reply, squeezing my eyes shut as I groan once again. ‘I know, it’s stupid! Like, it’s not that I never wanted to-I mean, I have touched myself many times before-wait-no, forget that, I just-’ I begin blurting out, stuttering over my words, just making it worse for myself, and I feel like the biggest idiot on the planet right now. 

I feel Noah’s grip on my thighs gently getting tighter, and he lets out a quiet chuckle to himself, and I carefully open my eyes again to look at him again. 

‘Forget what now?’ he then asks, his voice having a slightly teasing tone to it now, as his thumbs softly rub the skin of my thighs now.

‘That I just told you I do touch myself. Wait-fuck,’ I then curse, running my hands through my blonde locks in frustration. 

He can’t help but let out a laugh at that, a smirk still on his lips now that he sees I’m getting flustered more and more by my own words. 

‘Why are you flustered about telling me that?’ he then asks, teasingly stroking my thighs again. And his tone, his touch, and the way he looks at me just drives me insane, making it harder for me to focus and stay calm, a new weird kind of sensation stirring through my body all at once.

‘Because… it’s embarrassing to tell you?’ I respond, and it comes out more like a question. His eyes roam over my face for a moment again, before letting another soft laugh escape from his lips again. 

‘Why is it embarrassing to tell me in particular?’ he asks again, his tone being much lower now, and I get both annoyed and flustered by all his questions. My chest slightly rises up and down, feeling heat spreading through my whole body now because of all the damn nerves attacking me. 

‘Because… well… you’re you… and I’m… me. You’re way out of my league, and I am just ‘nerd girl’, your homework tutor, just some girl that must not be interesting or something to you, compared to all the other girls you can get.. that are way better looking than me,’ I respond, my voice becoming softer with each sentence, heart slowly aching at my honest, painful truth. 

Noah’s eyebrows gently furrow into a slight frown as a hint of pain flashes in his eyes. ‘You think I’m… out of your league?’

I let out a confusing, painful laugh, as if the answer to that question isn’t obvious, causing him to frown further somehow. ‘Uhm, yeah,’ I respond, my voice sounding duh-like.

 ‘Like… look at you,’ I then add, waving my hand up and down at him and his body, his gorgeous looks. ‘And then look at me,’ I say, pointing at myself, a sad smile on my face as I then push my glasses back on the bridge of my nose again.

Noah’s eyes slowly roam up and down my whole body again, looking over every part of me before looking in my eyes again. ‘And what do you think I’m seeing?’ he asks me in a soft tone.

‘A boring, too big looking, average girl?’ I answer him, more questioningly, as if the answer is again obvious. The frown in his forehead only gets deeper as I say that. 

‘You think you look… boring? Too big and average?’ he repeats, his voice still being a soft whisper, his frow now being mixed with disbelief. I look at him the same way now, surprised as well, my heart making a slight jump at his words, not really seeing them coming. 

‘Yeah…?’

He gently tightens his grip on my thighs once more, almost forcing me again to keep looking at me, his eyes still inspecting my face. ‘You… really think that you look… average?’

I shrug at his question, as if the answer is obvious-logic, normal, a fact. ‘I mean… Well, yeah. Nobody looks at me for a reason, right?’ I answer him, trying to smile it away, but inside I’m quite hurting. ‘Besides… how could they, I guess. I’m like, what? Twice the size of more than half of the girls walking around here?’ I mumblingly add.

Noah can’t seem to help but wince slightly as I talk again, hearing how I explain my answer to him. His eyes are tracing over me for a moment before he speaks.

 ‘Is that… really what you think?’

‘It’s not what I think… it’s what I know,’ I quietly answer him, it being an unchangeable fact in my mind at this point throughout the years.

His dark brown eyes keep gently stare back in my eyes for a few long moments before he speaks back. ‘May I ask you something?’

I slowly nod at him, feeling my heart slowly beginning to sink and ache more and more, because this topic is quite painful for me. His warm hands slowly rub up and down my skin, before he asks me his question.

‘Have you… ever looked in the mirror and thought that you’re pretty?’

I laugh at his question, it somehow being my first response, but when I see his face looking serious with his question, I quickly stop, swallowing. 

‘I don’t know… I mean… maybe? Does finding myself looking acceptable for the day count?’

He continues to softly and gently rub my thighs up and down, as if he is trying to comfort me through this conversation. ‘So you’ve never thought to yourself… that you’re pretty?’

I shrug, nervously fumbling with the edge of my dress once again, my eyes looking down at it again, the question being a little too confronting. I feel Noah gently but firmly grab my chin with the fingers of his other hand, forcing me to look up at him once again. 

‘Demi, I want an answer, please,’ he softly says, and the way he uses my actual name makes it clear that he takes our conversation seriously. I sigh deeply, getting frustrated by his questions, but most of all because I know I find them hard to answer, because the honest truth can come out-the truth I always try to bury and push away, like it’s fine, like it’s nothing and unimportant. 

‘Maybe not really for a really, really long time, no.’

His thumb now softly runs along my chin now, his other hand continuing to grip my thigh. ‘Why not?’

‘Because… I just, I don’t know. I feel insecure because I don’t see a lot of girls here, or just in general, like me-’ I pause to look up and down at my body, ‘getting a lot… positive attention. Compliments, love, like the way skinnier girls do. Or just… girls who find their education important here. Actually wanting to go somewhere with their life then partying and hooking up every night, because if you don’t you get called a prude or what not. Only when you show skin and are reckless, you seem to get attention from someone-from boys,’ I softly explain, his intense gaze still on me as he listens.

‘It makes me feel like I don’t fit in because of something so stupid, illogical, like that. Like, I am more than the body underneath this stupid dress,’ I then add with a loud, frustrated sigh, tugging at the fabric. ‘It’s stupid that I, as a plus sized girl, only gets to feel important as a boy finally does look my way when I decide to show more skin for example. Like I wasn’t interesting before that, or didn’t matter.’

As he then just looks at me when I am done talking with a even deeper frown, I feel my cheeks heat up for the millionth fucking time this evening, making me quickly stand up from his bed.

‘Yeah, I know, it all sounds stupid,’ I sadly laugh as I wipe a few tears away that seemed to have escaped, nervously starting to pace around his room after.

Noah stands up as well, staying a few feet away from me, his eyes following me silently, almost as if he’s afraid to approach me right now. 

‘It’s not stupid,’ he then quietly mutters.

His words slowly make me stand still, looking a little taken back at him, my heart making a little warm jump.

‘It’s… not?’

He takes a small step closer to me, his eyes staying locked with mine. He frowns a little at my words, gently shaking his head. ‘It’s not,’ he assures me again. 

Then, he slowly reaches his arms out towards me, inviting me into his embrace. ‘Come here,’ he instructs me softly. 

I look him up and down, a bit unsure, as if I have to ask him with my eyes for a moment that he is sure that he wants to hug me. He silently nods at me, looking at me like he is hurting for me that I have to feel this way, also with a pleading look to close the distance between me and him. 

‘Please,’ Noah adds in a soft tone.

My heart slowly melts at that, it then swelling up with warmth as I slowly let him wrap his muscular, tattooed arms around me, doing the same with my own arms around his body. First, I still feel a little unsure, but then slowly relax when his embrace feels safe, genuine and… comforting. 

Noah then suddenly also nuzzles his face into the crook of my neck, pressing his soft lips against the skin for a moment before speaking up again, making my heart nearly explode and pound madly at that. 

‘You’re not stupid for feeling that way, sweetheart,’ he mumbles against my skin. I silently nod at his words, feeling way too overwhelmed to be able to get a single word out. He tightens his grip around me even more after that, slowly pulling away from my neck, lifting his head a bit to look down at me again.

‘I want you to know that I think you’re gorgeous, Demi,’ he tells me softly, his now  warm and gentle eyes not looking away from mine. 

My eyes soften and glint with both flattery and sadness at that, almost with disbelief as he tells me that. 

‘Really?’ I stammer, and I swear to God, if he is messing with me right now…

Noah already quickly reassures me by slowly lifting up one of his hands and resting it on my cheek, gently stroking my skin with his thumb. ‘I’m serious,’ he mutters quietly. I slowly lean into the touch of his warm hand, it being soft and welcoming.

He gently cups my cheek, his brown eyes continuing staring  into my soft ones. ‘I mean it. You’re gorgeous,’ he reassures me once more, his voice being a low, soft, almost gentle murmur. 

I can’t help but feel myself tear up again, his words touching me, especially since they sound more honest and truthful than anyone ever has when telling me something like that. It almost seems unreal to me-standing in the arms of Noah himself, the most popular guy on campus, in his room, as he tells me that I am gorgeous. 

I can see at the way he looks at me now that he can tell how much his words touch me, as if he knows that I do not hear this very often, and it almost looks like his own heart seems to ache at it as well, just like mine does. 

‘You are gorgeous, you are with no kidding the most gorgeous girl I’ve ever seen,’ he mutters softly, continuing to caress my skin slowly, and I can’t help but let out a soft laugh at that now, shaking my head in disbelief.

‘I’m sorry, I just… find that so hard to believe. Like, you can get anyone, yet you are here with me in your room… while a party from Jolly is outside your door,’ I mumble, not even believing the whole scenario myself. 

‘I’ve seen some of the most pretty girls around here and in the world myself, and they don’t even come close to how beautiful you are to me. And frankly, I’d rather spend my evening in here with you, than out there with some of those stupid girls,’ he answers me, gently nuzzling his head into the crook of my neck again, pressing his lips against my skin once more, leaving me almost breathless as I slowly flutter my eyes shut, letting out a needy sigh before I can even stop myself. 

Noah lets out a low, almost inaudible groan when he hears my little sound, then softly begins to pepper kisses along the skin of my neck as if he already knows how much I enjoy the feeling, his body slowly coming to press against mine even more. The intensity nearly makes me choke for a second, the sensation shooting right to my core, causing another needy whine to leave my lips. God, what is even happening?

His hands slowly find their way lower, moving from my waist to slowly grip my hips instead, holding my body close to his even more. His lips trail down to my collar bone, beginning to slowly yet roughly kiss the skin, making me gasp. 

‘N-Noah,’ I stammer through his kisses, my legs starting to shake underneath his touch. ‘What… What are you doing?’

I feel him smirk against my skin, and he kisses his way back up to my neck, beginning to carefully suck on my skin now. ‘You just sound and look so good right now princess,’ he groans into my neck, causing a full on moan to leave my lips now, holding onto his muscular body even tighter, scared that I will fall through my goddamn shaky knees if I don’t do so. Is this really happening? Am I really letting this happen? Is Noah really feeling the mutual attraction to me too?

[causenessus]

binary stars

part 0.05. intros. OIKAWA'S EMOTIONAL SUPPORT GROUP

NOW FEATURING...

THE STAR AND HIS PLANETS ‧₊˚✩彡

oikawa tooru .°˖✧

seijoh’s volleyball captain and distant uncle of the team (most certainly not a co-parent). did not realize that what he felt for y/n was romantic until their first year in secondary school when she tried to distance herself and now he feels stupid. whenever he needs to be put in his place (e.g. after leading on another girl too much) he can always count on iwa to talk him down and remind him about how badly he’s messed up </3 currently pining after y/n without making it obvious because he’s scared of ruining what they have in case y/n doesn’t like him the same way back - follows y/n's private on his main and private in case she ever decides to give him a second chance </3 - known for unfollowing people when he wants to say something without someone in specific knowing (e.g. ranting about the one sided mental war he's fighting with kenma inside his head without kuroo knowing). once he feels that his point has been made, he'll delete the post and follow the person again so that they can see his private (y/n uses this and the picture he leaked as reason for why she's never letting him back onto her private when in reality they're just excuses to be able to indirectly post about him without him ever knowing)

FEATURING...

iwaizumi hajime & bokuto koutaro .°˖✧

iwa-chan

co-parenting seijoh with y/n. also their ace and vice captain. will have an aneurysm if neither tooru nor y/n make a move on each other. he loves y/n but he will only be able to handle oikawa for so much longer. maybe he’d be able to last if he got to go to y/n’s girls nights more but that’s kuroo’s role while he has to attend tooru’s boys nights as his best man. he’s feeling a little bit like atlas rn but he knows it’ll be worth it in the end (if they ever get to the end).

bokuto

FUKURODANI’S ACE !!! found his way into the solar system after a practice match between fukoridani and seijoh. he could tell immediately that something was up between their manager and captain. he had fun getting to know oikawa and felt like he had seen their manager before. bo talked it over with akaashi, asking him if he felt like there was something going on between seijoh’s manager and captain. akaashi nodded and then was shocked when he fully processed how socially aware bo was being. he then answered bo that yes, he had seen their manager before because she was good friends with kuroo. after that, he knew who to talk to in order to get the details ❤️ his entrance into the gc went as follows: oikawa: why was bokuto just added to the gc kuroo: he would like to speak for himself your honor bokuto: I KNOW YOUR SECRET

FEATURING...

matsukawa issei & hanamaki takahiro .°˖✧

mattsun

seijoh’s middle blocker and one of five third years. him and makki are just there for a good time, and watching essentially four people and a few more distant people try and manage the mutual pining of two idiots who might as well be blind qualifies as entertaining. he’s taken it upon himself to maintain the mental stability of the team whenever oikawa’s messes up and sends y/n through the five stages of grief--starting with setting up the net for the team

makki

seijoh’s outside hitter and one of five third years. is thinking that perhaps him and mattsun should get onto the trend of co-parenting and adopting someone. they’ve assumed the role of the grandparents that seijoh’s team has to put up with whenever y/n or iwa are out of commission LMAO both him and mattsun usually get oikawa’s side of the story but sometimes they work together to try and fit the vague, out-of-context tweets on y/n’s private into the puzzle of oikawa’s stories

not featured:

kuroo tetsuro </3

currently undercover for y/n but he can’t complain. is still good friends with oikawa and as a result hears about a lot of his feelings in their groupchat but when it comes down to it he’s on y/n’s side. neither oikawa nor y/n realize how much information both iwa and kuroo have because they’re good at what they do. kuroo’s trying his best to alleviate iwa’s stress as he continues to watch the disaster of miscommunication occur between his two childhood friends that's been happening since they were kids

full picture of what oikawa posted to his private bc unfortunately it's not an upside down dick </3

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[imthepunchlord]

Just wondering, how do you feel about Marinette keeping Gabriel's identity a secret from Adrien in the S5 finale of Miraculous?

Be mindful, I didn't watch it, so I'm answering with limited details that's just based around what I've gathered from hearing and seeing from the fandom.

And I will give it, I do think that is something Marinette would do. She is someone who has a history of doing things for others for their own happiness, like her cheating to help Nino in Anansi, or her stealing Alya's phone to rerecord a video she accidentally deleted a video recording of Ladybug.

I can see her thinking that she shouldn't tell Adrien this, that this would upset him. She's paid attention to him for 5 whole seasons, she knows how much he loves his dad. So the choice I feel is in character.

But I do hate that she's even in that position at all.

I hate that Adrien's in a position of never being involved in his own plot.

Seriously, what's the point of him being the son of Hawk Moth if he's never going to be in conflict with his dad? If he's never going to find out? We got all that built up angst and no pay off. It feels like we had our time wasted with Adrien being the son of HM. They did nothing with it.

And it's bonkers as you can do something with it.

You got your angst options:

Adrien is going to fully commit to being a hero he was chosen to be and him and his father will be enemies

Gabriel reveals to him what he's trying to do, and Adrien now has a chance to have his mom back, and he joins his father

You got your hopeful Agreste family option: take the route that the movie did, Gabriel realized his son is Chat Noir and he's like, oh no, I can't hurt my own son. And so he stops. Technically happy ending but they're going to need some family therapy.

And you got your comedic route, playing off that HM is meant to be a campy villain instead of a serious one: Adrien finds out, and he just doesn't know what to do, so he doesn't do anything but try to appeal to his father's goodness, just as Gabriel is trying to appeal to Adrien to join him. But neither of them get anywhere, and it delves into them getting passive aggressive with each other, especially as for once, Adrien has some power in this household as he can out his dad's the villain. Adrien drops little hints about his dad not being so great or toes the line of making the Agrestes look bad, and Gabriel starts sending akumas out during major tests or when Adrien has plans to hang out with friends. And they just proceed to annoy each other until it escalates outside family.

And look. That's four options on what they could've done with Adrien finding out his dad is HM. Mindful, some of these do mean they needed to pick a lane with Gabriel, on what sort of villain he is, does he love his son or not; but defining Gabriel as a character would've been better for the show.

[pleaseitsjustrae0nly]

Can you please do a Lloyd X reader Lloyd has full control over his Oni form and he gives the reader big cuddles in private so no other ninja knows about the big cuddling because Lloyd lock his door so no one interworks the cuddling jay manage to take a photo of Lloyd and the reader cuddling and jay send the photo to garmadon and Lloyd ended up chasing jay till the reader calm him down (in this au not only does Garamond not sacrifice him self but he still has his Oni form and the other ninjas know about Lloyd Oni form and this take place a month after crystallized and when Lloyd chase jay Lloyd turns back into his human form this is just pure fluff)

Hey uhm, this request is quite similar to another post I saw before. So I will be changing it up a little, hope that's okay!

So? Is it a crime to cuddle?

A Lloyd x gn! Reader. Uses They/them, fluff, and slight swearing.

"ughhh, my neck is so sore...." your blonde baby moaned as he entered your room. You looked up from your sketchbook and smiled, "Oh? Why's that?", "No clue, but I feel like shit." he answers as he falls face first into your soft bed. "Why is your bed softer than mine?" he muffled through your douve, "No clue, maybe it's because i use a different mattress than yours?" You stood from your seat and plopped right next to his head.

"Cuddles?" you ask softly, caressing his soft locks. He then proceeds to stand and began to turn into his oni form. "Make some room sweetheart." he placed you on top of him and wrapped all four of his arms around you.

You snuggled into his chest, you didn't mind when he cuddled in his human form. But one night he was so upset he couldn't calm down and turned into his oni form, it was an accident but before he could leave to blow off steam, you offered to cuddle him in that state. He was hesitant, but it was you.

Overtime, he started gaining control over his form, which then resulted in the both of you making a deal. He would ONLY cuddle you in his oni form when either the both of you were upset or stressed, AND in private.

But something was itching your brain, like something was missing. The answer was given to you when you heard the *snap* of a camera. "JAY?! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE?!" Lloyd Sits up, still holding you, "I WAS GONNA TELL YOU GUYS DINNER WAS READY, BUTTTT I SEE SOMETHING WAS GOING ON~"

"YOU LITTLE- I'M GONNA KILL YOU! DELETE THAT RIGHT NOW!" he immediately got up and ran after Jay while he was screaming. You started laughing at the two, when a ping came from your phone. It was Lloyd's father...

"Please protect my son, also tell him to meet me outside tomorrow. He has some explaining to do."

Oh boy was your oni in for it. You could practically hear Jays scream from the other side of the monastery, followed by other screams. You got up and decided to defuse the situation and tell lloyd about his father.

After some time, and during dinner...

It was silent, too silent. Usually Kai would be talking about something, or even Jay, but tonight, no words were uttered. "Ahem, so Lloyd. What was this evening's chase about?" Master Wu asked his nephew carefully. "...ask Jay since he likes intruding." he spat back, placing a slice of duck in his mouth.

"Well, Jay?", "I DIDN'T KNOW HE WAS IN THERE I SWEAR! AND I DID KNOCK YOU KNOW!" he yells, crossing his arms at the end of his statement. Lloyd just rolled his eyes and kept eating, "Before I forget, lloyd your dad knows too." You said, while cutting cutting your sweet potatoes. "...HE WHAT? JAY-", "WAITWAITWAIT! I SENT IT TO THE GROUP CHAT! NOT GARMADON!" everyone started looking at each other when zane stated that they did not receive a message from him in the groupchat. "Well you did, he sent me a text. You need to meet him outside tomorrow Lloyd."

He then rested his head on top of the table, grumbling. "I didn't mean to send it to your dad lloyd, really! I must have clicked the wrong contact..." he mumbled back something but no one understood. Master Wu just sighed and just told everyone to head to bed and leave the clean up for tomorrow since it has been a long evening.

Tomorrow has arrived and Lloyd was standing next to you rubbing his eyes and yawning. You both were half asleep, when he got a call from his dad telling him he'll be there in 10 minutes. Which resulted in the both of you quickly getting up and rushing to get ready.

"Did he really have to meet this early..." your boyfriend grumbled as he placed his head on top of yours. "Well, your dad's unpredictable. No clue what he'll do next.", "That's what she said." you jabbed him lightly in response when you finally saw the ex-lord of evil's helmet appear.

"Good morning you two." he said, smiling. You smiled while Lloyd just grumbled a tired good morning in return. "First of all, please be safe when using the oni form during those intimate moments, and two, I never knew you could control your form Lloyd.", "Is it a crime to cuddle how we want, father?" he asked, slightly glaring at his father.

"That's not what I'm saying, just be careful in that form alright?" he said sighing. Lloyd nodded, "Well, i've been practicing.", "Well, let's practice together." you smiled as you felt Lloyd nodded at his father's proposal.

⁛⁘⁛

"Now that wasn't so bad was it Lloyd?" "I guess so..."

[nightlyrequiem]

The Canary Cage

Chapter 9. Humbled

Masterlist AO3 Next Previous

w/c- 2,381

One meeting in a dingy bar on the cheap side of town. One sighting of you. The raw sadness in your eyes drew Valeria in. A parasite attracted to the taste of your tears. She'll chew you up and spit you out, but what she doesn't realise is you bite back.

A/N: I know what I'm doing! I swear! Things will start getting real next chapter... just wait... That's when the story REALLY starts. Also don't worry. There will NOT be a love triangle.

Tags/Warnings: Tags Will Be Updated as Story Progresses, WLW, Mental Illness, Unhealthy Relationships, Inclusion of some original characters, Angst, Violence, Referenced Self-Harm, On-Screen Self Harm, A Healthy Amount of Self-Hatred

༺☆༻༺☆༻༺☆༻༺☆༻

The sky opens up with a deafening crack. Seconds later a torrent of rain begins to batter the ground. Lightening momentarily lights up your room in shades of white and purple and you count the seconds until the inevitable thunder to follows. You count to fifteen before it comes. You roll onto your side. Completely wide awake. Not any more tired then you were four hours ago.

Regret has finally set in. Two weeks too late to matter. Your mind has been running itself in circles trying to figure out ways to fix the problem you've created for yourself. The one option that keeps crawling back to the front of it like a pest is groveling. Going back on your word. It's the most obvious choice. But each time it rears its head you shove it away violently.

There is another, less opportune choice. You wonder if Valeria has scared Erin away. If she's still serious about wanting you back, you could go to her for help. 

Crack!

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Lightning. She's a low level drug dealer, sure, and probably not much of a match for whatever the older woman has going on. But you're pretty sure she's running with a gang of some kind.

You roll onto your other side and press your knee against the wall to feel its coolness. But Erin is a problem in herself. She's fickle. Unreliable. She's proved as much. She got bored of you then got bored of the girl she cheated on you with. She's not a long-term solution. But she's a start.

Getting into contact with Erin is challenging. You blocked and deleted her number the second you broke up with her for good, and you don't have it memorized. You have to bite the bullet and go to her home. The house is small and surrounded by a deteriorating chain-link fence. The dry grass is dappled with puddles from last night's rainstorm.

You look over your shoulder, paranoid that you're being watched. You shake off those feelings. You're not important enough to be watched. Though unlike all the other times you have to say this to yourself, this time may have some merit considering recent events. You grimace and shake your head. There's no time to ponder. You walk up the walkway and raise a hand to knock on the door.

You wait. Hating every second. Waiting for someone to come to the door has always felt like a humiliation ritual. If no one answers then you'll have to turn around and walk back home. You imagine someone seeing that and then angrily force yourself to stop. Nobody is looking at you. You still shift self-consciously.

Muted footsteps draw closer, and you straighten. Locks are fiddled with then the door opens, and Erin looks out at you.

"Hey... what are you doing here?" She asks. She sounds guarded. Your mouth feels dry.

"I need help, Erin. I think I messed up." Without warning your voice breaks and the flood starts. Ashamed of your weakness you turn hide your head in your hands. It's not like she's never seen you cry before. She's had to deal with your emotional outbursts on the regular. But it never becomes any less humiliating.

Erin resumes her role of the comforter. Pulling you close and wrapping her arms around you. You didn't even realize that this whole thing with Valeria was affecting you so badly. It takes close to thirty minutes for you to finally calm down enough to explain everything to Erin. You being fired, walking in on the murder, aiding a worker's strike, and flat out refusing to pay her bullshit protection fee.

Erin listens to everything patiently. Nodding every once in a while. By the end your shoulders feel much lighter.

"She tried to threaten me, too." She tells you.

"I thought she would. She doesn't want you near her bar." You wipe your eyes.

"Or you." She says, running a hand through her hair. "Couple of days ago I ran into her at a different bar and she practically threatened to shoot me if I didn't keep away from you." Erin mutters. She looks at you carefully. "Are you and her...?" 

You widen your eyes. "No! God no." You snap. "I can't stand her." You shake your head. You wonder how many other people think you're with Valeria. The thought sends your heart racing with panic.

You force yourself to relax. 

"I need your help." You say, wanting to get to the point. "We're not together, I know. You have no reason to help me, but I'm scared, and I don't know what else to do." You wait for Erin's response with bated breath. You're convinced she's going to send you away. Erin's hand gently rests on top of yours.

"You know I'll help you." She murmurs. Frowning at you deeply. "I'm going to make things up to you."

A painfully familiar feeling threatens to swell up before you stomp it down. You don't want to let Erin get too close again. 

"Thank you." You say, slumping with relief.

Erin had promised to speak to a few of her friends, telling you not to worry at all. You let yourself fall back into the habit of letting her handle everything. It makes going into work the next night less stressful. You feel light as a feather. You're filled with a renewed energy. A freight train of determination. Your mind isn't on the song you're singing but rather new plans you're beginning to form.

Hopeful thoughts flood in at the flip of a switch and chase out the fears and worries that had been crowding your mind. You'll start saving up. Forty each paycheque and once you have about three thousand dollars, you'll move from Las Almas. Start a new life somewhere. Maybe in Europe. Images of ancient, elegant buildings flash through your mind tantalizingly. Dangling before you like a carrot on a stick. You'll start anew. A place where you can't be followed by the ghosts of your past because ghosts can only haunt the places they died in.

You confidently stride off the stage and go towards the bar. Plopping down and waving down Arlo.

"Vodka, please." You tell him. He pauses.

"I thought you didn't drink?" He replies, raising a brow. Hot irritation spills over you, sharpening your words more than necessary. 

"You're not paid to think." You snap at him. Your irritation simmers down into guilt at the hurt look in his eyes. He nods and turns away. In a few minutes you have a shot in front of you.

Under the smell of grease of smoke you smell the citrusy scent of your drink. The clear liquid deceivingly water-coloured. A small voice in the back of your mind warns you against taking it because you can never stop at just one. But you ignore it because if it wants to be listened to it should be louder.

You down the shot. Grimacing at the trail of fire it leaves down your throat. Fabric rustles beside you as someone sits down. You glance to the side, seeing a man.

"You're a good singer." He says, offering a friendly smile. "I come here all the time and each time you're singing I just have to take a second to enjoy it."

His high praise rings false in your ears. 

"Thank you." You reply. Hoping your disinterested tone gives him the hint.

It doesn't.

"Want another one?" He gestures towards your empty shot glass. "It's on me." He doesn't wait for you to confirm before he's already digging out his wallet.

"No, thanks." 

"No? Shame. I was hoping that'd work. I've been trying to work up the courage to talk to you for a while." He says. He leans against the bar top. "You got a man?"

You hesitate for a second. "Yeah." 

"He here right now?" He asks, looking around with what he probably assumes is a charming little grin.

You roll your eyes, feeling your agitation flare up like an acne spell. This man couldn't take a hint if it smacked him upside the head spoke slowly and clearly.

"No."

He looks at you. 

"Shame." He says, not sounding at all disappointed. "I dated a girl that did bar gigs. I made sure to show up to every one."

"Hm." You don't want to be rude. It's not a crime to show interest. But his inability to tell that you aren't interested is grating your nerves.

Despite your very clear disinterest, the man continues to try and strike up conversations with you. Every time you let one die, he just starts a new one. You finally have enough.

'Listen, that's great and all, but I'd like to be left alone." You say firmly. His smile falters.

"I'm just being friendly." He says firmly. "Am I not allowed to be friendly?"

He's not just being friendly. You know it, and he knows it. His excuse falls flat because nobody buys a stranger a drink under the pretense of 'being friendly.'

"Am I not allowed to want to be alone?" You retort. "Go be friendly somewhere else."

He glares at you. "You're not pretty enough to be this big of a bitch, you know." He tells you. Condescension and mocking drips form each word.

You clench your jaw and turn to face him fully. 

"You don't have enough hair to be talking to me." You snipe. 

"Watch your mouth." He snaps. 

Exhilaration floods through you. You hope he swings at you. "Or what?" You taunt. He's not that big of a man. You could take him. You imagine the feeling of your fist colliding with his face. Throwing him to the ground and beating him until he's unrecognizable. Even then, those fantasies aren't enough to quell the fire in your blood. The unquenchable rage in your heart.

He stares you down before standing and turning away. Disappointment cuts you like a claw. 

"Yeah, walk away. Pussy." You mutter just loud enough for him to hear. You didn't even mean to say it, it just blurted from your lips. He whirls around and you don't get the chance to duck before his fist cracks the side of your head. It throws you off the stool and onto the ground. The pain is so much heavier than you imagined. A sharp blow to your ribs sends you sprawling. Instead of taking out your hatred on him and taking him down like you thought, all you do is raise your hands to feebly protect your face.

Just as fast as the punches started, they stop. The bouncer is hauling off the kicking, thrashing man.

"Don't let me catch you on your own, bitch! I know you take the bus!" His voice lingers even after he's dragged out of sight. People crowd you, asking if you're okay. Their voices blend together into an undecipherable mess. You hurt all over. 

It completely crushes the untouchable, strong image you had of yourself. You just laid there and took it. You tremble, and the people around you assume it's from shock and fear instead of the burning fury you're feeling. You feel so helpless. Someone grabs your arm and helps you up. You're in the bar, then you're in the lounge. Women flit around you.

"Are you okay?"

"What an asshole."

"You're not bleeding, I think you're okay."

"What happened?"

Their voices stop when someone else enters the room. Short, quiet words are exchanged then you're left alone. Valeria kneels down to look at you. She doesn't look concerned but rather curious.

"What happened?" She asks you. Staring you right in the eye. You focus on her, snapping back into your head.

"I got my shit rocked." You say plainly. Could be worse. Your chest hurts and you have a headache from when he punched you, but nothing feels broken.

"So I was told. What happened?" She asks again. "Pushy man that couldn't take no for an answer?" 

Something like that. "Yeah." You nod. "I called him a pussy when he tried walking away."

Valeria's brows raise. Your agitation spikes at what looks like amusement flashing across her face.

"And then he swung at you?" She guesses.

"Yeah."

"I'll ban him from the bar." She decides. Standing with a grunt. "I can't have people attacking my workers. In the meantime, stop provoking people when you can't defend yourself." She says sternly, giving you a long look. You scowl at the ground. You can't even offer a rebuttal, you can't defend yourself.

You leave work and wait at the bus stop. Your head remains on a swivel, keeping watch for that man. His threat echos in your ears. Better not catch you alone, I know you take the bus. You reassure yourself that you can easily run back to the Canary Cage if you see him. But even that thought doesn't soothe you completely. And when a dark blue car pulls up in front of you, you can't stop your heart or mind from racing.

The window rolls down, revealing an older man. You stare back warily.

"Hey, you a friend of Dolly?" He calls out. You eye him suspiciously. What's it to him if you are? "Um, I've seen her around here a lot. I'm one of her... regulars. We usually meet every Monday but she hasn't been to our meeting spot and I haven't seen her around at all." He explains. You realize that it's been awhile since you've seen her either. The last time being when you gave her your coat.

"I haven't seen her in at least two weeks." You tell him. Her absence makes you uneasy but she's probably laying low with someone. It wouldn't be the first time she's disappeared off the face of the Earth on a bender. 

"Oh. Okay then." The man replies reluctantly. He stares at you for a few more seconds before rolling his window back up and pulling off. You watch him drive off and tenderly touch your head in thought. Pressing on the bruise from the punch. There are too many things to think about and it's starting to weigh on you heavily. You can't remember what you're supposed to be thinking about first.

[polyamorousmood]

Hi! I kind of don't know where else to go about this, but I've seen other people come to you with their.. idk, problems? concerns. i don't know. I was hoping you could lend an ear and offer some advice as well, but no worries if you want to ignore/delete this and move on.

So, my QPP consists of me, my best friend who is I think the closest thing to a soulmate I'll ever have, their partner who is a very close friend of mine, and someone I have been in love with for literal years despite the fact they've turned me down three times already. I am genuinely happy to have all of them in my life like this, and the four of us are practically inseparable at this point. I mean, as long as the two actual romantic parts of the square don't break up, knock on wood, the four of us have all started planning our futures around each other we're that level of close.

But, my issue is I am still incredibly unfathomably in love with person c, and he's recently realized something about himself that he's probably aroace, and he's not comfortable being in a real relationship with me (despite calling each other husband and wife for 5+ years) I think because he doesn't want to hurt me. And I realized something about myself recently as well, that no matter how happy I am in this platonic quad, I still want to be romantically loved. I want to go on dates, someday I want to get married, and I know I'm happy where I am but I would be lying if I said I was content. I don't want to give up on these dreams, or pretend it doesn't bother me anymore, but I don't know how to go about seeking out a romance partner in a qpp, especially while I have whatever weird situationship I have going with my "husband".

And I don't know how to bring it up to them without sounding selfish? I don't want to force any of them into pretending they have to love me, or try to reassure me or anything. Genuinely, I am happy for C and I am glad he's happy how he is. And I am happy being his friend and platonic life partner. I just want to find a person who will love me the way I want to be loved without coming off as horrible.

Sorry this is all just rambling, and doesn't even really make sense. I'm really bad with emotions and it's something I've been trying to work on now that I'm out of an abusive situation, but I don't really know how to describe my problem other than word vomit and pray you get what I mean.

Hi friend. I'm sorry your stressing. This is definitively one of those things that can feel intimidating and pressing. But its also one of those things that can only be addressed by the de facto slogan of polyamory:

🗣️You just gotta fucking talk about it!🗣️

The exact best wording will depend on your polycule's situation. There's not any sort of golden bullet for ensuring the conversation goes the way you want, but I did an extensive write up of general communication advice as part of this post.

I think you're well within your rights to pose the question "so how would y'all feel about me dating someone else?" and go from there. Having said that, I'd come prepared to talk about how that would affect your relationship with the 'cule. What immediately comes to mind for me is"

Would you even consider "leaving them" for a romantic relationship? 💔

Would you stay close with them, but move out to live with your romantic partner if that's what your romantic partner wanted? 🏘️

Would you expect your romantic partner to be able to move in with your current QPR polycule when all that gets worked out? 🏠

Would you want a significant amount of alone time with the romantic partner that would cut into the QPPs' 🛋️ time?

How would you manage it if your romantic partner wanted a lot of alone time? 🍝💐💑 How would you balance it?

What do you do if your romantic partner and (one of) your QPPs don't really get along? 😤

No, seriously. How much time is everyone spending all together? What happens if I new person doesn't vibe with the group? (there are many answers to this question. I don't care what your answer is, but you should let new people know they play a big role in your life and what sorts of concessions you'd be willing to consider)

A lot of these are impossible to fully answer right now. But you should at minimum be able to reassure your QPPs of your level of commitment, if they need it (and they may not!)

That's it though. All of this boils down to just talk to them about it

I know its scary. But they love you. Don't make it into a Big Huge Problem in your head.