#I’ve been working on this on and off for two weeks

[fayerie]

you’d been dodging him all day.

a door closed gently in the morning, an excuse at lunch that even you didn’t believe. you drifted through your home like mist, choreographing your disappearance with practiced steps - ducking around corners, shrinking into silence each time you caught the rustle of his newspaper or the soft clink of his watch as he adjusted it for the third time.

you wore invisibility like a cloak, moving as a ghost through the rooms you used to share with ease.

because your skin had betrayed you again - four angry blemishes rising red and bright across your cheek and jaw, blooming like a constellation born to shame you.

it wasn’t the worst you’d had, sure. but it was enough to make you recoil from the mirror, to keep your face turned away, to lower your face when nanami passed too close.

you couldn’t bear to let him see you like this.

not with the wedding two weeks away, not when the final fitting was tomorrow. not when he was the nanami kento - precise, composed, impossibly, effortlessly elegant - and you felt like a child masquerading in grown woman skin, unraveling just when you should have been most beautiful.

you braced for the change, waited for it like rain preparing to ripple through the clouds, for the shift in his gaze, the falter in his tone, for the quiet moment where his warmth would begin to dim as the fading sunset, and the words you’d feared might surface:

this isn’t working, i didn’t sign up for this, maybe we rushed things.

but of course, he never said any of that - instead, he let you vanish until dinner, when you padded back to the bedroom with a bowl of noodles and a bruised kind of shame, closing the door like it could keep your insecurities contained.

half an hour later, it opened.

you were curled cross legged on the bed, hoodie drawn up over your mouth like a veil, the ceramic bowl empty on the nightstand.

nanami stepped inside with the quiet certainty of a man who never needed to raise his voice to be heard, to be seen. he closed the door behind him. the silence shifted.

you stilled, your eyes stayed low: fixed on the wall in front of you. your shame flared redder than your skin.

“i’m only going to ask once,” he said, voice calm accompanied by the kind of steadiness that cuts through any lie you could form. “are you avoiding me because of a breakout?”

your heart stuttered.

you didn’t answer, just sank deeper into the hoodie, into the fabric, into yourself. the sting behind your eyes crept closer to the surface.

he sighed - not with anger, but with weariness. the kind born not of frustration with you, but with the invisible wall you’d built between you both. with the absurd, aching notion that a few angry patches on your skin could shift the foundation of his love for you.

“darling,” he said, the word felt like gravity sucking you into him.

you heard his steps, slow and deliberate, as he crossed the room. felt the bed dip beneath his weight, his hand reached up and gently tugged the hoodie from your face. you turned away of course, instinct as sharp as breath.

but his palm found your jaw, and turned you back, “no,” he murmured. “let me see you.”

you hesitated, then lifted your eyes.

he saw everything - the irritated pink, the heat of humiliation, the unshed tears clinging to your lashes like dew. and in return, gave you no wince. no judgment. just his gaze - gentle, grounded - and his thumb, brushing reverently over the most inflamed of the blemishes.

“i’ve seen you exhausted,” he said. “in pain. crying. afraid. do you really think something as small as this would ever make me hesitate?”

you tried to laugh. it came out watery, brittle.

“kento… don’t say that. it’s not just a breakout. it’s me, i always fall apart before big things happen, and you’re… you. i thought maybe you’d-”

“call it off?” he offered, a brow lifting, eyes calm, you nodded, breath catching, gaze falling.

for a moment, he was quiet.

then, softly, he muttered, “unbelievable.”

you flinched - when he leaned in and pressed his lips to your cheek, to the angriest mark on your face. a kiss - comforting.

“kento -”

“again,” he said, kissing the blemish near your jaw. “and again.”

you squirmed, laughter startled and sharp, pushing at his chest. your face burned now for a different reason.

“stop -!”

“no,” he said, finally brushing his lips against yours. “i’ll stop when you understand this: i didn’t choose you because you were flawless. i chose you because you’re you. skin and all. hormones and all. all of it.”

your heart ached. the kind of ache that cracked you open just enough to breathe as if a weight has been lifted off your chest.

he exhaled, softer now, and pulled you into his arms. folded you beneath his chin, like something precious, something sacred.

“you’re marrying me in two weeks,” he murmured into your hair. “don’t run from me again, sweetheart. i’m not going anywhere.”

you nodded, a sound caught in your throat, small and raw, your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt like roots into earth.

divider by @/cafekitsune // art by ThisUserIsAngry on twt // not proofread.

[solivagant-1]

⋆˙⟡ Let the Light In ⟡˙ ⋆

Ch 1: First Meet

Characters: Rumi x fem!reader

Synopsis: You’re the new assistant manager to Huntr/x. Follows the events of canon.

A/N: Honestly didn’t think I’d ever write for this fandom but I needed more Rumi x reader content so I hope y’all enjoy :))) This is also my first time writing a fic longer than 2K words & while this 1st Ch might be a little short, the rest I’ve written are def longer.

Magenta.

That single red blue mix bounces off the idols’ eyes as they stare at the growing collapse of their beloved Honmoon.

“How did we go from gold…to this?” The question hangs heavy in the air. “Look at all the weak spots, we’ve never seen the Honmoon like this before.”

“Gwi-ma must know we’re close to sealing it for good.”

“So he sends a demon boyband?” Mira questions.

“Well, it’s working.”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure “Soda pop” is just a fad. These boys will be old news by next week, you’ll see.” Zoey’s reassurances come to a halt at the familiar ding of their elevator.

“Girls?” In unison, the group quickly covers up the evidence of their battle in makeup before turning to him with an energetic “Hi Bobby!”

“It’s a lot more serious than I thought. The Saja Boys have gone completely viral after that variety show. They even have their own fandom!” His thumb scrolls through the new dance trend based on the Saja Boys’ public performance. Bobby’s shoulders sway to the catchy music, as do Zoey’s behind him.

“Bobby! Control those shoulders.” “Zoey!”

“Wow, it is catchy,” Zoey remarks. Bobby closes the app, glancing up at her. “Yeah, you’re right, Zoey. They’re amazing, but they suck. I’m sorry, I’ve been glued to this tiny screen for hours.” He sighs, turning to face the blue cityscape outside their window.

“I just need to look away and…woo” his palm presses flat against the glass, “Relax Bobby. It's just social media numbers, not the end of the world.” Unless you’re a Hunter. To which then, it's just the start of the end of the world. Bobby’s eyes lit up, “But that reminds me! I actually have a surprise for all of you.”

“Bobby, we love you, but we really don’t need a vacation right now,” Rumi pleads.

“No, it's not that. But I'll gladly try to make room for one if any of you need the time! Let’s just sayyy a new member will be joining our staff!!” Bobby exclaims. “I have a feeling we’ll be all hands on deck pretty soon and I’m in need of a little help so,” he claps, “I’m taking on a new assistant manager. You guys are gonna love her. She's absolutely perfect. She’s got good work ethic, creativity…” Bobby drones on and on, technically spoiling the surprise as he rattles off this woman’s praises. But Rumi can’t help but be suspicious of the timing. A new demon boy band appearing out of the blue and a new assistant manager at the same time? Feels a little too on the nose.

“You’ll get to meet her later tomorrow, I’ve arranged time in your schedules for all of us to meet over dinner.”

A few streets down, in a cozy two bedroom apartment tucked away in the city, you’re busy ransacking your closet until every piece of fabric lays strewn out on the floor. Nothing in your wardrobe feels right.

I don’t have any outfits, you deem, standing in a mixed pile of dresses, shirts, and bottoms. After all, what were you supposed to wear to meet K-pop idols? Workwear might be too professional for the location, but going too casual could jeopardize your reputation. Decisions, decisions.

A quick ping rings out from your phone sitting on the nightstand, away from all the clutter. You swipe open the notification and see it’s a text from Bobby.

“Good news, the girls are really excited to meet you! We’ll discuss their upcoming project over soju, my treat! See you tomorrow.”

You type out a quick response and glare at the pile of clothes on the floor as if they’ve betrayed you on a spiritual level. You’ll settle on something, eventually.

—

The next day passes quickly for the trio. With so many hours dedicated to magazine photoshoots and music promos, plus the formulation of a diss track on their minds, their exhaustion’s starting to catch up to them. They left the shoot in an SUV that would take them to the last appointment on their schedules: meeting you for the first time.

The trio are the first to arrive at the restaurant: A secluded ramen spot that offered to serve them after hours so that no other customers would be around to see them. Though, that didn’t stop the owners from requesting a quick photo op. They’re guided to a table in a small private room shortly after with menus and water already laid out.

A bell chimes from the door, making the three of them perk up. Two distinct voices grow louder as they get closer, the girls immediately recognizing Bobby by his animated tone. He’s the first to pop in through the door. “Hey girls!”

“Hi Bobby!” They reply in sync. Your figure steps out from behind him, bowing to the group. “Annyeonghasimnikka/Hello everyone, I’m Y/N. I’m honored to be your new assistant manager.”

When she sees you, Rumi’s heartbeat fastens. Her mind goes blank and her mouth goes dry and why does the room feel so much warmer all of a sudden? Now her bomber jacket feels suffocating over her long sleeve, but she’d rather die than take it off.

Mira and Zoey stand in her peripheral, so Rumi does the same, accidentally banging her knee against the edge of the table on her way up. She bows, ignoring the stinging shockwave of pain spreading throughout her entire knee, and wills herself to focus in on the conversation.

“Oh my gosh I’m so happy to meet you! Bobby’s talked about you so much we’re so so lucky to have you!” Zoey beams. Mira watches you with unwavered attention, “Welcome to Huntrix.” Is all she says. Simple, blunt, and straight to the point. Then you look at Rumi, and it’s as if you just sucked all the breath right out of her with just one look.

Y/N is stunning, incredibly so. But that doesn’t explain why Rumi’s senses are going all…haywire. What on earth is making her feel this way?

There can be only one explanation.

Y/N must be a demon.

[mysterious-musings-writes]

Closed Position: Week 10 (Lambada)

Closed Position Masterlist ||| Main Masterlist Dieter Bravo x OFC (Katarina)

Series Summary: Dieter Bravo, now sober, was looking to change his bad boy image after hitting rock bottom. His team hoped that having him join the nationally televised family friendly dance competition, Dancing with the Stars, would be a good first step, if they can keep him out of trouble. 

Katarina Stamos expected her last season as a professional dancer on the show to go the same as it had for the past thirteen seasons. That all changed when she was partnered with the infamous Dieter Bravo. 

Dieter and Katarina are reluctantly thrown into their partnership and must learn to work together to succeed in the competition. In the process they form a deeper connection beyond the dance floor that neither anticipated.

Chapter Word Count: 10.6k

👉 Warnings: Themes dealing with intimate partner violence (not from Dieter), past alcohol abuse, and past drug abuse. There will be fluff, tears, spicy language, and smut. This will be a slow burn. Read at your own risk. Dieter Bravo comes with his own warnings.

Chapter Quote: "Did you…climb over the fucking fence?”

Kat’s POV

I burst through the building exit, dragging fresh air into my lungs as I struggled to breathe. Standing on stage with Dieter and being placed in the bottom three had really messed me up. We could have been voted off after that abhorrently shitty performance without any reason to see each other beyond this night. It would have been the end of everything. The dancing. Us. Except, there was no us because I had royally fucked it all up. I knew that now. I also knew what I felt for him was real. I wouldn’t have had such a visceral reaction to the possibility of never seeing him again if it wasn’t. 

I leaned against the rough brick of the building, taking deep breaths and exhaling slowly to get my emotions under control as I thought through what to do next. I needed to fix this, but I didn’t know where to start. I didn’t know how to make him understand the crippling fear that had taken over every cell of my body, causing me to behave the way I had toward him. 

My phone vibrated in my hand, pulling me from my thoughts. It was my sister calling. I wasn’t shocked, figuring she had just watched the live show. With trembling hands, I swiped to answer. 

“Lyd, I was just about to…”

“What the hell did you do, Kat?” she interrupted. 

I sighed. She knew. Of course she knew. “What do you mean?” I asked.

“Last time I talked to you, you were spazzing out about him and talking about putting on the breaks. So, what did you do?”

I rubbed at the throbbing pain between my brows, “I fucked up, Lyd. I really did. I’ve gotta fix it. I asked for a pause, just so I could untangle the thoughts in my head. He didn’t take it well at all. The day he had that outburst in the studio…I followed him outside. He told me he was in love with me, and I just stood there. I fucking stood there and didn’t say anything back even though I wanted to. I’ve broken him twice in the last two weeks…in the worst ways possible…and I don’t know how to fix it.” 

Lydia let out a controlled breath, “Oh, Kat. I don’t even know what to say. Why didn’t you call me? I could have talked you off the ledge.”

I shook my head, “I-I dunno. I was spiraling hard. I let it go too far. I’ve hurt him badly.”

She sighed, “You need to talk to him. Tell him everything you’re feeling. He may understand better than you think.”

I scoffed, “I’ve tried explaining it to him and all I managed to do was make things worse. I dunno how to do this.” 

“Well, you need to figure it out. Fast. You two won’t make it through another week like that. It was obvious something was wrong tonight.”

I groaned, “You’re right. I’m just…” I shook my head to clear it, “I’m gonna do it. I’m gonna go in there and tell him that I’m in love with him too. I just need him to be patient with me. That’s it.” 

“It’s a start. Just…don’t hold back anymore. OK? He deserves everything because he’s giving you everything. Meet him where he’s at and it’ll all work out.” 

I puffed air out of my cheeks, “Yeah. You’re right. I’m gonna go talk to him now. I’ll call you later this week.” 

“Good. And Kat?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t forget to breathe. I’m sure he’s just as nervous about this as you are. Remember that. Good luck.”

“Thanks, Lyd.”

I ended the call, taking one last calming breath before turning to go back inside the building. I walked with trepidation down the hallway, rehearsing in my head what I wanted to say but still fearing he wouldn’t want to speak to me. When I reached the open doorway to his dressing room, the sight I found stopped me in my tracks. He was smiling down at Anika as she leaned in and planted a kiss right on his mouth. 

A mixture of hurt and rage fizzled in my chest as I turned on my heel and made a beeline for my dressing room, slamming the door shut behind me and locking it. I sank to the floor, sobbing into the tops of my knees. How could I have been so stupid? Of course he hadn’t changed. He was already moving on and back to his playboy ways. At least I saw it with my own eyes before giving myself over to him completely.

The following morning, I awoke with my stomach in knots. I wasn’t sure if I could face him. Not after seeing him with Anika and definitely not with Stacia and Joe in the room. I was trying to think about anything but Dieter as I gathered my things to leave. My phone pinged in my hand, just as I grabbed my keys on the way toward the car. 

Dieter: I’m not gonna make it to the production meeting. My therapist is threatening to call in a wellness check if I don’t come see her first thing this morning. Sorry to leave you to deal with Stacia and Joe alone.

I sighed, half in relief and half in disgust. The reprieve was nice, but I couldn’t help questioning if he was being honest in his reasoning. For all I knew, he was shacked up somewhere with Anika giving her the best sex of her life. The thought caused me to cringe as I pulled the door shut behind me and got in the car. Once I was buckled in, I inhaled deeply and replied.

Me: It’s fine. That’s more important. Maybe we should just take the day to regroup anyway? Start fresh tomorrow?

Now it seemed the roles were reversed. The thought of seeing him after last night hurt too much. I knew I wouldn’t be able to do it. Truth be told, the thought of dropping out crossed my mind a couple of times as I tossed and turned in bed this morning. 

I watched the little bubbles bounce, then stop. That happened several times before his reply finally came through. 

Dieter: I was hoping we could talk today. 

I scoffed, “OH. Now you wanna talk?” 

Did he know that I saw him with Anika? Is that why he wanted to talk? Or maybe he wanted to tell me before I found out from someone else. My mind was racing, a million thoughts in a matter of seconds. I didn’t know how to handle this. The betrayal felt much worse than anything Alec ever did to me. I chewed on the inside of my cheek, typing.

Me: We can talk tomorrow. I need a day. 

Dieter: Ok. Tomorrow then. Please. 

I huffed in frustration. Please. He definitely wanted to talk to me about Anika. That one little word seemed to be pissing me off more than I already was. I didn’t really have any right to be mad at him though. Technically, we weren’t together. But fucking Anika? Of all people? It made me sick. 

It took every ounce of strength I had to compose myself for the meeting with Stacia and Joe. Luckily, Lenny called ahead to let them know Dieter had an appointment that he couldn’t miss, so it took some of the heat off. Things started off well enough, breezing through the details regarding our performance for this week. They had us doing the fucking Lambada. If they thought the Jazz performance was bad, then the Lambada was going to be nothing short of a train wreck. I had to work double time to control my facial reaction to that news. 

I had hoped that would be the end of it, but they couldn’t help interrogating me about the obvious tension this past week. “Can you fill us in on what was going on with Dieter? Why did he have an outburst like that?” Stacia asked. 

I shrugged, “Like I said, we’re old. We’re tired. Everyone has good and bad days when we rehearse this much. You should know that above anyone.” 

“You’re sure there’s nothing going on with you two? Because that seemed like more than just being tired. If there is, we need to nip it now. Another performance like that and you two are out.” 

I sighed, “And so what if we are? Why are you so worried about it? Aren’t you supposed to be unbiased about the contestants?”

Stacia’s nostrils flared, “We are. However, we do have to take ratings and promotion into consideration, as well. You two are a major draw. Especially when it comes to social media attention.” 

I huffed out a laugh, shaking my head. “Well, if they like us so fucking much, maybe they’ll have pity and vote to keep us around. Are we done here?” 

Joe rubbed at his temples, “Kat, we’re actually on your side here. We’re not the bad guys. We do wanna help.” 

My jaw clenched, “There’s nothing to help. We had an off week. That’s it. Now, I’d appreciate it if you would stop prying and meddling.”

He pursed his lips before nodding. Surrendering, for now. I stood, giving them a forced smile as I turned to exit the conference room, feeling hot from the adrenaline brought on by the experience. When I entered the lobby, I stepped into the small alcove where the vending machines were tucked away, in search of something to drink. I found myself suddenly missing my usual morning cup of Dieter provided coffee, causing my heart to clench in my chest. Everything reminded me of him now. 

I stood, taking in the selection when the sound of hushed voices carried through the wall of ferns separating the seating area from the alcove. 

“So, I heard Dieter blew you off last night?” one voice asked. 

A scoff, “How the hell did you find out about that?” It was Anika. 

An amused reply, “A little birdy told me.” I couldn’t make out who this voice belonged to, but it sounded familiar. 

“Fucking hell. Nobody can keep their mouths shut around here.”

A chuckle, “So. What happened?”

“Ugh, fine. I’d rather you know the truth than hear whatever people are saying. So, after the show was over, I noticed Dieter’s dressing room door was open. After that performance, it was obvious he and Kat were on the outs, so I thought I’d take advantage of the situation. Anyway, I went in and asked him out. He said he was waiting for Kat. I had seen Kat leave, so I told him that. He looked…I dunno, like, annoyed about it? So, I offered to…let him come back to my place. I really thought he was considering it. He seemed receptive, so I kissed him. He turned into the biggest asshole after that. Basically, told me to fuck off and said he wasn’t interested. He wasn’t nice about it. It was very hurtful the way he said it. Like I was the asshole or something.”

A sense of relief washed over me. He hadn’t done anything wrong. It was all her. 

The other voice snorted out a laugh, “You know Dieter isn’t the same person anymore, right? He’s changed. He’s not into partying and one-night stands. He’s in love with Kat.”

Ankia scoffed, “Dieter Bravo doesn’t fall in love. He’s Hollywood’s biggest fuck boy.” 

“He used to be. He’s sober now. That’s not his life anymore and the fact that you can’t see or respect that does make you the asshole. You need to lay off him. It's disrespectful to Kat.”

Anika gasped, taken aback by that statement. “Why are you so worried about Kat all of a sudden? You feeling guilty for fucking her fiancé now?”

My mouth dropped open in shock. The other voice was Lana. This whole conversation had my heart racing out of my chest. A nervous sweat was now dripping down my back as I stood staring at the vending machine, unmoving. 

Lana chuckled, “No. No guilt at all. I did Kat a favor. Alec is an asshole. She deserved better. Besides, you know how this show works. I’m only doing what I’ve been paid to do. That’s why I’m here alone. Stacia and Joe want an update on what I know. I’m happy to say that Alec Balaska will be nothing but an afterthought as soon as the season is over.” 

It took everything in me to hold in the maniacal laughter that was bubbling in my chest. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Lana fucking Thompson, of all people, had just made my day and saved my relationship with Dieter. 

Before I even registered what I was doing, my feet carried me around the wall of ferns. I paused, staring at Lana with wide eyes, mouth still agape from the news. I vaguely registered Anika jumping slightly from my appearance, mumbling out an, “oh shit,” under her breath. My focus, however, was solely on Lana. She sat confidently with her legs crossed and a shit-eating grin on her face. She knew I was there the entire time. 

She stood, approaching me with a friendly smile. “I need you to know that everything I just said was true…and I’m sorry. Even if my intentions were good, I know it was still hard on you. I’ve known guys like Alec my entire life and I know the kind of power they can have over you. I needed you to see who he really was. Regardless of what happens with Dieter, you needed to be freed from Alec.”

I could feel tears prickling behind my eyes. She wasn’t wrong. It was going to take something major to wake me up to who he really was. She gave me that.

I nodded, “Thank you. I mean it. I do need to ask you for one more favor though.”

Her brows arched, “Name it.” 

I smirked, “Fuck him up good. Please?” 

She gave me a toothy grin, “Already planned on it.” 

My smile matched hers as she pulled me in for a tight hug. She held it for a beat, then pulled away. 

“Now, go get your man. I can’t handle you two fighting anymore.” 

I chuckled, “I’ll try.” 

I went home after that. I needed to clear my head and process the events of the day. I also needed to figure out what I was going to do about Dieter. The fear was still there scratching at the door that I was frantically trying to shut in that part of my brain. I wanted to believe that what he felt was real. Everyone else seemed to think it was. They could all see it, so why couldn’t I? 

I took a page out of Dieter’s book, moving through the house to tend to my plants in the way he had taught me. Pruning. Dusting. Misting. I could see why he enjoyed it. There was a certain mindless numbness that went along with the process. It was a good mental reset. Almost like meditation. Hours passed before I realized it. As I finished up, I considered what Lydia said about watching our videos on YouTube. I had just settled on the idea of doing it when my phone started blowing up with notifications. They were from Lydia. I didn’t even get a chance to read the text because she started calling. Concerned, I answered immediately.

“Lyd? Everything OK?”

She was breathless with excitement, “Please tell me your fucking watching this?”

I huffed out a nervous laugh, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Instagram live! Dieter! I swear to God Kat, if you don’t marry that man, I will.” 

I snorted, “And how does your husband feel about that?”

“He’d probably officiate it... HOLY. SHIT. Kat! He has…you just need to watch it. He just ended it. Fuck. You need to see it. I might cry.” 

I didn’t know how to respond. She sounded like she was having a meltdown on the other end of the line. 

I sighed, “What the hell are you going on about?”

She let out the most ridiculous squeal, prompting me to pull the phone away from my ear. 

“It’s on his story. GO WATCH IT. NOW. Call me when you’re done.”

I sighed, “Ok. Ok. Just stop screeching. Please.” 

“Ok. Bye.” 

The line went dead. 

I looked at my phone, “What the actual fuck?”

Butterflies formed in the pit of my stomach. I could not comprehend what he could’ve done to have her acting like this. It actually freaked me out a little. When I opened Instagram, I had hundreds of notifications from where I had been tagged in the comments of his video. 

I groaned, “Oh god. Dieter what did you do?”  

I was hesitant to click on his story, inhaling a deep breath before taking the plunge. When the video began to play, Dieter was fiddling with the camera angle. He finally settled it where he wanted, then picked up his acoustic guitar. His sad eyes scanned the screen as he nervously chewed on his lip. Once the viewer numbers began to rise, he smiled and welcomed them. The smile didn’t reach his eyes. It hurt to see him like that. 

As he tuned the guitar, I took in the rest of him. He looked tired. His hair was a mess of fluffy curls, hanging down over his forehead. I ached to run my fingers through them. He was wearing one of his favorite threadbare t-shirts, covering tense shoulders. I wanted to hug the tension away. When he looked back up at the camera, his bottom lip appeared swollen from his teeth. I wanted to kiss away his pain. Fuck. I missed him. 

Once he had the guitar tuned to his liking, he smiled into the camera. “I promised you all I’d do more of these, so here we are. I feel like I need it today. I’ve got some things that I…I dunno…wanna get off my chest. I guess.” 

He plucked a few chords, finding his rhythm. As he did this, my eyes were drawn to several new paintings leaning against the wall in the background. I couldn’t make out what they were since they partially covered each other, but the colors were different. Brighter. It wasn’t his usual style.

He paused, staring into my soul through the screen before taking a centering breath. Then he began to play, strumming a sad melody that I wasn’t familiar with. His eyes were distant, almost melancholy as his mind drifted to another place. He began to sing the lyrics in his low raspy voice, making my skin break out in goosebumps almost immediately. 

🎶Listen HERE.

Hey, can you show me how to make it back cause I’m still tryin to find my way home Hey, can you take my hand keep me on track make sure I never ever ever let it go I would let the stars fade to nothing, nothing If I knew that I’d always have your lovin, lovin You're my gravity, you're holding me down You're the reason that my life’s turned around And in the moments that I’m hopeless I’m just hoping I can hold on to you, hold onto you

I gasped quietly, eyes prickling with tears as I took in the meaning of the words he was putting out for the world to hear. I knew Dieter. He always chose songs with intention. He was holding nothing back, laying his soul bare to get through to me. I could see it in his eyes; he meant every syllable of what he was saying. Seeing him like this, putting every emotion into his words was melting the thin protective barrier that had formed around my heart. 

The voice in my head my thoughts before bed You’re the reason that my heart beat slows To keep pace with my mind and the rhythm of time that never seems to grow old I would let the stars fade to nothing, nothing If I knew that I’d always have your lovin, lovin You're my gravity, you're holding me down You're the reason that my life’s turned around And in the moments that I’m hopeless I’m just hoping I can hold on to you, hold on

The tears streamed down my face. There was no holding them back as his voice wrapped my body in heat, warming me to my core. I had never seen or heard anything so beautiful in my life, and he was mine. If I opened myself up the way he was for me. I could feel my resolve crumbling. 

His voice rose in volume for the next verse, emphasizing the emotion behind the words. It was gravelly and rough, sending shivers down my spine and making me want him more than I had ever wanted anything in my life. 

Oh I’d break my heart a million times just so I could spend my nights with you No need for us to rush I’d find every reason to make it through

He paused the strumming of his guitar, voice quieting to a velvety tone to finish it out. 

Cause you're my gravity, you're holding me down You’re the reason that my life’s turned around And in the moments that I’m hopeless I’m just hoping I can hold on to you, hold on to you. 

He played the last few notes, allowing them to quietly fade. His voice was gone, but the warmth in my body continued as a fire smoldered inside my heart. It was burning with everything that had been holding me back. He had finally broken through, and it was quickly turning into a blaze. 

His eyes were glassy as he looked into the camera, biting the inside of his cheek. Then Zee appeared, jumping up onto his shoulder in that way she does - curling her body around him as she bumped her head against his. He turned, giving her a sad smile and scratched under her chin as he mumbled, “Hey, babygirl.” 

He sighed, turning back to the camera. His brows pinched together as he spoke, “We miss you.” 

As if on cue, Zee turned to the camera and meowed loudly, like she was agreeing. Dieter chuckled quietly, giving her another scratch on the chin before reaching to shut off the stream. As he did so, the camera tilted upward. It was only the briefest glimpse before it disconnected, but it was long enough for me to pause it to see a new painting hanging on the wall. 

The painting showed the bare backside of a woman from the waist up. Her hands sat on her head, holding her dark hair in a pile and exposing her neck. The background was mostly bright red, with swirls of black, white, and a deep green color. Her spine curved slightly, posed mid movement. Defined contours of muscles showed in the shadows. My breath caught in my throat when my attention was drawn to the obvious DB scrawled in the bottom corner. It was his painting. Is that a painting of…me?

My tears quickly turned to sobs. This man had somehow managed to make me feel every emotion imaginable in the last twenty-four hours and I couldn’t even be mad about it. If anything, I wanted more. I wanted him. And I wanted him to have all of me. I was ready to take the risk. To fall for him completely. I trusted him with my fragile heart because this was real. For both of us. I knew that now.

A text came through from my sister, interrupting my emotional breakdown. 

Lydia: Did you watch it yet?

I chuckled, then typed out my response with trembling fingers.

Me: Yes. I’ve been so stupid.

Lydia: No. You just needed time. Go to him. Tell him. Or else I’m gonna come kick your ass. 

I snorted, sending her a thumbs up. I took a moment to gather myself, then opened his story again. This time, watching the comments fly by.

“This is for @dancerkatstamos, right?” “OMG, is Kat watching? @dancerkatstamos look!” “This has to be for @dancerkatstamos. I won’t accept any other explanation!” “He’s breaking my heart! @dancerkatstamos give him another chance!”

And on and on it went. Everyone seemed to know the truth before I did. It made me feel ridiculous that I had been so up my ass about this whole thing and that I had hurt Dieter so terribly in the process. I wouldn’t blame him if he refused to forgive me. 

It took me a few minutes to pull myself together. Then, I got in the car and drove to Dieter’s house. I had mixed emotions the whole way, alternating between being so nervous I felt sick and giddy at the thought of reconciling. I wanted this to be over ASAP.

When I got there, I marched up to the door and knocked. The lights were on, but I saw no movement inside. I tried the handle, but it was locked. I sighed, pulling out my phone to call. It went to voicemail. Three times. I was feeling beyond impatient to get this over with before I lost my nerve.

I groaned, “Damnit Dieter. Figures you would be unreachable right now…”

I moved to peek through the side window, allowing me to look through the kitchen into the backyard where the firepit was burning. Assuming he was there, I made my way around to the gate only to find that it too was locked. The sound of muffled classical music drifted over from the other side of the privacy fence. I puffed air out of my cheeks, now feeling frustrated. And determined. I looked around, finding the trash can sitting next to the house. 

“Ah, fuck it.” 

I knew it was a bad idea as soon as I thought of it, but that didn’t stop me from dragging the full trash can over and climbing on top of it. It allowed me to see over the top of the fence. I spotted Dieter immediately, lying in a lounger toward the far end of the yard. He was facing the ocean, watching the sunset. I tried yelling for him, but he didn’t hear me. 

I hoisted myself up on top of the stone wall and threw my legs over, “Ugh, this seems a lot higher than I realized…”

After a centering breath, I twisted to carefully lower myself down. Not that it did any good because I lost my grip and fell into the shrubbery below with a loud, “Ooof.”

I couldn’t help snorting out a laugh as I stood, pulling leaves from my hair and brushing dirt from my clothes. I glanced up, Dieter hadn’t moved. He obviously couldn’t hear anything over the music. I stumbled toward him, still brushing dirt away. I must have startled him, because he jumped as I walked around to stand in front of him. He sat up straighter, taking his sunglasses off before reaching to turn down the Bluetooth speaker next to him. 

“What the fuck, Kat?” 

He turned toward me, eyes scanning from head to toe. “How did you…Why do you have leaves in your hair?” He looked toward the house, then back to me. “Did you…climb over the fucking fence?”

I grimaced, “Yes. I tried calling. I’m sorry, I couldn’t wait. We need to talk.”

He snorted, “I do have a doorbell, ya know? I can hear it out here on the speaker.”

My face heated, “Uhhh, I didn’t think about that.”

His face softened, “Are you OK? Did you fall?”

I nodded, feeling embarrassed. “The only thing injured is my dignity.”

He chuckled, letting it trail off to a few seconds of silence. His face shifted, his brows furrowing as his body tensed. “I thought you wanted to wait until tomorrow? What changed?”

I chewed on my lip, searching for the right words. “I can’t let another day go by like this. We need to talk.”

He nodded, “Look, about last night. It’s not what you think. I didn’t…”

I held up my hand to stop him, “I know. I know it was Anika. I’m not mad about that.”

His shoulders relaxed, “How do you know?”

I huffed out a laugh, “The craziest thing happened after the production meeting this morning. I overheard Lana asking Anika about it. Anika admitted that she pursued you and you blew her off.”

A wide grin spread across Dieter’s face, “I think I need to send Lana a fruit basket or something. She’s two for two.” 

My brows pinched together, “What does that mean?”

He relaxed in the lounger, “She talked some sense into me last night, helped me understand things from your point of view. It seems she's been working behind the scenes to do Stacia and Joe’s bidding, but she’s also a closet Dieterina supporter.” 

I was shocked to hear they had talked, but I couldn’t be upset about it. She had brought us together. Twice. I smiled, “So, you must be the little birdy that told her about Anika?”

He nodded, “Yeah, we discussed it.” 

I closed the distance between us, sitting on the edge of his seat - angling my body so I could look at him. The mood shifted to something more serious as the air thickened around us.

“I saw your Instagram Live.”

He stared out toward the water with a pensive look on his face, “I meant every word I said.”

He paused, finally turning to meet my gaze.

“I’m afraid too, ya know. I’m afraid that you’re finally gonna wake up and realize I’m not worthy of you. Afraid of fucking up because that’s all I know how to do. And…I’m afraid of how strong my feelings are for you. You’re entangled in my soul now. No one has ever had this kind of hold on me. I am in love with you. I’ve never said those words to anyone, not even my parents. So, it does mean something when I say it. I wasn’t even sure I was capable of it until the second you bumped into me.”

He reached for my hand, squeezing it gently before continuing. 

“All of that scares the hell out of me, but I’m willing to push through it. You’re my world now, Kat. And I swear I’ll do everything in my power to make you happy. I may have some fuck ups, but I can guarantee my past problems are in the past. I’m done with all that. Whatever was broken inside of me…you’ve fixed it. I’m a better person because of you.” 

I was crying again, holding back a sob as I nodded. “I believe you.”

He held his arms open, motioning for me to come to him. I didn’t hesitate, shifting to straddle his hips so I could hug him tightly against me. I buried my nose in his hair, deeply inhaling his scent. It was like a balm on my soul, slowly washing away all my fear and doubt. 

I sighed into his curls, “I’m sorry I hurt you. It wasn’t my intention. I should’ve talked to you instead of getting in my head about it. I’m willing to try. I want you to have all of me. I promise I won’t hold back anymore. I trust you and…I feel safe with you. All I ask is that you be patient with me. I’m there with you, OK? Know that.” 

He pulled away, cupping my cheeks as he peered up at me with tears in his eyes and a smile. “I’ll let you lead. I don’t plan to ever dance with anyone else. You’re it for me. If that’s what it takes, then you lead… and I’ll follow.” 

I smiled, getting emotional all over again. More tears spilled out, but these were happy tears. Relief flooded my system after he closed the distance between us and pressed his lips to mine. It was tentative and soft as he hugged me closer to him. I had missed this, missed him so much. 

We broke apart, our eyes roaming each other’s faces and taking in the moment. He spoke first. “Can we never fight like this again? Please? It was torture.”

I smirked, “I agree, I don't like it either. However, there may be one positive thing to come from it…”

He reached to pull a leaf from my hair, flicking it away with a small smile. Then his brows furrowed, “Like what?” 

My lips curled upward, running my hands up his chest then around to rest at the back of his neck. “Like make up sex…”

His eyes widened, “Oh…” 

I felt him harden under me almost instantly. He snorted out a laugh against my neck as he pulled me against him.

“Well, that definitely escalated quickly. It seems little Dieter has missed you too.” 

I giggled against the top of his head, “Don’t worry, he’ll get taken care of. But…there is something I wanna do first. Can we go inside?” 

He pulled away, giving me an uneasy smile. “Should I be concerned?” 

I laughed, shaking my head. “No. Definitely not.” 

I led him inside, up the stairs to his Sanctuary. He stopped in the doorway, leaning against the frame to watch me. I picked up the acoustic guitar he had been playing earlier and took a seat in his leather chair, making a point not to look at his new painting. Because if I did, I wouldn’t be able to keep it together for this. 

He walked into the room, grabbed a throw pillow, and threw it on the floor. He sat down on the cushion, pulling his knees to his chest as he peered up at me with questioning eyes. 

“Since you did a song for me earlier, it’s only fair. I think this might help you understand what sent me on a spiral…because it’s really what started it all.” 

Dieter’s POV

I sat on the floor, watching Kat intently - intrigued as to what this was about. All the while my heart pounded out of my chest from the excitement of having her back home. For once, everything was working out in my favor, and I couldn’t have been happier about it. It was taking everything in me to sit still so Kat could have the moment she needed. 

Kat nervously chewed on her bottom lip, adjusting the strings to her liking. Or possibly stalling, I couldn’t tell which. Either way, I sat patiently waiting. She rolled her lips together, inhaling deeply as she glanced at me one last time before her fingers began to pluck the chords. Her eyes shifted, focusing on something in the distance just over my shoulder. 

The notes sounded familiar. However, I couldn’t place the song right away. But then she began to sing in a breathy raspy lower register that I had never heard from her before, making my skin tingle from head to toe. I knew the song instantly. It was the same song we had danced the Viennese Waltz to, right before everything fell apart. I stared at her in awe as she performed her version of the song, pouring emotion into every word.  🎶Listen HERE.

Sweet love, sweet love trapped in your love I've opened up, unsure I can trust My heart and I were buried in dust Free me, free us You're all I need when I'm holding you tight If you walk away, I will suffer tonight I found a man I can trust And boy, I believe in us I am terrified to love for the first time Can't you see that I'm bound in chains? I've finally found my way I am bound to you I am bound to you 

I knew I had to look like a fool, sitting there with my mouth gaping open, but I couldn’t help it. She was literally taking my breath away. I hugged my knees closer to my chest, resting my chin on them as I watched her. At some point, my eyes began to overflow with tears without me realizing it. There was a fluttering feeling in my chest unlike anything I had ever felt. She was connecting with me in a way she never had. After a brief instrumental bit, her eyes locked with mine as she went into the second verse. 

So much, so young, I've faced on my own Walls I built up became my home  I'm strong, and I'm sure there's a fire in us Sweet love, so pure  I catch my breath with just one beating heart And I brace myself, please don't tear this apart 

If I hadn't been sitting down already, I would’ve needed to. The expressiveness in her voice and eyes were making me lightheaded. I could feel every word as they left her lips. Every perfect word that she was willingly giving to me to show me how she really felt.

Suddenly the moment's here I embrace my fears All that I have been carrying all these years Do I risk it all? Come this far just to fall? Fall I can trust and boy, I believe in us I am terrified to love for the first time Can't you see that I'm bound in chains? And finally found my way I am bound to you I am, ooh, I am, I’m bound to you

By the time she hit the last verse, tears began to stream down her face. Her volume rose as the raw emotion poured out of her. Then her voice faded, finishing the song with a heavy sigh and sniffle. She huffed out a nervous laugh, wiping her cheeks. The only response I could muster was to crawl over to her, taking the guitar to lay on the floor before standing up on my knees and hugging her tightly against me. 

She sobbed quietly against my shoulder, releasing whatever hurt it was she had been holding onto. My breathing was heavy as I worked to control my own emotions, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop my tears as I soothed her. 

“I’m sorry I hurt you before, but I’m sure now. I’m sure,” she mumbled through a stuttered breath. 

I sighed, “You don’t have to apologize. It’s OK. We’re OK now, and I’m still here. I always will be.” 

She pulled back, her glossy red eyes dancing over my face for a beat before cupping my cheeks and pulling me in for a gentle kiss, pausing to murmur against my lips.

“I love you.” Another kiss. Then another, “I love you.” 

I smiled, returning the kiss and the sentiment before shifting to stand. I pulled her upright with me, bending to wrap my arms around her waist. I lifted her, walking toward the bedroom while continuing to kiss her deeply as I went.

There wasn’t a second that our bodies were not touching as we undressed each other. We broke apart only briefly so that she could settle into the center of the bed. I trailed closely behind her, worshiping any bit of skin I could reach. She pulled me to hover above her, framing my hips with her thighs as we took each other in. Her amber colored eyes looked like honey flecked with melted gold in the warm glow of the setting sun coming in through the open windows. I wanted to drown in them. Her fingers scratched at the patchy stubble on my cheek before her thumb brushed across my lower lip. I dipped my chin slightly, gently kissing her palm. 

She smiled, closing the distance between us. I lined myself up with her entrance, sinking in slowly. A low whimper bubbled up from my chest as her heat surrounded me. She gasped against my mouth as I filled her. Any remaining tension that lingered between us vanished as we found home in each other’s embrace. 

We took it slowly, getting reacquainted. This time felt different. We were connecting on a much deeper level. Every touch. Every caress. Now expressing a new emotion that we openly shared with one another. I could feel it in the way she kissed me. I could see it in her eyes. There were no walls between us now. It was the most amazing feeling that I couldn’t begin to describe. 

We moved as one, in a slow rhythm that was damn near maddening as we got lost in each other. It felt like time ceased to exist as the rest of the world faded away to nothing. All I could see and feel was her. It was transcendent, almost seeming too perfect to be real as we fell over the edge together - both of us professing our love in quiet whispers against the other's lips as we let the emotions swallow us whole. Our salty tears mingled as our lips continued to move against each other, riding out our high as long as we could. 

When we finally broke apart, I pressed my forehead against hers as we tried to catch our breath. My body was trembling, making it hard for me to continue to hold myself up. I reluctantly pulled away with a grunt, moving to lay beside her. I gathered her in my arms as she wrapped herself around me. 

I sighed, “I feel like I’m dreaming. I wasn’t expecting my day to end like this.”

She chuckled, “Yeah, me either to be honest. I’m not complaining though.” 

She kissed me again, deeply. Her leg hooked around my hip as my hand drifted down her side, moving to gently squeeze her ass. She groaned, but it wasn’t a pleasurable sound. My brows furrowed as I sat up to look at her backside, finding a bruise the size of my palm on her cheek. 

I couldn’t help chuckling as I shook my head at her, “How hard did you fall?”

She shrugged, “Hard enough to regret it later I suppose.”

“I can’t believe you did that. You’ve been around me too long. That’s some stupid shit I would’ve done.” 

She smiled, “What can I say, I learned from the best.” 

“I’m gonna go get you an ice pack. Don’t move.” 

She squirmed, rubbing her thighs together. I arched a brow as she smiled mischievously. 

“You’re insatiable, ya know that? Don’t worry Kitten, the night’s still young. I’m not done with you yet.”

That evening, we took turns making each other fall apart until neither of us could go any longer. After a soak in the tub, we collapsed in a heap on the bed. We were on the verge of nodding off when Zee started her loud caterwauling wail outside the bedroom door. 

I sighed, “Fuck. I forgot to feed the kid.” 

Kat snickered as I rolled out of the bed to open the door. Zee didn't’ waste any time, sprinting into the room and jumping on the bed to snuggle up to Kat - bumping her head against Kat’s chin while letting out low growls to show her displeasure of Kat’s absence. 

I chuckled, “I get it Zee, I had the urge to rub all up on her, too.” 

Kat snorted out a laugh into Zee’s fur. 

“I’m gonna go make her dinner. I’ll be back.” 

Just as I sat Zee’s plate down on her mat, Kat appeared in the kitchen. She gave Zee one last nuzzle before sitting her down next to her bowl. 

“I couldn’t get her to leave. I was thirsty anyway.”

I chuckled, “I think she missed you almost as much as I did.”

I moved to the fridge, “You want water? Or something else?”

“Water’s fine.” 

After handing her a cold bottle, I leaned against the counter watching her. She stood there in nothing but a T-shirt. My T-shirt. Guzzling the water down like she had just run a marathon. When she finished, she offered me the bottle but I shook my head, getting lost in my thoughts. I wanted to tell her more about my meeting with Lana.

“I should probably tell you where I ran into Lana last night…I don’t want you to think I’m keeping anything from you.” 

Her brows furrowed, her jaw flexing as she nodded for me to continue. 

“I was…at a bar.”

Her eyes widened, but she didn’t say anything. 

I inhaled a centering breath, “I was alone. I didn’t order any alcohol, but I thought about it. I had just talked myself out of it when Lana sat down next to me. She came over to talk me out of a bad decision.” 

Kat nodded, “Thank you for telling me…” She sat the bottle of water down, coming to stand at my side. “What made you wanna go?”

I pursed my lips, considering my answer. “I think…it was the thing with Anika. I felt like I fucked up. Badly. I saw you walking away after she kissed me. I knew it hurt you to see that. So, I let my self-hatred and negative thinking run away with me for a minute, but I pulled back. I didn’t wanna ruin everything that I’ve worked toward. And not just with you, but my career…and my life. I can never go back to what I was before, no matter what happens. No matter how bad things get…I just can’t.”   

She surprised me with a small smile. “I’m proud of you for telling me and admitting that you had a weak moment. I know it takes a certain amount of growth to be able to do that. I mean, it’s part of recovery. Weak moments are gonna happen.”

I huffed out a sigh of relief as she grabbed my arm and pulled me into a tight embrace. 

“I was worried you would be upset over it.” 

She pulled back, “I’m sad you felt the urge for it, but I know it happens. That’s why it’s important for you to have support and to feel like you can reach out when you need to. You need people you feel safe with during those vulnerable moments, and you have them now. And you’re being completely open and honest about it all. That’s why I know I don’t need to worry. You’re doing everything right. And we’re gonna do this together. Never be afraid to tell me if you’re struggling. I can only fault you if you lie about it.”

I felt like bursting into tears, “I really don’t deserve you.”

She scoffed, “Yes you do. You deserve to be happy just like everyone else.”

I smiled, cupping her cheeks and giving her a soft kiss on the lips.

“Let’s go get some rest. We’re gonna have a busy day tomorrow.” 

I took her hand and led her upstairs. Halfway up, Zee ran past us, beating us to bed. 

Then I snuggled up with both my ladies and had the best night of sleep I had had in nearly two weeks. Everything was finally right in the world again.

The next morning, Kat and I were at the dance studio before the doors were unlocked. Having already lost a day of rehearsal, we were worried but determined to be back in the top scores. The competition was down to five couples this week. If we wanted to win, we had zero room for error from this point on. 

As we went through our stretching routine, Kat got me up to speed on this week’s performance.

“I’ll be honest, I’m nervous about this one. The Lambada is not one that I have a lot of experience with. It’s not been done on the show since 2009 and there’s only been three couples to do it.”

My brows furrowed, “Why?”

She shrugged, “I have no idea. Something about the format of the show. I’m not sure the judges were huge fans either. This dance though…we're either gonna knock it out of the park with your loose hips or we’re going down with an epic failure.” 

I cringed, “That sounds encouraging.”

She stood, then pulled me up with her. “We may have an advantage though.” 

I huffed out a laugh, “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

She smiled mischievously, “We don’t have a problem getting up close and personal with each other. We also already have a lot of practice with the hip thrusting.” 

I couldn’t help it. I cackled. 

She laughed, “I’m just calling it as I see it.” 

I moved to stand in front of her, awaiting instruction.

“We also have a very strong connection, which is to our benefit too. This is a Latin dance with a lot of movement. It has elements of the Salsa, Samba, and Merengue. You did well with the Salsa, so I think you can handle it. The steps are slow, quick, quick, slow while our entire bodies are undulating.”

I smirked, “Sounds like a piece of cake.”

She held up her finger to silence me, “The Lambada is often called the forbidden dance. It’s meant to be sensual and erotic with close embraces and two bodies moving as one. And not in the same way as the Rumba or the Tango. This is faster, more upbeat.”

I chuckled, “I still see no problem here.”

She rolled her eyes, “The problem is we’re old and it’s gonna wear us out. And well…”

She moved in closer, wrapping my arms around her middle and threw hers around my neck. There were only a few inches between us. 

“You know the beginning of Dirty Dancing when it shows all the staff dancing? Grinding up on each other?” 

I raised a brow and nodded, “Yeah, why?”

She arched her back toward me, our stomachs touching as she began moving her hips against me. Like, really grinding against me.

I sucked in a sharp breath, getting hard instantly. I stepped away with a tight smile, “Oh. Fuck. Ooook. So, imma have to learn to control my boner. Got it.” 

She snickered, “Yeah, that.” 

I sighed, “Well, the safest bet would be to have sex right before we go on stage. That should keep him down through the performance at least.”

Kat burst into giggles, “Thank God we talked yesterday, or this would have ended so badly…or not. Who knows?”

“Ugh, I don’t even wanna think about it. That would have been terrible.” 

She cleared her throat, “Ok, let’s get serious. How erotic do you wanna get?”

I shrugged, “Don’t hold back. You know me, if they want a show…Imma give em one.” 

And with that, we began building our routine. We worked it out quickly, damn near reading each other’s mind in the process. We were back and more in sync than we’d ever been. We may have lost a day of rehearsal, but we more than made up for it. By the end of the session, we had a solid plan. It only needed practicing and tweaking. 

By the time behind the scenes filming rolled around on Thursday, we had the routine down. With both of us being in a significantly better mood this week and on the same page with everything, we took the opportunity to relax and have fun. We were full of jokes, teasing each other and breaking into giggling fits over the tiniest things. The camera crew seemed surprised, most likely expecting more angry outbursts and bickering given how things had been going. Overall, it was a good day. The best part was that the day ended with Kat at home with me and Zee. 

The rest of the week went by in a blur of rehearsals, self-care to make sure our bodies didn’t give out on us, and just being together. Our bond felt stronger than ever. Kat seemed happy, completely at ease. Whatever had been plaguing her thoughts was now long gone. She no longer held back, sharing her thoughts and feelings whenever it struck her to do so. Every time she told me that she loved me, my heart danced a little in my chest. I never realized how much I needed to hear someone say that to me until her. And now, I crave it constantly. 

It was show day before we knew it. Kat and I were there bright and early, the first to go through camera blocking as always. We performed flawlessly each time, both of us all smiles. Things felt different on and off the dance floor this time. Kat was more relaxed in her interactions with me, not hesitating to touch me in any way. There was a flirtiness to her that others were definitely picking up on. The whispers and stares did not go unnoticed by us. None of it seemed to bother or deter her. Given that we only had two weeks left, I figured she was ready to throw caution to the wind. 

Since I had missed the production meeting, I had no idea what our costumes looked like. I was surprised to find the color of the week was much brighter than normal. They had Kat in a bright yellow fringe dress that left very little to the imagination. It emphasized her thighs and hips in a way that had me absolutely salivating. I knew it would be a miracle if I made it through the performance without little Bravo making a special guest appearance. I made sure to take a moment to snap a few pictures for social media, and a few other sexier ones for myself.

They had me in a matching yellow shirt with navy trousers. The look was topped off with a navy blazer with light blue and yellow stripes. I didn’t hate it. It was something fun and different, but I doubted the blazer was going to stay. I was sweating bullets before I even put it on. Between nerves and Kat looking fucking amazing, my blood was boiling. 

Kat and I were back to our usual antics during hair and makeup, causing a scene of boisterous laughter with our favorite crew as they worked to beautify us. They ended up going with the normal slicked back hair for me. They left Kat’s hair down, styling it into soft bouncy waves that I was dying to run my fingers through. It really was going to be a battle of willpower to behave myself today. 

We had dress rehearsal after that. We sailed through without issue, aside from the semi I was sporting from Kat rubbing up on me with all her exposed skin. It had her giggling against my neck as I pulled her in for a hug when the routine concluded. We stayed like that for what was probably too long before pulling apart as I tried to think about anything but her up against me. 

We were given leave to entertain ourselves until the show started. So, we went back to my dressing room. Evan was kind enough to drop off some lunch for us because whatever it was catering had wasn’t it. He didn’t stick around for long, giving us a sly smile and a wink as he slinked out the door while being sure to lock it behind him. He must have been picking up on the vibe. 

Kat chuckled, “I don’t know why he feels the need to lock the door. Like we’re gonna be getting up to mischief or something.”

I arched a brow at her, “Aren’t we? I was only half joking about the sex before performing thing the other day…”

She smirked, “Oh really?”

I grinned, “Yeah, I mean we’re performing first, right? I say we let fucking be our hype song this week. It’s a good way to get the adrenaline pumping.”

She snorted out a laugh, standing from where she was perched on the vanity. 

“All right Bravo, you win.” 

She turned her back to me, undoing the skinny strap across her back and the one around her neck. The barely there fabric in the front slipped downward to where she caught it just before it revealed anything. 

“How do you want me?” she asked with a seductive tone. 

My mouth fell open, “Umm, one moment.”

I stood from my seat, stripping out of my costume - having enough sense to put it on a hanger rather than wadding it up on the floor for once. Kat waited, unmoving, as she watched me in the mirror. I approached her, pulling her hair to the side to kiss down her neck and back as I slid her costume down her thighs. I laid it across one of the empty chairs before taking my usual seat. 

I motioned for her to come to me. Once she was standing between my open thighs, I turned her to face away from me. I left a wet path of kisses along her side, working my way down to give her a little nip on her ass cheek, eliciting a giggle that she tried to muffle with her hand. I gently rubbed at the bruise on the other side, shaking my head at her ridiculous behavior. 

Then my hand traveled lower, rubbing between her already soaking wet folds. I worked to open her up and get her ready for me. Just when her body began to tremble, I stopped. My leg wedged between her knees as my hands found her hips, pulling her to sit right where I wanted her. She let out a throaty groan, taking me in deep. I guided her movements, keeping it slow and teasing. She tucked her chin against her chest, biting back her breathy moans as she tried to keep it together. I leaned back in the chair, pulling her to lay against my chest - making sure to gather her hair to the side and drape it over my shoulder. 

As I wrapped my arms around her torso, she spread her legs wide, allowing me the space to move. I buried my face in the curve of her neck, thrusting slowly. Her hand moved to reach for my hair, but I grabbed it mid-way and tutted at her as I continued to hold on to it. I knew there would be no time to fix that mess if I let her get hold of it. 

Within minutes she was on the edge again, all it took was for me to reach down to the apex of her thighs and rub tight circles in just the right spot. She worked to free one of her hands from my grip, biting into the plushy spot just under her thumb to hold back the moans as she trembled on top of me. I moved faster, in almost a relentless pace following behind her soon after. I had to resist the urge to bite onto her shoulder to muffle the sounds of my own pleasure just as one of the production assistants gave the twenty-minute warning outside my door. Kat leaned her head against mine, both of us holding in a laugh as I shifted to sit us upright in the seat. 

I chuckled against her shoulder, giving it one last kiss. “That was perfect timing. Guess we better get dressed. Hop up, I’ve got some towels in my bag.”

She huffed out a laugh as she stood, “Came prepared, did ya?”

I pulled said towels from the bag and shrugged, “I gotta be with you around. But also, it was either this or my hand. Something had to happen.” 

I gave her one of the towels, both of us smiling like a couple of fools as we wiped away the sweat and wetness. I helped Kat with her costume, fastening the straps and making sure everything was secure. She hadn’t even bothered to go to her dressing room this morning, leaving her bag in mine instead. That turned out to be a good thing so she could touch up her makeup and hair while I got dressed. 

By the time we made it to the staging area, we had seven minutes to spare before performing. It was just enough time for the hair and makeup crew to give us one last look over before we were taking our spots on the dance floor. The burst of adrenaline and everything else pumping through my body made the moment seem hazy. It was almost dreamlike as we eyed each other in the dim lighting. 

The spotlights dropped down on us as the opening trumpet sounds of 🎶Ain’t it Funny began to play from the band. Kat was in her zone, her eyes blazing with that fire I loved so much. Our energy was off the charts. We were perfectly synchronized as we did our twists and spins, managing to keep our frame compact with full control of our movements. Our bodies rolled in tandem, transitioning to dips and sensual hip action that had the audience going insane. 

While we’d had some steamy performances in the past, this one took it to a whole new level. There was a different vibe. It was sexy in a teasing sort of way. We held nothing back, showcasing the connection between us as we moved through the intricate step combos. We could feel it before the dance was over, we knew it was one of our best performances to date. 

We tried to play it cool while we waited for our scores, but the glances passing between the two of us said it all. We knew we were not going home tonight, and we were right. Kat and I held on to each other as each score of ten was read off by the judges. They praised us for our comeback after last week, noting that we were only the fourth couple to have ever performed that dance and were the best. None of the other three couples had received a perfect score. We were the first and only ones to make it happen. 

Kat and I were on cloud nine for the rest of the evening, both of us giving toothy grins every time the cast or crew complimented us. Marc and Stefanie were still our biggest cheerleaders, acting just as excited about our performance as we were. We returned the favor of course, even if they did score one point lower than us. 

The scowls from Alec were obvious. He made no attempt to hide his disdain for us. That did nothing to dampen our mood, especially when we caught a glimpse of Lana shooting a small smile our way when Alec had his back turned. If anything, it only made the entire situation more entertaining. 

Once the show was over, we joined Marc and Stefanie at a nearby burger joint to celebrate making it to the final four. It was nice to spend time with new friends and discuss our feelings about the show. We also tried to strategize and make guesses about what they were going to have us do for the finale. In a way, it gave me a better idea of what to expect and helped calm some of the nerves that were brewing in the pit of my stomach.

As of tonight, it was down to us, Marc and Stefanie, Alec and Lana, and Anika and her partner. The finale was shaping up to be full of tension and intense competition. Our main goal was to keep Alec and Anika from winning, but deep-down Kat and I really wanted that fucking trophy. She deserved to end her time on the show with a bang, and I wanted to prove everyone who doubted me wrong. There was no stopping us now.

Next: Week 11

✨FUN FACT: What Kat said about no one doing the Lambada on the show since 2009 is true! There have only been 3 couples out of 33 seasons (so far) to have performed this dance. None of which received perfect scores. I have linked them below if you're interested. Video 1 Video 2 Video 3

A/N: Hello my lovelies! Fucking finally! Right? Our babies are back together! And look at Dieter being all sappy and soft. I love him. Are we shocked Lana is still on her redemption tour? I don't think we can hate her anymore, can we? Then of course we have Lydia and Evan doing their good deeds as well. How about that Instagram Live? Doesn't that song just tear your heart out? And Zee getting in on the action? I think I'd climb over a fence after that too. And what about Kat pouring her little heart out as well? That girl is laying it all out there now. So, we have 2 chapters and the epilogue left after this. Can you believe it? The next chapter is going to be drama filled. All of this dancing is finally going to take it's toll on Kat. Dieter is going to be in a tizzy, taking care of his lady. On top of that, it's Samba week. Yay for more Latin dancing...or not? Alec will be up to his shady shit (yeah, he's not done yet). I will say, the last two chapters will probably be much shorter since things are wrapping up. I mean, I say that, but I may shock myself. You never know with me.

And finally, some housekeeping. I'm sure you've noticed by now that I have struck the "Moonstruck" part of my name. There was a reason for that (aside form it being too fucking long). Expansion! As you can see, I am posting this chapter from a new sideblog. This blog will be solely dedicated to my writing. No nonsense posts. I will eventually be migrating everything over here. Why you ask? I did a poll a while back about this. While most preferred to be tagged, a decent number would rather follow and subscribe to notifications. So, you now have the option to do that without all the clutter. I will still be tagging folks though.

I also added something else new, the Chaos Corner! It will be dedicated to all things Dieter (fics, media, memes, fan art, etc). Fics will be linked by categories and tropes. So go have a look and find some new content. I welcome you to send me some goods to share with the chaos crew. Our trashy friends need all the Dieter content. Lastly, I want to do a quick shutout to my first loves, Dieter and Talia. It is the two year anniversary of Destiny & Deliverance this week. If I can get my shit together, I'm going to try to do a little something for them.

That's it. That's all I've got. Until next time, 💜Mysty

CP Taglist:

@titlee78 @legendary-pink-dot  @survivingandenduring @wannab-urs  @harriedandharassed

@hisandsnakes  @misstokyo7love @readingiskeepingmegoing  @runningmom94  @sin-djarin

@cakipy-blog  @missladym1981  @guelyury  @weho2kcmo  @alokaerza  

@girlofchaos  @trulybetty  @bitchwitch1981  @madnessofadaydreamer

@darkheartgatita  @jazzloveslatte  @timpletance  @musings-of-a-rose  @samiamproductions

@myloveistoolittle  @for-a-longlongtime   @copperhalfcent  @auteurdelabre @itsdrewharrison

@burntheedges  @stevie75  @bunniboo0015  @quicax3  @jackie923

@sherala007  @pastelnap  @angelofsmalldeath-codeine  @jessthebaker  @rebel-held

@gwendibleywrites  @senorabond  @annalovesflorida  @sandaltoesocks  @katw474

@txlady37 @inkmonster21 @sunnytuliptime @jeewrites @fifitheragertot

[sowerpatch]

terms of play [chapter 12 - flagrant foul]

Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

Summary: Azzi Fudd built the Golden Valkyries on a dare, but drafting Paige Bueckers was all strategy. Fresh off an NCAA title, Paige is everything the team needs—and everything Azzi shouldn’t want.

Officially, it’s all business. Unofficially, it’s glances that linger too long and touches that mean too much.

Author's note: this is an AU where Azzi owns the Golden State Valkyries and drafts Paige. Azzi's family are all original characters. Also, Azzi is three years older than Paige.

*CHAPTER LIST HERE*

Chapter Summary: When a photo of Paige and Azzi appears online, the threat of exposure forces Azzi to confront what she’s tried to avoid: her feelings, the risks, and the terms she set to stay in control.

Despite Paige’s heartfelt confession and willingness to fight for their relationship, Azzi chooses the other way.

The fallout leaves both women reeling. Paige in silence, Azzi through conversations that slowly challenge her decision.

Word count: 6,591

Fudd Holdings, San Francisco. September 2025.  

Azzi’s office held the pause that settled just after noon. Morning meetings had tapered off, her inbox thinned out, and her calendar was plotted in precise increments for the next several weeks.  

Yet she remained at her desk, posture composed, one elbow resting near her tablet while her fingers traced the metal edge without purpose. Her gaze hovered somewhere past the screen, thoughts already detached from the tasks in front of her. 

The buzz of her phone was soft against the wood. She glanced down, expecting a calendar alert or a board ping. 

James 

Azzi paused. He almost never texted. He was the type to call without warning, with his voice already halfway into a story before she even answered. A message from him was rare. Curiosity tugged her out of her concentration. 

She unlocked the screen and opened it. 

The image loaded slowly. A grainy shot, taken without care for angles or lighting. The alley outside the used bookstore on Valencia. Familiar to her now. She saw two figures, side by side, caught in soft motion.  

One was unmistakably Paige. The frame caught her half smiling, hair pulled low, a beanie slouched over her head.  

The other figure—blurred, hood drawn up, her face obscured by the tilt of her chin and the poor lighting—stood closer than expected.  

Their shoulders brushed. The intimacy of it read more clearly than any facial recognition algorithm could produce. 

It was them. 

James: u look good in sweats, lil sis. didn’t know they were in ur rotation. 

Azzi stared at the message, then at the photo again. Her fingers stayed on the edge of her screen, unmoving. She let the image linger for another breath before finally exhaling and pressing the phone icon. Her thumb hovered for half a second, just long enough to recompose the calm she wore like a uniform, then tapped the call. 

It rang twice. 

“You calling to confirm or deny?” James answered, voice already edged with amusement. 

She closed her eyes for a moment. “Where did you get that photo?” 

“Everywhere,” he said. “Instagram, Twitter, one of those thirsty fan accounts. Honestly, I’m surprised you’re just seeing it. Thought you’d have an alert set for anything involving your number one draft pick.” 

Azzi pushed her chair back, the leather catching softly beneath her. She stood and paced toward the windows, phone still at her ear. The sunlight hit her desk at an angle, gold streaks warming the otherwise cold lines of glass and steel. 

“I’ve been working,” she said, carefully. “Deadlines. The arena renovation proposal just got out of committee.” 

“Ah,” James replied. “So too busy to check if you’re going viral for soft-launching your personal life?” 

Azzi sighed as her eyes followed the skyline just beyond the glass. Her reflection hovered faintly in the window, a muted echo of composure she wasn’t entirely feeling. 

“You can barely see me,” she said. “The photo isn’t clear.” 

James let out a low chuckle. “I’m your big brother. You really think a grainy 160p photo is gonna fool me into thinking that’s not my little sister looking real damn comfortable next to Golden State’s Golden Girl?” 

Azzi drew her free hand across her brow, thumb and forefinger pressing briefly at her temples.  

She could still hear Paige’s laugh from that moment. The way their shoulders brushed, how easy it had felt to exist like that for once, just one of two women ducking into an alley after dinner. 

“Has anyone else sent it to you?” she asked, quieter this time. 

“You mean Mom?” James said. “She’s too busy posting about her herb garden.” 

Azzi breathed in through her nose, let it settle in her chest. “It’s not what it looks like.” 

James gave a short laugh. “Then tell me, what does it look like? Because all I see is my little sister stepping out of her glass tower for once. Hanging around an alleyway, at midnight, with someone who makes her laugh. I’ve never seen you do that before. Kinda looks like living to me.” 

The warmth in his voice softened something in her chest, even as her grip on the phone stayed firm. James had always known when to mock and when to mean it. Sometimes, like now, he managed both in the same sentence. 

Azzi sat back in her chair, posture precise but strained. The screen in front of her had long gone dark, her reflection barely visible in the glass. She stared down at her phone, James’s name still at the top of the screen, his words echoing louder than they should have. 

Her voice, when it came, was measured. “The public cannot find out about this. Whatever Paige and I are... it stays where it started. Away from cameras. Away from stories.” 

There was a pause on the line, the weight of familiarity and older-brother instinct building into something firmer. 

“You think I’d send that photo if anyone could tell it was you?” James said. “They don’t know. The internet’s busy guessing, but your name hasn’t come up. Just some mystery woman next to the WNBA’s golden girl. That’s all they’ve got.” 

Azzi exhaled through her nose, gaze fixed on the grain of her desk. “Let’s hope that’s all of it. I’ve allowed this to go further than it should have. It was supposed to be temporary. I can’t afford this kind of distraction, and neither can she.” 

“You’re not describing a distraction,” James said. “You’re describing something real and trying to make it sound disposable.” 

Azzi pressed her fingertips together. Her pulse thudded against her ribs. “It’s immature. All of it. Meeting in alleys, letting myself fall into something undefined with someone I’m supposed to be leading. I need to stop acting like—like this.” 

James’s voice shifted, less teasing now. “You built a life on precision, and it’s served you well. But somewhere along the line, you started thinking control meant cutting yourself off from feeling anything at all.” 

Azzi didn’t interrupt, but her expression hardened faintly. 

“I’ve seen you chase impossible deals. Risk ten times more on things you believed in,” James went on. “So don’t stand there pretending you don’t have the nerve to fall in love just because it came dressed like a headline. You’re allowed to live, Az. Even if it’s messy. Even if it’s with the league’s favorite daughter.” 

His voice softened. “Especially if she looks at you like you’re hers.” 

Azzi closed her eyes for a moment. Her hand stayed on her desk, palm flat against the surface like it could anchor her. Nothing in her face gave it away, but in her chest, something had started to shift. 

Azzi rubbed a thumb along the edge of her desk, the tension beginning to loosen beneath her ribs.  

“You and Nika should start an alliance,” she said dryly, lifting her phone off speaker and bringing it to her ear. “You’d be unstoppable. Half interventions, half judgmental commentary.” 

James’s laughter rumbled through the line. “What can I say? You’re fun to gang up on. It’s rare we get a reaction out of you.” 

Her lips curved, just slightly. “Maybe you’re both too predictable.” 

“Maybe. But predictable is what makes us reliable. Unlike someone who skipped out on Mom and Dad’s anniversary dinner without so much as a voicemail.” 

Azzi winced, but she didn’t argue. She leaned back into her chair, letting her head rest against the leather with a sigh. “I was caught up in a project.” 

“Whatever that project is,” James said, voice softening just enough to be felt, “it better not be the reason you miss your niece’s birthday next month.” 

At that, Azzi smiled. It started small but lifted into something real. Her niece had a way of doing that, pulling warmth from her without trying. 

“She still wants that telescope?” Azzi asked. 

“She wants a galaxy projector, a telescope, and a trip to Saturn,” James said. “But more than that, she wants you there.” 

Azzi’s smile lingered. 

“I swear,” he added, mock dramatic now, “she looks up to you like you invented the moon. I asked if she wanted McDonald’s and she said, ‘Aunt Azzi never eats fast food.’ You’ve ruined my daughter’s life.” 

A soft, smug sound escaped Azzi. “She has taste. And standards. I take full credit.” 

“You would,” James muttered. “Anyway, expect an invite. And clear your damn schedule.” 

Azzi reached for her tablet, thumb swiping through her calendar. “Send it over. I’ll move some things.” 

“Good. Because we’re all expecting a plus one this year.” James paused. “Preferably tall, blonde, six-foot with a mean mid-range jumper.” 

- 

Azzi’s condo, San Francisco. September 2025. 

The knock arrived faint and uneven, like hesitation disguised as courage. Azzi stood in the kitchen, her hand curved loosely around the base of a glass.  

The stemless bowl of it held more than wine. It held the weight of restraint. Her tablet sat dim beside her, notifications untouched.  

Azzi set the glass down. Her movements were deliberate, the kind born from years of managing fire with poise. She walked toward the door, pressed her fingers against the handle, and opened it. 

Paige stood beneath the dim lighting of the hallway, posture hunched beneath the hood of her sweatshirt. Her eyes struggled to meet Azzi’s. She didn’t speak. 

Azzi didn’t invite her in with words. She stepped back, leaving just enough space for a decision to be made. 

Paige entered with her hands tucked deep into her pockets. She looked around the condo as though she was trying to remember what calm felt like. The scent of rosemary and warm stone hovered in the air. The room was clean, minimal, the kind of place that had been curated for control. 

“I know you’re pissed,” Paige said, her voice low and edged with exhaustion. “I would be too.” 

Azzi returned to the kitchen and picked up her glass. Her thumb traced the rim instead. 

“I didn’t know anyone was watching,” Paige added. “I swear.” 

Azzi’s gaze stayed fixed. “They always are. Whether you know it or not.” 

Paige dropped her hood. Her hair was still damp at the ends. She looked like she had changed three times before showing up. “It’s just a photo. We weren’t doing anything.” 

Azzi held Paige’s gaze, steady and unyielding. Her voice carried the weight of everything unsaid. “We agreed on boundaries for a reason. These terms protect more than just our reputations. They protect us.”  

The concern beneath her firmness was unmistakable, a careful guard around something fragile. 

Paige’s hands tightened around the edge of her hoodie as if anchoring herself. “I understand that. But this photo—it’s just a shadow, blurred and distant. No one knows who I was with. No one will connect the dots.”  

She tried to infuse confidence into her words, but the edge of worry still lingered in her tone. 

“What if someone takes another picture? One where my face is unmistakable? What then?” Azzi’s question hung in the air, sharp and deliberate. Her eyes narrowed slightly, piercing through the attempt. 

Paige met her eyes with a quiet resolve. “It won’t happen again. We’ll be more careful. I promise. We’ll keep everything away from prying eyes.” 

A shadow passed over Azzi’s expression. Her disappointment was palpable, slipping through the cracks of her composed facade.  

“This situation could have been avoided if you had stuck to our terms from the beginning. Staying inside was not a suggestion. It was essential.” 

Paige lowered her gaze, the weight of responsibility pressing down. The defensiveness she had held faltered, leaving a raw honesty exposed. “I hear you. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” 

“It will not happen again because we need to stop seeing each other. That is the only way to protect what’s left.” Azzi’s eyes softened briefly before hardening with a resolve that tightened the space between them. Her voice was steady but carried the weight of finality. 

Paige’s heart pounded as panic surged through her veins. The thought of losing Azzi felt like a sudden emptiness clawing at her chest.  

“That’s not the answer,” she said, voice trembling with urgency. “Walking away won’t fix anything. We can be careful. We can make this work.” 

“Careful has already failed us. Every time we try, it pulls us closer to exposure. We cannot afford mistakes, not with everything on the line.” 

“What happens to us then? Is letting it go the only way? I’m ready to fight for this. For us.” The vulnerability beneath Paige's words pulled at everything inside her. 

Azzi looked away for a moment, the tension in her jaw betraying the struggle inside. “I want that too, more than you know. But desire does not erase reality. The risks are too great. Our worlds are too different. I cannot let either of us fall because of this.” 

“These terms are bullshit. They’re just a way for you to keep me at a distance. You’re scared. Afraid of what this could become.” Paige’s eyes burned with anger and frustration, refusing to back down. “You hide behind these rules because letting me in means losing control. But I’m not here to be locked away or silenced. I’m here because I want this, all of it” 

Azzi’s eyes narrowed as she held Paige’s gaze with steady intensity. “These were the terms you agreed to from the start. This is on you as much as it is on me. Since they’ve been broken, there is no reason to keep going.” 

Paige’s breath hitched, but she refused to retreat. 

“I agreed because it was the only way to have you. The only way I could hold you, kiss you, treat you like you deserve—to make you feel special.” Her voice softened, trembling with something raw and true.  “You’re worlds above me in every way, but I’d give everything just for a moment to be with you.” 

“Paige —” 

“No Azzi,” Paige shook her head, voice steady but charged with everything she had held back. “I love the moments we steal inside these walls, when it’s just us and the world feels smaller. Those times make me feel like I’m exactly where I belong. But there’s a part of me that aches for more. To take you out on dates where the whole world knows who you are to me. To hold your hand in public without glances or whispered questions. To shout from the rooftops how proud I am of the woman you are—not just the CEO, not just the rich woman everyone sees, but you. Azzi, the woman who laughs at my terrible jokes. The one who steals the blanket and denies it with a straight face. The one who hums under her breath when she thinks I’m asleep. The one who sends me reminders to drink water like I’m the one who needs taking care of, even though your entire world runs on your shoulders.” 

Her breath caught on the weight of it all, vulnerability spilling out in every word. “I see beyond the power suits and the empire you’ve built. I see the woman who hides her fears behind a steel mask, the woman I’ve fallen for completely.” 

The word landed harder than Azzi expected.  

Fallen. 

It struck something deep and unguarded, something she had spent years building layers around. Her breath stalled, caught somewhere between disbelief and a sudden, visceral ache that curled low in her stomach.  

She had been prepared for resistance, even for anger. But not this. Not Paige handing her something so raw, so real, like it wasn’t the most dangerous thing between them. 

She held herself still. Her spine locked into place, but her hands betrayed her, curling slightly at her sides. She felt the room shift around her, like the air had grown heavier, more difficult to stand beneath.  

That word echoed in her chest, threatening to unseat all the careful control she’d spent a lifetime mastering. 

She wanted to speak. To cut through the tension with something definitive, something clean. Instead, she found herself staring at Paige, heart thudding behind her ribs with a rhythm she could not slow. 

She saw it in her mind with sharp clarity—Paige, standing there with her whole heart exposed, offering something Azzi had convinced herself she never needed.  

A future.  

A risk.  

A possibility she hadn’t allowed herself to want. The part of her that spent years making brutal decisions, negotiating mergers, cutting losses and letting go, screamed to end this now before it grew into something irreversible. 

But beneath that instinct was another feeling. Softer, older, more honest.  

She wanted to be chosen like that. She wanted someone to look at her and still want her for who she was. The version stripped of position and power. 

Her voice, when it finally came, was low. “You shouldn’t have said that.” 

It was all she could manage. Anything else would have unraveled her. 

Paige stepped in, slow and certain, until barely a breath sat between them. Her hands stayed at her sides, but her eyes never left Azzi’s face. She could see the tension drawn tight across her expression, the effort it took to stay composed. Azzi looked like she was trying to hold up a wall with trembling arms. 

“I said it because it’s true,” Paige answered, voice low but steady. “And because you needed to hear it, whether you want to or not.” 

A slow tension climbed through Azzi’s chest, as if the truth in Paige’s words had pressed against a part of her she wasn’t ready to name. 

 

“You can try to scare it away. You can stand there and pretend it didn’t crack something open in you. But I’m not sorry I said it. I meant every word.” Paige whispered. 

Azzi’s shoulders sagged slightly as the weight pressed down on her. Her voice came out tight, fragile. “I can’t do this. You’re—” 

“I’m willing to risk everything for this because it’s not just about a secret kept behind closed doors. It’s about us—something real, something worth fighting for. Even if the world tries to keep us apart, I’ll stand by you. I already have.”  

Paige’s eyes locked onto Azzi’s with fierce determination, refusing to let her look away. 

“I love you.” 

“What?”

Paige reached out with deliberate care, her fingers brushing softly against Azzi’s cheek. The warmth of her touch seemed to steady the turmoil beneath Azzi’s composed exterior. For a moment, the world around them slipped away, leaving only the shared weight of their breath and the steady pulse of something fragile and real between them.  

Azzi’s eyes softened as she leaned into the contact, the tension loosening just enough to reveal the vulnerability she usually kept hidden.  

The unspoken promises hung heavy in the space they held together, a tether stronger than any words. Then the moment shifted, the reality of their situation pressing back in like a tide reclaiming the shore. 

“You don’t have to say anything back. I just want you to know how I feel and where I stand.” Paige’s eyes held steady, vulnerable yet unwavering. “That’s all.” 

Azzi’s breath caught as Paige’s words settled in a place she tried to keep locked away. She turned her gaze downward, feeling the weight of everything pressing against her chest. 

“I can’t say the same. I can’t. Sometimes feelings don’t matter when everything else is at stake.” 

When Azzi looked back, she let her fingers brushed a loose strand of Paige’s hair with a hesitant tenderness, a small touch that spoke more than her words.  

“I want this to mean something, but I’m scared it won’t keep us safe. I’m sorry, Paige.” 

- 

Nika’s condo, Oakland. September 2025.  

Azzi’s knock was hesitant, but firm enough to echo softly against the cool walls of Nika’s apartment. The door swung open before she could repeat the sound, revealing Nika standing framed by the warm glow of the living room. Her eyes narrowed slightly, lips pressed into a thin line of curiosity mixed with something sharper—an intuition that unsettled Azzi more than she expected. 

“You,” Nika said with a half-smile, stepping aside without waiting for an invitation. “I was wondering when you’d show up.” 

Azzi stepped in, the faint scent of rain still clinging to her coat. The apartment felt both lived-in and calm, a refuge from the chaos she carried inside. She paused by the doorway, collecting the heaviness that weighed down her shoulders.  

“There’s been a photo,” she said, her voice low and brittle. 

Nika’s expression softened, the sharp edges fading into something warmer but no less serious. “I saw it online this morning. You don’t exactly live in the shadows, but I guess some things find a way to catch up no matter what.” 

Azzi eased down onto the worn leather sofa, the familiar texture grounding her amid the restless swirl of thoughts. She let out a slow breath, her fingers tracing the grain of the armrest as if searching for solid footing. 

“I tried to calculate everything, every risk, every move. I never thought being careful would not be enough.” Her voice cracked slightly, betraying the strain beneath the surface. “I thought if we stuck to the terms, if Paige and I stayed grounded, we could keep it all hidden.” 

She looked up, eyes searching Nika’s face for judgment or disappointment but finding only steady understanding. “But the photo, someone saw us. And now everything feels unraveling. I feel like I am losing control and I do not know how to fix it.” 

Nika moved closer and settled beside Azzi on the sofa, her hand reaching out to pull her into a gentle hug. The warmth of the embrace was steady, a soft anchor in the storm of Azzi’s unraveling thoughts. 

“I could say I told you so, but that wouldn’t help right now.” Her smile was fleeting, fading as her eyes settled on Azzi with steady care. “It’s alright to fall apart. You don’t have to hold everything inside. You’re allowed to crash, to feel broken sometimes. That doesn’t make you any less strong.” 

Azzi’s breath caught, the carefully guarded walls around her emotions beginning to crumble in that moment. 

“You have me,” Nika continued, her eyes locking with Azzi’s. “And you have more people in your corner than you realize.” 

“You don’t have to be nice to me for a raise.” Azzi tried to joke.  

Nika let out a soft snort, shaking her head as she leaned back just enough to see Azzi’s face.  

“Please. I’m getting a raise whether I’m nice to you or not.” Her grin was crooked, but her tone was clear and even. “But I’m not saying this because I want something from you. I’m saying it because it’s true.” 

Azzi’s eyes lowered, jaw tight, as if accepting kindness demanded more strength than holding the world on her shoulders. 

“You’re so locked in—work, Paige, keeping everything airtight—that you miss what’s right in front of you. You’re not alone in this. You never were.” Nika kept her voice even, but her gaze pressed in, steady and sure.  

“Ines has been holding that schedule of yours like it's classified military intel. She’s been screening calls and dodging press better than most publicists I’ve met. That’s loyalty. She’s not there because it’s a paycheck. She’s there because she believes in you.” 

Something in Azzi shifted in the lines of her expression.  

Nika went on, calm and certain. “Your team at Fudd Holdings? The people in that company would walk through fire if you asked them. Half of them already have. They don’t speak to you like a boss because they’re afraid. They do it because they respect you. Deeply.” 

Nika paused, her voice dropping into something quieter, more certain. “And the Valkyries… you think they’re waiting for a reason to question you, but they’re not. Some of them put the pieces together, I’m sure. But they kept it to themselves. Because they know who you are. You didn’t build that team on ego or impulse. You drafted Paige because she’s the best guard available, because you want banners on the wall, not headlines in the tabloids. They respect that. They respect you.” 

Azzi’s shoulders slumped. The weight hadn’t lifted, but Nika’s words carved out enough space to breathe. The kind of space she hadn’t allowed herself in weeks. 

Nika held her close, arms wrapped around Azzi with the kind of steadiness that never asked for permission. She stayed, anchoring Azzi in a moment that allowed her to let go just enough. 

Azzi leaned into it, her cheek brushing Nika’s shoulder as her voice came in a low, strained breath. “She said she loves me.” 

The words sat between them, fragile but heavy. Nika tightened her hold slightly. 

“We talked earlier,” Azzi continued, the edges of her composure softening. “It caught me off guard. I’ve spent so much time trying to keep this under control, trying to keep her from getting too close. But then she says that, and suddenly everything I’ve been holding back crashes in.” 

Her throat worked around the next part. “I didn’t know how to stay. I’ve never known what to do with something that feels that real. So I did the only thing I could. I told her we had to stop.” 

She pulled back just enough to see Nika’s face, her own expression unguarded. “I thought it would protect us. That if I ended it, I could keep us safe from the fallout. But all it did was leave me standing there, feeling like I just stepped out of something I might never find again.” 

Nika studied her, the way only someone who had seen Azzi in every version of herself could. 

"Az, you’re not bulletproof. You never were. You just got real good at pretending to be.” 

She reached for Azzi’s hand and held it between both of hers. 

“You didn’t lose your grip. You let yourself feel something, and now it scares the hell out of you. That’s not failure. That’s human. And you’re allowed to be that. Even if you don’t know what to do next. Even if you think you messed it up.” 

Azzi’s breath caught, her shoulders lifting in a futile attempt to keep it together, but the weight had been pressing in too long. Her face folded as the first tear broke past her defenses, then another. She leaned forward, eyes glassed and unfocused, like the ground had been slipping beneath her for weeks and only now had she looked down. 

Her voice cracked, raw and barely audible. “I don’t know what to do anymore.” 

“Just cry and let it all out, babe.”  

- 

Chase Center Arena, San Francisco. September 2025. 

The room hummed with anticipation, reporters pressing forward beneath the harsh glare of cameras and bright lights. Paige sat at the head of the table, the championship trophy gleaming beside her, a symbol of everything she and her team had fought for. Questions about the game came swiftly, voices overlapping with excitement and urgency. 

Then a sharp voice cut through the noise.  

“Paige, there’s been a photo circulating online that has caught everyone’s attention. Can you tell us who the other person is?” 

Paige’s breath faltered for a moment, but her expression stayed composed.  

She met the questioner’s gaze directly, voice steady and calm. “I appreciate the interest, but I’m here to talk about the team’s success and the hard work behind it. My focus remains on the game and the players who made this win possible.” 

A few murmurs rippled through the crowd as cameras clicked rapidly.

Another reporter pressed, “Is it someone we know? Or someone connected to the team?” 

Paige’s lips curved into a polite, guarded smile. “I’m not at liberty to discuss personal matters. Right now, the priority is celebrating what we’ve achieved together.” 

She took a breath, then added with genuine warmth, “But let me have this opportunity to say that she’s an amazing person. The world is lucky to have her grace us with her presence. So I hope the media and everyone can respect her privacy. She deserves that much—just to be seen as a person, not a headline.” Her voice carried a quiet but firm resolve, grounding her words in both care and conviction. 

- 

Golden State Valkyries Charity Gala, San Francisco. September 2025. 

The convention center buzzed with muted excitement, a flowing crowd of elegant guests beneath crystal chandeliers. Azzi moved through the room with deliberate grace, her luxurious black dress sculpting her figure with quiet power. Every step felt like a careful performance, one she could not afford to falter in. 

Across the room, Paige stood among the Valkyries, her tailored suit sharp against the sea of gowns and tuxedos. She laughed with her teammates, but her eyes betrayed a restless focus, drifting toward the entrance, searching for Azzi. 

When Azzi caught sight of Paige, the familiar pull inside her tightened, a mixture of longing and hesitation she kept carefully locked away.  

The press swarmed around them, filling the space with flashing cameras and intrusive questions, but neither could look away. 

Azzi answered inquiries about her business ventures with measured calm, though each word felt distant. Her thoughts kept returning to Paige’s poised figure, the way she carried herself with an ease that both unsettled and captivated her. 

Paige kept her attention on her team, though the tension coiled beneath her skin. Every time her eyes met Azzi’s across the crowded room, a silent conversation passed between them. 

- 

Paige’s apartment, Oakland. September 2025. 

The television screen glowed blue across the walls, a paused replay of their last home game frozen in place. Paige lay across the couch, one leg draped over the armrest, the other bent at the knee. Her socks were mismatched. 

Her phone rested on her chest. Every few minutes, she picked it up and stared at the same screen.  

Azzi’s contact hovered near the top of her recents, untouched since the night they ended things. 

Paige tapped the message box. Her thumbs hesitated. 

I miss you. 

She stared at it. Too simple. Too soft.  

She deleted it. 

Typed again. 

I still wear your stupid expensive hoodie. I don’t know why. It smells like you, and I think that makes me feel worse. 

Delete. 

She tried something else. 

You made me feel seen, even when you were pushing me away. I know you think you’re protecting me. But you’re not. You’re just protecting the version of yourself that never learned how to stay. 

Her hand dropped to her stomach. She exhaled slowly, eyes stinging. The message sat there, waiting for her to commit. She didn’t move. 

Her thumb hovered, trembling slightly. Then she erased the entire thing. 

She set the phone face down on the couch beside her and stared at the ceiling. Her hand rested over her ribs, right where the ache sat thickest. The city outside kept moving, streetlights flaring against the walls, cars groaning past. But inside, everything stilled into something tight and quiet and sore. 

After a while, she reached for the phone again.  

No new messages.  

She opened their thread. It looked untouched, but the weight behind each message pressed back at her like pressure behind glass. 

She started typing again. 

I wish you’d let me fight for you. 

She let the cursor blink. 

And then she deleted it too. 

- 

Fudd Private Estate, Northern California. September 2025.  

The gates of the Fudd estate closed behind her with a low hum, but Azzi remained still in the back seat, her eyes fixed on the gravel drive ahead.  

The car rolled forward slowly, trees arching overhead, their summer leaves shifting in a breeze that made her eyelids heavier. Sleep tugged at her like a weight around her ribs. She had not given into it all week. 

The house stood as it always had—elegant, composed, unchanging. But as she stepped out of the car, her reflection in the side mirror gave her pause. She adjusted the collar of her coat, though it had already fallen into place. The gesture was less about neatness than control. 

Inside, the scent of roasted garlic and fresh herbs greeted her. Her mother always cooked on Sundays. Even when she didn’t expect guests. The dining room doors were open, letting in the early afternoon light that spilled in sharp angles across the table. 

Her mother looked up from where she was placing a serving dish down. Surprise flickered across her features, then gave way to concern as she looked Azzi over. 

“You look like you haven’t slept in a week,” she said, taking in her daughter’s drawn face, the shadows beneath her eyes. “Or maybe ten.” 

Azzi kissed her cheek lightly before sitting at the far end of the table. “I’ve been working,” she said. She unfolded her napkin with slow precision, focusing on the motion instead of her mother’s expression. 

“I can see that.” Her mother sat across from her, one brow arched. “The work must be tremendous to strip you down like this.” 

Azzi gave a small shrug and reached for the water. “Tremendous is one word for it.” 

They ate for a few minutes in the kind of calm that came with practiced familiarity. Forks against porcelain. The soft clink of glass. Her mother watched her with the kind of attention that made evasion impossible. 

“You used to come here to rest,” she said, her voice low but certain. “But you look more tired than when you left the city. This kind of pace only serves the fire until it burns you with it.” 

Azzi chewed, swallowed, and reached for a piece of bread she wasn’t sure she wanted. “It’s just work.” 

Her mother gave her a look that said she knew better but would wait for the truth to come on its own. “Then let work stay outside these walls. You came home for a reason. Even if you don’t want to say it yet.” 

Azzi toyed with the edge of her napkin, folding it once, then again, pressing the seam with a steady hand that felt anything but steady. Across from her, her mother waited. Her silence held no pressure, only the kind of calm that invited honesty without demanding it. 

Azzi stared down at her plate, then pushed it slightly away. Her appetite had vanished, if it had ever been there at all. She drew a slow breath and spoke, her voice level but threaded with something fragile. 

“I met someone.” 

Her mother stayed still, but Azzi caught the way her gaze sharpened with focus, a quiet shift that said she was listening more closely now. 

“She’s loud. She talks with her whole body and never waits to be invited into a room. She eats like she’s got three games a day, leaves her shoes wherever she kicks them off, and has an opinion about everything, even the things that don’t concern her.” 

A pause. 

“She is everything I am not.” 

Azzi’s mouth twisted slightly, but there was a softness behind it. The memory of something recent. 

“I tried to keep my distance. I thought she’d eventually get bored, that she’d lose interest in someone who reads the market before breakfast and keeps her life on a spreadsheet. But she didn’t leave. She kept showing up. In her own way. Loud, stubborn, and always smiling like she knew some secret I hadn’t figured out yet.” 

Her hand dropped to the table. 

“She’s the chaos in my structure. And somehow, instead of pushing me over the edge, she makes the fall feel manageable.” 

Her eyes lifted to her mother’s, quieter now, not with defeat but with truth. 

“She pulls me into this world I’ve never had room for. I keep resisting it, stepping back when it feels too far from what I know. But then she says something or laughs or looks at me like I matter more than all of it, and I feel still. I feel calm in a way that terrifies me, because it doesn’t make sense. Nothing about her should feel safe, but she does.” 

Her mother leaned back in her chair, watching her with the same patience she used to show when Azzi was a girl unraveling her shoelaces in frustration. Her voice came steady and warm. 

“What’s wrong with meeting someone like that?” she asked, chin tilted slightly, eyes knowing. 

Azzi’s jaw tensed. She looked down at her hands, fingers laced too tightly together. “She plays for my team. That alone is a big complication.” 

Her mother’s brow lifted, a slow grin creeping across her face. “The LGBTQ team?” 

Azzi huffed, the sound sharp but laced with something unwillingly amused. She dragged a hand down her face, not hiding the eye-roll that followed. “You’re impossible.” 

“I’m hilarious,” her mother replied, reaching for her tea with the poise of someone deeply pleased with herself. “And I just want to see my daughter laugh. You don’t do that enough these days.” 

Azzi pressed her thumb to the edge of her plate. She looked up slowly, the hint of a smile forming, not quite reaching full strength but trying. “It’s not that simple.” 

“I didn’t say it was. But love never is. Doesn’t mean it’s not worth the mess.” 

“You do realize how inappropriate it is to suggest having myself involved with someone under contract with my organization?” 

“Darling, she’s an athlete. You own the team. You’re not exactly her shift supervisor.” 

“I drafted her. I fund her salary. My signature is on half her contracts. And my last name is printed on everything the team wears. That counts.” 

Her mother sipped her tea with maddening calm. “You’re saying you’re afraid people will think she’s only playing for you because you like the way she looks in shorts.” 

Azzi’s sigh was audible. “I’m saying the optics are complicated.” 

“That’s not what you’re saying.” Her mother’s lips curled. “You’re saying you care about her, and that scares the hell out of you. So you’re clinging to technicalities like they’re policy manuals.” 

Azzi glanced away, jaw tightening. “My position requires everything to be responsible, professional, and calculated.” 

Her mother leaned forward slightly, tone gentler now. “Let me ask you something, my darling. When you look at this girl, when you see her name in your emails or schedule, or walk into a room and find her already there… do you feel steadier, or more lost?” 

Azzi's throat constricted. Her breath stuck somewhere in the middle.  

She hadn’t expected the question to land where it did. It wasn’t about rules or reputations, contracts or careers.  

It was personal. Painfully so. 

Her mother smiled, the kind of smile that came from watching your child fight the same wars you once did. “Sometimes the point isn’t to feel in control. Sometimes it’s to feel seen. You have every tool in the world to build distance, but what happens when someone finally closes it, and you don’t hate how it feels?” 

Azzi’s posture faltered, her shoulders curving inward like the words had taken the wind out of her spine. Her voice came out thinner than she liked. “It feels like a risk I don’t know how to take.” 

Her mother set her cup down with careful precision, then met Azzi’s eyes with quiet certainty. “You’ve mastered everything except letting yourself be known. At some point, you have to ask if protecting the life you’ve built is worth missing out on the one that could make you feel alive.” 

[orlaunderrated]

The Edges of Us: Chapter 27

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Will Lenney x fem reader; George Clarke x fem reader

Summary: Y/N has always been close to George—but everything changes when she catches feelings for his sharp-tongued, infuriatingly charming friend, Will. Torn between loyalty and desire, Y/N finds herself caught in a messy tangle of friendship, secrets, and unexpected love.

Word Count: 6.5k+

Note: LETS GOOOOO grovelling will

xxx

It’s a Friday. Thank god.

I’ve survived a hell-day at work — the kind where even the clock seemed to give up, dragging its hands like it was personally offended by my existence. Someone cried in the break room. Someone else microwaved fish. I almost threw my laptop out the window trying to fix a spreadsheet that was not my job to fix. Classic Friday energy.

But none of that matters now. Because I’m home.

My face is scrubbed clean, clay facemask setting in all its minty, chalky glory. My softest pyjamas are on — the ones with the tiny hole in the thigh that I refuse to acknowledge — and there’s a fleece blanket cocooning me like I’m the star of a Netflix original about choosing peace over men.

Brooklyn Nine-Nine is playing in the background, the familiar cadence of Jake Peralta’s voice doing laps around my living room. My giant water bottle is full — ice cold, condensation beading like a medal of honour. My phone is charging. The flat is clean enough to ignore. My belly is full of something carb-heavy and comforting, the kind of meal that feels like it might love me back.

And it’s only 7PM.

There’s something stupidly luxurious about being completely ready for bed this early — skin hydrated, brain empty, the day firmly behind me. A whole weekend ahead, and I’m spending my Friday night horizontal, moisturised, and unreachable.

I’ve got plans tomorrow too. Not chaotic ones — just Parkrun with Oscar from The Van. He’s way faster than me, even as a big guy. I’ll probably die, but he’s promised we’ll get pastries after, so that’s enough incentive to haul myself into a sports bra.

Life, as it stands, is good.

Not perfect. But good.

The stress of the last two weeks has fully melted away. The panic. The shame. The lingering ache of heartbreak disguised as confusion. Gone.

I’m single and thriving.

I have a routine. I’ve got a new playlist for walking to work, and I finally figured out how to make my oat milk frothy. I’ve even started journaling — like actually doing it, not just buying the notebook and forgetting it exists.

I am moisturised. I am fed. I am hydrated. I am horizontal. I am ready for bed at 7PM, and proud of it.

Life is not perfect. But it’s mine. And right now? It’s good.

xxx

I wake up on the couch, stiff-necked and starfish-limbed, the faint smell of eucalyptus lingering as my half-dried facemask flakes gently onto the throw blanket. The room is dim now, lit only by the gentle blue glow of the TV, which is paused on the Brooklyn Nine-Nine “Are you still watching?” screen like it’s politely judging me.

Something’s vibrating against my hip.

For a second, I think it’s my alarm — that soft hum of pre-dawn responsibility. My brain foggy, limbs heavy, I blink slowly and squint down at my phone wedged between the couch cushions.

It’s not the alarm. But I feel oddly grateful to be woken up like this — soft and slow, no blaring sirens or rude sunbeams, just a little buzz that pulled me gently out of whatever weird half-dream I was having about being late for work in a chicken costume.

The screen lights up.

Will?

My brain doesn’t catch up fast enough. I just stare at the name and the photo — a pic I took ages ago at IKEA, him splayed dramatically across a child-sized showroom bed like some cursed renaissance painting. I remember laughing so hard I almost fell to the floor. That memory catches me more off guard than the fact he’s calling me.

And then, just as quickly as it lit up, the screen goes dark.

Missed call.

3:03 AM.

What the hell is Will doing calling me at 3AM?

Before I can even properly finish the thought, the phone buzzes again. This time it’s Ruth.

Ruth? Why would—

Her contact photo flashes up — one of her in The Van’s kitchen, face smeared with whipped cream, eyes wild, mid-scream-laugh. Matt had been chasing her with a can of the stuff. Matt had been successful.

My stomach drops.

Something’s happened.

I answer.

“Hello?”

“Hey, uh — it’s Will. Are you home?”

“What the fuck. Why are you calling me from Ruth’s phone? Where are you?”

“I’m at a club. I ran into Ruth and her friend — your friend too, I think? Ruth said you knew him. Anyway, she’s clinging to the toilet in the disabled bathroom and she’s currently reciting the Lord’s Prayer.”

Oh my god.

I’m already on my feet, digging around for shoes. Will’s on speaker now, and the echo confirms he’s 100% in a tiled room of doom.

“And your friend — Oscar? He’s, uh… he’s so cooked he couldn’t tell me his phone password or his address to get him an Uber.”

Jesus Christ, Oscar. So much for Parkrun.

“Where are you?” I ask, hopping as I try to jam my feet into my ratty trainers.

“We’re at Club Verge. Like, ten minutes from yours. I’m sorry to call like this—”

“It’s fine. It’s fine. I’m already booking an Uber.” I mutter, phone in one hand, my other trying to yank a hoodie over my head. “I have no idea what Oscar’s address is, but we’ll figure that out later.”

There’s a pause. A soft exhale.

“Thanks,” Will says quietly, and something in his voice catches me off guard. Like he's not just grateful — like he’s relieved.

“I’m sorry to call like this—”

“Will, shut up.” I yell it over my shoulder — I’m halfway to my bedroom, searching for anything resembling clean jeans. “You did the right thing.”

I pull on a pair that definitely needs a wash and grab my keys just as my phone lights up again.

Yohan is outside.

Perfect. I’m a mess in three-day-old denim, probably still crusted in face mask clay, and I’m about to walk into a nightclub bathroom at 3AM. Love that for me.

“My Uber’s here,” I say, breathless now. “Be there in ten.”

And I hang up before he can say anything else.

Xxx

I have no idea how, or why, I was able to skip the queue and be let into the club. Maybe the bouncer clocked the look on my face — panic, urgency, something not quite party-shaped. Maybe he just didn’t care.

Inside, the noise hits like a wall.

Bass so deep it rattles my teeth. Strobe lights flicker across a thousand sweaty bodies. Everything smells like beer and cologne and something faintly chemical.

Everyone’s shiny with sweat, drinks sloshing, bodies pressed together like it’s the last night on Earth.

I spot Will near the bar, deep in conversation with a security guy, gesturing wildly and screaming over the music. No Ruth in sight. My stomach tugs.

I spot Will near the entrance to the bathrooms, yelling at a security guard, half-lost in the crowd. I catch his eye, gesture wildly. “Where’s Ruth?” I shout.

He shouts "She's with Arthur."

I huff a little, annoyed. Honestly, I don’t even care if she sees Arthur — like, at all. I told her that. It’s all this big song and dance about how she chooses me first, and now I’m called to her rescue, but she’s nowhere to be found.

I shake off the anger bubbling up. I’m better now — better at talking to people. I’ll ask her about it in the morning. Probably just misconstructed something in my head.

I push my way toward the toilets. It smells like beer and smoke and too much perfume. The bass makes the floor vibrate.

And then I find him.

Oscar is hunched over a toilet, legs splayed, head resting on the bowl like it’s a pillow. The stall door is half-open, and there’s a suspicious-looking smear on the floor that I refuse to think about.

“Hey, big guy,” I say, crouching down and giving his back a gentle pat.

He groans. Loud and dramatic. Then mumbles something into the bowl — could be “I’m fine,” could be “I want chips,” could be Latin. Hard to tell.

I glance around. Someone’s left their vape on the sink. There’s a guy passed out near the hand dryer.

I turn back to Oscar. “Be honest with me,” I say. “Did you take something?”

He nods — slow, theatrical, like it’s physically painful.

“Did Ruth?”

He shakes his head. Firm, confident. Good. One less thing to worry about.

I hear the door open, letting in a ruckus of bass and noise. Then it clicks closed again, and the noise is contained outside again. I glance out of the stall. Its Will and the security guard. He doesn’t seem to notice the guy near the hand dryer.

Then Oscar throws up again. Spectacularly.

It’s mostly liquid, mercifully — some weird mix of red and fluorescent blue. “What was that?” I mutter. “Bloody Smurf guts?”

He groans again.

“Right,” I sigh. “Time to go.”

I poke my head out and wave down Will, who’s lingering by the sinks, with one of the security guards like he might spontaneously become helpful.

"We're going to the hospital" I say across the aisle.

The guard stiffens, professional now. “You need help carrying him?”

“Uh, yeah” I say. Oscar is a big guy. He's strong, massive. Back home we would say, hes built like a Brick Shithouse.

He nods, pulls out his radio, starts speaking in short clipped bursts.

“What’s his name?”

“Oscar.”

“Do you know what he took?”

“I’m not sure. He nodded when I asked, but I didn’t get a name.”

“Any allergies? Medical conditions?”

“No. He’s pretty healthy. Just drunk. And whatever this is.”

"Do you need to call 999?" I want to be like, that your call dude. But instead I say:

"Nah, just a cab will do him good." He disappears outside, swallowed by the noise.

I turn to Will “Hey, can you get us some water and maybe—like—a wet paper towel? He’s alive, but barely.”

Will peeks over my shoulder. “Jesus.”

“Yeah,” I say. “He’s had a night.”

“I think he ate one of those mystery gummies someone was handing out in line,” Will says, already pulling a stack of brown paper towels from the dispenser. “Could’ve been weed, could’ve been... anything else.”

“Great,” I say. “Love that for us.”

I try to lift Oscar to sitting. He slumps against the wall, blinking at me like a confused cat.

“You with me?”

He gives a thumbs up. Very slow. Very proud of himself.

“Alright,” I say. “No ambo. But we’re getting you out of here.”

Will and I get him standing — barely — and guide him out of the toilets like two overly supportive parents at a school disco.

I loop Oscar’s arm around my shoulder. “You owe me chips and a karaoke night out,” I mutter.

He mumbles, “Chips... would go so hard right now.”

Will snorts. “I’ll call a cab.”

And just like that, the three of us are stumbling out into the London night — Oscar sticky and half-lost in the haze, Will steady and doing most of the carrying, tall and solid enough to keep us moving, and me dead sober, trying to keep us all upright in a city that suddenly feels way too loud and bright.

The cold air hits Oscar like a splash, and he gags, clutching his stomach. Will’s grip tightens, and the security guard from earlier steps up, looking concerned but professional.

“Here,” the guard says, pressing a vomit bag into my hand. “Better give this to him, just in case.”

I take it wordlessly and shift closer to Oscar, who manages a weak nod.

Will and the guard carefully lift Oscar between them and help him into the backseat of a waiting cab, the driver already bracing himself for the mess. The guard leans forward through the open passenger door and starts explaining the situation.

“Mate, he’s been on something tonight. We’re just getting him to hospital — The Royal. Needs to be monitored, just in case.”

The cabbie grunts in acknowledgment, adjusting the mirror to see us. Will climbs into the front seat, his face set but calm, and I settle into the back beside Oscar, holding the vomit bag ready. The city blurs past outside, neon and headlights smeared by rain and chaos.

Oscar’s still muttering nonsense, mostly about garlic bread.

But he’s okay.

He’s okay.

Just a little ruined.

And I can deal with that.

I try not to think about the absurdity of it all. Why am I in a cab with Oscar — a guy I see weekly just to hand out instant coffee — alongside Will? Will, who I had a summer romance with and haven’t spoken to properly in months. What even is life?

Before I can question why Will has climbed into the cab with us, he drives off.

xxx

The waiting room smells like antiseptic and stale coffee. I sit hunched over Oscar’s phone, trying to find his partners phone number. Oscar doesn't have people in their phone as firstname Lastname, ofcourse. His bed is somewhere else, behind a door I can’t see past.

I finally find Jeremy’s number and tap it quickly. He's still in his phone as Jeremy Hinge. Theyve been together for four years. They live together

I dial Jeremy’s number and wait, tapping my foot nervously. The line picks up.

“Hello?”

“Hey, it’s YN,” I say, trying to keep my voice light but steady. “Sorry for waking you up, but we’re at The Royal Hospital. Oscar’s here—looks like they’re keeping him for observation.”

A pause, then Jeremy chuckles quietly, still half-asleep. “Oh, Netball YN?”

I grin. “Yeah, that’s me. And yeah… Oscar’s had a big night. You know how it goes.”

“Right, okay. I’m on my way. Thanks for the heads up.”

“No worries. We’re just waiting now. Shouldn’t be too long.”

I hang up and slip the phone back into Oscar’s jacket pocket. I glance over at Will, who’s lounging in the chair next to me. The harsh hospital lights make the waiting room feel colder than it actually is.

I sit in the moment for a second. Will is still sat next to me, his presence steady and quiet. He hasn’t left my side once—not since we got here. It’s strange, a very strange situation, all of it. Here we are, stuck in this cold, sterile waiting room because Oscar and Ruth had a wild night and now we’re playing the role of makeshift caretakers.

I glance at Will, noticing the way his jaw is set, the tired but calm look in his eyes. He’s always been the strong one—tall, steady, reliable—and right now, that’s exactly what I need. I want to say something, to thank him for being here when I wasn’t sure anyone would be.

“So,” I start softly, looking at him, “thanks. For calling me. For sticking around, for helping out. I don’t know what I’d be doing without you right now.”

Will shrugs, a small, almost shy smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You don’t have to thank me. We’ve been through worse. Besides,” he adds, “someone’s got to keep you from losing it.”

I laugh quietly, feeling the tension in my chest loosen just a bit. It’s good to have someone like him here—solid, familiar, even if things between us have been complicated. In this weird, messy moment, I’m just grateful.

“How did you even run into Ruth? I swear you guys never met before, right?”

Will shrugs, a tired sort of smile pulling at his face. “Yeah, bit mad really. She clocked me straight off, like early doors. Me and Chris had this work do, and after we ended up tagging along to some club with a bunch of the lot. Arthur starts banging on about this mad night he had with some girl called Ruth—says he met her through you—and I’m sat there like, nah, that can’t be right. Proper small world.”

He shakes his head, half-laughing. “So Arthur, being Arthur, only goes and texts her. Ten minutes later, she rocks up with this massive bloke who looks like he wrestles bears for a living. Her and Arthur disappear outside to have a catch-up or whatever, and poor Oscar’s just sat there looking like a kicked puppy, so I figured I’d keep him company.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Right... and then?”

Will chuckles, shaking his head. “She comes back in eventually, clocks me from across the room, and decides—dead serious—that she’s gonna chuck a drink over my head. Just announces it, like it’s the weather. Then for good measure, she does the same to George. And honestly? She looked chuffed about it.”

“Oh my God,” I say, half-laughing, half-horrified.

“Yeah.” Will grins, rubbing the back of his neck. “Then her and Oscar vanish. I figured they’d just bailed—Oscar had that look, y’know? Like he was either about to pour his heart out or throw up in a pint glass. Maybe both.” He pauses, still smiling. “Hours later, Ruth staggers back over, properly out of it. Eyes going two different ways, clutching the wall like it’s moving, and just goes, ‘Can you help?’ Like I’m her designated first-aider or something.”

He leans in a bit, voice dropping. “So I follow her, right? Find Oscar in one of the stalls, slumped over like he’s trying to fold himself in half. Not saying much, just kind of groaning. I try to get him up, but he’s dead weight, not really clocking anything. So I think, right, I’ll go get Ruth—only she’s vanished. Like, properly gone. One minute she’s next to me, the next she’s Houdini’d out the bloody bathroom.”

I blink. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. Eventually I find her locked in the disabled loo, crying or singing—still not sure which, to be honest. Could’ve been both. That’s when I figured it was time to call in backup. Tried ringing you, but then when you didn't answer, I thought, well, it’s three in the morning, there’s no way you’re answering a call from me. So I used her number instead.”

He shrugs. “And now we’re here.”

I let out a breath, shaking my head, grinning despite everything. “And now we’re here.”

We sit in the silence for a bit. It’s calmer now—the buzz of the hospital, the soft shuffle of nurses, Will tapping his foot out of habit. The absurdity of it all dulls in the edges. It doesn’t feel wild anymore, not really. It just feels like the tail end of a night out. That strange, liminal bit where the adrenaline’s gone and everything feels softer, a little warped around the edges. And somehow, it doesn’t seem totally insane that I’m sat here talking to Will, of all people—him still a bit buzzed, me stone-cold sober, in a fluorescent waiting room that smells faintly of antiseptic and bad vending machine coffee.

“So Arthur texted Ruth?” I say after a while. I’m trying to sound casual, but I can feel the curiosity poking through. I guess I was right—I’d misread it all in my head.

Will nods. “Yeah, he said she’d told him there was no chance, like, romantically. But I dunno—Arthur being Arthur, I guess he wore her down. Convinced her to come out to the same club we were at.”

“Yeah… she really liked him,” I say, quietly. “I’m not surprised. And Oscar and Ruth? They love a sidequest on a night out. They’re both excellent at just vanishing.” I pause, thinking. “I think Ruth was actually Oscar’s plus-one to someone’s birthday thing? She mentioned it earlier this week.”

Will raises his eyebrows. “Makes sense. They were outside talking for ages. And then Arthur took her home—sometime between when I called you and when you got there.”

I hum softly in acknowledgement, my gaze settling on the speckled floor tiles beneath us. The patterns blur together, dots and cracks like constellations in a dull sky, pulling my thoughts away from the noise of the waiting room. Time stretches thin between us, a fragile thread humming quietly in the silence.

The harsh fluorescent lights above flicker, casting a sterile glow that somehow feels warmer than the chill I carry inside. I watch a small scuff on the tile, tracing its jagged edges with my eyes, as if following the path of a story I’m not quite ready to tell.

Outside, somewhere beyond these walls, the city pulses on. It's loud and indifferent. But here, in this waiting room cocooned by pale walls and plastic chairs, everything slows down. Words hang suspended in the air, waiting for the right moment to settle, to find their meaning.

“How was the event?”

“Oh, fine, yeah. Bit of a drag, honestly. Free wine, though.” He rubs a hand over his jaw, like trying to scrub away the weariness of the night. “I, um… I heard about you and George. I’m so sorry.”

I wave it off with a bitter laugh. “Don’t even. I’m so over it.” But the words taste hollow, like I’m trying to convince myself more than him.

“That’s good,” Will says quietly, but there’s something fragile in his voice, like he’s holding back.

A long pause stretches between us, thick and charged — the kind of silence that presses heavy against your chest.

Then, almost hesitant, I ask, “Why? What did George say about it?”

Will swallows hard, voice dropping low. “He’s torn up about it, really. But—”

“I don’t care,” I cut in, voice sharper than I intend.

He nods slowly, eyes flickering away. “Yeah. I figured.”

The silence crashes back down, suffocating and hot, like the air itself is closing in. My skin feels stretched thin, every nerve raw. I don’t know where to look (anywhere but at him) because looking at Will means feeling all of it, all at once.

I glance at him, heart tightening like a fist. I need to know. I have to know. “Why did you back off? When he asked you to?”

Will shifts uncomfortably in his seat, avoiding my gaze. “Oh. Um. I didn’t know you knew about that.”

I bite back the rush of anger and hurt swelling in my chest. Of course I knew. How could I not? “Oh, I knew,” I say, voice low but sharp. “I knew he told you to back off so he could swoop in. And it lasted, what, three goddamn weeks?”

His eyes flicker with something like regret. “He didn’t say he wanted to swoop in.”

I tilt my head, trying to read between the words. What was really going on? “Oh?” I press. “What did he say then?”

Will runs a hand through his hair, like the gesture might buy him time, space to find the right words. “Oh, um… I can’t—”

“No, you can,” I say, voice steady but desperate. Please just say it. I need to hear it. I need the truth, even if it burns.

He exhales slowly, leans forward, elbows resting heavy on his knees. The air between us is thick, fragile. “Okay,” he says quietly. “Okay.”

xxx

It’s hot. Holy fuck, it’s hot.

The kind of heat that sticks to your skin, weighs on your chest, and makes every movement feel like you’re wading through molasses. Sweat drips down my back, soaking into my shirt.

It’s hot in that way London doesn’t know how to handle — no breeze, no break, just the concrete sweating around us. I lean against the car, trying to pretend the weight in my chest is just the heat.

I must really like this girl—to be out here, helping her move flat in this disgusting weather. The sun feels like it’s pressing down just to remind me how ridiculous this all is. How crazy I am.

Let's be real, I know I like this girl.

The air between us is thick—not just with heat, but something heavier. Something unsaid, simmering just beneath the surface.

I know moving flat is not a casual endeavour. It’s messy, exhausting, emotionally raw—too much to just breeze through without everything under the surface stirring up.

And I know we’re not casual. Hell, I’d argue we never were. Ever since we crossed that line, everything between us has carried a weight, even when we tried to pretend it didn’t. It hasn’t felt easy or simple or casual.

But somehow, we’ve kept each other at arm’s length. Like we’re standing too close and yet worlds apart at the same time.

I know she’s not loving living in London. The city that once seemed full of promise now feels like a trap—its noise too loud, its pace too relentless. She’s constantly teetering on the edge of a meltdown, like she’s carrying a storm inside her that could break loose at any moment. I see it in the way she bites her lip when she thinks no one’s looking, in how her hands sometimes tremble just a little when she thinks she’s holding it together.

And here I am, in this fucking oven of a garage, my car full of boxes and memories and half-finished conversations. It’s like the heat’s cracking everything open, forcing the truth out. I’m not sure if I’m ready for it. But maybe she’s not either.

We’ve got to go to Ikea after this. Just the thought makes my chest tighten. I’m not sure how much more of this couple-y shit I can handle before I crack — before the words spill out, the confession I’ve been holding back, the truth I’m terrified to say but aching to hear myself say anyway.

Because with every box we pack, every drawer we assemble, it feels less like we’re just moving and more like we’re building something fragile between us — something I’m desperate not to break but might not be able to keep from shattering.

I try to steady my breathing. Keep it casual. But inside, I’m burning up.

I lean against the car, flicking through my camera roll like it might distract me from the silence in my chest. No service. Typical. Upstairs, YN is grabbing the last of her toiletries, the place already feeling emptier than it should. Then the lift buzzes.

George steps out.

He’s been... off lately. I can’t tell if it’s jealousy, or just confusion — maybe a leftover scar from us keeping things under wraps for those two weeks. He’s kept his distance. We still work together, still show up at the same events, but it’s all surface-level now, like we’re afraid to cross some invisible line.

Last week sticks in my mind. I rocked up at his place to help YN pack, pizza in hand, trying to keep things light. But George... he was annoyed. Like I’d crashed a private moment. It was weird.

I miss him, as a mate.

He sees me, his eyes light up — that old familiar spark. For a second, I almost forget the tension between us.

The lift buzzes open and George steps out, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. He looks tired — not just from the heat — but there’s something tight in his jaw, like he’s holding back more than he’s letting on.

“Will!” he says, voice sharp but not unkind.

I pull him into a quick hug. “Hey man.”

He pulls back, eyes narrowing just slightly — a flicker of something guarded — before he says, “Didn’t know today was move-out day. But I figured when I saw the mess in the flat.”

George stands nearby, hands in his pockets like always, casual on the outside. Too casual. Like he’s rehearsed this ease, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

He glances toward the stairs. “Still upstairs?”

I nod. “Yeah. Just grabbing' the last bag.”

He hums, then: “She was like this when she first got here too. Overpacked, underprepared. She got off the plane with a toothbrush in her pocket.”

I smile, faintly. The memory softens me a bit. “That sounds about right.”

“She cried the first night, you know,” he adds, like it’s no big deal. “Didn’t tell anyone that, but… yeah. Hid it well, but I heard.”

I don’t say anything. Why is he telling me this? It feels a bit cruel. He lets the silence stretch just long enough to feel like an echo, like he’s testing how much I’ll let in.

Then, lightly — almost like a joke:

“We’ve been through a lot, me and her. Flatmate stuff. Exeter stuff. The kind of things you get used to when someone’s around long enough.”

There’s a hint of something in his voice. Not nostalgia. Not quite. Something sharper. Like a warning buried beneath the familiarity.

I glance at him. “I’m not tryin' to replace anyone.”

He nods, easy. “No, of course not. She’s good at compartmentalizing. Always has been.”

I pause. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs, voice steady but measured. “Just that… sometimes she tells people what she thinks they need to hear. Especially the people she doesn’t want to disappoint.”

He doesn’t look at me when he says it. Doesn’t have to.

I feel something twist under my ribs — a mix of suspicion and a prickling doubt I can’t shake.

“You think she’s not being honest with me?”

“I think she’s still figuring out what being honest looks like,” George says, gentle. Reasonable. Like we’re just two blokes having a real chat. “And sometimes, when you care about someone, it’s easy to miss that they’re still working stuff out.”

His eyes finally meet mine. Steady. Not cruel — but uncomfortably clear. Like he’s holding back a storm just under the surface.

“You’ve been good to her,” he says. “Made her feel looked after. Safe.”

He says safe like it’s beige paint. Like it’s something she deserves, but maybe not enough.

“She needed that,” he adds. “Stability. Breathing room. A place to land.”

I press my lips together, the weight of his words settling heavy. “And now?”

He shrugs again, calm as anything. But the calm feels deliberate, like he’s measuring every word. “Now maybe she’s remembering what it felt like to stand on her own.”

The words cut. Quietly. Precisely.

“She seems nervous,” he adds, circling back like it’s just an observation. “Didn’t say anything. You can just tell. She gets chatty when she’s unsure.”

“She’s not panickin',” I say, a little too quickly, my throat tighter than I want to admit.

George nods, agreeable as ever. “No. You’re probably right.”

Another pause. This one heavier.

“Wouldn’t say she’s looked particularly stable lately, though,” he adds, like he’s just thinking aloud. “Keeps asking me if she’s doing the right thing. Like she needs permission.”

“She hasn’t said any of that to me.”

“Of course not. She doesn’t want to disappoint you.”

That one lands. Too square in the chest to ignore.

He watches me for a beat longer, then — like it just came to him, he says, “You know, before you two got together… she tried to kiss me.”

I glance at him, sharper than I mean to. “Yeah, I know. You told me.”

“She was a mess back then,” he continues, cool. Controlled. “Didn’t know what she wanted. I thought it’d just confuse things, so I stepped back.”

He pauses, then says, quieter, like sharing a secret:

“I always figured she’d move on. She did. With you. But sometimes… I wonder if she was just waiting for someone to want her back.”

The garage hums around us — traffic, flickering fluorescents, distant city sounds. But the space between us is dead silent. The weight of those words thickening the air.

George shrugs, casual. Like he’s tossing it off. “Anyway. She’s lucky to have you. You make things simple.”

And there it is.

Not a compliment.

A warning.

I open my mouth — but before I can speak, he adds:

“She’s stronger than she used to be. Doesn’t mean she’s not still drawn to what’s familiar.”

I look at him, steady. “You mean you.”

He gives a slow, measured smile. Not smug. Just… assured. Like he’s laying a claim without having to say it outright.

“We’ve known each other a long time.”

And he lets that hang — heavy, deliberate.

Then:

“I’m just saying, mate… give her space. Let her figure out what she wants. Properly.”

Footsteps above. The creak of stairs. Her voice — light, breathless, unaware.

George turns toward the door, already wearing the warm, easy grin he shows her.

Mine takes a second longer to find.

xxx

She’s quiet beside me.

Not unusual, not really. But I know her silences now. This one’s got edges. Not tired. Not calm. Just... held in.

I grip the wheel tighter. Road sliding by, London too loud and too close, but my head’s stuck back in that garage. George’s voice, all reasonable and soft-spoken, planting seeds like he weren’t doing it on purpose. But he was. Course he bloody was.

And the worst bit? I let him.

Didn’t argue. Didn’t defend us. Just stood there, letting it all settle in me chest like wet concrete.

Thing is, he’s not wrong, is he?

I’ve seen it. The way she goes still when his name comes up. The way she won’t meet my eye if I mention him. Like she’s guarding something she hasn’t quite figured out how to say. Or doesn’t want to say. Or maybe just doesn’t want to lie about.

And that night — fuck. That night, her body in my hands, soft and warm and all in — but the second George laughed through the wall, she jolted like she’d been caught out.

Tried to cover it. Tried to kiss through it. But I’m not daft. I know when someone’s trying to outrun their own thoughts.

It’s not that I think she doesn’t care about me. She does. I know she does. But George… George gets under her skin without even tryin’.

And now he’s twisting the knife. All casual-like. “You make things simple.” Nah. What he meant was: you’re the safe one. The placeholder. The warm-up act.

I don’t want to be someone’s in-between.

But more than that — more than pride or jealousy or any of it — I just want her to be sure. To be happy. Even if that means stepping back. Even if that means it’s not with me.

Christ.

I glance sideways at her. She’s looking out the window, hair tucked behind her ear like always, jaw tight. Lost somewhere.

Maybe he’s right. Maybe she is still figuring it out. Maybe she needs space to do that. Proper space. Without me in the way, muddying the water with something easy and kind.

God, it fucking hurts, but maybe the kindest thing I can do is get out of the way.

Give her a clean shot at it — at George, at whatever this thing is that’s still knotted between them. She’s been dancing around it for years.

Maybe it’s time I stop pretending I don’t see it.

xxx

I sit in the memory for a moment—the way Will looked when he came back down the stairs that day, how everything between us shifted. He was distant, off. Weird, like a shadow I couldn’t quite grasp. That feeling didn’t just fade after moving out; it stretched on, lingering like a bad smell.

He stayed distant all week, barely responding to my texts, dodging any chance to talk. Then, the night of my housewarming party —he didn’t show. No call, no message. Just silence.

Months have passed since then, but the ache feels fresh, like that very first night when I realized something had broken. Like every night afterward, when I found myself scrolling through every video he’d ever made, every video he appeared in from the past five years, trying to find some clue, some reason, some remnant of the friend I thought I had.

It still hurts—sharp and raw—the kind of hurt that burrows deep, where logic and time have no power to heal.

And now, here I am, feeling all those same feelings again, sitting next to him in a hospital waiting room, the sterile lights above flickering like distant stars reminding me how complicated things really are.

I want to be mad at him. Furious, even. Angry enough to lash out, to demand answers, to make him pay for the silence that cut deeper than any argument ever could. But all I feel is this complicated mix of frustration and something softer—maybe pity, maybe regret.

I guess he was trying to do the right thing. Or at least what he thought was right. Maybe he thought backing off would make it easier for me, for all of us. But if he had just talked to me. If he had said something, anything, none of this would feel so tangled up in silence and what-ifs.

It would’ve been different. So different.

And maybe that’s the hardest part—not the distance, not the quiet, but the fact that none of it had to be this way.

No.

No no no.

Fuck that. He was pathetic. Straight up pathetic. Like some weak-ass apology wrapped up in excuses. “Oh, she’s had a rough time,” so what? You think that means you get to make it worse? Make everything harder, push me further away with silence and distance?

And the bullshit with George. I said that if George confessed that he'd loved me that whole time I wouldn't have left Will. I never told him that, but I shouldn't have had to.

Nah. Fuck that. I’m not here to be his consolation prize or some sad story he uses to feel better about stepping back. If he'd cared, he'd have fought for me. He'd have said something. Anything. Instead, he acted like a coward.

He could’ve just spoken to me. Been honest. Or even half-honest — I would’ve taken that. But instead, he no-showed my flatwarming like it was nothing. Left me standing there, making excuses while everyone kept glancing at the door, waiting for him to walk in. And he never did.

Didn’t meet my friends. Didn’t call.

Just made me look like some idiot who built a whole life around someone who couldn’t even be arsed to show up.

I turn to him, ready to unload everything — the anger, the hurt, the bitter truth I’ve been holding back. I see his eyes flicker, catching the fire burning there. He recoils slightly, like my anger’s a sudden sharp blade. I hate that. I hate how people flinch around me these days, like I’m fragile or dangerous.

But before I can say anything, Jeremy slips into the room. He offers us a tired smile, the kind that carries a thousand sleepless nights and quiet worry. He pulls me into a quick hug and mutters, “I owe you one,” with a half-smile.

He turns to Will and then back to me. “I’ll book you an Uber home, yeah?”

I shake my head. It’s just gone 5 AM. The sun’s creeping up, casting pale light through the hospital window. “I’ll catch the tube,” I say, voice steady despite everything.

Jeremy nods, eyes soft with something like understanding. “Alright. Text me if you need anything.”

I watch him leave and then glance back at Will. The silence hangs heavy between us, the kind that says everything without needing words.

We step into the elevator, the doors sliding shut with a soft whoosh. Silence wraps around us, heavy and unyielding.

“YN…” Will starts, his voice low, hesitant.

I cut him off, eyes fixed straight ahead. “Don’t.”

We step out onto the street. It’s been raining, of course it has. The pavement glistens with a slick, dark shine, and the air hangs heavy with dampness — the smell of wet concrete and earth mixing with the faint buzz of early morning traffic.

The sky is still bruised with the last traces of night, shadows lingering in corners, as if the city itself is holding its breath.

Will’s voice breaks through the damp silence, raw and ragged, like a man grasping at the edges of himself.

“YN… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’ll get on my hands and knees if I have to. Just—please. Don’t shut me out.”

Before I can speak, before I can even breathe it in, he collapses—slowly, deliberately—onto the slick pavement. His hands press to the wet concrete, fingers trembling, knees grazing the cold, unforgiving ground.

His jacket hangs off him, creased and forgotten, like he barely thought to put it on. His eyes search mine—pleading, fractured, like he’s reaching for something he already let go.

It’s a desperate, ridiculous act. A broken man on his knees, begging for forgiveness in a city that never pauses, that never waits.

The world blurs around us—the distant hum of early morning traffic, the faint drip of rain from the eaves, the wet pavement reflecting the first pale light of dawn—but inside, time fractures.

He stays on his knees, eyes locked on mine, hands curling around the edge of my hoodie—tight, trembling, like he doesn’t trust himself to speak without holding onto something.

My breath catches, heart pounding uneven like a cracked drum—caught somewhere between fury and something fragile, barely named.

Will’s voice drops to a rough whisper, almost swallowed by the damp air.

“Please, YN. Don’t shut me out. Not this time.”

I say his name, low and steady.

“Will.”

“YN, please…”

“Will, get up.”

“No—”

“Stop it.”

“No, YN, ple—”

“Will, get up. You’re on your knees for someone who wanted to keep you a secret. Get up.”

“YN—”

“You’re still drunk, Will.”

“No, I’m not. I’m dead sober.”

I say it again, firmer this time, final. “Will. Get up. You’re getting your pants wet.”

He drags himself up slowly, sulking like a kid caught in the rain. His hands find their way to either side of my shoulders—steady, desperate, like he’s trying to hold onto something real in the middle of all this chaos.

He pulls me close, a quiet weight settling between us—neither apology nor forgiveness, just the fragile ache of two people lost in the same storm.

His breath is ragged against my cheek. “I don’t want to lose you again, YN. Not like this.”

I don’t say anything. What can I say? I think he needs this more than I do.

I want to talk to him properly — like adults, like equals. To sit down and lay everything out, my side, my truth. To tell him I want him in my life, but right now, that just isn’t feasible. Not for my healing, not for my peace. Maybe someday, but not yet.

I want to do better. To not push this under the rug again, to finally say the hard things instead of swallowing them whole. To let him see all the jagged edges inside me without flinching.

But when he’s like this — on his hands and knees, desperate, not thinking straight — there’s not much else I can do except hold the space for him, and for me.

Because sometimes, the most adult thing we can do is know when to wait. To protect ourselves while still caring. To let the dust settle before we try to rebuild.

I won't lie—it shakes me. Seeing him down there, hands braced like prayer, not for forgiveness as such, but for recognition. Like he's trying to remind the universe I used to like him.

“Will…” I say softly, the weight of months pressed between us. I miss him—I do. Not like I used to, not in the way I wanted, but as a friend, a constant in the chaos of my life. Still, I can’t ignore everything. I can’t just pretend it didn’t happen. Maybe he’s not asking me to.

He looks at me like I’m the only thing left in the world, eyes wide and raw.

“Maybe someday,” I whisper, “but not today.”

The silence stretches, heavy and fragile.

I step back, pulling my phone out. “Let me call you an Uber, yeah?” There’s no reset button on this kind of heartbreak.

xxx

TagList: @meglouise00 @migilini @thankyoulovely @mosviqu @formulaal @jonnybernthalslover @tiredqzl @mrswillne @ravenaz @luvnarthur @capnjosh @ellouisa17

[calitears]

VLOG #2. ARE WE GIVING TEEN BEACH MOVIE?

PREVIOUS | STORY MASTERLIST

The week had gone by faster than you expected, and you felt somewhat disappointed about no longer having the excuse to see Megumi everyday.

The past few days you had spent with him had been surprisingly enjoyable. Despite how much he was perceived as ‘nonchalant’ or preferred to keep to himself, he wasn’t boring. You found out he lived further down the same street as you and Maki, allowing you both to walk home together after your shifts. Along with that, you appreciated how surprisingly easy he had been to get along with.

He wasn’t aware, but by the end of your shift Thursday night, you had left with a list of his recommendations in movies, music, and places to visit that you’d built throughout the week.

“What’s got you pondering off?”

You looked up to meet Maki’s eyes, her usual glasses replaced with a more stylized version of those typical when you think about the 60’s.

“Nothing… just reminiscing about my first week.”

“Reminiscing?”

You sighed dramatically, and proceeded to help her fix the bumpit on her head. “Yeah, no more easy shifts.”

She rolled her eyes, and once satisfied with her hair, walked out the girls bathroom with you following behind. “You sure that’s all you’re gonna miss?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Well…” she started, nodding her head in the direction towards the hostess stand.

Your gaze followed, and landed on Megumi. If it hadn’t been for his slicked back hair, you would’ve assumed he had just thrown on one of his usual outfits and called it a day. Especially standing next to Yuta, who had really gone all out tonight. Bandana, button up shirt, shorts, shoes and all.

“What are you hinting at?”

“I think you like my cousin.”

“Oh, Maki shut up-“

“I’m being serious, don’t lie to my face y/n. You’ve spent the whole week with him, and i’ve seen how you try to get his attention.”

“I’m not trying to get his attention-“

Yet maki cut you off a second time, continuing, “You mess around with him, take your breaks at the same time, you’re into him.”

She looked back at Megumi and Yuta, before sighing. “Honestly i’m more surprised it’s working than anything.”

“What?”

“I mean i’m surprised he’s… reciprocating whatever you two have, guess the beach’s air finally created some chemical balance in his brain.”

“Okay? So he’s handsome, doesn’t mean im gonna go after him, plus he’s your cousin so…”

“So? He’s a grown man, he knows what he’s doing and what he gets himself into. I couldn’t care less what he does. He’s not my responsibility just because we happen to be related.”

She nudged your shoulder gently, watching as the two boys attended the first few dressed up guests that started showing up.

“I mean, obviously unless you did something insanely evil to him. But even then, i’m closer to you than i’ll probably ever be to him, or even would want to be.”

You wrapped your arms around her neck, smiling over her shoulder. “Aw Maki…”

She scoffed and gently pushed you off, but she couldn’t hide the smile that passed her face. “Alright don’t push it. Just if anything ends up happening, know I warned you that no man around here is conventionally attractive and normal.”

Maki tied her apron around her waist, and proceeded to put a few extra straws in the pocket, “I feel it in my tits he has a secret account where he thirst traps to lana del rey for attention.”

NOTES:

they ain’t got a clue in the fucking world rn

megumi lore drop

will slowly reveal what happened between yuji and yn throughout the story

and i just wanna say thank you to everyone that’s commented or like or reblogged you guys rlly do motivate me like tysm babes i appreciate every single one of you!! kisses xx 🩵

TAGLIST - open! comment on story masterlist or dm to be added

@qtnchuu @kaiiibxby @not-a-glad-gladiator @frootloopscos @oreotunes @mikasaspatas @sttaejoon-blog @viaelax @0rangej0e @rustymind @ckaulitzz @gradmacoco @getosh0e @chososcamgirl @cleomenelac @axquella @agzio180 @enchantinghonymoon @lauuriiiz @1l-ynn @piwonzne @l1v1ngzomb1e @iluvchuuyaa @missionarymia @sazzinova @good-mourning0 @taefanclub @lanovelera4 @juliarchiv3s @saeskiss @xo-nyx @linamacchiato @izukusfangirl @s3ns4ti0n4l @anqelkoz @reicyberia @yourbeautifulfairyprincess @rwura @saltypuffin1040 @hawk3y @veriiques @onmycloudyet @fushigurq @ppyn @ladytamayolover @armin-fein123 @ilovewonyo @ilybbg @denverex @tfshiz

[santaasi]

shut up and pass the blanket

pairing: james potter x roommate!fem!reader

summary: in a too-small bed during a too-cold summer, comfort blurred into something else — something dangerous, and far too tender to undo

warnings: fluff, no use of y/n, english isn't my first language

word count: 2.5k

a/n: I'm back with new works and more inspiration. hope y'll like it, lovies

ᯓ★ now playing…

the neighbourhood - sweater weather

THE WEATHER THIS SUMMER WAS WORSE THAN ANYTHING LONDON HAD THROWN AT YOU IN YEARS — which was saying something, considering London was a city that practically lived under a damp gray sky. For the past two weeks, the rain hadn’t stopped once. It drummed against the windows with the persistence of a lullaby meant to sedate you, blurring the days into a sleepy fog and making it nearly impossible to concentrate on preparing for your final exam of the semester.

Summer showers weren’t exactly rare here, but no one had been prepared for the plunge in temperature but not in the middle of July. On Tuesday, the suffocating heat that had left you limp and irritable finally broke. By Wednesday, your apartment had transformed into a glorified fridge – not cold enough to preserve anything properly, just cold enough to be unpleasant. Like someone had cracked the freezer door open just to see what would happen. The landlord, in his infinite laziness, insisted it would be “fixed soon,” which, in his dialect, translated roughly to “never.”

James Potter – your roommate for two long, chaotic years and annoyingly attractive in that boyish, smirking, doesn’t-try-but-somehow-glows kind of way – acted like the whole thing was nothing more than an adventure.

“I’ve been through worse,” he said dramatically, half-buried beneath a heap of mismatched blankets on the sofa. Only his face was visible, peeking out from the cocoon like a man preparing for noble death. His hair stuck out in a dozen directions, and his expression was a tragic mix of boredom and defiance. “It builds character.”

“You didn’t even pass the midterms,” you replied coolly, drawing your own blanket tighter around your shoulders like armor. “You almost cried during that economics test last week.”

“That wasn’t about survival,” he sniffed, offended. “That was personal betrayal. There’s a difference.”

By evening, the cold settles in like an unwelcome guest – not dramatic, not loud, just quietly invasive. The kind that creeps under doors, slides up your sleeves, and wraps around your ankles like a chain. Outside the window, the temperature dips dangerously low, and somehow, inside the apartment, it feels even worse. You do everything in your power to fight it off: layer every hoodie you own, pile on blankets until you resemble some tragic matryoshka doll of seasonal depression, and down mug after mug of scalding tea, praying your ancient kettle doesn’t finally give out from overuse.

None of it works.

The cold isn’t just around you. it’s in you. It seeps into your bones, settles between your knuckles, crawls up your spine. By midnight, you’re half-convinced your soul has frozen over, brittle and numb.

Then comes a soft, desperate knock – or more like a panicked thud – at your door. Before you can even respond, the door creaks open and James slips inside like he’s outrunning a blizzard, shutting it behind him with a dramatic urgency that makes you snort despite yourself. For a second, he just stands there, clutching a pillow under one arm, shivering slightly, his curls a chaotic mess and his eyes pleading but determined.

"Okay, move over," he says, without preamble, like this is a perfectly normal Tuesday night occurrence.

You blink at him from your fortress of fleece and cotton, only your eyes visible from the mound. “What?”

“Body heat exchange,” he replies seriously, as if he's citing a medical journal. “Unless you want to freeze solid and haunt me out of spite. Which, to be fair, would be totally on-brand for you.”

You blink again. You understand. Oh, you absolutely understand. But your brain refuses to process the image of James bloody Potter – menace of your mornings, butter knife thief, your roommate and an irritatingly handsome embodiment of chaos – suggesting he sleep in your bed. With you. For heat.

“James, we have two separate beds,” you say slowly, as if he’s forgotten the entire floor plan of the flat.

“Yes, and that’s exactly the problem,” he replies, shifting from one foot to the other. “Separation makes us vulnerable. Vulnerable leads to frostbite. Frostbite leads to death. I don’t make the rules.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m practical,” he counters. “We can freeze alone or survive together. Totally your call, but just know… if I die tonight, it’s on your conscience.”

Your common sense, the very small, desperate part of it still functioning through the frost, screams at you to say no. This is dangerous. Reckless. Catastrophically stupid.

Sharing a bed with James Potter – the same James Potter you’ve been lowkey, highkey, painfully drooling over since the moment you met him – is not a good idea. It’s not even in the same galaxy as a good idea.

But the apartment is an icebox. Your fingers feel like they might snap off. No amount of hoodies or socks or blankets has been enough, and James is standing there, a walking furnace, a human campfire with ridiculous curls and a face that could melt glaciers. Worse, he's good at this. Good at making bad ideas sound logical, cozy even. He’s always been good at making you forget why exactly you were trying to keep your distance in the first place.

So despite the alarm bells ringing in your head, despite the heat that has nothing to do with temperature rising in your cheeks, your body – cold and treacherous and craving warmth – makes the decision for you.

You sigh and shift over, lifting a corner of the blanket in defeat.

James doesn’t hesitate. He slides in like he’s done it a hundred times, like this is some well-established nightly routine you just forgot. He brings with him a rush of heat and something else, something uniquely him. The clean smell of his shampoo. That familiar way he takes up space like he owns it, even when he’s technically invading yours. The way his knee brushes yours under the covers. The casual graze of his fingers against your hand, light and meaningless, except it absolutely isn’t.

Your whole body shivers, and not from the cold. Damn it. You’re so screwed.

“Relax, love,” he murmurs, settling in with the practiced ease of someone who belongs here – next to you, near you, with you. His voice is low, drowsy, and warm enough to soak into your skin. “It’s just me.”

Yes. That’s exactly the problem.

You lie frozen. Not from the cold anymore, but from the unbearable awareness of him. Every movement he makes registers like a tremor across your body. The dip of the mattress. The brush of his arm. The quiet sound of his breathing, so close to your ear. He’s completely at ease, infuriatingly comfortable, already half-asleep as if this isn’t a defining moment of your slow descent into madness.

Then, without a word, his arm wraps around your waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His hand settles just beneath the hem of your sweatshirt, finding bare skin – your frozen skin – and igniting it with one casual, devastating touch.

You jolt, involuntarily.

“Love,” he breathes again, even softer now, lips near your ear like a secret. “Go to sleep.”

As if this is something he does every night – curls into your bed, pulls you to his chest like you’re his, touches you like it’s instinct, whispers things that make your heart stop. Like you’re the only girl in the world and he’s known that all along.

And somehow, as soon as he says it, as soon as he purrs it like a sleepy cat, all warm breath and gentle gravity – your body begins to loosen. Your eyes flutter closed, despite every last nerve buzzing with tension.

“It’s all right, love,” he murmurs one more time, curling around you like a living promise.

And for one stupid, dangerous, glorious moment – it is. It’s all right. Absolutely fine.

But then it happens again. And again. Until it’s not a moment anymore. it’s a pattern.

By the second night, it stops being something you question. It becomes habit. You don’t bother layering every hoodie in your wardrobe or cocooning yourself in a ridiculous tower of blankets. You pare it down to just two: your favourite plushie blue one and the thick one James’s mum mailed over last winter, the one that still smells vaguely like her laundry detergent and safety. And you wait.

You don’t say anything when you hear his soft, familiar knock. You don’t tease or raise an eyebrow or pretend to hesitate. You just shift over, silently lifting the edge of the blanket in invitation, like you’ve been doing it your whole life. Like this bed has always been his, too.

And James – he doesn’t say anything either. He just slides in, warm and drowsy and completely, unfairly at ease. Like this is his natural habitat. Like you’re his pillow. Like you’re his.

The bed is too small for two people who are trying to be “just friends.” There’s no space for boundaries, no room for platonic distance. His legs tangle with yours. His arm always finds its way around your waist. And James Potter has never believed in personal space. Not when he’s awake, and especially not when he’s asleep.

His hand ends up on your hip most nights, tapping out some vague rhythm until he drifts off. Sometimes his fingers trail along your arm in loose, absentminded patterns that make it impossible to focus on anything else. Once, you feel him tug lightly at the hem of your T-shirt in his sleep – llike he’s anchoring himself there, like even unconscious he doesn’t want to let you drift too far.

You don’t mention it. Neither does he.

You tell yourself – firmly, repeatedly – that it’s just the cold. That this is purely survival. That James, for all his softness, doesn’t mean anything by it. That as soon as the heat comes back, so will the boundaries.

You tell yourself it’s temporary. A fluke of bad weather. A glitch in your otherwise carefully managed friendship. But every night, it gets a little easier. And every morning, it gets a little harder to pretend. But then, the heat comes back.

A week later, summer remembers what it’s supposed to feel like. You fold up the heavy blankets, swap thick socks for bare feet, and finally slip back into your silk pajamas – light and soft, like a promise of normalcy. You even crack the window at night, letting in the hum of the city and a breeze that finally, finally doesn’t hurt.

But not everything changes. Not everything resets. James doesn’t.

He still shows up at your door. Still knocks like he lives there. Still slips under your covers like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Except the first night it happens, he doesn’t come right away.

You're alone, stretched across your bed like you're supposed to be, body warm but spirit restless. Sleep doesn’t come. You shift, roll over, stare at the ceiling. You tell yourself this is how it should be. That this was always temporary. That it was just the cold. A glitch. A harmless, forgettable thing. But logic has never had much power over emptiness — and that space beside you? It aches.

You try not to look at it. Try not to think about how lonely the room feels without James’s uneven breathing or the weight of his arm or the way he always mumbles something right before sleep takes him. You tell yourself you’re fine.

But at 2:03 am, there’s a knock.

You don’t answer. You don’t need to. James is James. And James doesn’t wait for permission.

The door creaks open a second later, and there he is – leaning in the frame like he didn’t spend a week sneaking into your bed and turning your heart into something that won’t sit still. He’s in sweats and a hoodie, sleeves pushed up, hair a mess, eyes soft and tired.

For a second, he doesn’t say anything. He just looks at you – like he knows. Knows what it did to you, having him there. Knows what it’s doing to you now, not having him. Then, with that lazy, lopsided half-smile that always gets under your skin, he says quietly, “I can’t sleep.”

It shouldn’t make your chest tighten.

But it does.

God, it does.

“James…” you whisper, but it’s barely a protest.

“Shut up and pass the blanket,” he mutters, already kicking the door shut behind him.

You should stop him. You know that. You should say no. Tell him this can’t keep happening. That summer’s back, and so are the rules.

But then he’s sliding into bed like he never left it, his arm wrapping around your waist like it never belonged anywhere else. He exhales, melting into your back, his forehead resting in your hair. Like he’s home. Like you are home.

And maybe that’s the worst part… how right it feels.

You tell yourself this is just comfort. Just instinct. Just James being James. But then he kisses you.

Gently. Slowly. Inexorably.

His lips find yours like he’s been waiting. Like this was always where things were headed. Like the past two years of pretending hadn’t mattered at all.

And in that breathless, burning moment, as his hand settles at the curve of your jaw and you kiss him back like it’s the most natural thing in the world, you realize something terrifying and beautiful all at once:

You never really wanted him to leave. And now, you know you’re never going to ask him to.

thankx for reading <3

to everyone who so patiently waited for me — thank you. truly.

I saw every message, every like, every reblog. even when I was quiet, I felt your support echoing in my inbox and notes, and it meant more to me than I can ever properly express. you didn’t just wait — you stayed. and that’s something I’ll never take for granted.

I'm coming back now with new projects, the continuation of old stories, and more inspiration than I’ve had in a long time. my mind is full of half-dreamed characters, unfinished conversations, slow burns, chaos, softness, mess, and magic. I can't wait to share it all with you.

there are still many ideas waiting patiently in my inbox. I’m not the fastest writer (and I’m really sorry for that), but I promise — I see them, I love them, and I will write them all. someday.

and if you’ve got new ideas or soft dreams you want to see written, my inbox is always open.

I’m here. I’m writing. thank you for waiting for me. 

                                    – your santi 🪐

james m.list // main masterlist

[heazueken]

Well Needed Fix

*ೃ༄ summary: Volt's a bit worried that Eddie may be falling back into some old habits since you three got together and he has an idea..

warning(s): MDNI, explicit sexual content, vaginal fingering, oral sex, voyeurism

pairing(s): EddiexVoltxReader (AFAB, gender neutral)

w/c; 8.4k

a/n: would you believe me if I told you this was supposed to be like 3k words max LOL google docs says this is 17 pages...OKAYYYY. I cant stop yapping unfortunately...anyway my requests are open btw if you want me to write more of these guys! Please enjoy!!

-

You’re sitting with Volt at the bar of the Breaker Box after a wild night of more of the objects crazy antics and performances. Volt had poured you a simple soda at your request and he wipes down the counters, lost in thought. His hair jolts with electricity and he tosses it over his shoulder. He’s stripped of his large jacket— having draped it over your chair (you can still feel the warmth radiating from it). His sleeves are rolled up to the elbows and his vest hugs much tighter around his waist than Eddie’s. He’s humming a god-awful tune that Johnny Splash had decided to subject the audience to but hearing him hum it almost made it better than the original. 

Volt breaks the silence.

“Y’know, Live wire,” you pause, holding your glass up to your lips and glance up at the man leaning across the bar. You set it down when you see his knit brows and troubled gnawing of his bottom lip.

“I’ve been thinking…about some things since our whole…debacle a couple weeks back.” 

You know he’s referring to that night. Eddie, almost to tears, refusing to let Volt go. Forcing a shut down on the power— a restart. The lights going out, darkness enveloping you only for them to flick back on and see the two of them still standing there. Your two boys, still together and now together with you. 

Ice clinks to the bottom of your glass as you set it down on a coaster. Arms fold across the bar and you look up at the man who towers over you.

“Thinking…?” 

He tosses a rag over his shoulder, he stares off to the side, eyes almost flickering like a bulb ready to be changed. 

“I know we’ve— you’ve helped Eddie take a load off— in more ways than one, I might add,” He teases, relieving some of the tension he knew you were holding. “But, I’ll be honest, love…He’s still working himself to the bone. I’m scared he’ll go back to his old ways.”

You see the pain in his face, the way his chin drops almost completely to his chest. He gently lays a few fingertips where his shirt exposes the white skin of his chest.

“Us being…connected in such a way. I can feel his anxiety, frustration, pridefulness and…” He lets his hand drop. “His fear, too.”

Perplexed, you cock your head, you hope he meets your gaze but once you ask, Volt almost completely turns away from you.

“Fear? What does Eddie have to be afraid of?”

He’s quiet for a good moment. Sparking hair flows like rays of lightning down his shoulders and over his back and you see it change into a more blue hue before you hear him take a full deep breath as it fades back to his bright white. He turns to you again, a sad smile drawn across his face but you can see in his eyes that the smile does not reach there.

“Afraid of being vulnerable? Afraid of being the one that deserves love? Afraid to accept that love?”

You can’t say you’re too shocked. You knew there was a part of Eddie that’s much less…well, eccentric than his counterpart. That was almost the point of Volt though, let him have the spotlight so Eddie can keep the club up and running. He just didn’t expect that this birth (he hates you using that word but what else is it?!) would almost add more pressure to his already stressful life.

You know he doesn’t resent Volt for all this. No, he cares too much about him— that much was true considering the way he reacted to the possibility of losing his other half forever. 

You always wondered why that— besides the night you two officially got together— Eddie barely participated in the more sexual aspects of your relationship. Almost afraid to touch you and Volt, stepping away when a kiss was planted on your lips by the lightning haired man, or even making excuses as to why he couldn’t join you both on the bed during the early morning hours of the club’s closure. 

“I gotta get the club ready for tonight,” he grumbled, shrugging on his vest and clearly bothered with something. You always want to ask and fix it immediately, looking to Volt who reads your expression easily when Eddie is out the door.

“He’ll be fine, my spark. He just needs some time.”

You usually were able to get a word in after closure, but Eddie would excuse you away, flicking his bruised hand. Yes, you did notice the bruises, even more than there were when you first met. It worries you and you grow as concerned as Volt.

You run the tip over your finger over the rim of your glass, staring into the melting cubes of ice. 

“Yeah…I can see that.” You look up. “Finally tired of dismissing it? You two are so cryptic sometimes.”

Volt sighs, his chest falling with the release of air and he stumbles back around the bar to sit next to you. He scoots the stool so close that his shoulder brushes yours. Even after being skin-to-skin and having him whispering filthy things in your ear, you still feel that flip of your stomach and burst of butterflies. He wraps an arm around you, leaning in a way where his hair creates a barrier so no one can eavesdrop on your conversation— not like there was anyone around anyway.

“I’m protective. There’s a difference.”

“I think we’re passed being protective considering I’m in a relationship with you both, don't you think?” 

Volt gives you a look, his eyebrows tilt in an apologetic way, lips parting to begin his speech you’ve heard tons of time. You place a hand on your chest and mockingly lower your voice to match his pitch and accent before he can even get the words out.

“My live wire, it’s simply different between me and Eddie. We need not your worry for our concern. Nothing against you, of course.” You match a wink just as he does every time.

He’s clearly taken aback and you almost see the hint of a smirk on his lips.

“Took the words right out of my mouth, spark.”

It’s not funny this time. You almost want to shove him away, your elbow digs into his pec and he backs off just a little— perhaps taking the hint.

“Yeah, well, it doesn’t make me feel like I’m part of this relationship.”

He seems confused, brows knit together and you don’t like seeing a frown on his face but it’s what you feel.

“I don’t like that you guys still hide stuff from me. I get that we’re still getting to know each other, but I feel like I should be able to help emotionally in a relationship,” You get up to leave, hopping off the stool after successfully elbowing Volt’s arm from around you.

Before you can even take two steps, he grabs your wrist.

“Y/N,” It shocks you so much to hear him say your name that you whip your head around to stare with wide eyes. Volt looks…sad…you’ve never seen him like this since that night. You turn around, wrist still in his hand. When he realizes you’re not going anywhere, his grip loosens but he doesn’t let go. “Forgive me. It’s why I called you here tonight.“ He curses to himself, you feel him squeeze your hand as if to comfort himself. He looks up at you with those glowing, pleading eyes. 

“For amp’s sake, live wire, I didn’t mean to start anything.” 

He sounds breathless, his cheeks tinge red with shame. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t gentlemanly of me to start something with you… you of all people…I’m sorry.” He repeats and this time he attempts to drop your hand but this time you’re clutching it, weaving your fingers together and pressing your palm against his. They’re clammy. You never see Volt like this.

You take a step forward. “What’s wrong, Volt?” You tilt your head in a way where he’s forced to look at you. His face is all angles and shadow now, ashamed of his combative behavior and embarrassed that you seem to shrug it off like a jacket, like it doesn’t even matter. You reach a hand up and cup his cheek, there’s a whirring of electricity that sparks across his skin and to your palm. It’s warm and comforting, like he’s pressing his hand onto yours to hold it there for longer. He looks to you apologetically.

“Forgive me. Eddie needs me— as much as he likes to argue he doesn’t. But I’m not enough to get through to him. I need your help this time but I’m such a stubborn ass that I picked a fight…please, forgive me.” 

He’s pained, clearly hurt by his own words directed towards you.

“It’s been just me and him for so long…We’re both still getting used to letting someone else see just how faulty we are,” He chuckles, trying to make light of the situation. You lean in to place a tender kiss on his lips.

“Say the idea you’ve got already, damn it,” You press your forehead to his, scrunching your nose playfully when he finally meets your eyes. They’re bright and loving, a warmth permeates between you both and he tilts his face, slotting his lips back to yours for another sensual kiss. He breaks it before it can get too intense.

“I wanted you to talk to him…”

You quirk a brow. “That’s it?” Volt’s cheeks flush and you’ve rarely ever seen him embarrassed.

“No…no…I want you to…I need you to— oh, for amp’s sake…” His head falls into his hand and he pushes back the streaks of light that is his hair. His entire face is flushed all the way down to his neck, he swipes at his cheeks with one hand hoping it’ll calm down the color. It doesn’t.

“I have an idea…you get him alone and…” He smirks, looking off to the stage of the club. His jaw is carved well and you watch his adam’s apple bob as he tries to maneuver his words into a coherent sentence. You stay silent and patient.

“I have an idea that I think would help him. You and him…get alone and well…you show him how appreciated he is…catch my drift, live wire?” It’s like the anxiety has completely melted off him in seconds. His voice lowers and becomes sultry once more, purring in your ear and it’s already enough to get you fidgety in your seat. But what he’s proposing…

“What about you?”

“I always get you to myself. I think it’s Eddie’s turn.”

You wipe your hands nervously across your thighs. “Yeah, but…Why not both of you?”

Volt waves a dismissive hand. “As much as I enjoy you both, I wouldn’t mind giving you to Eddie for a night or two. No quarrels here!”

You consider this, mulling over the conversation with Volt as you both continue pouring drinks.

When you find Eddie it’s within the late late hours of the night. Everyone is asleep so you sneak your way to the entrance of the club door, the neon light that usually blinks the establishment's name is off, indicating its closure. Eddie’s inside the bar when you take a quick peek inside after noticing the door was unlocked, you knew he liked to work at night, you just didn’t think it was this late he’d be awake.

He notices you the moment the door opens. He downs the rest of his hard liquor, barely flinching at the taste but his brows still crease and he rinses the glass.

“What are you doing awake, spark?” He sounds exhausted— like usual but there’s a tinge of something else you can’t put your finger on. It almost feels like the first few encounters you both had when first meeting. 

You stroll in, shutting the door behind you with a click and making your way to the bar that he stood behind. You take a seat at the stool you claimed earlier that day and you lean both elbows on the bar.

“Couldn’t sleep. Wanted to see Volt…and you.” You see the end of his eyebrow twitch at the mention and he sighs, pouring two shots in quick succession. He downs his before sliding you the short glass. Confused, you finger the rim for a moment, you don’t look at Eddie.

“What’s up with you?” 

“Nothing.” His tone sounds like a bark and hurts you like a bite. You don’t like this tone with him, this wasn’t the usual playful standoffish demeanor he had worn before. This was genuine irritation.

You down your glass too.

“Volt’s worried about you,” you speak plainly, no beating around the bush, no avoiding the topic of one another this time. Things are different now, right? All three of you are together now and you can actually function like a normal relationship, right? That’s how things should be.

“Yeah, well, I’m fine.” Eddie turns so his back is to you. Despite the tension, you can’t help but admire the beauty that is his large frame. He’s slightly shorter than Volt but his shoulders are wider, more defined from hours of working on keeping this club alive and working. His biceps flex under the tight material of his button up while he hastily cleans the shot glasses; once done, he throws the rag over his shoulder just as Volt does and turns around. He pushes back his hair and leans against the sink, you try to avoid letting your eyes wander because you know he’ll notice. 

You let them anyway and see a tint of blush dust across his cheeks. He pouts.

“Volt has nothing to be worried about.”

You let out a breathy laugh, sarcastic and dry. 

“Right,” you point to his clearly bruised hands. “It doesn’t look like you’ve been easy on yourself, Eddie.” He glances down at his hand and sighs, clicking his tongue in an annoyed way. He pulls the rag from his shoulder and covers both hands, rubbing them vigorously as if that would remove the evidence. You get up then, rounding the bar before he can even plan an escape. Your hands reach on either side of the bar, caging him in. Eddie had begun his getaway but was too late.

“Live wire,” He warns, “Let me leave.”

“Let me see your hands.” He keeps rubbing them.

“No.” 

You grab his wrist and he tries to pull away, his face contorting into one of anger but when you catch his eyes you see something akin to shame. Your fingers barely wrap around his thick wrist but you manage to tug the cloth off his hand.

They’re rough, just as they always are. Burns and bruises decorate his skin and callous over, your fingers delicately brush over them and Eddie is pulling them away and sticking them into his pockets. He says your name in a stern tone.

“Let me leave.” Taken aback for a moment at his tone, you hold his gaze for a few seconds, waiting to see if he’d relax, look to the side to sigh and apologize. But no, his face turns more red, his chin trembles and he holds his ground. Well, two can play at that game.

“Just tell me what’s up and I’ll let you go.”

His eyes plead for you to let him go, his hands escape their pockets and ball into fists at his sides. You can see a spark of blue in his eyes, one of anger you’re sure but that doesn’t scare you. He doesn’t scare you in the slightest anymore. 

“Why the fuck do you push and push, hm? Is it like your job now?” His words are venom and meant to hurt you and they do, but you’re stronger than that.

You point at him. “You have no right to speak to me that way.“ Your tone softens and your arms reach out to invite his vulnerability. “I’m equally as worried, Eddie. Me and Volt. I can’t have you overworking yourself again…please.” 

“I can do what I damn well please, little wire! I don’t need you or Volt worrying about me,” He shoo’s you away with a hand. “Go back to him and fuck, why don’t you? Leave me alone.”

Wow. You flinch at his words, unnerved by his tone and words.

“What? What is this really about, Eddie?”

He puts his hands on his hips, glaring at you with a malice you’ve never seen. “Volt is clearly better than me. That…that job is for him. Not me,” He places a hand over his chest, his jaw clenches. “You deserve Volt, Y/N. I only bring down the mood.”

“That is not true,” You say, your voice instantly getting softer. You should have seen it; the way he pulls away, the way he can’t seem to look as Volt steals a kiss from you, the way he pulls away when you try to touch him. It’s so clear now.

“Eddie,” you step closer, testing the water. Eddie doesn’t falter but instead rubs a hand at the back of his neck and looks down at his feet. He has nowhere to go anyway. “You know that’s not true, right?” Another step, you’re much closer, closer than he’d like you to be and he avoids your gaze still.

His flinches when your hand reaches at his side. It’s almost instant, the way his hand seems to unravel and let you slot your fingers between his. His eyes screw shut, knowing how calloused and rough they are. When you squeeze, he has to pretend like the bruises don’t hurt under the pressure, he doesn’t care really because despite everything he still craves for it.

You’re both silent. He doesn’t dare say a word and you study his face— the way the strands of wires that form his hair frame his face, the red wires complimenting his skin tone. The way his jaw tenses when you step even closer and he feels your body heat. You see his cheeks turn red just slightly.

“Say it,” You gently push. He wants to pull away, hide in his corner until you finally take the hint and leave but he knows you won’t.

“It’s not true…” He says gently, barely cracking his eyes open. His chin is nestled to his chest and he stares down at the shoes of yours. He seems so…small like this— finally admitting defeat.

“That’s right,” You confirm, finally you reach out again and this time he has no choice but to accept it. He won’t tell you that it’s really what he’s been craving for weeks now because, well…

“Will you please tell me what’s wrong? I thought I told you that you wouldn’t be alone anymore.”

He continues to stare at the floor and his eyes flutter shut at the comfort of your warm hand caressing his forearm.

“I…you deserve Volt. He’s clearly better than me.”

Huh?

Your eyes widen at the confession. “Eddie…what? Where did you come up with that?”

Eddie grumbles, running a hand through his wires again and pushing them back, he holds his hand at his neck and finally dares to look down at you. His silver eyes bare a foreboding sadness, you can see the disappointment in his eyes.

“I’m not good with…any of that shit. That’s Volt’s job…he’s the more outgoing one, the handsome one. He’s the better part of me. I’m only good behind the scenes, hidden away and working…”

You instantly shake your head before he even finishes.

“Eddie, no. None of that is right. What makes you think I only want Volt.”

Eddie shrugs. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe all the side glances you make to him even when I’m there, the way you two hold hands at every given chance. The way he kisses you and you kiss back—“ He seems to grow more irritated as he continues. “You always seem happier in his company rather than mine. The way you two will continue when I leave—“ His voice shakes for a moment and you feel his hand tremble under your hold. 

“Eddie—“

“It’s just clear that you and Volt found each other and I can go back to working my ass off.”

“Eddie—!”

“I’m clearly not good enough, you know? All I’m good for is keeping the power on and letting you two go at it like rabbits—“

You grab him by the shoulders and shake him like a ragdoll. Finally he shuts up.

“Eddie! Stop! Stop saying those things!” 

He’s warm, his eyes flicker with spikes of electricity and you think he’ll blow a fuse judging by the straining vein that stretches across his forehead. Eddie looks hurt, he looks at you expectantly, like you’ll finally call it quits here and walk out of his life. You’re sick of him at this point, right?

“I don’t think those things. I don’t feel how you’re accusing me of feeling. I don’t only have feelings for Volt.”

“But he’s the only one that deserves you.”

Your heart breaks. Eyes begin to water and you place both hands over his chest, your fingers weave into the buttons of his vest and you feel his quickened heartbeat.

“You deserve me too. Do you really think I was sticking around to see Volt every night?” Eddie looks off to the left, his eyes staring towards the stage. He shuffles on his feet.

“Yeah, kinda…”

You give him a sad smile. “You’re so fucking stupid,” you playfully pat a fist over his chest and Eddie looks down at you offended. “I was worried about you, you fool! Give me a little attitude and I’m determined to make that shell crack,” you snicker and your eyes beam at the slight lift of the corner of Eddie’s lips.

“Why me, though?” He asks genuinely. 

“Why not you?”

He motions to himself. “I’m not exactly the most appealing, little spark.” It’s ridiculous how he can act like he isn’t one of the sexiest objects in the house, like he isn’t the reason why you have two wonderful boyfriends now and the very foundation of the working house, giving each object a purpose in life and giving them said life he powers.

You let your hands wander then, taking in the sight of Eddie’s body tensing at the sensual touch, his eyebrows twitching and cheeks burning. You can feel the electricity coursing through his veins when your bare fingers find the base of his exposed neck and you encircle your hands around them, sliding your body close so your chest-to-chest with him. Fingers card through his hair and his mouth twitches when he speaks, his voice low and curious.

“What are you…doing?” 

“Admiring what’s mine?” You say it so simply, so easily that Eddie can’t seem to comprehend it. He finds a hand lifting and placing it on your waist. There’s a start.

“I’m yours, huh? What, I’m some panel of electricity only made for your pleasure? Is that what you’re saying?” You hook your wrist together, caging him there and his back leans into the wall. You shrug.

“If I said yes?”

“I’d say you’d get electrocuted,” His voice grumbles in his chest and there’s a shiver that runs down your entire body at the sound of it. You wiggle a brow at him.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, Eddie.”

He laughs. It's genuine and refreshing to hear after not having it bless your ears the past few weeks. His eyes glisten with a newfound gladness and you take pride in knowing you helped create that in him.

“Is Volt giving you pick up lessons?” He places his other hand on your waist, his palms find comfort on your body and you begin to rock gently side to side.

“You weren’t supposed to know that,” You tease, tapping your lips with your index finger. Eddie chuckles and he runs his tongue over his bottom lip.

“What else am I not supposed to know? What else is he having you hide from me?” His fingers tease at the hem of your shirt and you feel your own cheeks flush. You play with the ends of one of his strands of hair, poking your finger against the exposed wire.

“Nothing…just that…he wanted me to—“ you cover your mouth and mumble the rest of your confession. Childlike mischief dances across your face and Eddie’s eyes close half lidded—unamused. He pulls your close, turning his head to hold his ear closer to your mouth.

“Didn’t quite catch that.” 

You giggle, Eddie smiles. “He wanted me to try and convince you to—“ another muffle, but Eddie is already grabbing your wrist and forcing it off your mouth. You belly laugh, doubling over when you try to fight back and fail horribly. You’re definitely not as strong as he is and he’s quickly turning you around and pushing you against the wall. He pins your wrist against the wall on either side of your head. Everything stops when you two look at each other, amusement playing across both your faces until you feel his thigh press between your legs.

He’s handsome like this, inches from your face, holding you and staring down at you with those halflidded eyes. His mouth parts slightly when it goes quiet and he lets his gaze flicker down to your lips. He licks his own.

“Convince me to what?” 

You don’t try to play this time. “Convince you to have sex with me.”

Eddie chuckles, “Volt thinks I should get my dick wet to relieve my stress?” 

You can’t really argue with that, “Well, it could help.” 

He stares at you for a couple moments, you feel like you’re being evaluated while his eyes roam across your features, tracing the lines of every piece of your face and settling for a good while on your lips before flitting them back up to your eyes.

“Yeah…I think it could help,” He sounds actually genuine this time, taking the advice into consideration as silly as it seemed. He pulls away to rub at his scruff, the sound of his rough hands on the stiff hair tingles the back of your neck and you have the urge to rub your cheek against it.

“I have a better idea,” He says thoughtfully. “How ‘bout— are you free tomorrow night?” 

You stare at him with an unamused expression. “You really think I have anything else planned besides being at home and rotting away?” Eddie chuckles, breathy and warm and you smell the whiskey on his breath. His hand slides up your waist and cups the side of your ribs, he gently presses the pads of his fingers into the muscles and it takes everything in you to not moan at the touch. He can see the effect it has on you, however and he gives you a knowing smirk.

“How about instead of rotting away in bed, you come meet me tomorrow night after the show. I’ll show you something, yeah?”

His entire demeanor has changed. Confidence permeates the air around him suddenly, his eyes seem to darken with want and it makes your stomach flutter with an excitement you haven’t felt in Lord knows how long. You’re eager, nodding your head and your jaw slack slightly. Eddie—amused, laughs again, his eyes shutting and nose crinkling. His crow feet are something to be admired and the way he cups your chin with his thumb and forefinger to shut your mouth has you blushing red.

“Thanks for the ego boost, live wire.” He presses a soft kiss to your cheek and you finally get that chance to feel his scruff. “I owe you one.”

You finally let him slip past this time. The sound of his  footsteps receding as you try to conceptualize just what he’s planning for tomorrow.

The club is once again closed when you head on over to the Breaker Box. Pushing up your dateviators curiously, you knock once, twice on the metal door. 

It creaks open, revealing Eddie. He looks much less worn out than usual. His hair is still shaggy and eyes 

 littered with lack of sleep, but for the most part there seems to be more color in his face and a gleam in his eyes that you can only say looks a little like mischief. You wave a hand hello and he opens the door further.

His vest is off, only adorning his white button up and it’s certainly not buttoned all the way. His wife ringlets around his neck still hang there and the collar of the shirt lays easily across his collar bones. You see chest hair peeking out of the shirt and you have to stop your eyes from wandering too far.

“Come on in,” He nods his invitation and the heavy door creaks and clangs closed behind you. The lights are dimmed, most off and you can barely see the stage without them on. But there’s a little shadow of the microphone where Johnny usually is, subjecting everyone to his demos. The bar is also barely lit, backlights highlight the glass on shelves, creating rainbows of light to dance across the countertop. Eddie takes you over, one hand on the small of your back to lead you over to your stool.

“Want a drink?” He holds up a shot glass he’s already prepared.

You look at him with an eyebrow raised. “Trying to loosen me up?”

He looks at it, then at you. “Well, I sure as hell need it. You mind if I…?”

“Please, go ahead. Just don’t get drunk on me. Already had to deal with a passed out Volt after I left last night.” You had found Volt, drunk and asleep, cuddling up with Betty on your bed, drooling over her breast. You settle on the stool and watch Eddie down the shot in one go. He places the glass on the counter and pours another.

“Yeah, thanks for handing him to me.” Eddie rolls his eyes at the memory of having to carry him back to the club.

Looking around, you notice something.

“Speaking of which. Where is Volt?”

Eddie doesn’t say a thing, instead he throws back another drink and finally rinses it, cleans it and places it back on the rack. He wipes his hands dry with a washcloth.

“Upstairs. You wanna see him?”

That sounds…ominous, the way he slowly releases the words— almost nervous to ask you. Afraid you’ll say yes. But when you look up at him he’s got this evil smile, a smug look in his eye.

“Eddie…what did you do?” He laughs at that and jabs a thumb to the stairs that lead up to their living quarters. You follow him.

He places his hand on the doorknob, turning it slowly while he places his index finger on his lips, shushing you silently. When the door opens, you hear Volt before you see him.

“This is just cruel now, Eddie, really. What have I done to deserve such treatment?” Eddie pushes you inside with a swift move, tripping on the threshold, you stumble into the bedroom where sitting in a rusty chair is Volt. You catch your balance as you take in the slight.

He’s clothed (surprisingly) but his hands are behind the back of the chair, a thick line of wire is digging into his clothes, cupping his chest. His ankles, also tied, force him to spread his legs and he struggles against his restraints. Hair falls into his face when he tries to jerk out of the confines Eddie clearly placed him in and when he tosses his head back to throw his hair back over his shoulder— he catches you.

“Live wire!” He exclaims, realization hitting him and you all at once. “That’s what this is, Eddie? Showing off?” Volt would almost look angry if it wasn’t clear that he was extremely proud of Eddie at this moment.

“What—?” You can’t finish your question before Eddie is grabbing your shoulder and pushing you to the bed. The strength in his grip alone leaves you gasping and there’s a pang of pleasure that makes the hairs on your arms stand on end. An electrifying excitement. 

“Thought it was my turn for a little fun this time,” He says cooly. “Better to give my other half a show while I have my way with our little spark, right?” Eddie flashes Volt a toothy smile before he begins unbuttoning his shirt. You lean back on your elbows on the bed, your eyes watching Eddie before switching over to Volt who’s staring at you with a knowing grin. 

Well done, live wire. You can practically hear it as he mouths the words. You bring your legs up and squeeze your thighs together with a glee and arousal. 

Eddie’s body is toned— where Volt is practically hairless albeit except the white happy trail that begins at his belly button— Eddie is covered. Hair dusts over his chest and travels down his entire torso, his pants hang low enough where you can see the beginning of his lower pelvic region. Soft lines point to where you can see the natural shape of him in his pants. His skin flushes under the dimmed lights when he tosses the shirt to the side and feels both pairs of eyes on him, raking down and up. Volt holds back his tongue for once, letting Eddie have the spotlight for tonight. 

The bed shifts when he places a knee on it, reaching and grabbing your ankle. Eddie tugs with one swift motion and you’re pulled to the edge of the bed, just a few feet from where Volt sits in the chair. You look to Volt for a moment when Eddie’s hands slide over your clothed thigh.

“Don’t look at him,” He says with a bite that almost sounds like anger. The lights soften the hard edges of his face but that gaze is equally as sharp and ten times more intense. Your eyes are glued to him then.

His hand slips under your shirt, fingertips hot against your skin and they press when it reaches the edge of the plump flesh on your chest. He squeezes gently, eyes glued to your face to see what expression you’ll conjure. His thumb swipes over your nipple and it’s hardening under his touch. Your eyes flutter shut, leaning back on your hands and letting your spine arch at the pleasure. Volt was always soft, sometimes too soft and delicate but Eddie’s already proving to be a beautiful contrast to his partner. You let your lips part in a sigh.

He pinches your nipple with his forefinger and thumb, there’s a jolt of electricity and it drives a yelp out of you. The pain quick to hit and just as quick to evaporate. You let out a needy moan then, letting your legs separate and scoot closer to Eddie— hoping he’ll pick up the sign that you want more of whatever that was.

Eddie’s other hand shoves your shirt up, exposing you to the chilly air and Volt’s piercing stare. The arousal increases in the room for every party. You hear the chair creak under Volt’s weight when he shimmies his wrists in his bindings. You look down, daring to open your eyes when you feel warm breath at the center of your chest between your breasts.

“More?“ Eddie lets out with a breath. You nod your head, his fingers pinch harder just a little. “Say it.” 

“M-more…please.” You add the polite request at the end, hoping it would please him. It certainly does because his tongue is pressing to your breast, starting the underside and sliding up to your hardened peak. He circles the tip of his tongue around a few times before letting his lips capture the rest in his mouth. Your hand finds its way to his hair, gripping the strands as he sucks more of your skin into your mouth. His own eyes flutter shut for a moment and you’re able to admire the way his eyelashes lay against his warm skin. He’s pretty like this— he always is but seeing the content on his face has the tips of your ears reddened and warm. 

He pulls away, letting a bridge of spit connect from your nipple to his bottom lip that’s become plump and red. He swipes his thumb over it, breaking the bridge and beginning a slow, wet circle around your other breast. Eddie looks up at you through his lashes and he leans in close, pressing his face into your neck. You gasp, mouth agape and already getting dry.

“Mmmmh,” He mumbles, “So soft,” his lips graze your neck, tongue sliding out to press against your quickened pulse. His teeth sink in slowly, not enough to break skin but enough to leave a slight indent. He suckles the sensitive skin there, it pinches and hurts but it sits so close to pleasure that you can’t differentiate between the two. You let out another moan, hips moving on their own accord.

Volt groans himself, eyebrows pinched together and pulling at the wires as he watches his lovelies neglect his pleasure. He’s hard— rock hard in his pants but there’s no release for him. 

“Eddie…” You breath, hand grasping the back of his neck. He grumbles into your neck before releasing you and soothing over his third hickey with his tongue. He pulls away, hair a mess, eyes droopy with want, hands trembling with excitement as he looks over your aroused state while he figures out what to do next. So much he wants to do…

He pushes your shirt completely off, it’s awkward and it tangles with your limbs but you managed to pull it off, now the two of you half exposed. Volt’s eyes seem to bulge out of his skull and he babbles something about how beautiful you two look. Eddie gives him a sideways glance that shuts him up. 

You lift your hips when Eddie begins to hook his fingers into your pants, peeling them off and letting his calloused fingertips slide across silky skin. He slides them to your inner thighs once your pants lay in a heap on the floor and he’s pushing your knees apart until they nestle on the blankets beneath you. He lets out a longing sigh after holding his breath, revealing the goldmine of your wet heat. Eddie looks in wonder, mouth watering at the sight and he can’t seem to figure out what to do first for a couple seconds. A curious thumb buries into the hair on your pubic bone and he pulls the skin upward, unveiling your plump clit. It twitches under his cooling breath.

He lowers his head.

Eddie lets his mouth cup over your mound, his tongue peeking out to swipe, flat and wide to cover the entire surface. He moans with you in his mouth, vibrating the area and your legs fight against the strong hold he keeps on your thighs to keep them separated. Your hips buck at the sensation, unable to control the roll of mind numbing pleasure that feels like warm water enveloping you from toes to shoulders. 

Eddie sighs, breaking the suction on your clit to swipe his tongue up and down with a precision and movement only he is capable of. He barely peeks over to Volt before he’s replacing his tongue with his two forefingers, watching your hole clench and unclench with each rub over your bundle of nerves.

“They taste so good, Volt. They’re doing so well for me, too, don’t you think?” 

Volt swallows over a dizzying lump in his throat, attempting to clear it before speaking but he sounds just as breathless as you. “Y-yes, they are…So good for you…” 

Eddie turns to you. “Good little spark,” His fingers play and circle at your entrance, pulling your lips apart to watch the slick ooze from you. His middle fingers dips inside slowly, it’s not nearly big enough to satisfy you— leaving you whining and wanting to beg for more. Before you can muster the courage to, Eddie is already pulling away and reaching over to press his fingers into your mouth. You let your mouth fall slack and take his finger in, a hand holds his wrist gently as you suckle and taste the saltiness of your own desire for him. “Get it nice and wet, spark…that’s it.” There’s a warmth to his voice that sends shivers down your entire body and you eagerly suck on his finger, letting saliva escape the corner of your mouth and slide down the side of his finger.

“Does Volt ever finger you?” He asks when he pulls away again and settles his hand between your legs once more. You shake your head and he pouts. “That’s a shame. He’s real good at it. Leaving our live wire out on some fun? eh?” He looks over his shoulder. “Not nice, Volt. Cruel, even.”

Volt groans, his pants tight around his crotch. You wonder if his hardon has the strength to burst from the seams. 

“That’s alright,” He hums, positioning his fingers at your entrance again. This time he holds his middle two, sinking them into his first knuckle. “I’ll take care of you.” 

With the width of his two fingers— your body reacts; leg spread wide, you toss your head back into the sheets, hands grip said sheets and you bite your lip in an attempt to muffle your moan. It doesn't work. Eddie’s fingers seek deeper inside you, feeling the plush, wet walls within you. The action alone has him feeling his cock dig into the bed below him. His hips adjust, feeling that satisfying friction but he stops himself— not yet. He’ll get his turn soon.

His fingers curl, hooking themselves deep inside you and he begins thrusting. Wet, filthy sound mix together with your sounds of pleading and pleasure when Eddie finds your g-spot and abuses it. 

“Eddie!” You moan, teeth clenching and legs fighting against his strong hold. “Fuck…fuck, fuck! Eddie!”

“That’s it,” His voice feels like warm honey against your eyes. “You want it harder, don’t you, my little wire?” Fingers move expertly, sliding in and out and pressing into that plush, sensitive spot so roughly it starts to feel numb. A knot forms in your lower abdomen, tightening and tightening—

“Eddie! Please, I’m almost there—“ He suddenly stops.

You whine, practically crying when his wet fingers leave you empty and clenching around nothing. By the time you open your eyes, he’s sitting up and sucking on his fingers, eyes trained over to Volt who really does look like he’s gonna burst.

His hair sparks blue, eyes flicker with a sick malice that you know isn’t true anger. You watch them, waiting for one of them to say something. It’s like they have a silent conversation, speaking telepathically. Eddie releases his finger with an audible pop and turns his attention back to you.

“Lay back down and spread your legs.” You don’t dare question him. 

You and Volt both watch with bated breath as Eddie unzips his pants, watching his hardon strain against the fabric before pushing them down along with his underwear. He springs out of the confines and you sit up to get a good look.

He climbs atop the bed, grabbing one ankle of yours with his hand and holding your leg open while the other grabs at his base. You hear a needy noise come from Volt when Eddie angles his dick to your heat. It’s warm and he presses his tip to your clit, sliding up and down to coat himself in your slick. His skin is soft and warm against you and Eddie lets out a moan that erupts from deep within his chest. A satisfying sound, something akin to a growl and he lets his eyes shut as the pleasure envelopes you both. He moves slowly, letting your pussy memorize the shape of him against your lips.

“Could cum just from this, live wire…” His tip catches at your hole and you gasp and relax— opening him for him but he slides back up to your clit and circles it with his tip. “Nice and wet, hm?” 

He pulls back a little to align himself to your entrance. You suck in a breath, holding it until his tip splits you open. There’s the slight burn the further he pushes in, waiting for you to flutter around him before Eddie continues to shimmy his way inside you. He’s much more girthier than Volt— thicker and hotter— you wonder in the moment if there’s any chance you’d ever be able to fit them both inside you one day.

Eddie releases his hand from his cock and grabs the back of your knee, lifting your leg to push it against your torso. He lets his head fall back when he bottoms out inside you and lets out a satisfying sigh. 

The room turns hot then. Everyone breathing deeply, Volt giving up on escaping and this time focusing on thrusting his own hips into nothing— practically crying over the lack of friction he receives. He watches you two with an icey, jealous, aroused stare that could melt metal.

There’s a searing heat between you and Eddie and it increases when he pulls his hips back and forward slowly, creating a slow and even rhythm. His thumb runs over the inside of your ankle, calloused finger soothing your mewling as you feel his cock bruise the inner working of your walls. Your toes curl when he pushes further in, his coarse hair mixing with yours, pelvis-to-pelvis in the most intimate way. 

“Fuck,” He breathes hard, breath fanning your face. He leans down, curling forwards and his hair falls over his forehead in a messy fashion. He thrusts harder, eyes peering down where you two are connected. Creamy white pools out of you and drips down onto the sheets, he fucks you harder, knowing you can take more. Your body rocks with each push inside you, reaching up to grab the sheets to keep you steady. You moan Eddie’s name, looking over to Volt whose mouth has fallen open, cheeks tinged blue. 

“So good, Eddie…Feels so good…” You say, eyes locking with Volt’s. There’s a smirk on your face and his eyes narrow, he still attempts to thrust but to no avail— there is no pleasure like skin-to-skin for him tonight.

Your other hand finds itself pressing into Eddie’s lower abdomen, feeling the ripple of muscle under his skin with each thrust. Your fingernails glide down a prominent vein on his pubic bone, down and down until your finger feels the wetness that’s coated on the small sliver of his exposed cock nestled in you. A choke catches in his throat and your hand goes to your very clit, circling it feverishly.

His speed picks up, thrusting getting messier, the sound of skin on skin growing louder, the bed creaking under the weight and his grip is so hard on your skin that you know you’ll have crescent shaped bruises in the morning. Eddie curses under his breath again, the pleasure becoming a hot white that almost blinds him. He’s just about ready to blow a fuse before he strains out.

“Gonna let me cum in you, right? Make you mine?” He says through clenched teeth. “Gonna fill you up and make sure we get every last drop deep inside you…” He leans down now, letting go of your ankle to grab the back of your knee, pushing both legs up and against your torso. The new angle is deeper, his girth splitting you open and tip bruising your cervix. There’s the burn and sharp pain of his abusing thrusts and he practically growls in your ear.

“Fuck, live wire, squeeze around me again and I’ll—“ His sentence is cut off when you tighten around him, lust filled eyes locking with his as you feel that wet warmth burry itself deep inside you.

Eddie’s lips part, glossy and red as he releases himself inside you, pumping his hips a few more times as ropes coat your walls. It’s lewd, the way you feel it slip out of you while he lazily moves his pelvis against yours. Slowing his motions, he lets go of your legs, letting the heels of your feet dig into the end of the bed. Sweat drips from his forehead and the tip of his nose, pushing his hair back, he sits back, still inside you.

Eddie quickly leans down to give you a long, strong kiss on your lips. When you separate and you press noses together, you look at each other deeply. Eddie’s eyes flash a pink color, eyelids droopy and the circles under his eyes seem to grow more prominent as the exhaustion of what he’s done takes over.

He slowly, eyes trailing over your body, pulls out of you. His softening dick drops cum from the tip and like a dam breaking, cum oozes out of you and onto the sheets. You release a sigh and let your achy limbs relax, stretching your arms above your head and arching your back.

You moan, pushing more cum out of you when you speak, “God, Eddie…that was…”

He sits at the edge of the bed, leaning his elbows on one knee and looks over to you, nodding. “Well needed fix, yeah…”

“I was gonna say amazing.”

He smiles and blushes. “That too…” He fully turns to you, remorse written across his face. “I’m sorry for the way I acted.”

You shake your head, sitting up and reach over to grab his hand. “Don’t be sorry for having insecurities. We all have them.”

He shrugs. “I’ll be better.” He looks away, blushing and then turns back to you quickly. He puts his other hand over yours. “I love you…I realized I hadn’t said it since…everything that went down. I love you.”

You squeeze back. “I love you too.”

There’s a groan coming from the edge of the bed. 

Oh right.

Volt sits, still tied up, head hanging forward, hair cascading down to cover his face. You and Eddie find your eyes trailing down his body to—

Oh!

A wet spot sits directly on the hard lump that is Volt’s erection. Eddie lets out a chuckle.

“No way you came untouched, in your pants.”

Volt groans, hair sparking aggressively. “Just untie me and let me change…”

[lilacwinexi]

Sam Monroe x Reader

Smut !

It was just past two in the morning.

I hadn’t meant to come downstairs, I told myself I was only getting water. But my body was buzzing, restless under skin that felt too tight, too alert. The kind of awake that had nothing to do with caffeine and everything to do with the man in this house.

The kitchen light was already on.

He was standing by the sink in nothing but a pair of loose grey sweats. Bare-chested, broad back to me, one hand resting on the counter. The other running through his hair like he didn’t know what to do with his own thoughts.

He turned at the sound of my steps. His eyes found mine, then immediately dropped to the oversized shirt hanging off my body — his, stolen weeks ago. No bra. No pants. Just bare legs, bare feet.

Something in his jaw twitched.

“You couldn’t sleep either?” I asked.

His voice came low. “Not a chance.”

I reached for a glass, filled it with tap water. The sound of it echoed in the stillness. Sam didn’t move.

“I keep thinking,” he said, “if I just keep busy, I’ll stop wanting you like this.”

I set the glass down, heartbeat stuttering. “How’s that going?”

He finally turned, stepping forward, slow and deliberate. “Terribly.”

Now he was in front of me, not touching, not even reaching. Just standing there, eyes dark, chest rising and falling like he’d just come in from a run.

“I’ve wanted you since the first night I stayed here,” he said. “And I haven’t stopped.”

There wasn’t time to speak. To overthink. I reached for him and he was already kissing me.

His mouth was warm and rough, tongue brushing mine with a kind of quiet desperation. His hands slid down my sides, then gripped behind my thighs, lifting me effortlessly onto the counter. I let out a soft gasp, knees parting to wrap around him. The cold marble shocked my skin; the heat of him erased it instantly.

He broke the kiss, breathing hard. “If you want me to stop…”

“Don’t,” I said. “Please don’t.”

That cracked something in him.

His mouth was on my neck, jaw, shoulder, moving with purpose now. He peeled the shirt up slowly, exposing skin inch by inch. When it came off, he stepped back for a second and just looked.

Like I’d undone him.

“Jesus, baby,” he muttered. “Look at you.”

His hands came back to my hips, warm and wide and firm. He bent down and took one of my nipples into his mouth — slow at first, sucking gently, teasing it with his tongue. I moaned, gripping his hair, rolling my hips forward until he hissed through his teeth.

“Fuck, keep doing that,” he whispered. “Just like that.”

He pulled my panties down, slow and deliberate, dragging them down my thighs and letting them fall to the floor. Then he dropped to his knees in front of me.

And for a moment, everything went still.

Sam looked up, palms pressed to the outside of my thighs. “Let me take my time.”

I nodded, breath shallow.

He leaned in and kissed my inner thigh — once, then again, higher each time, until his mouth was right where I needed it most. He licked a slow stripe between my folds and exhaled like he’d been starving for this.

His tongue circled my clit, just light enough to tease, before flattening against it with pressure that made me gasp. He found a rhythm — slow, controlled, maddening, and when he slipped a finger inside me, my body clenched so tight around him I heard him groan.

“You taste unreal,” he murmured against me.

He added a second finger, curling them just right while his tongue kept working my clit in tight, rhythmic swirls. I gripped the edge of the counter, toes curling, thighs trembling.

My orgasm built fast, hot and undeniable, blooming through my chest like a fire under my ribs.

“Sam—fuck—I’m gonna—”

“Do it,” he growled. “I want to feel it.”

I came with a cry, legs shaking around his shoulders, my back arching so sharply it felt like I might split open. He held me through it, fingers slow and steady, mouth gentle as he coaxed every last wave from me.

When I slumped forward, breathless, he stood and kissed me hard — letting me taste myself on his tongue, hands cupping my jaw like he was trying to ground himself.

“I’ve wanted you like this for so fucking long,” he whispered. “I don’t even know how I held back.”

I reached for the waistband of his sweats, tugged them down. He let them fall, kicking them away. He was hard, thick, flushed and ready. My mouth went dry just looking at him.

He grabbed a condom from his wallet on the counter — I didn’t even ask. He rolled it on with shaking hands, kissed my forehead, and lined himself up.

“You sure?” he asked.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

He pushed into me slowly — deep, tight, stretching me until I felt completely filled.

We both moaned.

He gripped my hips, steadying us, and started to move. Slow at first. Deep. Every thrust brushing that spot inside me that made my whole body tense. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer, our chests pressed together.

“Faster,” I whispered. “Please.”

He gave me what I needed.

The pace picked up — his hips snapping into mine with more urgency, his mouth buried in my neck, my name a groan against my skin. I clawed at his back, bit his shoulder, wrapped my legs around him tighter like I could somehow pull him deeper.

“You feel like fucking heaven,” he growled. “So warm. So tight. I’m losing my goddamn mind.”

He shifted the angle, hit something that made me cry out. His fingers tangled in my hair, his other hand gripping under my knee as he drove into me harder now, messier, sweat beading down his temple, the counter squeaking under our weight.

“Sam—I’m gonna—”

“I got you. Let go.”

I shattered again, this time with his name as a broken sob on my lips, body pulsing around him. He kissed me hard, then lost rhythm — hips stuttering, breath catching, until he groaned deep in his chest and came, buried inside me, still thrusting slow through the aftershocks.

He rested his forehead against mine, our breathing ragged and uneven.

No one said anything.

The fridge hummed. Our skin cooled. The night wrapped around us like a blanket.

Finally, he pulled back enough to look at me.

“I’m in trouble,” he said, smiling gently.

I traced my fingers over his chest. “Why?”

“Because I’m not walking away from this.”

I kissed him once more.

“Good,” I said. “Neither am I.”

[glorify-obesity]

I don’t think I’m doing anything too extreme. Last April, I decided to set a goal of gaining two kilos of fat a week, and I was surprised at how easy it actually was. Drinking three liters of heavy cream results in a kilo of fat, so I only needed to consume one liter of cream daily along with my regular meals. I usually open a one-liter bag in the morning and sip it multiple times throughout the day. And if you're looking to help your fat settle into your belly, I’d be happy to share what’s worked for me.

• First off, go to the gym and lift weights, it's a great way to boost your testosterone level. Testosterone makes your belly grow.

• Then, mix your heavy cream with sugar. Your insulin will skyrocket and your body will deposit the fat where it can be done faster, right into your belly. Sugar makes your belly grow, too.

• Drink alcohol. Your body processes it similarly to fructose, converting it straight into your visceral belly fat. Beer is my go-to.

• There is another secret: take anastrozole. This is an aromatase inhibitor that prevents your testosterone from converting into estrogen.

Because of all that, I have very little subcutaneous fat, and I've grown a big round gut that just pops out even when I'm lying on my back.

I’ve been doing this for over a year and feel great, so I'm not stressing about the future. If anything does pop up, I'll stop. My doctor is worried about me and doesn't quite get why my belly is getting bigger. She has no idea that I'm intentionally doing this. I haven’t been posting much lately because I just haven’t felt the urge.

I made a quick video to show you my body shape. And just a little note: it's not AI, so let's stop this kind of chatter. I slow down my videos to make them nicer to watch. Enjoy!

[alittlegiraffe]

hiii! Could you write me like a sad Marshall mathers x reader fan fic where the reader and Marshall broke up and stuff and Marshall thinks he messed up real bad and it’s around the time where proof died so he relapses again and the reader finds out?! You can change it up a bit if you want also I love all your stories!! X

“Come Home”

It was over something stupid.

A forgotten dinner. A missed call. You standing in the doorway of his studio for twenty silent minutes while he nodded along to a beat, never once looking back at you.

He hadn’t even noticed you left.

And that—that—was what broke you.

You told him you felt like you weren’t his priority anymore, that since he got clean, all he cared about was the music. That he didn’t look at you the same. He told you that was bullshit. That you knew better.

So you left. Packed two bags and called Denaun, asking if you could crash for a while. He didn’t even ask questions, just came to get you. It was snowing.

That was two weeks ago.

Marshall hadn’t called. Not once. And you hadn’t either, because you were too ashamed. Because the second the door closed behind you, the fight didn’t matter anymore. Only the echo of it.

“He looks like shit,” Denaun muttered over his coffee one morning, eyeing you cautiously across the kitchen.

You didn't say anything. Just stared at your cereal like it might give you strength.

“You gonna talk to him?”

You bit the inside of your cheek. “He hasn’t called me.”

“He’s Marshall,” Denaun said, like that explained it. “You know how stubborn he is. He thinks if he gives you space, you’ll come home on your own.”

Your eyes burned. “I said some awful things.”

“So did he.”

Silence hung heavy for a beat.

Then Denaun’s voice dropped lower.

“He’s using again.”

Your spoon clattered into the bowl.

“No,” you breathed, shaking your head. “No, he promised. He promised me—”

“He fucked up,” Denaun said tightly. “I found him outside the studio a few nights ago. He wouldn’t even look at me.”

Your chest caved in like a sinkhole.

All the pride. The silence. The waiting. The pretending like it wasn’t killing you to be apart from him…

None of it mattered.

You didn’t call. You just went.

You didn’t even grab a coat—just pulled on a hoodie and your shoes, heart racing the whole drive.

The house looked the same. Cold and quiet and haunted.

Your key still worked.

The dogs barked once and then whimpered at your feet, tails wagging like they’d been holding their breath too.

And there he was—on the couch. Hoodie pulled over his head, headphones on, eyes closed.

You didn’t even think.

You rushed to him, yanking the headphones off.

His eyes flew open—bloodshot, wide, startled.

“Babe—?”

“Are you high?” you asked, voice shaking. “Tell me the truth.”

“What—? No!” He sat up fast, hoodie falling off his head. “No, what the fuck? I haven’t touched shit—who told you that?!”

You blinked hard. “Denaun said—”

“That motherfucker—” Marshall was already on his feet, pacing. “He told you that to get you to come back, didn’t he?!”

You stood there, stunned.

“I haven’t touched anything,” he said, his voice hoarse, quieter now. “I’ve been going to meetings. Every fucking night. I haven’t written a single song. I’ve been waiting for you to come back because I didn’t know how to say I’m sorry.”

Your chest broke open.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel like you didn’t matter,” he said. “You’ve always mattered. You saved me.”

Tears burned your throat.

“I missed one dinner, and I didn’t call, and you were right,” he whispered. “I wasn’t paying attention. And I thought—fuck—I thought you’d calm down and come back. But every day you didn’t, I just…”

You stepped forward.

He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. Like the weight of your absence was crushing him from the inside out.

“I thought I lost you,” he whispered.

You wrapped your arms around his waist and pressed your face to his chest. He melted into you like he’d been holding himself together with duct tape and this—you—were the only thing keeping him upright.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I overreacted. I didn’t mean to leave for this long. I just—I thought if I waited, maybe you’d…”

“I should’ve chased you,” he rasped. “Should’ve come after you the second you walked out the door.”

His hands fisted the back of your shirt, and you felt the way he trembled.

“I’m clean,” he said again, like he needed you to believe it. “I swear to God. You’re the reason I got clean.”

You looked up at him, reaching to cradle his jaw.

“I believe you,” you whispered.

He kissed you like a drowning man. Desperate, aching, so full of regret it almost shattered you.

Home wasn’t a place.

It was him.

And you were never leaving again.

[starl0ver4]

°ᡣ𐭩 . ° . Flatline | Sim Jaeyun

Pairing: idol! Jake x nor!afab reader.

SYNOPSIS: Seeing that Jaeyun hasn’t show affection to her for last 3 months, she knows he’s been tried, But after he missed her birthday and now their 2 years anniversary, she couldn’t take it anymore.

She Has To Leave Him, For Good.

Genre: angst.

Word count:???

-Hai, it’s Ré and this is my first ever fiction story. I am honestly excited and nervous about how y’all will like it, I’ve been reading a lot of Jake stories and wanted to him to be my first write, I’m not good a writing or telling a good story so bare with me on this one and give me some tips on how to improve on my writing, I got this idea from the song Flatline by Justin Bieber. I’m in love with this song, have been on repeat.

——-

12:29am

That’s what Y/n read on her phone, she was waiting on her boyfriend to come home after a long day of idol life. Don’t get y/n wrong she understands what Jaeyun is going through, he has a full day of singing, dancing,photoshoots, performing, meeting with the fans. She’s been understanding for 2 years after getting with him, they met at a Prada show. Him being an idol and she being a photographer.

It was love at first sight, they both fell in love with each other. Oh how jaehyun loved her face when she took photos of little things. Butterflies, his side profile when he sleeping, their hands locked in together, their feet tangled together in the bed. He felt seen by her, not for his looks. By his real self.

Now it just seem like she’s the only one in love. Y/n heard the keypad beeping and the door opening, Jaeyun walks in, eyes tired, his long black hair messy on top of his head.

He closed the door behind him and took off his shoes. “We need to talk” Jaeyun looks up to see her sitting on the white couch staring at the blank tv. He sighed and walked into the apartment.

“Not now y/n” Jaeyun replied whispering softly with his Aussie accent. “No, it’s serious.” She turn her head towards him with a broken look, Jaeyun expression softened and he nodded going to sit next to y/n.

“Jaeyun…” she started before sighing and looking at him, she looked at him with love, loneliness, heartbroken look. “Yes?” He responded in with the same tone he had, “I can’t do this” it’s out, the air felt even colder then it did before. Jaeyun stared at her with a laugh of awkwardness “what do you mean” she looked away and leaned back into the couch. “This, this relationship I can’t” she said her voice shaking.

“Why can’t you do-“ she cuts him off “because you’re never here when I need you!” She yelled looking at him now, her lower lip shaking uncontrollably. “You missed my birthday and our anniversary, you said you would show up for those important events. You lied to me.” Y/n cried out loud, Jaeyun run his fingers through his black hair and sigh, “is this what you called serious? Y/n I’ve been working my ass off this whole year!! I can’t stop and baby you!?.”

Y/n couldn’t believe what she was hearing, she didn’t know this person before her, this wasn’t her Jaeyun. “Are you serious right now Jaeyun!? Are you fucking serious!?” She screamed at him standing up in anger, all Jaeyun did was stare at her with an unreadable expression. “I am serious, I’m tired and want to sleep.” She stare at him with tears in her eyes.

“Fine you fucking asshole sleep all you want I’m not coming back.” She grabbbed her belongs and left their share apartment. “Fuck!!” Jaeyun screamed and kicked the glass table that was in the middle of the living room. The glass shattering on the floor.

————

2 weeks later. (Jaeyun pov)

It’s been 2 weeks since she left.

She haven’t responded to any of my calls or text.

I stare at the practice floor, my eyes lazy, my black hair messy on top of my head, I lean into the chair I was sitting on. Breathing but not living. Sunghoon was the first to notice my distance form, he always did. We were two idiots together, we always knew when the other isn’t themselves, we always told each other everything, he walked over and sat down next to me silently.

Sunghoon never knew how to comfort someone, but he knew how to listen. Good at that. We stayed silent, the cold air in the room making my skin crawl. Another minute goes by before I talked. “She…she left me” I spoke, my voice shaky. He stay silent, listening.

“I was too busy, not there for her. I wasn’t being the perfect boyfriend I told her I would be for her” my voice brakes with a sob, then another comes out. I lean over my legs, sobbing into my hands as memoirs of our fight.

Sunghoon patted my back, silent but listening.

I sob harder as I remember the sad look on her face, the anger she felt, the sadness I made her felt. I lean back into my chair and tears running down my tried face. “I couldn’t stop her for leaving, deep down I know someone will make her feel happy.” I bite my lower lip fighting back another sob.

A single tear ran down Sunghoon face, he felt all the sadness, the hurt, he stayed silent but always listening.

———-

I walked in the cold apartment, silent.

I drop my bag and took off my shoes, I walk in further, her warmth, her scent, her laughed.

Gone.

Like she was never here.

I sat down on the couch staring at the wall, I think and think. Just sat and thought. About her. Another sob left my shaky body, I lay on the couch sobbing loudly. To myself, to the cold air, to the silent apartment.

She was gone and it was all my fault.

All my fault.

————————

I hope y’all enjoy this. I felt like I did good it’s lowkey short but it will be hopefully longer in part 2! Plus when I made the part where Jaeyun was crying, I was thinking of the time when he was playing with some puppies and he cried behind camera before shooting that part, that made me tear up. He cried because dogs were getting killed and he wanted to raise awareness because of it but he ended up crying over the fact of some many puppies dying, stop he’s so lovable, I love Jake so much! 🥹 ALSOOOO I mentioned how enhypen have been getting worked like Slavs dogs since dark blood tour started, it’s actually crazy how bad desire just came out and they already released their Japanese ep AND they’re on a world tour right now, those boys need a fucking break. I feel so bad for them. Fuck HYBE!

———

Starting a tag list for the next part, comment to be tagged!

[camaro-hargrove]

tw major character death

-

Billy has been acting strange in the past few weeks. Giving her stuff that he thinks she’d like, old band shirts from California, his old Atari games that he doesn’t play anymore and some cassettes he thought she’d enjoy listening to.

The car rides had been quieter, no singing and the loud music turned down. He’d look at her a lot more, start to say things before cutting himself off before he could start a sentence.

Then one day instead of driving home, he’d driven to the quarry and sat there ignoring Max’s questions about why they were there and Billy finally says something that haunts her.

“If Dad” he coughs “If Neil ever says I’ve run away, don’t believe him”

“Why would he say that?” she asks

“The car is in his name” Billy ignores her “If he says I’ve run away and taken the car that’s a lie. I can’t afford to leave now and he knows that”

“Bil-”

“Max” he closes his eyes and takes a deep, shuddery breath “If Neil ever says I’ve run away, you need to tell the police”

She’d been silent after that. She slowly nodded, Billy’s word sinking in and scaring her. Billy seemed scared too but was trying to hide it.

“Okay”

Billy disappears on a Friday, one month and nine days after that conversation.

Max thinks nothing of it. It’s a Friday night so Billy was normally out until the early hours of the morning and sometimes didn’t return home until Sunday night. He’d picked her up from school like he always does and then after dinner when she’d gone to her room, she’d heard the camaro’s engine and the car peel out of the driveway.

Billy and his car didn’t come back on Saturday or Sunday.

Neil ends up driving her to school and Max is quiet the entire ride. Neil is too and seems to not be worried at all about Billy’s whereabouts. The radio is droning on about the freezing weather Hawkins is going to experience in the upcoming weeks.

She keeps her eyes trained on the scenery outside, the same scenery Billy complains about nearly every single time.

They reach the middle school and Neil turns into a parking space. She sits there before asking the one question that’s on her mind.

“Where’s Billy?”

“He ran away”

Max’s heart skips a beat as she nods and exits the car. She walks away slowly, not turning her back for a second and she hears Neil pull out and drive to work. Her mind is in a fog as she walks through the hallways of happy conversations and smiles softly as she passes her friends on the way to her locker. They follow her like they always do.

“No skateboard today?” Lucas asks

“No” Max tries to shrug it off “Billy didn’t take me to school today”

“Is he sick?” Will questions, always the polite one out of them

“I don’t think so” Max pauses “Neil said he ran away”

If Billy hadn’t told her when he did, she’d probably be cheering. Billy wasn’t the best brother, sometimes he was but as he got older it was more strained. He always talked about wanting to go back to California, to see his friends and find his mother. Some fantasy that he’d created that she’d take him with open arms and they’d live happily ever after on the beach away from Neil.

Billy’s voice keeps replaying in her head. You need to tell the police. It was weird hearing Billy say that. Billy hated them, always calling them pigs and purposefully pissing them off. Especially in a town like Hawkins where everyone knows everyone. Hopper always asked how he was and if he was ever going to pay the speeding fines that are stacking up or if he’s going to have to break up another fight. So for him to say the police should be involved if he ever goes missing, well, something is definitely wrong.

She doesn’t know how to actually go to the police without raising suspicion from Neil or her mother. She doesn’t really see El much and they’re what Max would say ‘nearly friends’ in that they’re friendly when around others but it’s kind of awkward when it’s just them two.

The days go by and Billy hasn’t returned. She stays awake most nights looking out the window just in case he walks up the driveway but he never does. The long nights allow her to think back to so many times where alarms should have gone off that something was wrong but she was too naive to even acknowledge it.

There was one time when Billy didn’t do the dishes and Max was sent to her room but she heard the sound of glass breaking and just thought someone had dropped it on the floor.

Another time, back in California, Billy left her alone so he could say hi to some people he knew across the street. He was supposed to be watching her while their parents ran an errand and when they came back Billy still wasn’t watching her. Neil had marched over and placed a rough hand on his shoulder and steered him back to where she was. He was muttering into Billy’s ear and when they were close enough she was able to hear Neil say ‘and so help me god, no one will find you’.

She supposed that’s what happened now, that Neil made good with his threat and that no one was going to find Billy.

The next morning, Neil drops her off at school again and she walks into the school and then waits for Neil to drive off. When he does, she slips back outside and hides from her friends so they won’t tell on her for running off.

The school is a decent drive from the town centre so it takes a while for her to walk. Eventually she makes it, out of breath and red in the face which clashes terribly with her hair. She stands at the edge of town and adjusts her backpack straps and stands up straight. She walks with purpose to the police station and takes a deep breath before entering.

It’s busy for a Thursday morning. Phones are ringing, the coffee maker is going and the fax machine is beeping.

She walks to the receptionist who’s drinking a cup of coffee and stares at her until she looks back at her.

“Yes?” she asks “Shouldn’t you be in school?”

“I need to talk to Chief Hopper” she says

“Why do you need to talk to him?” she asks, her desk tag says Flo. “What is so urgent you need to speak to the chief and no one else?”

“I’m a -” Max hesitates, she doesn’t know if Flo knows about El or not. “My parents know him, I have a question”

“I see” Flo clearly doesn’t believe her but in a twist of fate, the chief steps out of his office and does a double take when he sees Max.

“You’re Max, aren’t you?” he asks. Max nods. “Why aren’t you at school?”

“I need to talk to you” she makes eye contact with him “It’s an emergency”

Hopper must be thinking it’s upside down related and maybe it is, Max doesn’t know. She just has a terrible feeling it has something to do with monsters on the surface and live in her house.

Hopper closes the door behind him and sits down at his desk, gesturing for Max to sit in the chair across from him.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, hands clasped in front of him.

“My brother is missing”

Hopper has heard a lot of things but hearing that Billy Hargrove is missing isn’t something he’s worried about. The kid screams trouble. From the many unpaid speeding tickets to the fines for loitering in places he shouldn’t be to that memorable time at the Byers. The kid being missing doesn’t worry him, troubled kids run away all the time. But Max is clearly worried, biting her lip and leg shaking.

“Missing” he repeats. He leans back in his chair. “And what makes you think Billy is missing?”

“He hasn’t been home since last Friday” she rubs at her arm. “Hasn’t been acting like himself”

“Yeah” Hopper shakes his head “Max, I’m going to be real with you. Billy is probably just staying at a friends house”

“But he has no friends” Max blurts out.

“If he’s ‘missing’” Hopper uses air quotes “How come your folks haven’t reported it?”

Max looks visibly uncomfortable, like she’s debating whether or not to answer him truthfully. She runs a hand under her eyes and looks up, tears brimming in her eyes.

“Because I think his Dad is the one who killed him”

Killed. She’s gone from missing to killed. He listens as Max goes on a spiel about how Billy has been acting weird and giving away some of his things to her. That he drove her to the quarry and told her that if Neil ever said he ran away that she had to go to the police because he couldn’t run away. The car isn’t in his name and Neil takes all his money so there’s no way he could survive on his own.

He’s concerned now and has started taking notes. He nods as Max keeps talking, saying Billy has been abused for years and that Billy was so sure Neil would kill him one day.

Neil works night shifts most of the time so he’s home when Hopper pulls up in his squad car, Callahan and Powell close behind. He knocks on the door and waits impatiently for someone to answer the door.

Neil answers it and is shocked to see the police on his doorstep.

“Officers” Neil says politely “What can I do for you today?”

“It’s Chief, actually” Hopper replies. “We are under the impression that your son is missing”

“Billy?” he asks “No, you’re mistaken. This is something Billy has always done”

“Right” Hopper nods “But we have a history with missing kids and well, we just want to make sure he returns home safely”

“Of course”

“So, you won’t mind if we have a look around” Hopper smiles “We can get a better understanding on where he could have gone”

“Actually I do-”

“We have a warrant” Hopper shoves past him and steps into the lounge and takes a look at the photos on the wall. Lot’s of Max, some of the Hargrove Mayfield wedding. None of Billy “Nice place you have”

“This Billy’s room?” Powell asks, nodding his head towards a room. Neil has been glaring at him ever since he entered the house.

“Yes” Neil grits his teeth

“Weird that there’s a lock on the outside of the door” Hoppe flicks it “Normally it’s on the other side”

“Billy is a troubled child”

“Of course he is” Hopper opens the door and enters a baron room. Only the bare necessities present. “Boys will be boys”

“Are you sure you have a teenage boy?” Callahan asks looking around “Pretty clean for a teenager”

“Billy knew to keep his room tidy”

“Mhmm” Hopper hums “I’m sure”

Hopper walks around the entire house even going down into the basement to find that there’s a pile of blankets near the wall, like someone sleeps down here. He’s seen enough at this point and he walks back up to the main room where Callahan, Powell and Neil are standing silently.

“Don’t worry, Mr Hargrove” Hopper pats him on the shoulder “We’ll find your son”

It’s dark in the forest. It’s not even fully nighttime but it sure feels like it when they’re this deep in the forest. There’s a boat out on lovers lake and another at the bottom of the quarry. It feels eerily similar to when Will Byers went missing.

The flashlight light bounces off everything and casts shadows that make his double check what he’s looking at. He scans the ground for anything unusual. It’s the third day he’s in the forest searching and nothing has been found yet.

His walkie buzzes and he immediately answers.

“Hopper” he says and let’s go, waiting for a reply.

“We got a body at the quarry” the staticy voice replies “Over”

Hopper swears audibly and turns around to make the trek back to his truck and drive over to the quarry. He knows that Billy won’t be alive when he gets there but he can kid himself that Billy didn’t drown and had climbed up onto the forest edge at the bottom.

The red and blue lights cast shadows and stain everything in its path. The medics are crouched down near the shoreline, a body bag set in front of them.

He braces himself, takes his hat off and walks over.

There in the bag is the dead body of Billy Hargrove. Body pale and decayed, he’s been dead this whole time by the state of his body. There’s a hole in his forehead and Hopper nearly throws up at the sight.

“He was probably dead before he even hit the water” someone says.

Hopper straightens up as they close the bag and load Billy’s body into the ambulance. Hopper heads back to his truck and turns on the sirens, carelessly driving out of the quarry and speeding over to the Hargrove household. He pulls up and barely stops the car before he’s marching across the front lawn and banging on the door.

Susan answers the door, eyes wide and shaken when she sees who it is.

“Mrs Hargrove, is Neil Hargrove here” he asks, not beating around the bush.

“I-I-Yes he is” she stammers out and steps aside, like she’d been expecting this to happen.

“Neil Hargrove” Hopper grabs the man by the arm, yanking him up from the couch and turning him around and cuffing him. “You’re under arrest for the murder of William Hargrove. You have the right to remain silent, you have the right to an attorney. Anything you say can and will be held against you”

Neil struggles in his grip but Hopper is determined. He can see Max standing in the entrance to the hallway, tears falling down her face. There’s a crowd outside, drawn from the sirens and lights who witness the arrest of Neil Hargrove, many with shocked faces.

“You’re going to go away for a long fucking time” Hopper threatens

[temperancelenore]

Escaping a small Arkansas town was not something I thought was in the cards for me. I’m not sure I even wanted to escape. I don’t handle excitement or change very well. The farthest I’ve ever been from home is Plano, Texas, and I spent 99% of my time there in an eating disorder treatment hospital. The worst time of my life, by the way, but I eventually recovered. I remember not hearing from any of the friends that I thought I would while I was there.

Maybe that’s what worries me now; if my friendships can’t survive a distance of a few hundred miles, how could they survive thousands of miles?

I’m 24 years old now, and I got married in November of 2024. Not because I was ready, but because my husband is undocumented. I don’t think either of us was ready for marriage, but with Donald Trump about to enter office again, we thought it would be best to go ahead and get that done just in case things get bad, maybe that would offer us a little bit of protection.

Well, as you probably know, things have gotten bad. Worse than either of us could’ve imagined.

Our plan was to get married and begin the immigration process. Later, once we were really ready we would have our wedding “for real.” We even managed to meet with an immigration lawyer, but then the stories of people being picked up at their lawyers’ offices began. We decided to postpone the immigration process until we felt safer.

Then everything spiraled, everything kept getting worse by the day. One hundred and fifty-seven executive orders. DOGE, tariffs, defunding, the No Kings protests, the Big Bullshit Bill, and finally Alligator Alcatraz, if that’s what we’re calling it. That was our final straw.

It will take years for this country to rebuild after Donald Trump is gone, and I know we’ve all seen this story play out before. We all know how this ends, and no one seems willing to put a stop to it. Well, I don’t feel like waiting around to find out if my husband - or his family - will be fed to alligators, or whatever they’re doing in that concentration camp.

When I was younger, my favorite movie was The Corpse Bride. I used to walk around in frilly white slip dresses pretending it was my wedding gown. If you asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I would’ve told you I wanted to be a bride. I know weddings are a little superficial and maybe even materialistic, but I think every girl wants their princess day. I know I certainly did.

I’ve had my wedding dress picked out since I was 16 years old. Mermaid fit, off the shoulder, with cornflower blue lace trim (inspired by The Corpse Bride, of course), but I think that dress will have to wait a little while longer.

I think our wedding will look much different than what I had planned.

We’ve decided to go to Mexico. I, of course, have never been to Mexico, but I’m learning the language and the culture. We’re looking at homes and we hope to be there by March of 2026. I never thought about leaving home before, but I’m not willing to risk my husband's safety anymore.

He deserves to live freely, he deserves to be able to order a beer if he wants, he deserves to not have to work the jobs that no white man will work for a wage that no white man would accept.

We’re going to Mexico, and it is the most horrifying and exciting decision I have ever made.

I cried for weeks after we made the decision. I will be leaving my mother, my sister, and my father- who already needs more help than we can give. I will be leaving my two best friends of thirteen years, who I consider my sisters, and who I could never imagine life without. I think I will miss them the most.

I still cry when I think about Elizabeth not being my Maid of Honor. We were always supposed to do life together. I still haven’t told her I’m leaving.

The excitement came later, once I began learning about Mexico. It’s beautiful. It might be paradise. I’ve never seen the ocean, but I hope that the Gulf - of Mexico, not America - is as breathtaking in person as it is in the pictures. I’ve never seen anything so blue.

Lately, I have been thinking of a scene from The Corpse Bride, when Victoria is in her room getting ready for her marriage to Lord Barkis, and she says to her maid, Hildegarde:

“Yesterday I thought my wedding would be happy, but now I feel like I’m caught in the tide, pulled out to sea.”

Hildegarde - more of a mother to Victoria than her actual one, cups her face and tells her:

“The sea leads to many places, dearie, maybe you’ll land somewhere better.”

[rauferes]

“So eager,” Emmrich purred. “Don’t you know that good things come to those who wait?”

“I didn’t fuck you right in the catacombs where we met,” Rook said, slightly breathless. “It’s been nine weeks. I think I should be sainted for my patience at this point.”

Rook tugged Emmrich roughly, seating him more firmly between their legs. They bit their lip at the feeling of Emmrich bare against them for the first time.

Emmrich, smiling crookedly, pressed a kiss against the place where Rook’s neck and collarbone met. Rook’s back arched.

“Have just a little more,” Emmrich murmured against their skin. “Let me taste you. I want to make you forget your own name.”

By this point Rook was so worked up that even Emmrich’s smooth, seductive voice couldn’t distract them.

“Do that later,” Rook groaned. “Fuck me now. Please, Emmrich.”

Emmrich smirked, but didn’t offer up any more delicious distractions. He slid into Rook.

Rook’s head dropped back with a relieved, satisfied sigh.

Emmrich, unexpectedly, let out a ragged moan, his mouth going slack. His fingers dug into Rook’s hips, clinging to them as if for dear life. For a moment, he didn’t move.

“Has it, uh, been a bit?” Rook asked delicately.

Emmrich shook his head. His breath was suddenly very fast. He pulled back slowly, pressing into Rook again like a man sipping the last of his water in a desert. Rook swallowed a moan. Emmrich filled them so completely that even slow teasing like this felt amazing.

“Tight,” Emmrich said in a strained voice. “You feel—sublime. I’ve—I’ve never—”

The desperate desire in his voice made Rook clench around him.

Emmrich hissed, his hips jerking involuntarily. One stroke turned into two, rapid and uncoordinated in a way that was pure instinct. When he’d ground against Rook through their clothes last week, the smooth rolls of his hips had been nothing like this.

“Oh fuck,” Emmrich said breathlessly.  

He wrapped Rook tightly in his arms and sped up, pounding into them as fast as he could go.

“Yes,” Rook gasped out, seeing stars. “Just like that. Don’t stop.”

Emmrich let out a whine. Rook wasn’t sure that he could manage words if he tried. His handsome face was screwed up with frantic want and overwhelming pleasure. The slam of his hips against Rook’s was almost violent.

Rook tightened their legs around him and moaned so loudly that it would be embarrassing, if Rook were capable of the emotion.

In barely any time at all, Emmrich came with a guttural sound, burying his face against Rook’s neck. His chest heaved as if he’d sprinted for twenty minutes.

Rook could feel the moment when Emmrich came back to his senses: his whole body stiffened.

“Goodness, I can’t believe I—that was—I—” Emmrich began, shoving his hair back from his face. His cheeks reddened with a fierce blush. Even his forehead and his ears went pink.

Rook cut him off.

“How long’s your refractory period?” Rook asked bluntly.

Emmrich blinked. The question was so unexpected that it took him a long time to respond.

“About twenty minutes for the first, but generally far longer after that to the point of being impractical—”

“Great,” Rook said, and kissed him senseless.

Rook’s patience should juuuust about be enough to wait twenty minutes, if it meant being fucked like that again.

Probably.

[swightops]

still holding the silence (4) - thunderbolts* (b.reynolds)

summary - training with bob continues as you finally meet the rest of the new avengers warning(s) - typical thunderbolts warnings (depression, cannon violence, blood, etc.) a/n - heyyyyyyy (sweating...) I KNOW IVE BEEN MIA well not really I've been on tumblr but not writing ANYWAY IM BACK! ive decided that I'll be updating and posting new chapters on Saturdays LMAO anyway enjoy i don't really like this but i need this out so the story can continue, also this me messing around with "sentry" because i like the interpretation that its not an alterego but rather bob when he's on a "high" with his powers idk pls don't come for me if you don't agree but lemme know what yall think!!

Bob’s been having much better days since you’ve started training with him.

Like, really good days. Some of the best he can remember. 

He gets up, and his head doesn’t feel like a nest of wasps, constantly buzzing. He’s eating bigger meals and even joins John and Alexei in the gym (even though he knows little about working out). He goes on walks with Ava and Yelana through the streets of New York and isn’t always trying to make himself smaller for everyone around him. He and Bucky talk about the books he’s been reading recently and how much literature has changed since the 1940s. 

After the first week, you told Bucky and Yelana that you thought it would benefit Bob to see a therapist while you trained with him. While you could help him regulate his powers, you couldn’t help the war he was always fighting with himself. Hell, you were just barely really holding on if you were being honest.  

But to Bob, it was like the world opened back up to him in color.

And lately? He’d had six good days in a row.

A record.

He was thinking about that when you walked into your usual training room. The Watchtower's training chamber was empty except for the two of you, as usual, and the faint mechanical hum of the energy dampeners embedded in the walls. A room built for gods, or monsters, or whatever fell in between. 

Bob stood near the center, arms loose at his sides. The faintest glow coiled around his eyes like golden thread as he stared down the dummies in the center of the room. You stood a few paces away, studying him with that calm, quiet look you always gave him—watchful but not judging, patient but not soft.

He liked that about you. You never looked at him like he was about to explode.

“You ready?” you asked, voice even. Your hair was tied up in a ponytail today. Bob thought it was pretty. It let him see the nape of your neck, which had been hard to keep his eyes off. 

He nodded. “Yeah. I’m good.”

You tilted your head. “You sure?”

Bob cracked a small smile, the blue in his eyes overtaking the gold for a second before the gold flashed competitively brighter. “I’ve been having good days.”

You stepped a little closer, arms crossed. “How good?”

“Woke up this morning and didn’t hate being awake. Ate breakfast. Heard a bird outside the window and didn’t think about the end of the world. So, yeah. Pretty good,” Bob says, his eyes still trained on the dummies. His eyebrows stay furrowed as he stares like laser beams were about to shoot out of them. 

You stifle a laugh. “You remember the bird?”

“Cardinal,” he said. “Red. Bright red. I think I startled it, actually.” He said it like it was funny. Like he could laugh about it now.

Your gaze warmed as you nodded. “That’s good, Bob. Really.”

He nodded again, more to himself. Then his hand twitched, and there’s a pulse of energy that jolts faintly beneath his skin—along his arms, the veins of his hands, the slope of his collarbone where it met the base of his neck. Not flaring. Not out of control.

Just steady.

You lowered your voice, picking your following words carefully. “What about your powers? Noticed anything lately?”

Bob looked at his hand, flexing it slowly like he was holding the air. “They feel…louder. But not in a bad way. Like I’m closer to the edge of something big, but I’m not afraid of it this time.” 

You raised a brow. “That’s a big deal.”

“It is.” He glanced at you, a boyish smile blooming on his face. Your cheeks flare up a bit. “I feel like I could do anything.”

You tilted your chin. “Show me.”

He nodded, lifting his hand towards the dummy’s direction. The air around the two of you changes as the mannequin rises slowly. Inch by inch, it rises before staying still, suspended in the air. Your eyes go from the training dummy to Bob’s, where you stare at his face.  

He’s focused. Dangerously so. This was the part that usually slipped.

But not today.

“You’re holding,” is all you say. It’s all you can think of saying because the look on Bob’s face breaks your attention in a way you didn’t know it could be broken. You were being sucked into the gold and blue of his eyes, his brown curls that were growing longer, and the slope of his button nose.

Bob doesn’t answer. His focus was too deep. But you saw the shift in his body—shoulders straight, hand steady. That steady, glowing confidence that took hold of him sometimes, like a fire igniting behind his sternum.

You said quietly, “You look different when you’re like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re Captain America,” you joke. 

Bob’s voice was low. “I feel like it. Right now, I do.”

He let out a shaky breath. The glow pulsing through him wasn’t flickering like it used to. It was smooth, endless, like being lit from the inside out.

“I feel invincible,” he murmured, and something shifted completely in him. He wasn’t bragging. He wasn’t performing. He was just describing it the only way he could, like a high.

And suddenly, everything feels wrong. Before you know it, you’re moving closer and reaching out slowly, placing your fingers just beneath his wrist, and grounding the man before you.

“Stay here with me,” you said, your voice soft but firm. “You don’t have to go higher.”

Bob’s eyes leave the dummy, and when they meet yours, the gold flashes dangerously before it seems to reluctantly give way to blue. Sweet ocean blue stares back at you, and the alarm that went off in your head before silences. Behind the two of you, the dummy floats gently down to the floor. The soft thud when it touches the ground pulls a smile out of you. “Take a break, golden boy. You’ve earned it.”

“You always call me that when I do well,” Bob says, and you step back, suddenly embarrassed.  

“Want me to call you something worse?” you raise a brow, a smirk now tugging at your lips as Bob chuckles. 

“Whatever you think of, I’ve probably heard worse,” he jokes, and even though it’s supposed to be lighthearted, it tugs at your stomach. You think back to the files you read and what Bucky’s told you, and your heart squeezes in empathy. 

“I’m gonna grab some water and then we’ll move onto something else,” you say, quickly scurrying out of the room, not before glancing at Bob one more time. He’s still beaming when you slip out. There’s a joy to him after sessions like this, a glow in his eyes that makes it too easy to forget how much power he holds beneath the surface. 

The Watchtower still has a million halls just as you remembered. Endless twists and turns that you walk through, and towards the lounge area of this floor. The closer you get, the silence ends, and new voices hit. Low at first, but growing clearer the closer you get. You slow down before you enter the room.

Bucky’s the first you see, arms crossed as he leans on the kitchen island, his voice low but steady. Yelena’s perched on a stool, sharp-eyed, spinning a dried mango slice between her fingers. Another woman, whom you recognize as Ava Starr, is leaning in close to a tablet, reading over a file. A blond man, John Walker, leans against the sink, arms folded. You pause in the doorway. They all glance up and stare straight at you.

“Oh,” Yelena says. “She’s here.” All talk freezes, and a silence fills the room. Not hostile—just loaded. Expectant. Your mouth, already dry before, turns into a desert, and you weren’t sweating before, but now you're sure there’s some building up on your skin. 

“Training’s going well?” Bucky asks, voice calm, trying to ease the tension in the room. 

You nod. “He’s doing better,” you add. “He managed to lift basic objects on command. No spikes. No instability.”

No one speaks at first. “Until there is instability,” John scoffs, dry as ever. 

You look him up and down, taking in all of him. You’ve seen him on TV, but seeing him in person is very different. The blond and blue eyes remind you of Steve, and the way he stands tall is like him, but everything else couldn’t be more different than Steve. Especially, the way he talks and looks at you. “I wouldn’t lie about his progress.”

“You don’t have to be defensive,” Ava says, but there’s tension behind her words. “We’re just worried. For all of us. For him.”

You raise an eyebrow. “I am, too. Every day. He’s learning. That doesn’t happen in a straight line.”

“Right,” Ava agrees. “But we’re not dealing with just a man. We’re dealing with the Sentry. With the Void.”

You know Ava doesn’t mean any harm with her words, but hearing them sets off a nasty feeling within you. Your eyes narrow as your shoulders straighten. “I know what’s inside him,” you say, quieter now. “Better than anyone.”

“Exactly. And that’s why we’re glad it’s you,” Yelena replies, voice edged with something too careful to be passive. She slips off her stool, taking a couple of steps closer towards you. “You knew Natasha,” she says, her voice still steady and careful, but her eyes swirl with a hint of pain at the mention of Natasha. “You know, trust is important for people like us. But trust doesn’t stop a breakdown. Or another crater in the sky.”

You blink, swallowing deeply. “So what? You think I’m going to push him too far? That I’ll set it off?”

“No,” Bucky says quickly, stepping between you. “No one’s saying that.”

But John doesn’t flinch. “Some of us are. Not to be an ass, but that’s what this is. This is a concern, a very valid one considering what happened not too long ago.”

Oh, that definitely amplifies the nasty feeling that’s building. “You think this is about control?” you scoff, eyes glaring at John as he pushes off from the sink. “It’s not. Bob doesn’t need a leash. He needs people who see him. Not the Sentry, not the Void, just Bob.”

Yelena’s lips purse. “Does that include you?”

You look at her. You want to scream that you don’t know. That you should never have agreed to Bucky’s request if this was how you were going to be treated. That, yes, you want to be one of those people Bob can rely on, but there’s a twisted part deep within you that wants nothing to do with him because it hurts. 

You want to say all that, but ultimately, you don’t. Your eyes keep boring into Yelena’s as everyone takes your silence as an answer. 

“He trusts you,” Ava says. “And that counts. But you’ve seen what happens when that trust breaks.”

“And if he falls again,” Yelena murmurs, “you’ll be at ground zero.”

“I know,” you say.

“And if you fall with him?” Bucky asks quietly, steely blue eyes swimming with worry. It’s not a dig at you. Bucky, unlike everyone else in the room, isn’t entirely worried about Bob. He’s worried that if Bob slips, you might slip. That if Bob crashes and burns, you’ll equally be burned and wrecked. Another silence fills the room. No one moves. You breathe in and then look away from Yelena to Bucky. 

“I won’t.”

“You will,” it whispers into your ear. A shadow teasingly moves behind John. No one else sees it except you. But you don’t back down, and no one challenges your words. But they don’t entirely believe it either.

Bucky is the first to speak again, breaking the tension with a sigh.

“You don’t have to prove anything to us,” he says. “We’re just looking out for Bob.” “And you,” his eyes say as he places a hand on your lower back. A small comfort. You nod, jaw clenched. “Just… don’t carry it all yourself.”

Yelena steps back. Her gaze lingers, serious, then she sighs and offers a small, worn-out smile. “Tell Bob to drink water, okay? And maybe sleep.”

“I will.”

A ding sounds throughout the room as you turn to look at the elevator. Alexei Shostakov barrels in, arms full of grocery bags, whistling loudly. The minute he spots you, he freezes and the bags drop to the ground.

“Ahhh! Is that who I think it is?” he shouts, his Russian accent heavy. “The shadow woman! The mysterious Sunwraith! The one who bends shadows and has millions!”

You blink. “Uh…”

“She’s here?! In the kitchen?” he gasps, already moving toward you. “No one told me there was a celebrity in the tower!” He’s on you before you can move, wrapping you in a full bear hug that lifts your feet off the ground.

“Welcome! Welcome!” he shouts, ignoring Yelena’s groan. “Are you staying? Are you joining our team? Do you want matching uniforms? I make great uniforms!”

You stifle a laugh, air quickly leaving your lungs as Alexei squeezes. “Oh! Uh! No, I’m, uh, not joining!’

Alexei blinks at you like you’ve just told him Santa isn’t real. “Not even part-time? You can live on the big floor above the Winter Soldier! Your old friend! Like a big sleepover!”

Yelena pries Alexei’s arms off you as you drop down to the ground with a soft thud, and Bucky immediately places his arm between the two of you. His eyebrows pinch together, and a tired sigh escapes him. You take in a deep breath, smoothing down your clothes before giving Alexei a timid smile, “I’m just helping Bob.”

“Even better,” Alexei says with a grand gesture. “Strong and mysterious. Like my Yelena, but with finance degrees!” John snorts from the corner of the room as Yelena groans, her eyes screaming with embarrassment, and says more apologies than her lips probably could.

“I’m going back to the gym,” you say, backing out of the kitchen with a cough. “It was nice to meet everyone.” You try to smile as nicely as possible, but cringe midway, which makes Ava quietly laugh. 

They all nod in their way. Yelena, with an exhausted smile, waves, and Alexei grins heartily with promises of a party next time you come to the tower. Ava with a respectful tilt of her head, a polite smile on her lips. John says nothing, but he’s watching you with less suspicion than before. 

And Bucky—he just meets your eyes, nods in a way that says “we’ll talk later”, and gives you his famous stiff smile. 

You're halfway down the hallway when you freeze and look down at your hands.

Then sigh.

“I forgot the water.”