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gyuswhore · 17 hours ago

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Cherry Picker [1]

«« "Do me a favour and forget your mouth guard next time. Let the puck punch you in the mouth if I can't." »»

Choi Seungcheol x reader | part of the winter with you collab hosted by @camandemstudios!

Part 1: 19k | Part 2

warnings: Hockey player! Seungcheol, figure skater! reader, *deep breath* ENEMIES TO LOVERS, angst, fluff, smut [MINORS DNI], toxic friends, cheol has anger issues, kkuma appearance, @miniseokminnies makes also makes a fluffy appearance, injuries, mentions of blood, smut tags in the next part

synopsis: Cherry Picking [ice hockey]: a manoeuver in which a player, the floater, literally loafs (spends time in idleness) or casually skates behind the opposing team's unsuspecting defencemen while they are in their attacking zone. There wasn't much you counted on in life; just your skates, your drive and how it felt to win. And of course, your local ice rink, that is now being colonised by an obnoxious hockey team in all their big, loud, stinking glory. Neither does it help that one particular red donned specimen forgets to leave his cherry picking on the ice.

[a/n] (it's a long one but PLEASE read) : ITS HERE FINALLY this was an extremely bumpy ride and I wouldn't have finished it without all of my friends who quite literally kept me going. I know I made an update saying this was gonna end up being 20k max but it turns out my yap-itis is for life </33

the posting schedule for this fic is going to be a little less predictable, I will try to get part 2 out asap but I do not currently have a date for you.

big thank you to @highvern for betaing and making me feel better about this fic, @amourcheol for talking me out of meltdowns multiple times and for giving me some really good scene pointers, @ugh-yoongi for being so patient w me and explaining how ice hockey works with so much patience. ty to @the-boy-meets-evil @tusswrites @lovetaroandtaemin for also proof reading for me 🥹

HUGE thank you to everyone at @camandemstudios who agreed to be part of this collab and being part of the journey as we grow 🫶 please check out the collab masterlist linked above, there's already so many amazing fics posted ready for you to read <33

that being said, I know more about figure skating than I do about hockey, but even so there are defo some inconsistencies in terms of accuracies in this, please bear with me 🫶 remember to reblog or send me an ask telling me your thoughts, id love to hear what you guys think 🥹 masterlist

“CAN I HELP YOU?”

“I’m sorry,” you gravel out.

“Sorry isn’t gonna give back my hour and thirteen minutes.”

The strap of your gym bag cuts into your bare shoulder where the collar had slipped, the tight threading sure to leave a scratch by the time this is bound to be done. You’d managed to avoid coach Carroll’s morning cornering for a couple months, going above and beyond by showing up to the icy rink before she could even pull up in the parking lot in her blaring red Porsche, let alone before her ten minute meditations in her cream coloured seats.

“There was an accident on the highway. Truck tipped over.”

“It’s eight in the morning,” Carroll points.

“Illegal truck, I guess.”

Teeth to tongue, you know you’ve done it.

She’s in her usual tracksuit, green today, that contrasts her bright red hair in its tight curls. Her glasses are her sensible Ralph Laurens, eyes piercing through the tinted lens as she holds her chin in her hands. Silent, calculating.

“Fine. Change.”

Your legs want to give out before you can even get your skates on.

There were many things Isabella Carroll was good at. The industry would have one of them be a good coach; one of the most expensive, the one that squeezed the life out of her students to inject into the golds, silvers and bronzes they would then bring her on an equally diamond encrusted platter.

She has also mastered the art of impeccable dressing downs.

The fact she chose to skip out on verbally humiliating you meant you’d managed to strike that cord. She might be leaving in the next 45 minutes, but she has a very particular way of stretching the minutes into years.

Like a whipped horse, you scurry into the locker rooms, skin crawling. Your gym bag is positively launched into your designated locker, shoes kicked off as you attempt to stick your right foot into your skates, narrowly missing your heel as it grazes right past the toe pick.

You slow down after that, not needing a scar on your heel to match the large one on the side of your calf.

By the time you jog back out, unzipping your jacket to throw onto one of the benches, coach is on the ice, following Marina who zips around on the other end of the rink in her step routine.

It’s difficult to not rush through your warmups when you’re already late, your splits hardly pushed out as you pray all that running around in the desolate locker rooms was enough to stretch everything out.

There’s a crash on the illuminated ice as you slip off your skate guards, Marina already practising her Salchows. “You’re in the air for enough time, why can’t you rotate?!”

Right blade first, you step into the cold encircling, gliding into the centre to begin making your usual rounds around the circumference.

There’s a positive screech of your name from across the ice, wind blowing in your hair as you turn to look. “Do I need to hire someone to hold up your free leg? Fix it, girl!”

Holding your left leg more taut, you attempt to transition into a jump and spin. You fail, landing on both feet. Somehow, falling on your ass felt like a better conclusion to that arc.

“Wonderfully executed! Let’s try both hands on the ice too next time, really complete the contemporary finish,” coach hollers out to you as she continues to follow Marina at the same time.

Trying again, you manage to land on your outer left blade. You receive no comment.

You try the jump again, pushing into a sit spin.

The momentum is enough to begin the familiar slack in your scalp, your bun loosening its grip on your hair. Biting your tongue would be dangerous right now, but you would if you could, especially considering the ramifications of your hair coming undone in front of her.

The crouch as you spin burns your thighs like you’re being branded, pulling yourself back up as you finish abruptly. Still no comment, the unintelligible string of nagging coming from the other side of the rink.

Marina stands hands on her hips, breathing so heavily she’s nearly heaving. Her blonde hair is loosening far worse than yours, strands framing her face. Coach Carroll waves her hands and shakes her head so quickly you wonder how her glasses haven’t flown off. You didn’t get to see what cardinal sin Marina committed to warrant this reaction, but you feel better knowing she’s exhausted enough to let her insults swim past.

Ten seconds is enough to catch your breath, moving to do something busy enough to avoid another being screamed at across the ice, again.

By the end of the remaining forty five minutes, you realised your punishment was also punishing Marina. Coach Carroll remained tailing Marina as you attempted to do everything that would please her, far away from her. Not a direction, praise or neutral comment in sight or sound, sealed with her always expected retorts.

She leaves without a word, leaving you scrambling to the benches for a seat. Putting your skate guards on is torture, your legs refusing to pull up to reach them. You hardly notice Marina slam down into the seat beside you to mimic you slumped down and head lolled back, eyes closed to the bright ceiling.

“These skates are gonna kill me,” you whine once you’ve caught your breath, unlacing them to inspect the blistering damage.

“They’re brand new, what did you expect?” she retorts, moving to sit up straighter. Of course, you were grappling at straws expecting anything akin to sympathy from Marina.

It was your misfortune that the day you had to break in your skates was the day you’d be late, your heavily bandaged foot still aching as you sit idle.

Your lungs are still burning when you pull yourself back up, knees buckling the absolute slightest bit as you attempt to take the first baby step back onto the ice.

“We need to get back to it,” Marina says, and you have half a mind to bite that you were up before her.

She’s faster at slipping off her skate guards though, and you watch her back as she glides back onto the ice. You follow suit, trailing her as you speak.

“Hey, I’m sorry Carroll was on your ass because of me. My alarm didn’t go off this morning, I overslept.”

She turns to look at you, ghost of a smile on her face. “Time to go old school I guess, I think my brother left behind his old alarm clock from college.”

“I guess—”

“Besides, I needed that. Wouldn’t have known my Salchows were sucky otherwise.”

She doesn’t let you respond and you’re left to watch as she takes off to warm herself back up.

Strange as it was, you’ve found her behaviour simply doesn’t affect you anymore, choosing to take her as she was. She pushed you to be better, to work harder. Even now, as your ankle burns and your hip screams, you brace yourself into another axel entry, trying your hardest to keep up with Marina.

It’s another couple hours when Marina leaves for her second appointment with her personal trainer, leaving you alone.

It’s less crowded now, despite the head count going from two to one, but you appreciate the alleviation as you continue to practise for the rest of the morning. The rink feels more vast and your hip has stopped its incessant aches.

Having finished a run through of your routine without music, you move towards the sound booth to turn on the tail end of your track, skating back to the echoing rink to brace yourself for the next four agonising minutes.

You’ve adjusted your starting position about ten times by the time the silence of the song restarting settles. And then it begins, soft piano as you push yourself off into the throngs of this hellsent routine.

It’s muscle memory by now, but your stomach lurches before you push into a jump anyway. There isn’t much time to ponder when you’re midair, tight yet contorted, trying to land on the right side of the blade. But there’s a phantom pain in your right ankle, right when you’re at the point of your arc, and you feel the all too dreaded panic flood in.

You land on both feet, less than ideal but with no one to watch the fail, it was better than falling on your ass. There’s been worse outcomes, so there’s little you can do but continue into the step sequence.

Trying to shake off that bout of panic, you briefly wonder if the music suddenly had more bass than you’d last checked. Perhaps you just hadn’t been practising like you should, but you make a mental note mid-spin to listen to the track again later tonight for any tidbits you’d missed.

Your heartbeat is trying to accommodate more air than you can let it, especially as you feel the pulse in your ears quicken as you approach your final jump sequence. The music is louder yet muffled all the same, there’s an incessant banging that you can’t figure out is from your head or a corrupted music file. But you find that sweet spot, deciphering through the ruckus in your brain, and you jump.

It happens again, the strange ache in your ankle that should be long gone, and just like that, all that panic you shook off in the interim comes hurtling back. The world’s gone silent, blaringly so, and for some heaven known reason, you’ve closed your eyes.

You aren’t so lucky this time round, landing directly on your back with a spectacular crash, the ice cutting cold through your thermals as you slide in the direction of your epic fall. Eyelids opening, they’re met with the spotlighted ceiling, head cushioned by the hard plane of ice beneath you.

The pain in your ankle’s escaped like a fugitive, done it’s damaged and left you crumpled on the floor. The adrenaline is rushing just enough to keep you from identifying any other awakened aches, but you have a sneaking feeling your hip is going to hate you after this.

You’re still laying flat on the ice when you realise you're laying in mostly silence. Your music is off, and has been since you came to on the floor. The banging, you realise, wasn’t just in your head either. The unmistakable reverberation of the locker rooms is loud and assuming, noises rattling all the way out onto the echoing rink.

It takes the strength of a village to pull yourself up, but you do it anyhow, ignoring the blatant protests of your mind and soul as you squint across the rink to the sound booth.

As you skate towards the gate, you assume it’s Hansol trying to get your attention by disrupting you mid session, but the figure shuffling into view is telling you otherwise.

It isn’t anyone you know, clearer as you grow closer to the gate. It’s obvious he’s the culprit that turned off your music, your laptop shut and the wire to the speakers disconnected from the port.

You stare at it pointedly as you grapple for your skate guards.

The man does nothing but remain with his hands in the pockets of his bright red hoodie, hovering over your laptop as he watches you struggle with your skates. SVT stitched onto the back in black. He’s as blank faced as ever, a stark contrast to your heavy breathing as you come round.

Standing up straight, you dart between your laptop and this person, waiting for an explanation that seems to be lost in the void. You’re still heaving slightly, scowl forming on your face as this strange man offers you nothing.

“Um, did you—”

“Yeah. It’s four,” he responds, like it was supposed to explain enough.

“And that means…?”

“We have the rink reserved.”

“But it’s Monday,” you respond. It sounds stupid, but it meant something. The rink was reserved on the weekdays for coach Carroll’s mentees, the weekends for the public.

This man and his big brown eyes gaze directly into your soul as he responds, “And that means…?”

You’re sweaty and tired, your feet ache with about five new blisters from the last time you checked, and you’re sure you need to get your hip checked out. Perhaps that’s why there’s this unreasonable surge of irritation that rises in the back of your head, irrational and half blinding.

“That means—”

“Seungcheol! Get your ass in the locker room before I drag you in there myself.” The voice that rings out is heavy and has you flinching, the man’s order echoing from somewhere in the tunnel that leads to the locker rooms.

The man you assume is named Seungcheol begins to walk away from you without a word or gesture, and you can only blink at his retreating back.

“Hey! Do you mind not touching my stuff next time round?” you call out as a last ditch attempt to have the last word. He turns his head to you, eyebrows raised and a smirk of mild disbelief growing on his face. Nothing is said as his head turns back to the front, strutting into the tunnel.

He lets you have your last word as he walks away, your gaze the same shade of crimson as his retreating form.

“AND THEN—THESE—HUGE dudes with fucking botox or fillers in their shoulders storm out—”

Your vent is interrupted by Lorelai who’s burst out laughing mid bite of her sandwich, “What?”

“Botox!” she muffles a shriek through a full mouth.

“They were shoulder pads or something, you get it!”

The air in the outside seating of this cafe is stellar, the perfect in between you wait for all year. The parasol above you is enough so you don’t have to squint your eyes in the late afternoon sun, the wind perfectly paced in a breeze. Your own sandwich remains untouched, the bread gone stale as you pick at the corner of the crust.

“Apologies,” she yips. “So you're saying we’re being partially colonised by hockey players?”

“I don’t know! Was it a one time thing, a weekly thing? It can’t be a weekly thing, Monday afternoons are routine practice days.”

“The routine you’ve been practising for the past year and a half?”

“I can’t afford getting rusty.”

Lorelai drops her head like she’s had enough, “Maybe these hockey jocks are a blessing.”

“What?”

“Nothing! Hey, do you want cake, they have cheesecake, I could get some!”

“Lorry!”

“Okay,” she huffs, dropping back into her seat with blown cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

Lorelai has a sense of humour that took you more than enough time to decipher, but that wasn’t nearly the first thing you noticed about her. She was beautiful, even more so with the sun gracing her like a loving embrace. The highlights in her otherwise dark hair make the hazel of her eyes pop like two perfectly welcoming cliffs to jump off from. She was the definition of spunk and valour, yet graceful in everything she does. Even now, as she picks up her smoked turkey on honey oat, complete with every fixing and condiment on earth, you question how she can wrench her mouth open to take a reasonable bite; but she does, not a crumb out of place.

“I have to share a rink with dudes whose hockey sticks are gonna make craters in the ice, why are you not mourning with me?”

“Pretty sure your toe picks do the same thing.”

“Lorelai!”

“Not the government name!” she wails as though woefully wounded.

“You’re impossible.”

“Carroll didn’t hate me for no reason.” She smiles in her pride.

Lorelai’s competitive skating career came to an end sometime last year before the Grand Prix, a decision she announced gracefully with the words BITE ME etched with sharpie on her brand new competition skates. It was difficult to erase the mental image of the scarlet of Carrol’s face when Lorelai marched in with her hair chopped so short it’d be impossible to pull into a bun, marked skates in hand and a mask of determined rebellion on her face. Of course, the whole ordeal could’ve been an email, but it simply wouldn’t have been Lorelai.

“It’s not like you were trying very hard to please her,” you grumble, nibbling on a fry.

“Why would I try pleasing that woman?”

“For one thing, your sponsors were paying a bucketload so you could have her.”

“I didn’t want Carroll as a coach. Ever. I wanted Jameson. The only reason they put me with Carroll was because they were putting you and Marina with her.” Her voice is hard, eyebrows raised the slightest bit.

“What does Jameson offer that Carroll doesn’t?!”

“Oh! I don’t know, let’s see,” she raises her voice as her sarcasm begins to simmer with a lethal edge. “Maybe the fact that an hour training with Jameson doesn’t feel like the subjected wrath of a world war two dictator!”

“Carroll is not that bad!”

“God, you become more like Marina everyday.”

You frown, “What does that mean?”

“It means—!” Lorelai pauses to close her eyes, and you can almost hear her counting in her head. “It means nothing. Eat your sandwich before the bread starts molding.”

“Ew.”

Lorelai smirks. “Bite me.”

You attempt to channel some of that Lorelai energy when you get to the rink past noon on a weekday. You hope you’re reasonable in your hope that Hansol will be in his office as you walk towards the door.

Three rapt knocks before you hear a muffled voice telling you to come in. The door creaks when you open it. Loudly, might you add.

“How long is it gonna sing every time I come in here?” you grimace.

Hansol looks at you from behind his laptop with a tight smile. “For as long as I keep forgetting to oil the hinges.”

Hansol, for as young and qualified as he is, is only the rink manager because his family owns the place. Having graduated the year before with a shiny new law degree, he opted to take a break from moving forward with his career to “slow down” as he put it. The rink was as slow as it could get for him, betting the only important thing on his laptop screen currently was solitaire.

“Did you also forget that I have the rink during the day on weekdays?

“Ah. You’ve encountered the hockey team.”

“Yes. They turned off my music mid routine.”

“They're only here till the renovations in their home rink are done, we’re the only other rink in town that’s closed to the public on weekdays.”

“But they’re cutting into my practice time?” you add, brows furrowed.

Hansol opens his mouth before closing it again, eyebrows raised. “You clock in here five days a week, ten hours a day.”

“And?”

Hansol huffs out a breath. “Listen, I know you and the other skaters like having the rink to yourselves, and I’d be happy if it was always just you guys. Trust me, these jocks are impossible to clean up after, let alone deal with. Between the launch pad calibre noise and the stupid plastic barriers I have to put up on the railings, I’d love for it to just be you guys. But the only times you officially have the rinks booked is in the mornings when you’re training with coach Carrol, the rest of the week is technically up for grabs.”

“Let me book the rest of the slots then.”

“SVT’s already booked most of the remaining hours.” Hansol’s voice is sympathetic, but his words seemed final. You aren’t sure how bad your face was contorted, because suddenly he’s adding, “But hey, you can look at the leftover hours if they work for you.”

He pulls out the roster on a tablet before handing it to you. It only takes you a minute to scroll before you realise the only viable options were past 10 PM. The rink closed at 11.

You sigh, shoulders visibly sagging as you let out a bated breath of tension. “It’s fine.” You hand the tablet back to Hansol. “I’ll figure it out.”

Turning on your heel, you make a move to leave the premises. Hansol calls out your name.

“I’m sorry. Really.”

You muster a smile, one that you cannot feel the slightest bit. “It’s alright.”

“Only a few months.”

Something in your smile sours, and you nod absentmindedly. “Only a few months.”

THERE WERE OTHER WAYS the universe could have let it happen, someplace where you might have forgiven yourself. Someplace you had reason to be.

You were accustomed to physical exertion, how could you not be when you were what you were, but hiking on an incline was never something you fancied yourself with. Gyms and coaches and paved running trails are nothing like rocky terrains and steep mountain paths with no guide but a mobile map.

The semi finals had passed you by, handing you a gold medal along the way as you thrust yourself into bliss. It was a job well done, so much so that you allowed yourself a weekend of something other than skating rinks and training sessions. So many nights that you can hardly remember, yet flash like lightning under your eyelids. Where you sobbed into your pillow and cursed yourself for ever having the gall to take a step back, to be so arrogant and blustering to announce yourself away from the thing that should’ve mattered the most.

It only took one tiny crater in the path to twist your ankle so hard you crumple to the ground with a scream you cannot remember. More hands than you have holding on to your searing ankle, like they were holding it together with nothing but their palms and fingers. Lorelai was talking, and talking and talking, but all you could hear was the roaring question in your mind.

Why did you bring me here?

Six weeks.

You watched with your own eyes as the Grand Prix final shuttered away on a reel, like you were watching a movie from an age you could not visit.

Six weeks.

Marina sat beside your bed and said words you’d never forget.

“I’m sorry, but…this is your own fault.”

Six weeks.

Lorelai wept, and said the same words for an entirely different reason.

“I’m sorry. This is my fault, it was my idea.”

Six weeks.

Carroll kept face, but you could see past the mask. A sigh that said more than any words of reassurance. Disappointed but not surprised.

Six weeks you were bedridden with an ankle that refused to support your weight on the surface area of your bare foot, let alone on the 3/16th of an inch on a blade.

Bedrest, meds, physical therapy, and still. The ache in your ankle follows you like a ghost haunting you of your worst mistake.

It was your fault. You chose to put whimsy above everything you laboured for, for years and years. You chose to look past your shortcomings like they would not become your achilles heel. You chose to get on that trail. You chose to walk out on crutches.

You, who could land a jump on a fraction of an inch of steel, could now barely stand on her own two feet.

You’d decided on that day, that you were as pathetic as they come.

IT WAS THE MOST natural decision to drag Lorelai out of where she rotted in bed to come with you to the rink.

“You want me to fight them?” She’s wearing her Winnie the Pooh fuzzy pyjama pants and a university hoodie on top, her short hair concealed in the hood she’s pulled up. “They are hockey players. We are twigs!”

“Lorry. Have you ever thrown a punch in your life?” you ask her as you pull your hair back into a loose bind.

“No?”

“Then why on earth would I ask you to fight goblins triple our size?”

Her mouth is gaping in disbelief. “Why am I here then?”

“You,” you start, grabbing your skates and moving out of the locker rooms. “Are gonna sit pretty in that sound booth and make sure nobody touches my laptop.”

“…you realise Hansol has security cameras right?”

“Are you planning on robbing my laptop?”

“No. Although it does have nice specs.”

You ignore her as you walk towards the benches. “That stupid hockey team needs to know I have reinforcements of my own.”

Lorelai stands there, brows furrowed and in clothes that drown her. She glances down at her outfit and then back up at you. She deadpans, “This is the most unthreatening I have ever looked.”

“Just—” You stand up too quickly and feel yourself wobble. The railing is hardly a foot away, your hand moving over to grab it. Except your palms feel nothing but the flat of something smooth and hard, fingers bumping into the feeling of something unfamiliar.

You manage to find your balance with a yelp, immediately snapping up to see where you missed the railing. The railing was still there, perfectly within arms reach. There’s a glare in your vision, like looking through a screen. Higher and higher, you realise quickly that you’ve been looking through a clear barrier so high up you can hardly find where it ends in its erect standing.

Lorelai speaks up first, her voice resonating loudly, “Isn’t that supposed to be on the other side of the railing. Stupid, stupid Hansol.”

It looks like it stretches throughout the circumference of the rink, wrapping whoever’s inside in a giant plastic fish bowl.

There’s a clench in your jaw you can’t control, something a little more than annoyance building in your senses. It should be an easy thing to ignore, especially regarding its practically invisible nature, but its presence is all you can think about, even as you step your right blade onto the ice.

Skating towards the middle of the rink, you feel claustrophobic.

“Woah! You look like a zoo animal,” Lorealai adds unnecessarily.

“Just play the track,” you grumble.

“There should be a don’t tap on the glass sign,” she says, voice muffled as yells from the benches. “You already look like a weasel, can’t have confused people in the stands.”

“Lorry!”

“What?” she yells, her voice muffled as she yells from the benches.

You curse the plastic that cages you as you yell louder, “Play the track!”

Lorelai nods and makes a noise of understanding, and you watch her as she disappears into the sound booth.

Taking your starting position, you wait for the quiet lull of the track before the beginning of the unmistakable piano; the low tremor in the beginning existing to prepare you to jump into the routine. You stand there with your arms out like a swan, waiting for your cue that won't seem to arrive.

You almost yell out at Lorelai again before you suddenly hear the resonating shrill of the piano notes, startling yourself out of your first push. It’s fine, you’ll recover. You’re distracted by your staggered start and it’s enough to have you miss your first jump. It’s fine. You’ll recover.

By the time the four minutes are up, you’ve missed two of your five jumps, a spin gone wrong, and nearly crashed into the plastic barrier. Not to mention, the aches in your body are enough to seem impossible to geographically pinpoint.

It’s pointed, the way you make a beeline for the benches, refusing to look at Lorelai. You can almost imagine her expression, the poker face she has when she’s trying to think of ways to structure her next words nicely.

“What was that?” she deadpans, voice a little far away. Your body hurts enough to take your focus away from her.

“I don’t know.”

“I thought your ankle was fine now?” she asks.

You grit your teeth. “It is.” Lies. The way it was hurting you right now was making sure to remind you of that.

“You know, you did pick back up a lot earlier than we thought—”

“I said I’m fine, Lorry,” you snap. “Now can you please play the track again.”

You finally look up, and she looks like she wants to say something. But you’re on the ice before she can.

You adapt to the excess muffle of the plastic barriers, ears straining to hear the beginning of the piano before you jump into the choreography smoother than last time. This time round, it’s better. The pain in your ankle and the budding one in your hip is apparent, but it’s suddenly easier to drown it out. Focusing on the music, keeping your centre of gravity, pushing into your jumps and spins with enough vigour to hold to what you are.

Another four minutes pass and it’s over. Immediately, you swing over to the soundbooth to find Lorelai, only to find her joined by an extra set of people.

Impossibly, your blood runs cold.

There’s a sneaking suspicion you know who it is despite the two men having their backs turned to you, especially judging by the obnoxious red jackets they have on. SVT. You can hear Lorelai speak indecipherably, her voice stern.

“And you are?” one of them asks. You don’t recognise him, but you do the other one. The one who turned your music off the first day him and his team stepped foot in here.

“Lorelai!” she yells it for no reason.

“Gilmore?” The one you recognise snorts. Seungcheol, that’s what they called him the last time you saw him in the sound booth.

“I’m worse,” she states.

“Lorry?” you interrupt, arms crossed and gaze directed at her.

“Lorry?” The one you don’t recognise says. “Like a truck?”

“You think you’re funny?” Lorelai takes a step towards him, a fair attempt to look threatening if it weren’t for her very unthreatening attire.

“Oh look at her pyjamas! It’s Pooh bear, Cheol,” he exclaims. That seems to irritate him.

“Can you replay the track, please, I have to smooth things over,” you intervene. In your mind, ignoring their presence in your space was the best solution, refusing to give them a way to merge into your lane.

“Woah, we have the rink booked today,” Seungcheol stops you. “4:30.”

Snapping around to find the clock on the adjacent wall, you read the time. “4:17. You can wait.”

He raises his eyebrows. “And thirteen minutes makes what difference?”

“You said 4:30. It is not 4:30 yet.”

The other one thumps him on the back, all smiles. “We can wait, right, Cheol? Besides, we have to put our skates on.”

His gaze is hard and doesn’t leave yours. “Fine.”

You break away first to find Lorelai still in the same position, staring at the exchange. You ignore the two men that stand there and address her, “Play the track.”

Before the music begins, you glance back to the benches where the two men have seated themselves, apparently strapping in to watch you. You dig your nails into your palm to reign yourself back in. No point in getting upset.

The piano begins, and you're determined to not mess up. Especially not right now.

It goes well for all of 45 seconds, you're hitting the right beats, you feel like water. But then the first jump comes along and you see a flash of red from the stands. An irrational feeling hits you as you push into the first jump, it’s enough to make you stumble when you land. You manage to not fall, but it’s obvious you’ve messed up.

Somewhere beyond the music you hear a distinct, “Solid 4!”

It distracts you again, and you miss a move. Somehow your second jump ends up worse, and you feel your bottom hit the hard ice.

“8 point 5! Nice!”

It doesn’t take long for you to realise what they’re doing, anger crashing into you like a flash flood. Scoring your falls? You’re determined to make the next jump combination. You make it fine, but your quad Salchow turns into a triple. The oafs are too shallow to notice, so you hear no jeer.

But you know that you messed up the only quad in your entire program.

The last jump goes from a triple axel to a double, and you want to break something.

The song ends, and you know you have another nine minutes left to yourself, but all you can think about is getting out of the vicinity as soon as possible. Away from all of the eyes that are trained on your hunched form.

There’s nothing you know about Seungcheol, and yet, the thought of him even looking at you right now is unbearable. Twice you fell, countless times you failed.

Lorelai says nothing while you pack up, and nothing as you leave the rink.

“CHOI SEUNGCHEOL, CENTER,” LORELAI reads aloud from your bed with her mouth still full of salt ‘n vinegar chips.

“Perfect, he already thinks he’s the center of the universe,” you grumble from your position on the floor of the bedroom. Your foam roller feels like heaven under your calves, but the position is beginning to cramp.

“Surprised you haven’t heard of him, he’s half a celebrity.”

You turn to her, “I have two gold medals and five podiums for every major skating event.”

“Do I ask for your autograph?”

“He’s not special.”

“Hm. His skill and popularity would beg to differ.”

“Why are you so hellbent on liking him?”

“Because he’s cute,” she grins wide. “Although the other one was cuter, very angel-like. And he liked my Pooh Bear trousers. Can’t find his name on the team roster though.”

“He was wearing the same stupid jacket—”

You’re cut off by a gasp, a loud one at that. “He coaches the babies!”

Her face is contorted into something between an “aw” and a sob.

Lorelai’s phone is dropped dramatically on the bed as she thrashes on your made (now unmade) bed. You swipe the phone and read. His picture is there, the name Yoon Jeonghan, Junior League Coach.

“Good for him.”

“He just got five times hotter,” she states like she’s out of breath.

“Give it another meeting and he’ll give you five other reasons to hate him.”

“God, you’re so negative,” she huffs.

“They’re hogging my rink!”

“It is not your rink.”

“It’s as good as!”

“Whatever.” Lorelai rolls her eyes and sets back on the bed, no doubt searching the man up by name.

“Ow!” you yelp as you stand up from the ground, ankle twisting slightly in the process.

Lorelai jumps. “What?”

“Nothing,” you mumble quickly, hoping she’d drop it. But she catches your lingering stare on your bad ankle.

“It’s still hurting, isn’t it?”

“I just twisted it weird,” you defend, walking to pack up your foam rollers.

You’re met with silence, but you know she’s thinking. Lorelai speaks, “Maybe you should skip out on the shelter today.”

You snort, “Why would I do that?”

Once, sometimes twice a week, you’d volunteer at the local pet shelter. It wasn’t hard work, mostly taking the bigger, more energetic dogs for their runs because it seemed you were the only one who could keep up with their stamina. And now Lorelai is trying to take that away from you.

“I saw how you struggled at the rink today, there’s not a day you don’t rest. Like, actually rest.”

“That has nothing to do with me struggling!” you retort.

“What is it then?” she asks, sitting up straighter, defiance in her gaze. “What is it that’s making you skate like you bought your first pair yesterday?”

The irritation is growing into something hotter, her defiance pushing you into a corner.

“I know what you want to hear from me.” Your voice is shaky. “I’m not going to say it.”

“Because it’s not true? Or because you’ve been convinced it’s not?”

You know what she’s talking about, and you know you’ve been avoiding the topic like it’s the plague. The ache in your ankle comes alive, and in that moment, you cannot tell if you’re imagining it or not.

“Convinced by who?” you snap, shoving the box of foam rollers under your desk.

“Does that have to come from me too?”

“Lorry, I don’t know what you want from me!”

“I—”

There’s a knock on your door, loud and demanding. Wrenching it open, you find Marina behind it.

She has a frown on her face. “You’re still here? I thought you were running with the dogs today?”

“It’s none of your business if she goes or not, Marina.” Lorelai’s tongue drips with venom most commonly reserved for her most hated people.

Marina, still in her workout clothes and duffel bag, furrows her eyebrows. “Who shoved a pole up your ass?”

“I’m leaving in five,” you hiss, before making a motion to close the door.

When you turn around, Lorelai is still on your bed, hands in fists like she’s holding herself back. There’s more behind her eyes than you could even consider unravelling.

She leaves before you.

THE ENTIRE WAY TO the rink was just one constant string of prayer.

All of them go unanswered when you walk in to find the rink full of hockey players in red and black gear.

The only thing you can do is curse under your breath, only watching frozen in your tracks as a million players skate across the rink passing and yelling at each other. No one you recognise, their helmets and gear eluding any semblance of individuality.

Where you stand, a little ways away from the plastic screen and the benches, a dark circular puck suddenly slams directly into the boundary at eye level. On instinct, you flinch at the loud bang, half expecting to get hit.

When you open your eyes, somebody’s skating up to the boundary, and you lock eyes through the cage of his helmet.

Your blood is suddenly charged with something electric, fingers curling into fists on instinct.

Suddenly, all that rings in your ears is the distinct jeers of numbers over the muffle of plastic as you continue to fall, and fall, and fall on the cold, unforgiving ice. The amusement in your failure, the joy in your defeat.

Spinning on your heel, you stalk to Hansol’s office.

In your blinding anger, you take a wrong turn, looking up to realise you’ve walked into the locker rooms. You’re one step into the men's locker room when you come back to your senses, startling yourself once again as you spin back from where you came, only you’ve been caught.

For all the luck you’ve received in this life, it seems to opt out at that exact moment as you hear the unmistakable noise of a herd of ogres walking in, the glare of red on the walls surrounding them. Frozen in your spot, you can only grip the straps of your duffel bag harder, tense up like you were preparing for impact. When they turn the corner, the brilliant idea of simply walking towards the women’s locker rooms befalls you. But it’s too late.

Seungcheol saunters into the hallway, leading the pack.

His helmet is in his hands instead of on his head, revealing a sopping mop of hair drenched in what you can only imagine is sweat. He’s laughing at his teammate who’s making futile attempts to escape his own helmet, not noticing you in the way.

Until he does. His smile fades immediately, eyebrows raised as he registers you in the doorway. You feel his gaze on you for a few silent moments, his teammates shushing at the shift in the air. Seungcheol opens his mouth, and you already know all that’s going to leave it is dung. “Didn’t realise the rink had a vacancy. Do I need to show you my ID to take a shower?”

A rustle of chortles and chuckles flitter from the group. “Go ahead. I don’t need an ID to tell you need a shower.”

Somebody ooh’s, despite it not being your best work. You suppose it was your delivery that did it. Deciding to continue riding that high, you simply turn towards the women’s locker rooms, refusing to give Seungcheol the luxury of your eyes on him.

Hurtling into the women’s locker room, you throw your duffel bag somewhere you’ll regret and crumple into one of the seats. You count to ten, attempting to take the image of Seungcheol out of your brain.

It was difficult to rile you up to this extent, a trait you needed to possess if you were to be coached by Carroll in any capacity. There was so much you heard from her mouth, swallowing it like a prescribed pill and nothing more. Take what you were given, because it was given by the best, bought for you by the best.

Yet for some reason, Seungcheol manages to irk you in ways you previously have never encountered. Irritating people come and go, but you doubt you could place him as something as simple as just irritating. His presence felt like an intrusion, his air was thick like a concentrated gas. Everything he’s said to you so far has come from nothing but disdain and condescension, his haughty personality the only takeaway when he enters a room.

You’re still in your outdoor shoes and jacket by the time twenty minutes are over, coming to a conclusion as you get up from the empty, soulless locker room. Hansol is in his office when you make the formality knock before barging in. His head is on the desk, like he’s asleep. It takes him a second, by he lifts his forehead from the papers on the tabletop to regard you at the door. You hear him sigh.

“The hockey team’s done. It’s two.”

“I wanna book a slot.”

“The rink’s empty you don’t—”

“Let me book the slot, Hansol.”

“For fuck’s sake, you’re turning out worse than those baboons,” he curses before setting his forehead back onto the table. “Write it on the sticky note, I’ll put it in the schedule.”

“Now. I wanna book a slot for right now,” you grit.

Hansol whips his head up again, eyes wide like he’s holding himself back, nodding furiously as he pulls his keyboard towards himself with an unnecessarily aggressive tug. “Fine. 2:16 till closing. Enter. Print. Here.”

He hands you the printed receipt of your slot, ripping it from the printer tray as he does it. You take it from him in the same vigour, hardly a thank you as you spin on your heels and walk out the door. You stop for a minute, turning back around to yell into the office.

“Go home if you’re just gonna nap on your desk!”

Not waiting for a response, you stalk towards the locker rooms. Within minutes you’ve tugged on your skates, laptop and shoes in each hand as you emerge out the tunnel to the rink.

The ice is empty, mostly. Placing your laptop in the sound booth and your shoes under the benches, you step foot on the ice. They’re there, on the other end, sitting on the cold ice with their jerseys still on, eating what looks like cups of dippin dots.

Seungcheol and Jeonghan, you remember from Lorelai’s squealing, either don’t notice you on the ice, or simply choose not to. Because it’s easy as you skate up to them, gaining speed from across the rink, you slide to a stop, sending a perfect spray of ice from your skates, directly into their ice cream cups.

Seungcheol’s full spoon hangs mid air, halfway to his mouth, now garnished with ice shavings.

“Thought you’d have the respect to keep the dippin dots out of this,” Jeonghan comments, disbelief in his eyes as he looks up at you.

“Ice is booked.”

“What time?” Seungcheol asks. Your gaze flickers to the left side of his face, a nasty bruise blooming purple and blue that you hadn’t noticed before.

“2:16. It’s nearly fifteen minutes past.”

“You’re only one person.” He’s significantly more annoyed than when you saw him outside the locker rooms just minutes ago.

“And?”

“And…you have about 97% of the rink to yourself.”

You raise your brows, hands on your hips. “But I booked 100% of it. So I’m gonna need that plane of ice you’re currently sitting on.”

“What if I don’t move?” Seungcheol presses. It’s menacing, the way he looks at you, like he’s a lion only waiting to be provoked. Maybe he’s already halfway there, because it sure looks like it.

“We’ll find out another day,” Jeonghan sings before you can snap back, grabbing onto the collar of Seungcheol’s red and white jersey to yank him up. He continues to glare as he obliges with his friend’s tugs, nearly as angry as you are. “Let’s go, sport.”

You watch as they walk to the exit of the ice, realising they’re wearing their shoes instead of their skates.

Jeonghan calls from the benches, right before he and Seungcheol move out of view. “Trash those for us, would you?”

Their half eaten dippin dots cups, with the ice now melting on them remains on the floor of the rink. Once again, the unexplainable urge to kick something befalls you, hearing them laugh and talk from far away as they exit the rink behind their long gone teammates.

You give in, swinging a leg over to kick the cups and spoons, dippin dots and plastic scattering across the ice. It’s another sprawl of mess you’ll have to clean up, but it feels good to ruin something of his, no matter how inconsequential. The empty rink encourages you, needing to scream so loud the plastic barriers crack and break. You know it’s impossible, but that doesn’t stop the urge.

You channel it into the most aggressive warmups on ice you’ve ever done. Your spins are faster, your jumps higher. But this also means you crash heavier, fall harder. It’s then, sitting on the bench to take a break, breathing so heavy you can hardly sip your water, you find an unmistakable headline on your browser home page.

Everything stops.

!HOT TOPIC!

SEAT AT RISK FOR SVT HOCKEY TEAM’S SHINING STAR? Read All About It Here!

!HOT TOPIC!

SEAT AT RISK FOR SVT HOCKEY TEAM’S SHINING STAR? Read All About It Here!

Choi Seungcheol’s seat for next season at risk? Insider reports that the hot headed center may be at risk of contract termination due to recent controversy. The hockey player, renowned for his aggressive playing tendencies, seems to be taking his temperament outside of the rink. Multiple games played by SVT have been subject to eventful halves and quarters, the center seen getting violent in the benches with opposing team members, and sometimes even team members of his own! While his short temper has always been a recurring subject in the news, his skills as a player have always remained top notch—we do wonder if he even has to try! The tables seem to turn a little differently this time around, because it looks that SVT higher ups have been fed up with the increasing reports of Choi’s aggressive behaviour. Insider sources report that talks of a contract termination may be coming into order. While he has proven to be an effective player on the ice, it seems as though it won’t be saving him from this particular ramification!

Stay tuned, hockey fanatics, as we bring you more updates on Choi’s sticky situation!

BEFORE EVERYTHING, BEFORE YOUR ankle, before it began to feel like your world was crumbling at your feet, came the scar on your leg.

In hindsight, it feels like it was the very thing that set the ball rolling, the beginning of your demise.

Coach Carroll was only on her first handful of sessions with you, Lorelai and Marina, all of you still learning her quirks and expectations as a coach.

It happened when you were on the sidelines, hanging over the boundary as Lorelai handed you a water bottle from the benches. Marina was practicing her routine, taking up most of the ice as Coach followed on the side. It seemed unclear, to this day, whether you’d drifted inwards on the ice as you sipped from the bottle, unaware. But when you felt the hot searing pain in your calf, there were only two people on the scene.

Marina skated past, her free leg in the air, meeting your calf as she skated past, effectively slicing into your leg in a deep gash. Blood was wiped off the ice, your leg bandaged and wrapped. Not without Coach and her comments, of course.

You heard her berate Marina from the other room, for moving closer to the boundary than what was required for her routine, heard the way she gave her the blame. And then she round up on you.

“Idiot! No reason to be on the ice when you aren’t practicing, did you want it to be your ankles too?!”

It was the first time you realised that Carroll was beyond your perception of the word demanding, her gaze remained in a high place, no regard for what it took to get there. Even if it meant destroying her skaters.

Marina apologised. “I’m sorry. I swear I didn’t see you there, I would’ve dropped my leg—”

“It’s okay, Marina. Really,” you smiled through the still aching wound. “I know you didn’t mean it.”

She smiled a little too, “Lesson learned, I guess. Don’t loiter on the ice.”

It was difficult to keep the smile from fading as you heard her say that.

“What shit apology is that?!” Lorelai yelled as soon as you mentioned it to her later. You cringe as you realise what slipped, and to whom it slipped to.

“It’s the best I’m gonna get from her, Lorry. Honestly, I don’t care.”

“You’re out of service for a week till that slice heals and that’s all she has to give you?”

Lorelai is breathing heavily, mostly because she’s been practicing her triple axels for her routine, but also because she’s extensively heated for you. You watch her from the benches.

“Lorry,” you sigh.

“Listen, I wanna win too but—”

“Are you trying to say she did it on purpose?” you ask.

“No! Let me finish, woman,” she snaps. “I wanna win, you wanna win. We’re doing everything we can because we want to win—”

“So this was a subconscious attack?” you interject.

“Fuck this, I’m leaving,” Lorelai begins to skate backwards and away, leaving you on the bench.

“NO! Wait, okay, I’m sorry I won’t interrupt.”

“Too late.”

“Lorry! Lorelai!”

It wasn’t until you were back in your shared apartment, Marina out doing whatever while Lorelai hijacked your bed that she got to finish her sentence. She was rubbing ointment on a bruise while you changed the bandage on your calf.

“Her need to win is ruining her. And it’s like she’s taking us down with her. I know she doesn’t mean it like that, doesn’t want to hurt us. But she thinks this kind of hurt is good, if it’s the kind of hurt that pushes you to win.”

You cringed at the sight of the wound, still red and ugly.

“She might not have meant to hurt your leg, but—don’t loiter on the ice? Really?”

“She only meant it as a reminder.”

“Exactly! You don’t need that reminder because I think you’ve learned better than anyone else to not stay on the rink when someone is practising. A couple weeks ago she made some stupid comment because I left the gym early. Nothing inherently rude, she’s never actually rude. But it was pointed anyway. I’ve been up since six in the morning I think I deserve slacking off a little, it was nearly midnight for fuck’s sake!”

Cleaning the wound was taking everything you had, the need to hiss at the contact of the wet cloth was near abominable.

“Her…her perception’s a little warped. But her heart’s in the right place!”

Lorelai had rolled her eyes, screwing the cap of her ointment tube back on with unnecessary force. “I never said it wasn’t, just—stop defending her! I’m sorry but half the reason she continues to act like this is because you listen to her.”

At that moment, you felt a little offended. Of course, Marina had her moments where she’d say something a little less than healthy, especially coming from a friend. But you’d always thought you handled it better than most.

You met Marina when you were still only splotchy faced preteens, during a competition where she came second and you came third. She’d been skating for longer, so it was expected, but you also couldn’t conceal your surprise when you’d found the state of her later on. You were ecstatic simply because you managed to make it to the podium, but it seemed Marina’s tears held another thought process for her.

You found her crying in the locker rooms later on, her coach who looked like she…should’ve been comforting her, but it was more like a stern talking to, to suck it up and work harder next time round.

When you tried to help her, out came words you felt oh so strange coming from a stranger. “What do you know? You came third!”

It hurt. Possibly the first genuine stab of the feeling you’d ever felt. In the following weeks, when Marina apologised and you’d begun to build a friendship, you felt something peculiar. Practice sessions on the ice became harder, your two hour sessions were suddenly extending to four, sometimes five hours a day. All of it, your own doing.

It was subconscious when it was happening, the silent tug of You came third! What you first considered an achievement became an intermediate step.

If there was anywhere that you’d pinpoint the shift, from when figure skating went from fun to a responsibility, you’d pick that exact moment. When someone congratulated you later on, it wasn’t a big smile and a thank you.

“I only came third.”

Your calf healed and all that was left was a scar, but there in the discolouration of your skin, also lay a realisation.

SEUNGCHEOL HOSTS ABSOLUTELY ZERO thoughts in his mind as he shoves the collar of his hoodie over his head. Slamming the door shut on the rest of his red SVT paraphernalia, he makes quick work of his hair, shoes on and out the door within the minute. Jeonghan is still fast asleep when he leaves, mouth open and drooling onto his pillow when Seungcheol walks into his room to let him know he’s leaving.

Jeonghan might tag along to practice for the fun of it despite leaving his competitive hockey career behind him, but his distaste for 6 AM practice remains forever unchanged. He’d see him later though, on the rink lingering once the sun is higher in the sky and Jeonghan deems it less of a sin to be awake.

Seungcheol leaves without a response from his friend.

By the time he gets to the rink, most of the team has already geared up. The locker room is splotched with red, moving towards the back of the room to get to his own locker. They weren’t assigned, but he liked to have his claim. He had one in the old rink, the one locker everyone knew was his. And now he has one here, despite the temporary nature of the ordeal. The rest of the boys know to steer clear, as does he for the others who have their lucky spots.

Mingyu bumps into his shoulder when Seungcheol is looking down, immediately whipping around to bow a full ninety degrees. He’s laughing as he apologises, not really sorry, but Seungcheol is too exhausted to humour him too much.

He’d been up playing games all night, under the covers in the dark, his phone brightness up too high and his eyes too wide open. He could feel the regret when his alarm blared while it was still dark outside, his eyelids stuck together, refusing to open. It cost him fifteen minutes of warming up, but he’d make it somehow.

Seungcheol can hear coach Mason’s booming voice from outside, moving closer and closer to hustle the rest of the boys out onto the rink. He shoves his foot into his skates, making sure all that’s left is to lace them up.

“Look alive, boys! I want you on the ice within the minute,” he booms into the locker room.

Seungcheol doesn’t look up. When he gets up to leave the locker rooms, his hockey stick and helmet in hand, he’s the last straggling few to leave. Chan earns himself a hard thump on the back from Coach as he scurries out.

There’s a hand on Seungcheol’s chest as he’s about to exit, Coach stopping him from leaving.

He looks up, expecting a hard look from Mason, ready to hear a mildly violent threat about being late to call time again. Except Seungcheol finds him with his own gaze on the floor.

“Rink manager said I could use his office. We should talk there.”

Seungcheol could’ve said he knows what this was going to be about. The game last weekend had less than ideal results, not because they didn’t win, but more so because of the WWE level brawl that went down in the benches during one of the intermissions.

He tenses, but it was more like he was squaring up. His shoulders are hard, his grip on his hockey stick tighter. Of course, he wasn’t about to swing at his coach, but one could say it was simply a subconscious response.

The entire walk to the office, Seungcheol thinks of new ways Coach could address his issue. But the gist was always simple.

Choi, stop fucking fighting.

He’d usually just rip Seungcheol a new one in front of the boys, berate him and verbally throttle him in the hopes that he’d keep his anger under check. But as they turn towards the door to the office, Seungcheol has to remind himself that this was a first. Being led aside, like he was being led into some formal meeting.

A plea deal, perhaps?

Choi, what is it going to take?

The office is barren, hardly looks like it’s used with how sparse the equipment is. The amount of dark brown gives it enough warmth to not make it look like some sick form of solitary confinement. That doesn't stop Seungcheol from feeling a hint of pity for whoever has to work here. There’s no nameplate.

Coach doesn’t take a seat, opting to lean against the table in front of him instead. His arms are folded, and he’s not looking him in the eye. A crawl of suspicion creeps up Seungcheol’s neck, as though in an attempt to ambush him.

It’s silent in the room as he waits for Coach to speak, refusing to be the one to break it.

When he does speak, it’s not in his usual Coach voice. Without the built in bass and tremors he was born with.

“There’s no easy way to break this,” he starts, eyes drifting up to somewhere on the barren walls. “But I’m gonna try my darndest.”

Finally, he feels Coach’s gaze lock with Seungcheol’s expecting pair.

“They wanna drop you.”

“What?”

Coach squeezes his eyes shut, like he’s recalibrating. “Your contract is up by the end of the season. And the tie wearers and the shoe shiners don't wanna re-sign you.”

Seungcheol’s eyebrows furrow. “What do you mean don’t wanna re-sign me, on what grounds?!”

“You’re temperament—”

“I’ve scored at least two goals for every game you’ve put me in, I’m your most consistent player!”

“They have no qualms with you when you’re on the ice.”

Seungcheol knows where this is going. He knows what knocked up alley this is turning to and he hates it. “Which is all that should matter.”

“In most cases.”

“Is this about last weekend? You didn’t hear him, he deserved more than a broken fucking nose—”

“I didn’t need to hear him, because I know. I know he’s a jackass, I know they’re all jackasses! They know that too. You need to learn to let things go, let them chirp—”

“He was coming on to my mother!” Seungcheol bellows, now properly angry. He remembers the guy’s name, Jason or something.

“His coach came onto my entire bloodline when we were young, this is Kim’s strategy! You’re playing right into their hands like a dog! For fuck’s sake, Choi! Punching someone in the chiclets isn’t always the answer!” Coach Mason is shaking his hands in front of him like some violent prayer.

Seungcheol drops his hockey stick and helmet, mouth open as he huffs and puffs. He wants to pace, wants to point his fingers at Coach and make a few threats of his own.

“Just—”

Seungcheol rounds up on him. “Seungkwan punched a guy in the mouth. Wonwoo kicked one in the balls.”

“Seungcheol. This is becoming nearly. Every. Single. Game. Not the occasional tousle we can pull people out of. You can’t keep sending people to the hospital, it’s a wonder nobody's pressed charges yet!”

“So that’s it? I’m being punished because some dick runs his mouth?”

“This is about you, Seungcheol. You need to get a fucking grip. You’ve started picking at your own teammates, shoving Mingyu around—seriously?”

Seungcheol’s mouth opens but nothing leaves it. He ends up gaping like a fish.

For all that it was worth, for everything he’d been through, Seungcheol always assumed his seat was safe. Always assumed he’d have the position he does. Because he showed results, won them nearly every game and put up a damn good fight in the ones they didn’t.

Seungcheol knew he was an asset, but not for one minute, stop to realise that this was all

conditional.

For everything he did for this team, for every fiber of his being he poured into its chalice, they were spitting it all right back into his face. Chewed and warped and rid of anything worth salvaging.

The red in his chest, back, stomach, spelling out the unmistakable letters of his team. The red in his helmet that rests beside the red in his hockey stick.

“Listen, as much of a pain in the ass you are, you’re good fucking player. And as far as I’m concerned, that’s all that matters. But it’s not up to me, so we need to work around that. They’re worried about the repercussions of your behaviour. And you are gonna make sure you keep yourself in check.”

Coach walks closer, finger digging into Seungcheol’s chest through his jersey. “I want no more fights, no more kicking and punching and swearing no matter how much that motherfucker deserves it, I don’t care. Do whatever it takes. God knows I’ll never forgive you if you make me agree to those prissy hands in suits.”

Coach left Seungcheol in the barren office, stepping over his stick and helmet as he exited the room, leaving him alone. His fingers flex under his gloves, like he’s trying to remind himself to stay in the moment. His exhales are stronger than his inhales, his vision blurring as the desk turns into two, and then disappears for a second.

He can hear the distinct sound of the puck slamming into hockey sticks. Practice had started. By the time Seungcheol walks out, he’s the last person to go through the mandatory drills.

The rink is mostly empty as the team gears up for a practice match, leaving Seungcheol enough reign to slam into every puck like he had some personal vendetta against every last one. It’s one after the other, sent directly into the open net, waiting.

Practice goes fine, as good as it could go with the scrambled eggs that had become of Seungcheol’s mental state. He found himself whipping his head around to Jun when he fumbled an assist, face scrunched under his helmet as he prepared to send him to hell in a handbasket.

He sees Jun physically tense up in defense, and the insult (for once) dies on Seungcheol’s tongue.

“Just—keep up, alright,” he says instead. His tone is empty, and on a downward slope.

If anyone finds it odd, they don’t say.

It’s a couple more hours of passes, assists and hollers across the ice, regrouping the teams every so often to keep the rotation consistent.

Over here, everyone is in red, everyone is on his side. The bleachers are empty, devoid of spectators to watch him lose his cool on anything. But he thinks of the way Jun recoiled, like he was preparing for the worst of his teammate’s words. He and Jun are friends.

Somewhere amidst his thoughts, the puck flies directly into Seungcheol’s face, banging into the cage of his helmet with a noise that resonates across the rink. He’s startled enough to skate back a little, not before hearing another resounding thwack! from next to him. The puck rebounded from his helmet and hit the plastic barrier with a noise that had everyone looking over.

Skating up to where the puck fell back onto the ice, he looks up to where it hit the barrier.

Through the plastic he sees…you. You're staring at the same spot he is, where there’s a slight mark from the force of the rubber.

And then your eyes drift up, locking with his own.

Like every other person he’s around, he watches you tense up. But it’s laced with something more than just bracing for impact.

It’s apprehension, your form turbulent and agitated. It’s all he can see when you spin on your heels and walk away in the opposite direction from him.

The all too familiar irritation sparks in the back of Seungcheol’s mind, as it does when you’re around. All he does is slam his stick into the ice with force, pushing the puck back into the middle of the rink.

They’re nearly done by that point, and he finds that Jeonghan has graced himself in the benches. He’s wearing his old jersey, likely because he doesn’t want Coach to notice him and accuse him of distracting his players.

Jeonghan would’ve gotten away with it anyway.

Seungcheol tells him to wait up, walking towards the locker room with the rest of the rest of the team to wash up. He finds some reprieve in Seungkwan’s attempts at fumbling with his helmet, letting out a laugh as he fights with it. Looking up as they take the turn towards the locker rooms as a group, he somehow finds himself in your presence, again.

It’s the same thing, like you’ve been connected to a faulty circuit and you’re trying not to show it. You look like you want to say something but all Seungcheol can do is send a snarky remark of his own.

Even as you walk away after the ordeal, he feels anything but settled.

It’s like the world has it out for him, because as he opts to stalk back to where Jeonghan was, forgoing a shower, there’s only another calamity waiting for him.

Jeonghan is in the rink, sitting on the ice with two cups of what looks like dippin dots. He looks up when he hears his treads on the ice, having taken his skates off already. Seungcheol crumples to the ground and on the ice next to his friend.

The first words he utters are the only ones that’ve been on his mind all day. “They want to drop me.”

Jeonghan only grimaces in response, only running his hands through his hair as he sighs loudly. “I know. I heard.”

Seungcheol perks up, head lifting from the ice. “...How?”

That’s how Seungcheol has Jeonghan’s phone so close to his face he’s hardly an inch away from the screen. He reads and reads and reads. And his blood boils and boils and boils.

!HOT TOPIC!

SEAT AT RISK FOR SVT HOCKEY TEAM’S SHINING STAR? Read All About It Here!

Choi Seungcheol’s seat for next season at risk? Insider reports that the hot headed centre may be at risk of contract termination due to recent controversy. The hockey player, renowned for his aggressive playing tendencies, seems to be taking his temperament outside of the rink. Multiple games played by SVT have been subject to eventful halves and quarters, the center seen getting violent in the benches with opposing team members, and sometimes even team members of his own! While his short temper has always been a recurring subject in the news, his skills as a player have always remained top notch—we do wonder if he even has to try! The tables seem to turn a little differently this time around though, because it looks that SVT higher ups have been fed up with the increasing reports of Choi’s aggressive behaviour. Insider sources report that talks of a contract termination may be coming into order. While he has proven to be an effective player on the ice, it seems as though it won’t be saving him from this particular ramification!

Stay tuned, hockey fanatics, as we bring you more updates on Choi’s sticky situation!

Of course, to add to the absolute media pandemonium, you had shown up on the rink itself after Seungcheol had to read through the entirety of that stupid article. Jeonghan was smart to pull him away from the situation before he wrapped both his hands around your neck in an ultimatum.

The way you stood there, hip popped like you owned the damn place, face haughty and demanding. You stood while they sat, looking down at Seungcheol like he was some pesky ant. There was nothing he would’ve rather done in that moment than swing his leg clean across your ankles, and watch in delight as you crash onto the ice in front of him.

“What the fuck is her problem?” he grits as soon as he’s in the locker rooms. Collecting his things to leave and take a shower at home.

Jeonghan walks behind him, hands in his pocket in idleness as he watches his friend pack up. He’s humming a tune that’s possibly too familiar to Seungcheol. “Hm. She does seem a little wound too tight.”

“Wound too tight?! I’ve seen her thrice just today and every single time she looks like she wants to skin my fucking hide!”

Jeonghan only snorts. “Thing two isn’t any better. She’s cute though.”

Seungcheol whips around. “Who gets that territorial over a sound booth?!”

“Down, boy,” Jeonghan soothes, half in jest. “Surprised she isn’t here today either.”

“Yeah, you’d like to see her.”

“I would, actually, yes. What was her name?”

“Something to do with a train or a bus or something—”

“Lorry! Right,” Jeonghan furrows his brows. “I don’t think that’s her real name.”

Seungcheol throws his duffle bag over his shoulder as he motions he’s done. “I don’t think anyone who actually loves their child would name them after a bus.”

Jeonghan halts in his steps. “My dead dog’s name was Lorry.”

Seungcheol is extra nice for the rest of the way home.

SEUNGCHEOL CAN'T SLEEP.

His dreams are full of voices, of every single teammate he’s ever had. The junior league, his high school team, up to his college team, and finally, his team right now.

They’re all murmuring like they were paid to do it, uttering the same things, over and over. He doesn’t belong here, they don’t want him here, he doesn’t deserve what he has.

And with the way his heart is racing when he jolts awake, cold sweat and all, he realises he’s kicked his blanket off of him sometime during the night. He looks over to his alarm clock that glares bright in the dark of his room; 5:08 AM.

He doesn’t need to be up, but it seems his own subconscious has given him a good enough scare to make sure every last essence of sleep escapes him. He lays on his back, catching his breath like he just ran a marathon.

Seungcheol hasn’t woken up from a nightmare like this since middle school, one that knocks the breath from his lungs and fills his head with all the horrible things in the world. With every moment that passes after that conversation with Coach Mason, his ordeal becomes increasingly real.

In that moment, laying in his bedroom, staring blankly at the dark ceiling above, he wonders if he’s made the right choice to come this far.

With all the confidence he’s exuded, the thought is downright terrifying.

Seungcheol was a difficult child. Too much energy, too much to say, too much to do. His parents didn’t know the first thing about hockey, just that it involved enough hitting and running and practice to let their son let out all that pent up energy, so maybe, just maybe, he’d sit still and do his homework. While they attempted to sign him up at the local rink, he was already zooming out towards the benches to see the fabled giant block of ice his parents told him about.

And there it was, just like in the movies, a giant expanse of ice that made him shiver even in his thick Winnie The Pooh puffer vest. There’s sounds, loud ones, of deep clacks that echo across the rink. It seems to be coming from the dozens of people skating on the rink, decked out in red gear.

SVT, he reads on their jerseys.

His mother chides him for straying when they finally find him near the gate, watching the team practice. The rink manager is there as well, showing his parents around.

“The SVT’s practice here and have a junior league too, but I’m afraid it’s full. But our coach is great too, I’m sure he’ll do well.”

Seungcheol’s parents didn’t mind, but he wanted those jerseys, wanted his name in red splashed across his back as he glided across the ice.

It didn’t take long for his coach and his parents to realise that putting him in a helmet was a good idea. He was smoking the rest of the kids from day one, his balance on the ice better than any other his age, his hold on a hockey stick like second nature, his aim as he hit his first puck, dazzling.

As he got older, entering his preteen and teen years, he had another realisation. That he was as horrible at school as he was good at hockey.

“Perhaps you should take a break from hockey,” his high school guidance counsellor had said. His grades were displayed in front of her like a case study, the hopeless clear in her intermittent sighs and the occasional purse of her lips. “Utilise that time to fix at least one of your grades. Pour all your eggs in one basket.”

The thought was absurd. No, he would not be dropping hockey when it was the only thing that pushed him to wake up in the morning.

He’d felt the tremble of irritation rise in himself, sitting there in that office. It angered him, made him feel like his success was measured by a criteria not made for him. He had said nothing as he slipped out of chair and left the room.

The day before his graduation, sweat dripping onto the ice as he sent free pucks into the net, he was missing more than he was getting in. It was making him more mad than it should, hands shaking with fury as he berated himself for not being able to succeed in something so simple.

His last puck was before him, and he swung his stick harder than ever and watched as it flew directly into the net. The sound is louder than usual, resonating across the rink. Seungcheol looked down at the detached pieces in his hand and quickly realised that he’d effectively broken his hockey stick.

It wasn’t expensive, so the quality wasn’t nearly what it should be, wasn’t nearly as durable. But this was new to him. He’d never broken a stick before.

Anger. Perhaps that was what he'd forgone, perhaps that was what he needed. To get on his knees from his back, to get on his feet from his knees.

When he graduated the next day, Seungcheol knew what he was going to do with his life. Finally had an answer for the infinite questions about his future.

Hockey. Seungcheol was going to play hockey for the rest of his life. He was going to get into SVT, he was going to become the best player they’ve ever had. He was going to make more money than what he would have as a doctor or a lawyer or whatever else the entire world wanted him to do instead.

Seungcheol was going to be on the ice wearing red if it’s the last thing he does.

That’s what pushes him out of bed at 8:45 in the morning, his dream that was once in his hands now flitting through the gaps of his fingers.

The anger that pushed him here, was now pushing him out.

He packs his things and leaves the house, welcoming the cold of the outdoors.

There’s the distinct sound of blade cutting through ice when he gets nearer to the rink itself, a shout of a shrill voice he can’t decipher. Official practice doesn’t start for another couple hours, and he doesn’t remember Coach Mason cutting the pitch in his voice for anything ever. There’s only one other person that could possibly be gracing the rink.

Seungcheol finds three people on the rink. The bright red curly mop of hair catches his eye first, her arms folded over her green puffer jacket, apprehension in her entire posture. He assumes this is your coach.

There’s a blonde one breathing heavily as she straightens out of a spin, listening to the coach as she shakes her head violently as she speaks.

Seungcheol finds you a little ways away from the pair, practising jumps.

He doesn’t emerge into the benches, remaining in the shadows where he wouldn’t be so blaringly obvious. There’s no reason for him to hide, but he doesn’t think of this as hiding.

Seungcheol watches for the next few minutes, watches you make most of your jumps, fall for some. Your coach shouts for particular names for jumps, something about axels and lutz’ that he can’t tell the difference from when put into action. At least he thinks that’s what you’re doing.

And then he hears it as your coach moves closer to the barriers. “What’s gotten into you? Keep acting this stupid and I’ll excuse myself from the job, I have better people to coach.”

Her tone, her words, the sharp edge of her tongue, it’s all triggering a very specific part of Seunghceol’s brain.

“Is it your ankle? Because if it is, then I’m here to tell you to get out of your own head. Your ankle is fine, you wouldn’t be able to get on the ice at all if it wasn’t.”

There it comes. Those words aren’t directed towards Seungcheol, nor could they apply to him in any capacity. But the way this coach is speaking is making him irrationally angry.

“Are you gonna keep pretending you have a handicap? Because if you are then I have no work here.”

“I’m sorry.”

For whatever reason, the sound of you apologising makes the fire rage doubly. It’s enough to blur his vision, enough to make him question what on earth this coach could have on you to let her speak to you in that way.

The choice words are already in his head as he claps back in his own head, like he was the one at the receiving end.

He doesn’t stay, disappearing even further into the tunnel to where the locker rooms are. He doesn’t understand why he’s huffing and puffing as much as he is. All that occupies him is what possible reasons you could have to just take it lying down.

Seungcheol’s phone vibrates in his pocket, slipping it out to realise it’s Jeonghan.

He picks up, and barely has time to say hello before his voice perks up from the other line. “Where are you?” He sounds like he just woke up.

“I’m at the rink.”

“Why is your angry voice on?”

“My angry voice is not—” he begins to grit, seething, but closes his eyes and takes a moment. “I’m not mad.”

“Do I need to sing?”

“No, you do not have to sing—”

“Everything is honey—”

“Jeonghan, stop!”

“—everywhere I see—”

Seungcheol hangs up before he can go on. To his utmost irritation, he feels significantly calmer.

The rink is devoid of your red headed coach when Seungcheol makes his way there after a few minutes. The blonde one is nowhere to be seen, leaving you alone in the rink as you skated across the expanse. He only watches as you land the couple attempts at jumps, the ice breaking ground in a spray every time you put pressure on your blades.

Seungcheol is just standing there, blank faced with an empty head. His mind was quiet for the first time since he’d woken up that morning.

He doesn’t know what he’s doing there, standing idle as he follows your figure around the rink like a fixation point.

The sound is more consistent, less of the loud jabs of hockey sticks meeting the ice, more constant lines of scraping as you migrate across the rink. The speakers boom no sound, but the musicality in the noise of the ice is enough to imagine a rhythm.

No part of him desires getting on the ice to oust you out, no part of him wants to touch his hockey stick that sits in the locker room. He doesn’t need extra practice, not with hockey at least.

And when you notice him, unmoving in the benches, he watches as something hard overcomes your expression. You skate over, and he keeps his gaze fixated on the ice.

Skating up to the gate, he sees in his peripheral vision as you slip on your skate guards, stepping out into the real world.

“You don’t have the rink booked, I checked,” you huff, moving to find your things on the other set of benches.

Seungcheol’s jaw tenses. “I don’t want the rink right now.”

“And yet the ghost loiters.”

“I’m here to tell you to start filling in the stupid craters your skates make in the ice. The guys keep tripping.”

“You big hockey thugs getting defeated by a toe pick?”

Seungcheol turns to finally look at you, and you look nothing as graceful as you did on the ice. He wants to scoff.

You continue, “I have to deal with your stupid barriers fucking up my sound system. I think your guys can deal with a couple digs in the ice.”

“Great, we’ll just lose a couple teeth, who really gives a fuck.”

“If this is about giving fucks,” you get up from your water break, leaving the bench. “Do me a favour and forget your mouth guard next time. Let the puck punch you in the mouth if I can't."

Seungcheol’s entire being is ablaze. He reshuffles his footing. “What the fuck is your problem?”

“My problem?” you repeat, voice moving a pitch higher. “My fucking problem is that you and your overgrown posse of baboons drop in here out of the blue and then act like you own the damn place!”

“Right, because it’s your name on the fucking lease. Excuse us for trespassing on public property!”

You’re yelling. Seungcheol is yelling. It’s either that or the hollow of the rink is now carrying your voices farther out.

“I’ve had enough of you acting like you don’t take up this entire fucking space!” Your arms wave wildly, gesturing to the large area of the rink. “You’re everywhere, all the fucking time, it’s sickening!”

“Everywhere, huh?” He takes a step closer to you. And then another. He revels in the sight of your face turning a splotchy red. “Thought I was only a bother on the ice? Where else have I been plaguing you in mystic hallucinations?”

Seungcheol’s eyes give away nothing but provocation. He knows he didn’t start this, but in the true essence of who he is, he would be the one to end it.

It’s clear you’re taken aback. At this moment, he’s the closest he’s ever been to you. But it’s for nothing if it isn’t to press on you further, to tower over you and your outburst.

“Get your head out of the gutter, you brute.”

“Then is it not me taking up all your space?” he asks. “Because there’s three feet of air between us, and yet the least in our very short time together.”

He watches as you take a small step back.

“So where else have I been any closer, so consistently, if it wasn’t part of your imagination?”

There’s a certain kind of venom in your stare, in the sneer that lifts your mouth, enough to ensure that it’d render him six feet deep. But he lives in reality, so he deems it safe to take another step closer.

“You’re a screw up,” you almost whisper. Appalled and scandalised.

“So I’ve been told,” Seungcheol breathed. “But something tells me we’re not so different in that department.”

“You don’t know a thing about me.”

“I know that I’m all you can think about,” he says, eyebrows raised. “That feels like a lot. You’d agree, because everywhere, all the fucking time is a lot.”

Seungcheol has hardly finished his sentence before he feels the light breeze of you gathering your few things, shouldering him hard and walking away from him. Into the tunnel, into the locker rooms, into hell, wherever it was that you ended up by the close of the day.

He isn’t afraid to admit that he stumbled.

LORELAI HAD MADE IT quite clear that any figure skating talk was off the table, and talk surrounding Marina even more so. You tried not to point out the obvious predicament, but the fact that you lived with Marina did not affect her demand.

Miraculously, not talking about skating or Marina was the most free you’d felt in ages. It was mildly embarrassing in the beginning, when on a run with Lorealai who was also helping out at the dog shelter, because you realised all you talked about was, maybe not Marina, but definitely a lot of skating.

You slow down a little to give Kkuma a couple minutes to breathe, but Lorealai is still running at her pace with her significantly more energetic husky, Bennie.

“Stay there, I’ll catch up!” she yells over her shoulder as she takes the left around the block to circle back.

You oblige, moving to a walking pace as Lorelai appears from behind you after a couple minutes. She slows to a jog and loiters around you for a minute, you increase your speed to match hers.

“Jeonghan…” she pauses to take a breath. But your interest is piqued, especially if she was talking about the same Jeonghan you were thinking about. “Jeonghan invited me to the game this weekend.”

Hold.

“What?” you snap.

“Game. This weekend,” she huffs, still breathing heavily.

“Like, a hockey game?” you ask, brows furrowed.

“No, for disney on ice,” she announces. “They’re doing beauty and the beast, Jeonghan’s the beauty, Seungcheol is the beast. It’s a whole production, really. Real good stuff.”

You can only roll your eyes at the elaborate sarcasm. She continues, “Of course, it's a hockey game! What else do they do at that rink all day?”

“Gosh, sorry,” you frown. “Since when do you talk to Jeonghan?”

She looks over, wicked smile on her face. “Since I found him on Instagram.”

“You followed him?”

“No, why would I do that? Bumped into him at the gym a while ago, and we went out for coffee afterwards.”

Nothing of the ordeal is making sense, your brows still knit together and your mouth downturned in confusion.

“Catch you in a minute!” she yelps as she takes off into a run again, Bennie right next to her as she circles round again.

The few minutes that it’s just you and tiny Kkuma are flooded with questions. How did she just bump into Jeonghan? Lorelai hardly goes to the gym. Asking her to come to the hockey game?

And then worst of all.

Are they dating?

By the time Lorelai is back, she’s out of breath again, and fully unequipped to answer all of the questions you shoot at her like rapid fire.

“Why were you at the gym? He’s a junior league coach, he’s not even gonna be playing!”

“God!” she groans, heaving. “Slow…down.”

“Fine!” You stop in your tracks entirely, to which Lorelai is happy to oblige as she crouches with her hand on her knees. Bennie tugs at her leash, the big bounding ball of fluff ready to race the winds again.

You count to ten, hands on your hips as Kkuma lets out a small, confused yip now that you’re completely idle on the track.

“Talk.”

With an all too dramatic flip of her short hair, she pulls herself up and into an explanation. “I couldn’t tell you because we weren’t talking when it all happened.”

It’s true, it did take a while for you to go back to normal after that run in with Marina in your bedroom. You suppose it won’t be happening again with the new no-Marina-talk rule, since she seemed to be quite the common factor in many of your rifts over the years.

“I went to the gym to blow off some steam—don’t look like that, I’m being serious!”

You make an attempt at fixing your face as she continues.

“He saw me first and came up to say hi. Went our separate ways but once we finished up he asked if I wanted to grab a coffee since we were both done working out.”

“And you said yes?”

“I said yes. Because he is cute, and I had been stalking his very public Instagram and it was just the perfect opportunity!”

“So you’re dating?” you ask sharply.

“I don’t know.”

“He asked you to the game?” you point out.

“Well, yes, but he hasn’t asked me asked me.” Somewhere in her voice there’s the tiniest hint of disappointment. “Besides, he said to bring you as well.”

“Fuck no.”

“Come ooon! Jeonghan’s gonna be in the benches and I don’t know anyone else there!” she whines.

“Hey, we should switch dogs!” you announce as you yank Bennie’s leash out of Lorelai’s hands, stuffing Kkuma’s leash into her free hand.

You take off into a sprint, and Bennie is happy to keep up with you as you quite literally run away from the situation. Lorelai is yelling your name, her annoyance abundant.

Ignoring her is easy. Just the thought of walking into one of those games is enough to force a scoff, to watch your rink inhabited with like minded buffoonery as they ruin the bleachers and the ice.

By the time you make it back, the hilarity of the situation hasn’t left you. And it seems neither has Lorelai, who remains standing with Kkuma at her feet, waiting to trap you.

It’s the easiest thing to do, to turn right back around and circle the other way.

“You can’t run away from me forever!” she shouts behind you as you disappear again.

Maybe you couldn’t, but you wouldn’t go down without a fight.

“You can’t run away from Seungcheol forever! Quit pretending like you aren’t dying to fall into those giant arms!” Lorelai has a very specific talent of injecting all the drama in the world in the tone of her voice. She’s sure to utilize that skill as she hollers after you.

That seems to do it for you, slowing down, half ready to whip around and holler a profanity or two right back.

You’re more triggered than usual, but mostly because all the jab does is remind you of the last time you saw him. The arrogance in his demeanor, the way he belittled you with just his eyes, the shadow of his towering frame, caging you like a lost animal.

You hated it. Despised it. Despised him. His disgusting innuendos, the all so misleading innocence on his face as he cornered you with both his body and his words.

Lorelai could deal you whatever card there was tied up her sleeve, but getting you anywhere near the rink for the game this weekend was going to require more than just dessert bribes and sweet talking. Dragging you by the ankles could be a possibility, but all for naught when you dig your nails in anyway.

It was impossible. Not doable. Non-existent in the cards of your destiny. A repelling force.

So why, would one ask, were you decked out in the most heinous red scarf with the letters SVT stitched on like a warning, sitting in the bleachers and looking down at the same rink you practice your spins and jumps in everyday?

Neither you or Lorelai could answer that question, both your stories as blurry as fog as to how either of you managed to get you in that fabled seat.

You could see the exact place you and Seungcheol had your last showdown, the opposing team in black now occupying that side of the benches. The thought puts you in an impossibly sour mood. It’s not like Lorelai could say anything about it, half because she knows you’re one snide remark away from jumping into the merch table, and half because she was too busy making heart eyes at Jeonghan who’s just spotted her in her seat.

“I’ll be back,” she informs haphazardly as she positively bounds down the steps to the end of the bleachers, where Jeonghan waits for her. The people in their seats shuffle, annoyed at the overenthusiastic fan who practically slides down in front of their legs towards the railing. But Lorelai couldn’t care less, not with what stood beyond that very railing.

Tearing your eyes away from the lovebirds, you take in the hustle and bustle of the pregame happenings, most of the bleachers in disarray as they humour the merch stands and the food stalls. The rink smells different because of it, both the added number of food trucks and drink stands, but also with the amount of people that occupy the expanse.

The only times you see the rink this packed is when you’re too wracked with nerves to notice anything other than your own two feet. Hands wringing and head spinning, the chaos of the world is nothing against the pandemonium in your mind. You’re usually wearing a sparkly dress that glitters even from the very last row of bleachers, hair taut and makeup caked on like a layer of icing.

Taking your time, you let your eyes flit over all that you forgo the other times. The stands are a mix of red and black, and so are the benches and ice that are occupied by men in full hockey gear.

You’re too high up to make out the names on the back of all those jerseys, let alone a face underneath the already concealing helmets. The problem is forgotten when you feel the weight of two hands slam against your folded arms, tugging you out of your seat like it was stolen property.

“Jeonghan said we could sit closer to the benches downstairs!” Lorelai is frantic, like this wasn’t a matter of reserved seats but the last plane to leave hell itself.

“Lor—” Finishing a sentence when she’s in this state is a luxury you learn quickly to live without, because all that concerns her right now is getting closer to the man that seems to have enraptured her like never before.

It’s disgusting. But you follow her anyway, down the steps that you nearly eat shit on, gracefully of course, because what figure skater doesn’t fall with an epic crash worthy of an Expendables cameo. You stabilise yourself enough to get to the seats Lorelai is talking about, and sure enough, Jeonghan would barely have to get on his tiptoes to hoist himself into the bleachers altogether. You question the safety of the context but decide that it wasn’t your problem if someone decided to pounce on one of the players.

Besides, you’d be lying if you said you wouldn’t revel in the absolute scene of Seungcheol getting jumped by an over-passionate fan. You’re suddenly very grateful for the front row seats.

There’s a bucket of chicken tenders and fries in your lap out of nowhere, matching the one in Lorelai’s hands. “Also Jeonghan?” you hum as you inspect the sauce options.

“Mhm, he’s friends with the vendor outside,” she grins.

You narrow your eyes at the revelation, finding it utmost strange how close he seems to be with nearly everyone. “Why is he on the benches, again?” you ask.

“Because—” she draws before you cut her off.

“Friends with the coach?”

“How’d you know?!” she exclaims. Her attention is diverted as the speakers suddenly boom with something other than generic pop music. So is yours, when you hear a deep baritone of a commentator’s voice carries throughout the rink.

The shuffle around you is suddenly doubling in speed, everyone getting into their seats. You look over in front of you, where the benches are in an equally panicked shuffle. You spot Jeonghan easily, mostly because he’s one of the few in the vicinity without a helmet or what looks like a giant space suit. The next thing you note is the person he’s talking to, his back turned to you, but familiar all the same.

CHOI, 95, reads his jersey. Automatically, your jaw clenches. “Don’t look over there!” Lorelai chides, grabbing your jaw and moving it to force you to rip your eyes away from him.

“Lorelai, I’m not sure if you’re aware, but unlike your boy toy, he’s actually gonna be on the ice,” you verbalise through clenched teeth.

“Don’t look at the ice,” she blurts.

Rolling your eyes, you only listen as she realises what she’s said. “Okay, um, look at Jeon instead! Or Kim, or Boo, just. For god’s sake, there’s fifty other players on the ice, just don’t let one of them ruin your night!”

“I’m fine,” you grumble, sinking into your seat.

It isn’t long before your eyes trail over anyway, and Seungcheol still doesn’t have his helmet on. You can see his face now, and he looks like he’s mad at Jeonghan about something.

Inevitably, your mind wanders to the fated article that somehow made its way into your recommended, the certainty it put in you that Seungcheol didn’t stand a chance in his team anymore. It seemed true enough, his anger, that he continues to display, seemed to be his default emotional setting.

Your hockey knowledge was subpar at best, but one thing you did know was the aggression factor of the sport. Of all the things that could cut his career clean down the middle, this was the last of your guesses.

Even now, as you watch him absentmindedly point and jerk like his supposed friend had managed to bring him something that was personally offensive, it’s all connecting too well.

But when you snap into reality, you realise very quickly that he was pointing…at you.

Seungcheol is mad that Jeonghan (effectively) brought you to the match.

A chortle of disbelief is quick to make itself known, wanting to yell across the throng that you were every bit as upset that he was in your vicinity too. It also brings you satisfaction, a pure grain of hope, that maybe this would be enough for him to completely fuck up on the ice today.

You say a quick amen before the baritone of the commentator makes itself known again. The echo is too much for you to decipher what’s going on, but you have your answer when you watch the reds and the blacks form what looks like a line across the width of the rink, right in the center.

You don’t register when the puck landed, or if it was always there, just that the loud clacks and bangs are in tandem with the cheer from the crowds. The puck is an impossible commodity to keep up with, even with just your eyes. It appears for a moment before it’s lost again, shooting around in your peripheral vision like a pesky fly you can never get a hold of.

“What is happening?” you whisper to yourself.

Lorelai answers anyway, snorting, “Fuck if I know.”

The numbers on the lit screens are doing nothing to help out your predicament, too much happening for you to even begin to deconstruct. You choose to lay back and enjoy your chicken tenders and fries, complimenting the sauce choices to Lorelai along the way, who continues to calibrate her attention on the man that remains in the benches. Jeonghan looks over periodically to send her a wave and a blinding smile.

You’ve made a good enough dent in your chicken and fries bucket by the time it’s intermission, about ready for a drink by now. Lorelai makes herself useful and runs down to get you both something, mostly because Jeonghan was now more focused on the team that’s huddled around one another, another man you assume is their coach huddled right with them.

The scores are 2-2, as provided by the person behind you who was apparently sick of your placid obliviousness. It did feel slightly awkward to be the only person not as excited to be front and center, so you remind yourself to thank him profusely.

Your attention drifts back to the benches, inevitably as you’ve been so unfortunately placed to be able to breathe down the player’s necks. They’ve dispersed from their huddle, but are not yet on the ice. They’re sitting down, catching their breaths, drinking from water bottles. On the other side, the opposing team, a sea of black and white flooding their own end of the benches. It’s a sinking colour, not an ounce of depth in the shade. It’s taking over the benches.

Except it’s the players that are moving, like they’re diffusing into the scarlet territory.

You watch, as one player in black moves his mouth, speaking, upturned and eyebrows cocked. It’s clear he’s gone well past enemy lines, the front lines suddenly at attention. There’s not much you can make out, nothing much besides the very haughty expression on the player’s face. His eyes are covered by the sweaty mop on his head, but you don’t need to see them to find the malice that infiltrates his entire stance.

The scene, where both sides seem to be closing in on each other, has you automatically sitting up straighter. The air is going static, especially as you realise the player's mouth is moving faster as he jabs at — Seungcheol.

They’re fighting, only verbally for now, but it’s undeniable the way the heat grows by the second. All you can see is the back of Seugncheol’s jersey as he begins to step back from the ordeal, like he was fighting the urge to take a step forward instead.

Jeonghan’s hand is on Seungcheol’s elbow, and one glance at the rest of the players on this side shows every last one on edge. Their coach is nowhere to be seen.

But he doesn’t stop talking, still standing in their territory. He yells something loud enough to hear the pitch of his voice, but not nearly enough to understand what he’s saying.

You could see it on the player’s face. Hook, line and sinker.

It happens so suddenly. Seungcheol surges forward like a dart, something flies out and hits the player square in the face.

Seungcheol had spat his mouth guard into his face.

You gasp out loud as you register what’s happening. The player removes his hand from his face, and for some reason, emerges grinning.

Seungcheol swings first, his fist rising and coming down on his cheek with a sound you can hear. You feel nauseous.

It’s pandemonium. You can see Jeonghan practically on top of Seungcheol, a number of other players attempting to get him off the man he continues to grab and shake up like a fugitive. The other player is throwing his own punches.

For one, horrifying moment, the force of the punch pushes Seungcheol’s face towards the stands enough to let you get an eyeful. All you see is red, beyond just his jersey. His mouth is full of blood, the front of his jersey dripped with it, his knuckles clustered with it.

The hand clasped around your mouth is your own, eyes blown in horror.

All around you, the world has their phones out like it was some show meant just for them, like this was exactly what they came here for.

It’s sickening. Sickening.

You brave another look, and they’ve been yanked off of one another. Seungcheol is being pushed down the tunnel and away from sight. Jeonghan has his hands clutched around Seungcheol like he’s nearly ready for another outbreak, his face grim.

Your eyes keep away from Seungcheol’s face on purpose. “Goodness, what is going on, I could barely get through the crowd,” Lorelai’s irritated voice infiltrates your ears, and you’re immediately brought back down to earth.

Arms full of more snacks and drinks, it only takes her one look at your rattled self to know.

“What happened?”

“I…they were…fighting. I don’t know, it just—Seungcheol was throwing punches and there was…blood, so much blood.”

She’s gotten a grip on your hand, her fingers warm under your cold, shivering ones. “Do you wanna leave?” she asks slowly.

One look over her shoulder is enough to tell you it’d be impossible. Everyone was too excited to care to cater to two people going in the opposite direction of the action. So you tell her there was no point, and you attempt to calm your racing heart as she sits next to you.

Snagging one of the packs from her mountain of snacks, you rip it open and let the sickly sweet smell infiltrate your nostrils. Popping one of the confections in your mouth, it’s hard to not make a face. It’s the sourest thing you could’ve picked, the tartness enough to distract you from the outside world. Eyes scrunched closed, you swallow the rush of saliva to ask Lorelai what the fuck she brought.

You chortle, and it has Lorelai looking over. “Whoops! That one’s mine.”

She snags the bag from your loosened grip, replacing it with a tamer bag of original flavoured potato chips. The chips are trying, but there’s not much you can do besides wait for the residues of the godawful candy to subside.

The ordeal seems to have calmed you the slightest bit, finally able to turn back to the ice. The rink is back to being occupied, players from both ends pouring onto the ice. You note a minor shoulder shove at the gate, but look away like it’d stop the calamity from intensifying.

The game ensues as normal, but you note the blatant absence of CHOI in the sea of red and white jerseys. You don’t mention it, and neither does Lorelai.

You’re about to burst by the time the finals moments are upon the game, the overtime minutes beginning to tick as the crowd grows restless by the second. With the little you’ve managed to grasp, you’re sure that SVT is only one goal away from the overtake. It’s making you nervous, like you’re waiting for your own score to be announced after a free skate.

The puck is a mere percentage easier to navigate after a couple hours of keeping after it; it skips between players you’re beginning to recognise from the back of their jersey. Kim, Boo, Wen, Kim, Lee. The opposing team intercepts for a moment, and you find yourself letting out an irritated shake of the shoulders. Back to Kim, Lee, Lee, and then, right into the net.

The jittering crowd suddenly went so silent you could hear a pin drop.

And then the world around you erupts. It’s impossible to classify the sound as cheers when racketeers off your entire being like an unearthly sound, the stands on their feet hollering and screaming and yelling at their players that are fighting to keep their new overtake in the final seconds before the game officially ends.

And when it does, you’re sure you need to get your ears checked out.

Looking over, you catch Lorelai’s eye, and you can’t help but laugh. A delightful laugh that releases itself in the midst of the chaos of red, scarlet and cherry. Somebody’s thrown a red blanket over you, another has begun to hand out congratulatory cherry lollipops (you pass, but Lorealai would be damned if she did), people are hugging each other so tight and you get the inkling they’ve only met each other today.

The ice is one giant dogpile, red on red as they suffocate one another in celebration.

Perhaps you didn’t realise how important the game actually was, or maybe every game is like this, loud, proud and exultant. You find yourself imagining how they feel.

The lost feeling of bouquets and flowers whisked in your direction, stuffed animals and hundreds of other things that scream adoration as your performance comes to a close. It’s a physical manifestation of an adoring crowd, as though making it tangible makes it a little more real.

The rush, you can feel it resonate off of the scarlet side of the benches, and it’s enough for you to realise that yes, this was an important match. For them anyway.

The way out of the rink is reasonably packed, but you manage to squeeze through the doors and towards where Lorelai had parked with fewer than expected obstruction. “Thought you might wait to see Jeonghan before we leave,” you hum as you walk to the parking spot.

“I was going to, but he’s probably dealing with what happened,” she utters slowly. A flash of red at the mention, gone as soon as it came. Lorelai adds with a little extra pep to her voice, “It’s okay! I’ll send him a text, we were planning on dinner tomorrow anyway.”

The side eye you send is met with a light shove. “This one seems serious. Dragging me here for his sake and now dinner with him?”

Lorelai was infamous for taking it excruciatingly slow, the time between the talking stage and the first date stretching for months. She claims it’s to make sure she's not roping herself into something she’d regret, which you’ll admit has seemed to work out in her favour. Her last relationship lasted years before Josh had to move away.

Jeonghan seems to have her under some warped spell, because Lorelai was hurtling into this relationship like a too compressed cannon ball. There was nothing you knew about Jeonghan other than his friendship with Seungcheol, his position as junior league coach and his habit of loitering on the ice; which means there wasn’t much opinion to be had on the whole conquest. Regardless, you decide to caution her some other day, when she’s not glowing and over the moon like a robust teenager.

Slipping into the passenger seat, you slump like never before, already dreaming about the bedrotting session you’re about to have; glorious enough for the books.

“Do you wanna grab food and rot on the couch?” she asks.

“You’re still hungry after all that?” you huff, your mouth still flavoured with artificial sweetness paired with the savoury of the chicken and fries. You pull out your phone for the first time in nearly three hours, the home screen alarming full of missed notifications. Text messages, mentions and phone calls. For whatever reason, you swipe right past and open your browser.

“It’ll take about an hour till we’re settled, should be hungry enough by then,” she comments, a gentle growl coming from beneath you as the engine comes to life.

Somewhere between the lines of the seatbelt sign pinging, and the radio blaring itself into the space, you’ve read a headline that’s enough to halt your world.

“There’s this new Chinese place that opened nearby here. Or this Persian restaurant but it’s like 20 minutes in the other direction. Or do we just do soup—”

“Lorelai.”

She turns to look at you in the passenger seat, seatbelt alarm still dinging as you remain with your seatbelt off as she pulls out of the parking space, like the official soundtrack to your doom. She brakes, hard. Lorelai is always Lorry with you, her full name only ever when you’re feigning irritation.

There’s nothing irritating about the situation, but everything is wrong with it.

It’s like you were in the benches, taking punches while simultaneously throwing a few yourself. You’re out of breath still seated, your skin tingles like a million arachnids crawling under your skin under your layers. You’re in the eddy of a horrifying whirlpool, that’s pulling you down, down, down, down, down, down—

!HOT TOPIC!

FIGURE SKATER OR FIGURINE? NOTHING GRACEFUL ABOUT Y/N L/N’S FALL FROM THE PINNACLE OF THE SKATING WORLD. Read from the Source!

From a pocket princess, to a rising star. From a rising star to the top of the world. From the top of the world to… a bottomless hell? How did Y/N L/N end up here?

It’s nothing new that L/N’s presence was notable during the flashy ISU Grand Prix held in Beijing last year, the podium notably shuffled as a result. The skater’s ankle injury was never awarded a career ending title, but with the way her comeback remains as foggy as it did since the initial announcement, one must begin to wonder if we’ll ever see L/N on the competitive ice again.

Or perhaps she’s simply lost her spark?

Trusted sources report that L/N’s sponsors are growing weary of her extended vacation, and are just about ready to pull the rug! In addition, sources also report her floundering lack of consistency in practice sessions on the ice, her condition beyond someone as onerous as even Isabella Carroll to manoeuvre into success. Talk about futile!

Now, we’re all hoping that our glittering gold medalist is only a victim of mindless chatter, however, we must concede, neither we nor our sources are holding on to too much hope.

Keep on the lookout for more updates from us on our fallen (?) star!

[a/n]: hehehehehe remember to reblog and tell me your thoughts

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bluem1lls · 2 days ago

Note

Hii :3 I also miss se-mi a lot and I really want to see more content about her. Could I ask for sub!se-mi maybe? Besides being curious, I'm also quite upset by the little content about sub!squid game and i miss my wife se-mi so pleaseee 🙇🏽‍♀️🙇🏽‍♀️

✧₊⁺ a little help

se-mi x fem!reader

✦ synopsis: your girlfriend is having a hard time studying.. all you wanna do is help her.

content: minors dni, dom!reader x sub!se-mi, fingering/oral (se-mi!receiving), vibrator

authors note: hiii! i've never wrote any of my fave characters as sub so i hope u like this?? thank u for your request!

"fuck it" se-mi said, frustrated.

"baby.. you're doing so good, keep going"

"i can't princess i want to but i really can't"

"se-mi.. you need to study" i rolled my eyes, laughing, as she rested the papers on her face, reclining against her chair.

"i'm done. i need a break" she said as she stood up, placing the papers on the desk. she grabs my face to kiss me.

i shock my head no as she kisses my entire face, making me laugh as i softly pushed her off.

"baby no. i'm serious. you know you can pass this test and we had plenty of breaks" i said staring at the mcdonald's bags resting on the floor.

oh. wait.

i'm a genius.

"sit" i ordered as she raised one brow.

she chuckles.

"sit dumbass, i'm serious" i said, pushing her to the chair as she stared at me, confused.

i kneel in front of her as i grab the flashcards. i get in between her legs, my chin resting on her inner thighs.

"okay so, when does a substance generates heat?"

"um..l-liquid to solid?"

"yes! good baby!" i smirked. my hands going to her black jeans, undoing the zipper and pulling them until they're out. she stares at me doe eyed, the outline of her pussy in display through her boxers. i can see a wet patch starting to form.

"already getting wet baby?" i smirked as she turned her gaze, embarrassed. "we haven't even started"

i smirk as she rolls her eyes and i give a slap to her thigh.

"focus, so ummm.. which element has exactly five electrons in the highest principal energy level?" i say, reading the flashcard as i stare into her eyes.

"the..um-i-i cant think when you're betw-"

"focus baby. which element?" i repeat the question.

"P.. it's P" she says.

"such a smart girl"

i open her legs, my mouth softly tracing kisses on her inner thigh until it reaches that wet spot.

i deposit open-mouthed kisses to her clothed covered clit, as she sighs, her hand rushes to pull my hair.

my tongue gives kitten licks over her boxers, creating a bigger wet patch as she quietly moans. she pulls me closer. i'm sure that if i pull her boxers down, they have her arousal all over. i smirk at the thought.

"ple-plea-"

"so.. let's keep going" i say, leaning backwards, going back to resting in between her inner thighs as she groans.

"baby-"

"for a chemical reaction it is usually found that the reaction rate is faster at higher temperature. the rate increases because?"

"what do i get if i answer correctly?"

"focus" i softly slap her cheek. "we're studying. remember?"

she bites her lip.

"more reactants collide with.."

i hum.

"um with... energy equal to or greater than the activation energy?"

"good" my hands pull the elastic band of her boxers, she excitedly pushes them down to her ankles.

i laugh at her desperation. my fingertips trace over her wet folds, as she bucks her hips into my hand. a moans leaves her pouty lips.

"say please baby" i whisper.

"please" she begs.

"beg once more?"

"please please please" she cries, moaning as my tongue attacks her clit.

up and down, in circles i move over her clit, her moans are all i hear in the room.

as i pull away, my fingers slide through her salivated cunt, spreading the wetness, slowly going to her aching hole.

she cups my face, kissing me as i introduce two fingers in her. she whines against my mouth.

"such a good girl. you're my girl am i right?" she quickly nods.

my fingers thrust again and again, scissoring moves inside of her as her moans go louder and louder. she's such a needy girl.

kneeling down, my mouth on her. my face buried in her pussy.

"f-fuck im-"she huffs.

my tongue moves on her clit as my fingers curl inside of her, touching that spongy spot that makes her whimper.

"please-yeah just like that" her eyes roll backwards as i slammed into her.

i can hear the squelching noises her cunt makes, becoming wetter as she rides my fingers. my mouth in her clit, kissing it, licking it.

"i'm so close, i'm so close" she says, her hands pull my hair tighter.

"nu-huh." i pull away. leaving her confused. she stares at me as she stutters.

"what?..."

she throws her head back, her eyes shut close from the pleasure, her mouth hangs open.

moans keep slipping out as i press the bullet vibrator on her clit.

"my needy girl" i grin as she grinds her hips against my hand.

"i'm so close, please let me cum, let me cum" she cries as her hands grip the armrest.

as i set it higher, she whimpers over and over until i plunge two fingers into her, making her release a loud moan.

i feel her pulsating cunt clench on my fingers as she cums. tears stream down her cheeks, her body twitches as she gasps. her thighs trap my hand in between her legs as she rides my fingers again, to make her orgasm last even longer.

i remove my fingers as she whines, feeling the lost of them inside her.

i quickly open her legs, putting aside the vibrator as my mouth licks her clean. she tries to close them as my hands prohibit. i taste her in my mouth, hearing her whimpers.

once i'm done, i place my fingers on my mouth, cleaning them with my tongue as she stares with her hooded eyes. she's panting, her cheeks are flushed and her mouth is open.

her lips leave a soft sigh escape her mouth as i kiss her forehead. her hair sticking to it from sweat.

"my sweet girl" i murmur.

"i can't study now. i need a break... and cuddles" she says, making me chuckle.

"okay, we study later?" i say as she smirks.

"like we just did? yes. please"

#player 380 #player 380 x reader #se mi #se mi x reader #se-mi #se-mi x reader #lesbian #squid game #squid game 2 #se mi squid game #wlw

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earthtooz · 2 days ago

Text

lighter x gn!mechanic!reader, 1k wc lighter is down bad for reader. like. DOWN BAD, lots of cute banter, pining from both.

Whenever you visit Blazewood, the Sons of Calydon mark it as a significant day in their metaphorical calender.

You’re their precious mechanic, the one who ensures all of their bikes and engines are running smooth for any operations (read: trouble) they get themselves into. Having been long-term friends with Caesar, you make the effort of travelling from Sixth Street to the outskirts of New Eridu every few weeks. Granted, for how many times you’ve travelled between the two places, you’ve grown rather close to the tight-knit biker gang, so it's an exciting time for all.

However, the reason it’s marked down is because they know it’s a special occasion where they can all tease a certain, aloof boxer a bit more than usual.

“Y/n!” Burnice’s voice cuts through the bustling atmosphere of Cheesetopia, capturing everyone’s attention as you walk through the door of the diner.

They all wave you over the booth they sat in, Burnice and Luci shuffling over so you can sit down with them. You don’t see the way Caesar nudges Lighter as you settle down opposite him.

“How was your trip?” Caesar asks.

“Good, a little tired though,” your yawn is perfectly timed. “My limbs still feel stiff.”

“Oh no! Do you need a little rest?”

“No need, I wanna get started working as soon as possible, I'm itching to tinker some engines."

The dark-haired across from you chuckles, adjusting his sunglasses to sit higher on his nose bridge. “There’s the Y/n we all know. If you need a little help, let me know, I’m happy to lend a hand.”

The group giggles between themselves.

“Thanks, Lighter!”

The giggles intensify when Lighter’s ears flush red at the tips.

This is why your visits are a marked occurrence: because the rare blush and nervous appearance that overtakes his normally cool and collected character is incredibly entertaining, and watching him bumbling about around you is a hard opportunity to come by. All Lighter can do is admit defeat and be susceptible to all the teasing that’s sent his way, because he might as well accept it.

He’ll turn a blind eye to the blonde heads popping around the garage every so often as he helps you out in the garage as long as it means they leave the both of you alone. He’ll ignore the giggles of the girls as they listen in on the quiet conversation exchanged between you both in the dim lighting of the dreary space.

“Any biker gang fights happen recently?” You ask whilst observing the rear wheel.

“Nah,” Lighter grunts, “just a few challenges here and there.”

You extend your hand out to him. “Spanner, please.” He places the tool comfortably in your hands and you resume working. “A few challenges? Did you win?”

“‘course. Wouldn’t be a good champion if I lost.”

“Sounds easy in theory,” you murmur, peeking around the bike. “I bet you don’t even know the names of the gangs you won against.”

His silence is the only answer you need and you sneak a smug glance at him. You look away before you could notice the red blush creeping up his neck. “So what if I don’t? I won against them, ain’t that all that matters?”

“Sure. Guess your memory gets knocked out of you after a couple fights.” You giggle at your own joke.

“C'mon, quit teasin’ me.”

“Sorry, just can’t help it when it took you almost five months to remember my name.” It’s light-hearted, he can hear the smile in your voice.

“Gosh, you just don’t know how to let things go,” he counters, a smile of his own developing.

“Nah, it’s just fun to tease you.” Then, you stand up with a grunt, looking at your handiwork closely one last time before making your way to your workbench. “Besides, it’s not everyday I get to interact with a cool guy like you.”

Lighter’s heart skips a beat in his chest before jumping against his ribcage. “You think I’m cool?”

“Doesn’t everyone?” You ask. “You’re the cool guy who cares about everyone, and that’s a good thing. I like that about you.”

Oh, you’re gonna kill him. He’s not gonna make it out of the garage if you continue this onslaught of compliments. He doesn’t really want you to stop either, wants you to say something that really shows how you feel about him, like how you think he’s handsome, or that he’s admirable, or better yet, that you like him as well.

‘I like that about you’, ‘I like … you’, yeah. That’s also good enough for now.

Instead, you fall silent as you rearrange all your tools, locking the box that cuts through the tense atmosphere with a ‘click’.

“Well, I’m beat,” you huff, stretching your arms over your head, “my back hurts and I’m hungry.”

“You’ve been working real hard, let me treat you to dinner.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

A few minutes later, you end up at the Fuel Truck, enjoying some food together and continuing your conversation in the cool, breezy night of Blazewood. It’s easy being with you, effortless, doesn’t really burn through his energy like some other social interactions do, and Lighter can’t help but feel like this is how it’s meant to be. Sharing stories, talking about the important and mundane alike, he doesn’t know when you became more than the cute mechanic Caesar was good friends with, but he’s glad he finally got your name down on the sixth time of trying.

He tucks a strand of stray hair away from your face before you can get it in your mouth, and the grin you give him almost paralyses him.

Plates are emptied, drinks finished, and dessert is done, but you’re still talking into the late of the night, until the employees need to wipe down the bar and call it a day. All good things come to an end, and Lighter wishes you could stay with the Sons of Calydon for longer than just a few days, but you have your own business in Sixth Street, so he monopolises your time whenever he can.

Which is how he ends up walking you to your motel, letting the long day draw to a close.

“Thank you for dinner, Lighter, today was fun.”

He chuckles, the sound deep and full. “No problem, it’s my pleasure.”

“Come back tomorrow, yeah? Swing by the garage anytime you want.”

“Anytime?” The biker rubs his chin. “Careful with your generosity, I might end up annoying you.”

“I doubt it.”

“And if I overstay my welcome?”

“Then apologise by keeping me company.”

You shoot him a wink before going up the stairs of the motel, quickly disappearing from his sight as he laughs to no one in particular. He lightly punches his chest, as if trying to tell his hammering heart to calm down.

Yeah. You really are trying to kill him.

#also i don't play zzz so sorry if there are any lore inconsistencies #only thing i know about this game is that lighter is hot and whatever minimal lore i get from his wiki #earthtooz: zzz !!#lighter x reader #zzz x reader #lighter lorenz x reader #zenless zone zero x reader #lighter x you

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writteninlunarlight-years · 2 days ago

Text

Hazbin Hotel Headcanons

"We are Just Friends" "Just friends I thought I was your wife" Hazbin Men x Reader

Guess who's baaaaaack, it's ya fav writer Luna, whoot whoot

Lucifer

He was over the moon the first time someone mistook you two for a couple. He really thought it was his time to shine next to you, only for you to deny it right in front of him.

As the two of you grew closer and closer, the more 'friend' things you did, the more it looked like a 'couple' thing, from cuddling on the couch to holding hands at the mall.

When your actual friends started calling you a couple, he knew something was up. Not only do you tell your friends everything, but the giggles and pointing really laid it in for him that you may have some feelings.

By the time you were out in public again and you got called a couple he was quick to interject in the conversation to make sure it was clear that you two were actually a couple.

When you questioned him about it he was all smiles and giggles. It went a lil something like this:

You had pulled Lucifer from the man talking to you just moments ago. "Lucifer, what the heck? We aren't even dating."

He just smiled at you and shrugged, pulling you close to himself. "Well, to me, this looks like a date, a pretty person out and about with a pretty handsome devil."

You slapped his arm and rolled your eyes, trying to get the previous man's attention to let him know you were just friends. Then Lucifer chimed in, "Just friends, Y/N. You wound me. I thought I was your husband."

Needless to say, this whole interaction definitely helped you two confess your underlying feelings and start actually dating. So, there was a lot of good to come from some silly shenanigans.

Adam

Initially, he was against anything tying you two together. I mean, come on, he is the first dick. After all, he can have anyone he wants. Until he started catching real feelings for you.

When it was mistaken that you two were a couple after he started falling for you, he would loudly proclaim he was your husband, and you would just laugh and giggle.

Sometimes, you would correct him, especially in front of the seraphim or executioners, that you were just friends, but Adam was always there to tell everyone he was your husband.

He only saw hope that you would drop the foolish idea that you weren't his when you blushed at him, grabbing your hand and telling a winner about how he married you not too long ago.

The last time that you tried to correct someone on your and Adam's relationship, it went a little like this:

You shook your head, giggling at Adam's antics, and looked at Sera. "We are not married, I have no ring, and I am single."

Adam gasped and summoned a hundred different rings. "That's okay bitch. I can fix that. Take your pick. I am the first man, after all."

You blushed and shook your head, telling Sera you were close friends. Her knowing eyes read you like a book on how much you wanted to be more. Then Adam jumped in. "Babes, we're just friends. Are you serious? I am your husband; just let it happen, please."

Shortly after this incident, Sera had a long talk with Adam about how he should ask to be your boyfriend first, then maybe move on up to husband status.

Vox

He was content having you around, even if it stung every time you called him just your friend. He was happy he had a friend who genuinely cared.

He would, however, pout and give you too much space and distance when you would correct people that you were just friends. He wasn't petty, no, never. He just cared about you not being mistaken and not making you uncomfortable.

It was brought to his attention by the other Vees that you and he were uncharacteristically close for people deeming themselves "just friends." You two were glued to each other, giggling and bringing out your best selves.

When he realized this, he slowly stopped correcting people and would even butt in before you could correct them, just letting all of hell slowly think you and Vox were together.

The last time you ever corrected someone that you and Vox were just friends went a little like this:

You were watching one of Vox's live streams and saw an influx of messages asking where you were and when you two started dating. You sighed. "We are not dating. We are just friends!"

Vox short-circuited and turned to look at you. Quickly, he dragged you to his lap, setting you down and hugging you in front of everyone. "They are shy and don't want you all to know I am their husband."

You gasped and blushed brightly, trying to pry yourself out of Vox's grasp, but he held you tight and laughed with a big, bright smile.

Once the stream was over, a lengthy discussion ensued about the meanness of messing with one's emotions. Only then did you realize no feelings were messed with, and Vox was dead serious.

Alastor

With Alastor, it was all on the flip side. He was adamant that you two were just friends—good, good friends. However, you always longed for more and were hurt when the words left his lips.

He somehow always managed to miss your pouts and groans whenever the situation seemed to care how it affected you when he harshly told the world that all you were was a friend.

You found it hard to believe that you two were just friends when you did so much together, more than he and Rosie. You were always in his studio, sitting right next to him as he required while drinking tea that he especially makes for you and no one else.

You finally caved in and spoke to Rosie about the mixed signals her best friend was giving you, only for her to reconfirm your suspicions that no one else entirely lived in Alastors heart like you did.

The last time you let him ever call you just friends went a little like this:

Rosie sat across from you two as Alastor made your tea, a knowing look on her face. Before she spoke, you knew she would make the comment you always dreamed about your and Alastor's relationship. Sure enough, Alastor was quick to respond, "Rosie, dear, we are just friends. How many times do I have to tell you?"

Alastor's crisp voice rang out, and you were distraught. However, you had other ideas. You gently touched Alastors hand and smiled at Rosie. "Oh, he is too shy to admit he has a partner now."

The blush that reached both of your faces was priceless as you two looked at one another, and Alastor froze, spilling tea everywhere.

After your tea party, you sat down in Alastor's recording studio to discuss the intricacies of your relationship. As soon as Alastor finally admitted to his feelings, it just so happened that he 'accidentally' broadcasted your confessions live for all to hear.

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vettelsvee · 15 hours ago

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YOU SHOULD'VE SEEN YOUR FACE | Sebastian Vettel

Sebastian Vettel x Pregnant Wife!Reader

SUMMARY: Seb's wife is pregnant, but she hasn't told him yet since she doesn't seem ready. However, after he almost crashed pretty badly during a Free Practice session, she can't help but tell him in not the best way possible ↳ REQUESTED BY ANON: Okay but can you imagine Sebs wife being pregnant but she has not told him yet. He does some dangerous and bold move on a drive and she gets mad and scared and just some fluff when he finds out :)

WORD COUNT: 1804

WARNINGS: Curse words, mentions of anxiety, overthinking about Formula 1 crashes (?), pregnancy, Ferrari Seb in general (if you know, you know)

TAGLIST: @hc-dutch @raavadakedavra @coffeedestroyingperson @evey-kuznetskova @bowielovesyou @chaoswithus @isotopemylove @iceman-kazansky @gwginnyweasley @formula1-motogpfan @herdetectivetheorist @myescapefromthislife @regalbanshee [in case you wanna be tagged just tell me so i can add you!]

VEE'S NOTES: Hi guys! Finally back to posting fics! This year I don't only want to write more, but also establish some kind of writing routine because I've been dealing with anxiety over Christmas for some personal problems family related and found out that I missed distressing with writing. Also, thank you so much for all the support you've been showing me lately! Appreciate it a lot since I wasn't feeling very comfortable with my writing. Let me know your thoughts on this one <3 ↳ MAKE YOUR REQUESTS | LET'S TALK! | JANUARY UPDATE CALENDAR

Despite being quite far from the pit lane, you could hear nothing but the deafening roar of the engines, the clatter of tools on Kimi's car, and the curses of the race engineers at the constant stunts Seb had decided to pull during the free practice session.

Your husband's red car seemed not just to race but to fly around the track. FP2 had started barely twenty minutes ago, but Seb had already come within inches of crashing into the walls far too many times after going off track more often than you could count.

You couldn't deny that you had loved watching Seb race ever since you met and you learned he was a driver in one of the most dangerous sports in the world. Today, however, luck was not on your side, and anxiety was consuming you. The nausea, uncontrollable on its own, felt even worse than usual. Not to mention, you felt on the verge of a panic attack.

"Are you okay?"

You turned at the sound of Riccardo Adami’s voice, Seb’s race engineer. The Italian removed one side of his headset and covered the microphone to ensure the driver wouldn’t hear anything.

"Yes, yes, of course," you replied hastily, forcing a smile and suppressing the urge to gag as you felt it rising in your throat. "I’m just a bit more nervous than usual today, that’s all."

"Seb knows what he’s doing. Don’t worry about that."

You nodded, but as soon as Adami turned his attention back to his screen, you rolled your eyes and did the same.

"You know, sometimes he thinks that he’s a cat and has seven lives," you muttered under your breath. "Someone should remind him he’s in an actual Formula 1 car, not in a simulator."

"Don’t worry, I’ll remind him in the post-session briefing," the engineer joked, flashing a smile before immersing himself back into Vettel's driving.

You didn’t pay him much attention. Once again, you were entirely engrossed in both your husband’s onboard camera and the telemetry, even though you didn’t understand much aside from the fact that he was setting purple sectors, which was undoubtedly a good sign.

You didn’t know much about the inner workings of the cars, but after so many years with Seb, you knew that the faster his times were, the higher the risks became.

You were also acutely aware that your husband was pushing himself too hard in those moments.

You began to tremble slightly, fidgeting with your hands in an attempt to calm your anxiety, but it didn’t work. Instinctively, and trying not to draw much attention, you placed your hands on your belly and prayed that your child wouldn’t give you any scares like his father was giving you.

"Sector two in purple as well, Seb!"

Even though the garage erupted into cheers and applause, you remained motionless. Instead, you couldn’t take your eyes off the screen, which now showed your husband’s car in full view.

Your panic peaked the moment Seb lost control of the rear of his car and went off the track. You swore that if it hadn’t been for the sudden braking, he would have ended up in the barriers with a wrecked car and himself heading to the medical center because the crash would have likely exceeded the G-force limits.

When Seb didn’t respond immediately, your heart stopped.

"I’m fine, I’m fine..." Seb finally said in a disappointed tone. "But I can’t say the same for the car. I think it’s more damaged than it looks."

"Can you bring it back, Sebastian?" Riccardo asked in a tone that was a mix of irritation and disappointment.

"Yeah, no problem. Coming back. Sorry, guys."

Just as no one on the team said anything to you, you, who had forced yourself to sit down because your legs were trembling too much and you felt dizzy, also remained silent until your husband returned and got out of the car.

Seb removed his helmet, revealing an expression that was hard to decipher. You stood up carefully and approached him, trying to keep your composure. Without giving him a chance to say anything, you grabbed his hand and led him toward his driver room, ignoring Britta's protests to talk after interviews were done.

"It could have been worse, right?"

Sebastian closed the door behind him and turned to face you. You stood there with your arms crossed, visibly upset. Your glare alone was enough to tell Seb he was seconds away from one of your infamous scoldings.

The problem? He had no idea why. You had never acted so strangely over something as common as a collision during a race weekend.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” you exploded, your voice filled with frustration. “Fuck, Seb, can you explain what that was all about?!”

“What do you mean, what was that? I was... racing, like I always do, babe,” he replied cautiously, still clueless about what he'd done wrong.

You, however, didn’t know what was bothering you more: your husband’s calm demeanor or the sight of a few Ferrari team members peeking through the window to catch the drama unfolding between the two of you.

“You were so close to slamming into a wall, Sebastian, that’s what happened!” you shot back, yanking the curtains shut and flipping off the nosy onlookers. “Are you out of your mind or what?!”

“Come on, love, I had it under control. What you saw on the onboard might’ve looked bad, but I swear it wasn’t as dangerous as it seemed.”

“Not as bad as it seemed? Are you seriously telling me that?” you retorted, your voice trembling with anger. “Do you think driving is just like playing a video game now? Do you have any idea what it would’ve meant if you hadn’t reacted in time? Do you know what it would’ve meant for me and for—”

You stopped yourself mid-sentence, refusing to continue.

You knew your emotions were running wild because of your pregnancy hormones, but you forced yourself to calm down. Getting so worked up would only lead to a pointless argument with Seb and wasn’t good for you or the baby.

“For who, Y/N?” Seb asked, stepping closer and gently taking your hands in his.

“For... me! Who else?” you replied quickly.

Sebastian didn’t know how to respond. He’d never seen you so distressed about his racing, and while he tried to stay calm, inside he was battling a storm of worry and confusion.

“This stress isn’t good for me or for the situation you and, well... you’ve gotten me into,” you said, your voice cracking.

“Y/N, babe, I swear I have no idea what you’re talking about. Fuck, I’m pretty worried about you right now with all this shit, but if you don’t tell me what’s going on—”

“Damn it, Seb! I’m pregnant!”

You looked down, tears streaming down your face. You clenched your fists tightly, furious at yourself for revealing such big news in such an emotional, unplanned way.

Sebastian, meanwhile, stood frozen, his eyes wide in shock at the unexpected news. Slowly, everything started to make sense: your morning sickness, falling asleep all the time, constantly complaining about being tired, and the flimsy excuses you gave for not drinking wine, something you normally loved.

He cursed himself for not realizing it sooner and for believing your weak justifications about bad leftovers being the cause of everything.

“You’re... pregnant?” His voice was barely audible, almost afraid to say the words out loud because they didn’t feel real.

You wiped your tears and sniffled, doing your best to meet your husband’s gaze without feeling ashamed.

“Yes...” you said timidly. “I wanted to tell you in a special way... you know, by giving you a baby onesie in a box with the positive pregnancy test inside, but...” You shook your head and finally looked him in the eyes. “I thought you were going to die out there today and leave your child and me alone. The thought of losing you, now of all times, just...”

“You’re really pregnant? We’re going to have a baby?”

You nodded, and Seb couldn’t hold back his tears. He pulled you into a tight embrace and began kissing you tenderly. You melted into his arms, feeling an immense weight lifted from your shoulders.

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” you admitted. “I swear I wanted it to be special, but seeing you out there today, thinking something could happen to you...” Your voice broke again. “I was terrified, Seb, like never before watching you race.”

“I’m so sorry, love. I really am,” he said sincerely, cupping your cheeks gently and kissing you over and over. “If I’d known, I would’ve been more careful. God, love, this is incredible... This is the best news I’ve ever received.”

“You’re not mad that I didn’t tell you sooner? You should’ve seen your face earlier...”

“Mad? That you didn’t tell me sooner?” You shrugged, your insecurity showing despite your years together. Seb tilted his head, understanding this was one of your rare but extreme moments of doubt. “I’m just... in shock. I can’t believe we’re going to be parents...”

Sebastian hesitantly touched your stomach, and you burst into fresh tears at the tenderness of his gesture.

“Now you have to promise me something, Seb,” you said, playing with his hair as he knelt before you, leaving kisses on your belly.

“Anything for you and our little one.”

“You need to be more careful from now on. Stop thinking so much with your adrenaline and testosterone, and start using your brain more,” you said, trying not to sound too harsh. “I know Formula 1 and racing is your whole life, but I don’t want you risking it when we’re bringing a new one into the world. I’m eight weeks along, and we still have 32 to go assuming everything follows the perfect pregnancy script.”

Seb stood and gazed at you, trying to convey the calm you both could only find in each other.

“Love, I promise,” he whispered softly. “For you, for the baby... I love winning, but today, and even more so when our child is born, I’ll have won the second most important race of my life.”

You frowned, confused.

“If that’s the second, what’s the most important race of your life then?”

He chuckled and scooped you into his arms, kissing you again as he laid you both on the couch behind you.

“The race I ran for so many years to win your heart,” he murmured between slow, deliberate kisses that said more than words ever could. “After all those years trying to get you to go out with me in high school, and now we’re eight months away from having a baby... what else could it be, mama?”

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hottiesforhockey · 14 hours ago

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may the best brother win pt 4⎜hughes brothers

pairings: quinn hughes x afab!reader ⎜luke hughes x afab!reader ⎜ jack hughes x afab!reader ⎜ genre: romance ⎜bachelorette-esque situations ⎜angst? ⎜friends - to - lovers warnings: not much tbh ⎜very angsty ⎜happy ending ⎜ synopsis: you have been friends with the hughes brothers for years - but why does this summer feel so different? word count: 6k authors note: this is the final chapter of may the best brother win! I know a lot of you had thoughts on who she should end up with so I hope too many people don't hate me for my choices! I hope you all enjoyed reading (cause I know I enjoyed writing) and will continue to support me with my work going forwards! Feel free to check out my upcoming list to see what I'm working on next! pt 1 ⎜pt 2 ⎜ pt 3 ⎜

(unedited)

It’s close to two in the morning when you finally slide out of Luke’s grip, replacing your body with a firm pillow which he snuggles straight into, a delighted smile on his face. Your frown deepens as you tiptoe around the room, placing as many of your belongings as you can manage into the suitcase - zipping it up as quietly as possible before pulling on Luke’s oversized hoodie and the pair of sweatpants you had left out, your phone dinging with the confirmation of your flight back home.

You look over Luke still fast asleep in the bed one more time as you let out a long sigh, silently walking towards the bed leaning down to push his unruly curls away from his face. “Please don’t be mad.” You whisper into the quiet night, placing a soft kiss against his hairline before tugging the blankets further up his body and sneaking out of the room with your belongings in tow.

You’re barely down the stairs when you notice the soft glow coming from the entry room - someone is awake and judging by the silence it has to be Quinn. You knew he had a tendency to stay up late at night, enjoying the quiet of the world before eventually tucking himself into bed - you just never thought tonight would be the night he stayed up later then usual. You let out another sigh as you continue your way down the stairs.

“You’re leaving?” Quinns voice is quiet, a soft lamp besides him the only thing illuminating the room as you place your suitcase by the front door - glancing down at your phone as you track the uber.

“I have to, Quinn.” The desperation in your tone flings Quinn from his seat in the armchair - his steps leading him towards you before he can even think about it. You take two steps back as he gets close enough to reach you - his own feet finally pausing as he takes you in.

Wrapped up in sweatpants and Luke’s hoodie, you hair pulled back from your face and all your belongings sitting at your feet.

“I’m coming with you.” Quinn says on a long sigh, his hands pushing his soft hair away from his forehead, his face starting to crumble slightly as he nods his head in determination.

“No.” You whisper, your phone dinging with the notification that your uber was 2 minutes away. “I need you to stay - someone has to stop them from ripping each other apart, from ripping themselves apart.” You explain, letting out a shaky sigh as you take a few steps towards him, lifting yourself up to press a soft kiss against his cheek.

“I’m sorry that I have to ask you to do this, Quinn.” You take one step back. “I’m sorry that you have to be the one to fix things, again.” You take another step back. “I’m sorry.” You whisper as you pick up your suitcase again, hearing Quinn let out a soft groan.

“Just—” He starts, “Just tell me when you get home safe” He says, his teeth chewing on his bottom lip, “I just need to know that you’re okay.”

“I will.” You agree, looking over the oldest Hughes brother one more time before sneaking out the front door, shutting it behind you with barely a sound as you slide into your uber, letting out a stifled sob as you hold your hand to your mouth, watching the house disappear in the review mirror, watching everything you’d even know be left behind.

“Where is she?” Quinn groans as he pulls himself in a sitting position - he had waited for the rest of the night for your updates, perched in his favourite arm chair the glow of the lamp the only thing keeping him company as he waited for your message.

number 1 fan 🪭: just arrived at the airport - probably won’t be home till lunchtime but I’ll keep you posted.

number 1 fan 🪭: I’m sorry.

celebrity crush ♥️: don’t be sorry, just be safe.

Quinn had responded to your message without a second thought - he didn’t want apologies, he wanted you to come home even thought a part of him knew this was what you needed - the past week had turned into a shit fight so quickly, none of you really anticipating how a fun bet would turn into a broken household.

“All of her stuff is gone?” Luke shouts again, Quinn can hear the banging of doors as Luke races around the house trying to find you, the desperation evident in the way he comes bolting down the stairs next, his eyes meeting Quinns. Quinn isn’t entirely sure what Luke sees in his expression but his younger brothers face drops, his mouth dropping into a frown as he stumbles on the words he’s trying to get out.

“Quinn, where is she— tell me she didn’t leave.” Luke begs, his voice cracking on the last word.

Quinn sighs deeply, running his hand over his face before locking eyes with Luke. “She’s gone.”

“Why didn’t you stop her?” Luke’s tone is accusatory, frustration and fear lacing his words.

“She needed space, Luke. We all saw it. She couldn’t keep doing this… to herself, to us.” Quinn’s voice is calm but firm, his gaze unwavering. Luke shakes his head, pacing the room.

“No, no. I can fix this. I have to fix this. I’ll call her—I told her I’d fix it.” Luke lets out a shaky breath, his fingers tangling in his hair, “She didn’t even give me a chance to fix it.”

“Don’t.” Quinn steps in front of Luke, stopping him in his tracks. “Give her time. The last thing she needs is pressure from us right now.” Luke’s shoulders slump, defeat written all over him.

“I didn’t want her to leave… She didn’t even say goodbye.”

“She was upset, Luke.” Quinn places a comforting hand on his brother’s shoulder. “She did what was best for her and we have to be okay with that.” Luke nods slowly, his jaw clenched.

“How are you so calm right now?” Luke says, his gaze shooting up the stairs as they both hear the sound of Jack’s door swinging open.

“What the hell is all the commotion about?” Jack mumbles as he takes heavy steps down stairs.

“I’m not calm, Luke — I’m freaking out but she’s an adult she knows how to take care of herself and we need to trust her.” Quinn tries to explain clearly, not used to the sight of his youngest brother being so genuinely furious. Luke was the loveable one, he was fun and energetic but the way he was glaring at Jack made the pit in Quinn’s stomach grow.

“Luke, don—”

“This is your fault.” Luke sneers as Jack comes into view, the middle brother confused by the sudden aggression.

“What’s my fault?” Jack asks cautiously, his brows furrowed as he looks between his brothers.

“She’s gone because of you,” Luke accuses, stepping closer to Jack, his fists clenched at his sides. “You’re the one who started all of this. The stupid bet, the arguments—everything. You pushed her away.” Jack’s expression shifts from confusion to guilt. He opens his mouth to defend himself but no words come out. Instead, he looks to Quinn for some sort of backup, but Quinn remains silent, his gaze heavy with disappointment.

“Luke, stop,” Quinn finally says, his voice firm but not harsh. “We’re all to blame. We let things get out of hand. Don’t put this all on Jack.”

“He’s the one who made her feel like she was doing something wrong!” Luke’s voice rises, cracking with emotion. “She was so worried about what he thought and about making him mad and all he did was make it worse.”

Jack flinches at the words, his shoulders slumping. “I didn’t mean to…” he mumbles, his voice barely audible.

“But you did, you called her a slut,” Luke snaps. “And now she’s gone.” The room falls into silence, the weight of Luke’s words hanging in the air. Jack drops onto the couch, burying his face in his hands. Quinn sighs, running a hand through his hair as he watches his brothers fall apart.

“We can fix this,” Quinn says softly, breaking the silence. “But we need to give her time. She’ll come back when she’s ready.”

Luke shakes his head, tears brimming in his eyes. “What if she doesn’t?”

“She will,” Quinn says with quiet certainty. “But we need to be better for her when she does. No more bets, no more fights.”

Jack lifts his head, his eyes red-rimmed. “Do you really think she’ll come back?”

Quinn nods. “I do. But it won’t be because we beg her to. It’ll be because she wants to. Because she feels safe here again.” The sound of Quinn’s phone buzzing breaks the tense silence. He quickly pulls it out of his pocket, his heart racing as he sees your name flash across the screen.

number 1 fan 🪭: just boarded my flight. i’ll text when i land.

Quinn exhales shakily, typing back a quick response.

celebrity crush ♥️: okay. Fly safe.

He stares at the screen for a moment, hoping for more, but no other messages come through. He pockets his phone and looks back at his brothers. “She’s okay, she just got on her flight.” Quinn updates the brothers, Luke letting out a breath of relief as he slumps against the couch, his glare focused on Jack as Quinn runs his fingers through his hair, for what seems to be the thousandth time that night. Luke’s phone dings next, the youngest brother ripping it out of his pocket as he stares down at the message his frown unchanging but his posture relaxing a little.

bestie boo 👻 : Hey Luke, just thought I’d let you know that I’m okay - I’m sorry I up and left out of nowhere and I’m sorry I never said goodbye, but just know leaving you was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. I know you’re worried but this isn’t goodbye forever I just need to clear my head a little, so don’t be too harsh on your brothers - I’ll message you later, promise.

Lukey pookie 🐥 : Just don’t leave me for too long - I can come to you.

Luke knows he’s coming off as desperate.

But he is desperate.

Luke’s head perks up at the sound of Jack’s phone dinging, his brother hesitantly pulling it out of his pocket as he lets out a long sigh, a whimper sitting in the back of the throat as he drops it back in his lap.

“Well what does it say?” Luke pries, his brother owes him this - owes them all this.

“She said I forgive you, I hope you can forgive me.” Jack lets out a low growl of frustration as he pushes himself up from his seat. “I can’t let her leave it like this, I’m going after her.” He grumbles, stomping his way to the front door for his keys, his hands shaking as he tucked them into his pocket.

“No, you’re not.” Quinn cuts in, standing in front of the front door as both brothers look at him like he’s got two heads, their mouths falling open as he crosses his arms over his chest. “She’s asking us for one thing and we are going to give it to her, whether you like it or not.” Quinn’s fingers reach for his hair again but he drops them, “Both of you go take a breather, she’ll let us know when she’s home and then we can go from there.” All the brothers nod, Luke being the first to leave, his long legs carrying him out of the house before anyone can second guess it - Jack leaves next dragging himself back up the stairs to his room, leaving Quinn back where he started the night in his arm chair with the lamp still glowing a soft yellow.

His phone dings again in his hand.

number 1 fan 🪭: I love you all, I hope you know that.

It’s the first time in years Quinn has cried as hard as he does in that arm chair.

“What do you mean you’re not going back to Michigan?” Your mums voice carries through your headphones as you roughly chop the vegetables in front of you. “What happened? I don’t understand why you left in the first place.” Your mother continues, not stopping as you place your knife back on the chopping board letting out a long sigh.

“It’s complicated, but I feel like maybe have the summer apart will help mend things, give everyone some space to think.” You explain, rolling your eyes as your mum continues to try to convince you to start heading back to Michigan, claiming her mothers intuition is telling her it’s the right choice, her words only pausing at the ringing of your intercom.

“Look, I’ve got to go but I’ll call you back later.” You say, quickly bidding your mum goodbye as you hang up the phone call, slipping your headphones around your neck before walking over to your front door, pressing the buzzer to let the delivery driver in. “Must be the amazon guy.” You shrug, waiting until your hear the loud knock at the door.

Luke stands there, drenched from the rain, his hoodie clinging to him, water dripping from the ends of his curls. His eyes — tired, desperate, and stormy — lock onto yours, and for a long, breathless moment, neither of you speaks.

“You weren’t going to call.” His voice is low, rough around the edges. There’s no question in his tone — just a quiet statement of fact.

Your throat tightens. “I thought it’d be easier this way.”

“Easier for who?” His jaw clenches as he steps inside without waiting for an invitation, the door closing behind him with a soft click. The silence stretches thin, like a wire pulled taut, ready to snap. “Because it sure as hell hasn’t been easier for me.”

You swallow hard, wrapping your arms around yourself as if that might shield you from the intensity of his stare. “What do you want me to say, Luke?”

“I want you to tell me why you left,” he says, his voice cracking slightly. “I want to know why you didn’t even give me a chance to fix things.”

Your chest tightens painfully. “I didn’t think there was anything left to fix.”

His eyes narrow, frustration flickering across his face. “That’s bullshit, and you know it.” Your resolve wavers under his gaze. You take a step back, needing distance, but he follows. There’s nowhere to run — no place to hide from the weight of his presence.

“Everything was falling apart,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “The fights, the tension… It felt like we were breaking, Luke. I couldn’t keep pretending everything was okay. I couldn’t pretend like it wasn’t my fault.” Luke lets out a low scoff at your words, his head shaking as he continues to step towards you.

“You didn’t have to leave.” His voice softens, the anger bleeding out, replaced by something more vulnerable.

Tears prick at your eyes, and you shake your head. “I was scared.”

“Of what?” he asks, stepping closer again, his tone more pleading than demanding now.

“Of losing you,” you admit, your voice barely audible. “Of losing what all of us had before the stupid bet, we were best friends, Luke and now Jack can’t even look at me.” Luke exhales shakily, running a hand through his wet hair.

“You could never lose me, and Jack—” He pauses, a grimace on his face, “Jack’s complicated.”

“So you all keep saying.” You sigh, moving the piece of hair that’s falls onto your face, you look away, your gaze falling to the floor. “You deserve better then me, you all do and maybe it’s best if we all just take a bre—.”

“Stop.” His voice is firm, pulling your attention back to him. His eyes are burning with emotion, and when he speaks again, his voice is raw. “Don’t tell me what I deserve. Don’t decide for me. I’m not some fragile thing you need to protect.”

Your hands tremble at your sides. “Luke—”

“No.” He takes another step forward, so close now you can feel the warmth radiating off him despite the cold rain soaking his clothes. “You don’t get to walk away and tell me it’s for my own good. You don’t get to leave without saying goodbye and pretend like it was some noble choice.” His words cut deep, hitting every raw nerve you’ve been trying to ignore.

The tears you’ve been holding back finally spill over, and your voice cracks as you say, “I didn’t know what else to do.” Any hint of Luke’s anger dissolves completely from his body as he steps towards you, wrapping his arms around you tightly, your sobs muffled in his chest.

“Why didn’t you stay? We could’ve talked about this sooner instead of you just keeping yourself all cooped up in this stupid apartment.” Luke sighs, his chin perched on the top of your head as he rocks you back and forth letting you cry into the fabric of his hoodie.

“I didn’t think you’d want to talk to me,” you whisper, your voice muffled against Luke’s chest. “After everything that happened, I thought it was easier if I just… disappeared for a while.” Luke pulls back slightly, just enough to cup your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away your tears. His expression is soft, tender, but there’s a fire in his eyes that you can’t ignore.

“Do you really think so little of me?” he asks quietly. “Do you think I’d just let you walk away without a fight?” You shake your head, your hands gripping the front of his hoodie.

“It wasn’t about you, Luke. It was about me. I couldn’t handle the guilt, the pressure—everything just felt so overwhelming.”

Luke takes a deep breath, his hands dropping to his sides. “I get that. I do. But you can’t make these kinds of decisions alone. We’re supposed to be a team.” The word “team” hits you harder than you expect, and for a moment, you’re both silent, the weight of everything unspoken hanging in the air. Luke steps back, running a hand through his wet curls, shaking his head.

“Jack’s a mess,” he says suddenly, breaking the silence. “He’s been beating himself up since the second you left. He knows he messed up. Hell, we all did..” You sigh, rubbing your temples. “He doesn’t leave his room, Quinn puts food outside his door and it’s usually gone so at least we know he’s eating.” Luke lets out a bitter laugh, his eyes locking with yours, “I’m not trying to guilt trip you or anything, I just—” He pauses, a frown growing as he thinks of what to say, “I just want you to know that he wants the chance to fix things.”

“I don’t know how to fix things with Jack. He said some things… things that hurt more than I’d like to admit.”

Luke nods solemnly. “I know. And he’s probably not going to apologise the way you want him to. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t care. He just… he needs time.”

“Time,” you echo, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. “That’s all anyone ever says. Give it time. But what if time isn’t enough?”

“It will be.” Luke’s voice is steady, unwavering. “Because we’re not giving up on you. None of us are. You mean too much to us to let this be the end.” Your heart aches at his words, the sincerity in his voice cutting through the walls you’ve built around yourself. You want to believe him. You want to believe that things can be fixed, that you can find your way back to the life you had before everything fell apart.

But the doubt still lingers.

“I’m scared,” you admit, your voice trembling. “I’m scared that things won’t ever be the same again. That I’ve ruined everything.” Luke steps closer again, taking your hands in his.

“Nothing is ruined, I promise… just give me a chance to show you.” Luke’s brows furrow, his eyes pleading with you as his thumbs brushing against your cheeks.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” You nod in response, not missing the way Luke’s face lights up, his body almost vibrating with excitement as a smile grows on your own face.

“Let’s go home.” Luke says, the butterflies in your stomach fluttering to life as you nod softly.

Quinn shoots up from his seat by the table, his laptop lighting up the almost dark room as the front door opens. “Luke?” He calls out - slowly making his way out of the dining room. Luke had left two days ago not being able to bear being left alone in the house any longer - the youngest brother infatuation with you stemming deeper then anyone had realised.

“Did you manage to talk to her? Is she okay?” Quinn calls out again, his frustration building as his younger brother ignores him.

Maybe she didn’t let him in?

Maybe he’s angry because she said she’s never coming back?

Quinn’s mind is running a million miles an hour as he steps into the entry way, his whole body freezing as he takes in the smaller then his brother’s figure in the hall, the suitcase by your side, your hair pulled back from your face as you shoot him a shy smile.

“Hi.”

Quinn stares at you, frozen in place as if you might vanish if he blinks too hard. His lips part slightly, but no words come out. Instead, his eyes flicker to the suitcase by your side, then back to you. It’s the longest few seconds of your life, his silence weighing heavily in the air between you.

“Hi,” you repeat softly, your voice tentative, uncertain. The sound seems to jolt Quinn out of his stupor. He steps forward, his brows knitting together, but not in anger. His expression is more cautious, concerned.

“You’re here?” he finally manages, his voice quiet, almost disbelieving. His eyes scan your face as if trying to convince himself that you’re real.

You nod, biting your lip. “I wasn’t sure if I should come.”

Quinn shakes his head slowly, his gaze softening. “I’m glad you did.” His voice is gentle, without any trace of the bitterness you had feared. He steps closer, his hands in his pockets. “We’ve been worried about you. All of us.”

Tears prick at your eyes, and you look away. “I didn’t mean to hurt anyone. I just… I needed space. Everything was falling apart, and I didn’t know how to fix it.”

Quinn nods slowly, his expression thoughtful. “I get that. Sometimes things get too heavy, and you need to step back. I’m not saying it didn’t hurt—it did—but I understand why you felt you had to go.”

Your chest tightens with emotion. “Thank you for saying that.”

“Jack’s upstairs,” Quinn says, tilting his head toward the stairs. “He’s been… well, he hasn’t been handling things great. But he’s missed you. A lot.”

You nod, wiping a tear from your cheek. “I need to see him.”

Quinn offers a small, reassuring smile. “Go ahead. He needs this as much as you do.” Taking a deep breath, you pick up your suitcase and head toward the stairs. Each step feels heavier than the last, your heart pounding in your chest. Memories flood your mind—of laughter, of late-night conversations, of the bond you once shared with Jack. And of the way things shattered.

When you reach the top of the stairs, you pause outside Jack’s door. The familiar sight sends a fresh wave of emotion crashing over you. You lift your hand to knock, but hesitate, your fingers trembling.

What if he doesn’t want to see me?

What if he slams the door in my face?

Summoning every ounce of courage you have, you knock softly.

For a long, agonising moment, there’s no response. Just when you’re about to turn away, the door creaks open.

Jack stands there, his hair disheveled, dark circles under his eyes. He looks tired, worn down, and for a moment, neither of you speaks.

“Hey,” you say softly, your voice trembling. Jack’s eyes meet yours, and you see the storm of emotions swirling within them—anger, hurt, longing. But instead of lashing out, his expression softens almost immediately.

“Hey,” he replies, his voice rough from disuse. He steps aside, opening the door wider. “Ummm, do you want to come in?.” You nod as you step inside, your heart in your throat. The room feels suffocatingly familiar, the memories hanging in the air like ghosts. Jack closes the door behind you, leaning against it, his arms crossed over his chest.

“I didn’t think you’d actually come back to be honest,” he says quietly.

“I wasn’t sure if I would,” you admit, your hands fidgeting nervously. “But Luke told me what been happening.” Jack lets out a long breath, his body rigid as the two of your stare at each other from across the room, his arms crossing over his chest as he nods slowly.

“So you came because he told you to?” Jack assumes, his excitement dropping a little.

“No, I came because I wanted to — because I care about you, Jack and neither of us deserves to hurt.” You explain, hesitating before continuing, “But the things you said, and the way you treated me, it wasn’t okay Jack and I need you to understand that if we are going to put this behind us.”

Jack lets out a long breath, his shoulders sagging. “I know, and I’ve thought about it a lot and I know now that this things I said to you were because I was feeling a little rejected.” He says softly, letting out a small chuckle as he adds, “And we all know I don’t do well with rejection.”

You blink, surprised by his words. “Jack…” He shakes his head.

“No, let me say this. I messed up. I was angry, hurt, and I said things I shouldn’t have. I pushed you away when I should have been pulling you closer. I thought I was protecting myself, but all I did was hurt you. And my brothers…” He lets out a long breath, “I haven’t made things easy for them either and I’m sorry that I never took the time to explain everything before we got to this point.” He notes, his arms finally falling from in front of his chest, one hand raising to push his growing hair away from his face.

Tears well up in your eyes again, and you take a shaky step closer. “I hurt you too. I didn’t mean to, but I did. And I’m so sorry for that.” Jack smiles but takes a step away from you, your hands retreating back to your chest as you look at him in surprise.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers, “I can’t.” Your teeth catches your lip as you nod, Jack letting out a groan as he watches your chin tremble.

“You and Luke are perfect for each other.” Jack says quickly, a sad smile on his face, “You know he got you a lego flower bouquet cause he knows you’d prefer that to real flowers, he’s also has that polaroid you two took on the boat in his wallet for like five years now.” Jack explains, rocking back and forth on his heels as he runs his fingers through his hair again. “It’s just killing me that, that couldn’t be us because it was never meant to be us.”

Tears spill freely down your cheeks now, your heart twisting painfully at Jack's words. You open your mouth to say something—anything—but nothing comes out. The weight of his confession hangs between you both, raw and unfiltered.

Jack's gaze drops to the floor as he continues, his voice quieter now, laced with a bittersweet nostalgia. "I thought if I held on tight enough, maybe I could make it work. But it’s like holding sand, you know? The harder you grip, the faster it slips through your fingers."

You take a deep breath, wiping your cheeks with trembling hands. "Jack... I never wanted to hurt you. I never wanted any of this to happen."

He looks up, his eyes glassy but steady. "I know you didn’t. And I’m not mad anymore. It took me a while to get here, but I understand now. You weren’t mine to keep. You never were." His words are a punch to the gut, but there's no malice in them—only acceptance and quiet resignation. You step forward again, closing the distance between you, and this time Jack doesn’t move away.

You reach out tentatively, your fingers brushing his arm. "You’ll always be important to me, Jack."

He nods, his lips pressing into a tight line to keep his emotions in check. "And you’ll always be important to me. I don’t regret loving you. I just regret holding on too long when I should’ve let go." The silence stretches between you, but it feels different now—softer, less suffocating. Finally, Jack breaks it with a shaky laugh.

"God, I sound like a bad country song, don’t I?"

A tearful chuckle escapes your lips, and you shake your head. "A little bit."

He grins, and for the first time, it feels real. "Maybe I should write one. Call it 'Wrong Time, Right Feelings' or something equally tragic." You laugh again, this time without tears, and Jack’s shoulders visibly relax. The tension in the room lifts ever so slightly, replaced by a shared understanding of what you both lost—and what you both still have.

Jack sighs, running a hand through his hair once more. "Luke’s downstairs, huh?"

“Probably,” you whisper. "He wanted to give us time to sort things out.”

Jack nods, his expression bittersweet. "Good. He deserves this. You both do." There’s a pause, and then Jack reaches out, pulling you into a hug. His arms wrap around you tightly, holding on just long enough to say goodbye without words. When he pulls back, there’s a glimmer of peace in his eyes.

"Take care of him," Jack says softly. "He never puts himself first, so I’m glad that he has someone who will.”

You swallow the lump in your throat, nodding. "I will."

Jack steps back, hands on his hips as he offers you one last smile—sad, but genuine. "Go on, then. Don’t keep him waiting."

You turn to leave, your hand lingering on the doorknob for a moment. Before you open it, you glance back at Jack. "You’ll be okay, right?"

He tilts his head, a ghost of his playful smirk returning. "I’m a Hughes. We’re made of tough stuff." As you step out of the room and close the door behind you, you hear the soft click of the lock. Jack’s way of closing the chapter.

You make your way down the stairs, each step lighter than the last. The weight that had been pressing on your chest for so long feels like it’s finally lifting. When you reach the bottom, you see Quinn leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching you with a cautious but hopeful expression.

Luke’s eyes flick between you and Quinn as you descend the stairs, your footsteps soft but purposeful. His hands are shoved deep in his pockets, his shoulders tense with nervous energy. You can see it in the way he shifts his weight from one foot to the other—he’s bracing himself for something, though you’re not quite sure what.

Quinn leans casually against the wall, arms crossed, his expression carefully neutral. But there’s a knowing look in his eyes, like he’s already accepted whatever is about to happen. As you reach the bottom step, your gaze locks with Luke’s, and for a moment, the rest of the room fades away. It’s just the two of you—it always has been.

“How’d it go?” Quinn’s voice breaks the silence, his tone gentle, understanding. He’s giving you an out, a chance to speak first, but you don’t miss the way Luke stiffens at the sound of his brother’s voice.

“We’re okay,” you say softly, your words directed at Quinn, though your eyes never leave Luke. “Jack and I… we said what needed to be said.”

Quinn nods, offering a small, encouraging smile before stepping away from the wall. “Good. That’s good.” He glances at Luke, then back at you, his smile turning a little wry. “I’ll give you two some space.”

As Quinn walks away, heading toward the kitchen, Luke finally moves. He takes a hesitant step forward, his hands still buried in his pockets, his gaze flickering between the empty hallway where Quinn disappeared and your face.

“You don’t have to stay,” he blurts out suddenly, his voice tight with emotion. “If you… if you want to go after him, I get it.”

You blink, caught off guard. “What?”

Luke swallows hard, his jaw clenching as he looks down at the floor. “Quinn,” he says quietly. “I saw the way he looked at you when you came down. I… I know he’s always been there for you. He’s steady, reliable. He’s Quinn.”

A pang of sadness twists in your chest as you watch him, this boy who’s always been so sure of himself suddenly unsure and vulnerable. You step closer, but he doesn’t look up.

“Luke…”

“It’s okay,” he says quickly, cutting you off. “I mean, I’m not gonna lie and say it wouldn’t hurt, but… I’d get it. He’s… he’s Quinn. And me?” He lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “I’m the guy who’s always a little too much. Too loud, too impulsive, too everything.”

Your heart aches at the vulnerability in his voice. “Luke, stop.”

He finally looks up, his eyes glassy with unshed tears. “I don’t know how to be enough for you,” he whispers. “I’ve been trying for so long, but I keep thinking I’m just… not him. Not the guy you’d pick in the end.”

You step closer, your hands trembling slightly as you reach for his. He hesitates for a moment before letting you take them, his fingers curling around yours almost instinctively.

“You’ve always been enough,” you say softly, your voice steady despite the emotion bubbling beneath the surface. “It’s not about Quinn, or Jack, or anyone else. It’s about you. It’s always been about you.”

His grip tightens, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. “But what if I mess it up? What if I’m not what you need?”

“You don’t have to be perfect, Luke. I don’t want perfect. I want you.”

He stares at you, searching your face for any sign of doubt. When he finds none, a shaky breath escapes him, his shoulders sagging with relief. “I was so sure you’d pick him,” he murmurs. “I thought I was about to lose you.”

“You’re not losing me,” you whisper, squeezing his hands. “I’m right here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Luke lets out a quiet, broken laugh, the sound filled with equal parts disbelief and joy. “I’ve been such an idiot.”

“No,” you say gently, reaching up to brush a tear from his cheek. “You’ve been scared. So have I. But we’re here now, and that’s what matters.”

He leans into your touch, closing his eyes for a moment as if grounding himself in the feel of your hand against his skin. When he opens them again, there’s a flicker of hope there, tentative but real.

“You mean it?” he asks quietly. “You’re staying?”

“I’m staying,” you confirm. “And we’ll figure it out together. No more second-guessing, no more running.”

Luke exhales a long breath, his lips curving into a small, grateful smile. “Okay. Together.”

“Together,” you repeat, your voice firm.

Quinn’s voice drifts from the kitchen. “Are you two done being gross, or should I stay in here forever?”

You both laugh, the sound light and carefree. Luke wraps his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close as you turn toward the kitchen.

“Also I heard something about a lego set.” You murmur, Luke letting out a bark of laughter as he presses a soft kiss to the top of your head.

“You can have any lego sets that you want.”

As you walk together toward the future—hand in hand, hearts finally in sync—you know that this is where you’re meant to be.

With Luke.

Always with Luke.

#nhl #nhl fanfiction #nhl fic #nhl x reader #quinn hughes #jack hughes #luke hughes #quinn hughes x reader #jack hughes x reader #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes smut #quinn hughes smut #jack hughes smut #mtbbw #quinn hughes fanfic #luke hughes fanfic #jack hughes fanfic

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urmum-lovesme · 15 hours ago

Text

Angel Baby - Rafe Cameron x Kook!reader P10

pairing: Best Friend!Rafe Cameron x Kook!Best-Friend!reader

summary: Rafe and Reader have known each other since kindergarten, always side by side, the king and princess of Figure 8. So why now does he start feeling different towards her, when all she's ever been is his best friend?

a/n: I know the last chapter was pretty bad, but um, it gets worse. I'm sorry but it can only get worse before it gets better and I needed a way to give our man his redemption (it's not like a real redemption though). This is a pretty intense chpt and I won't lie but it took me a while because I didn't really know how to lay it out... but it's here noowwww. It's Halloween and Y/n my baby you look so cute in your outfit but I'm sorry I had to do it for the plot of the series :(

!!! TW THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS SA AND NON-CON !!!

please don't read it if that triggers you.

warnings: ANGST dark content, alcohol, smoking, partying, extreme violence, non-con, sa, injury.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Princess : I don’t know, Top.

T-man : C’monnnnn you haven’t been to a party in forever.

T-man : People are talking that the kook princess is losing her game.

Princess : Fuck people.

T-man : Alright, alright, but you could still get dressed up in that cute outfit what was it again

Princess : A dog?

Princess : A deer you asshole.

T-man : Right

T-man : So you coming or not

Princess : Who else is going

T-man : Me

Princess : …

Princess : Obviously

T-man : Okay diva

Princess : Stop that’s my thing :(

T-man : Okay me kelce cooper maybe sarah and her pogues amelie you like her don't you

Princess : Yh she's sweet

T-man : Some more of your gfs or whatever

T-man : Some of the guys from the country club

Princess : Maybe i’ll come

T-man : Rafe’s coming

Princess : I in fact will not be coming

T-man : Y/n

T-man : Can you please talk it out

Princess : What is there to talk about topper?

T-man : He's been so miserable

T-man : Like a kicked puppy

Princess : I don't care topper

Princess : I really don't

T-man : You and I both know you can’t just walk away from him like that

Princess : Well you clearly don't know me then?

T-man : I’m just asking you to come

T-man : For me.

Princess : For you?

T-man : Yes???

T-man : Let’s just have a normal night you don’t even have to talk to him if you don’t want to.

T-man : Just come and enjoy yourself.

Princess : Fine I'll think about it

T-man : Great

T-man : Can't wait to see your dog costume

Princess : *deer

T-man : Yes ma’am

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two months had passed since their argument and Y/n hadn't talked to Rafe ever since the night at the party. She refused to, she didn’t even know what to say to him.

She had no words left for him.

No apologies, no explanations.

Nothing.

After all, how do you even begin to talk to someone who can so easily say what he did? It had been easier, she’d realized, to just avoid him entirely. Leave his messages delivered, let his calls go to voicemail. She put up walls and pretended like it didn’t hurt.

But it did.

Every day.

And no amount of pretending could stop that gnawing feeling in her chest. Still, she stayed away because there was no way she could face him and pick up the pieces, not yet.

It was Halloween night, and the girl stood in front of her mirror, finishing the last details of her costume. Her lacy white tights were pulled up neatly, hugging her legs, and she adjusted the tiny bow sitting just above her ear, a delicate touch that completed the look. She had carefully painted a little deer nose on her face, a soft line of black across the tip of her nose. Her eyes were doe-like, accentuated with white on her waterline and a hint of soft brown eyeshadow, shimmering when it caught the light. Her lashes fluttered as she applied the blush against her cheeks. A pair of fluffy brown deer ears and antlers were perched atop her head.

Her white and brown lacy dress clung to her, its fabric light and airy that gave it a playful, yet delicate charm. The skirt flared out slightly, ending just above her upper thigh, giving her an ethereal, almost fairy-like quality. Fuzzy, cream coloured leg warmers wrapped snugly around her calves, adding a cozy yet whimsical touch, while her chunky Mary Jane heels, a shade of soft brown, clicked as she shifted her weight, completing the ensemble.

She stepped back from the mirror, as she admired her reflection.

Recently, Y/n had found herself spending more and more time with Cooper. Ever since her… fallout with Rafe, Cooper had been a consistent presence, and the two had grown closer in a way she hadn’t expected. Tonight, they were going to the Halloween party together, and they had decided to match outfits, it was the boys suggestion.

A Hunter and a Deer.

The girl had been skeptical at first, she thought it was a little odd but at the same time she did really want to be a deer so she couldn't argue. When she climbed into his car, the interior of his vehicle was filled with the soft hum of music and the faint scent of cologne.

Cooper was wearing his outfit, a rugged, green jacket hung loosely on his shoulders, a fur collar suggestive of his hobby, his dark camo cargos were accompanied by sturdy brown boots. To top it off, he wore a black cap with the words, ‘I like big racks’ and deer antlers embroidered underneath. She giggled as she saw the hat shaking her head.

Classic

Cooper caught her gaze, his eyes sparkling with mischief, and a soft chuckle escaped his lips.

“I like your cap,” she said, teasing but fond, her eyes flickering to the playful embroidery before meeting his eyes. “It’s... very you.”

He tilted his head back and smiled wide, his laughter filling the car. “Thanks,” he replied with a shrug, his voice playful yet sincere.

“I wore it for you.”

She raised an eyebrow, fighting off a grin. “Of course you did.” Her voice clearly captured a hint of amusement in her words. His gaze softened as he reached over, giving her hand a soft kiss. His lips brushed lightly against her skin, and he murmured under his breath,

“You look amazing tonight... couldn’t ask for a better costume partner.”

The simple gesture sent a warmth through her chest, the closeness they shared these past few weeks making it all feel more genuine. She smiled genuinely,

“Thanks Coop, I think we’re gonna make the best team tonight.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cooper and Y/n arrived at the party, the bass thumping through the walls, echoing the excitement of the people inside. They stepped through the door, and as they made their way through the sea of costumes, Cooper’s hand slid naturally to the small of her back. He let it rest there, his touch gentle but firm, as they walked toward the kitchen, he couldn’t help but glance down at her, his lips curling into a smile. She looked cute as a doe—her soft lace clothes, the little deer ears perched atop her head, and the delicate painted nose on her face. It suited her in a way that surprised him. His hand trailed down her back, skimming over the soft lace of her outfit, feeling the delicate fabric under his fingers. It was a touch that was possessive yet tender, an acknowledgment of how good it felt to have her close. Just as they turned a corner to the kitchen, they bumped into Kelce and Topper, both of them dressed in their Halloween costumes. Topper's eyes lit up when he saw her, and before she could even say a word, he was pulling her into a big, bear hug.

"Looky, looky who it is!"

Topper grinned, his voice warm as he squeezed her tightly. "It’s good to see you Princess," he said, his voice genuinely happy to see her. The girl chuckled as she pulled away, brushing her hair behind her ear.

"You too, Top."

She replied, smiling up at him, trying to ignore the familiar warmth in her chest. She turned to Kelce next, her eyes scanning his costume with a smirk.

"And what are you wearing, Kels?"

She asked, amusement lacing her voice. Kelce stood there for a moment, looking a little sheepish. He scratched the back of his neck, trying to look casual, but there was a clear hesitation.

"Sto—"

He started, but she cut him off, already laughing, he rolled his eyes, holding up his hands in mock surrender the blue scrubs moving with his bicep,

"I’m a dentist," he said, grinning. "Don't make fun of me."

Y/n burst into laughter, the sound bubbling up from her chest. "What?" she gasped between giggles. "A dentist?" She was shaking her head, her hands clutching her sides as she tried to stop laughing. Kelce seemed to take it all in stride though, his grin never faltering,

"C'mon, cut it out," Kelce said, feigning annoyance. "My girl's the tooth fairy."

Y/n’s eyes widened, her attention suddenly caught by a girl in the background, prancing around in a cute, sparkly fairy costume, clearly already tipsy she had little chocolate coins, offering them to people with a wide smile.

"Aww, you know what? That’s cute," she said, shaking her head but smiling. "I take it back, Kels you’re off the hook."

Kelce shot her a mock glare, though his smile never left. "Yeah, yeah. Just wait until I start handing out lollipops and toothbrushes," he teased, but the lightheartedness in his voice was clear. The girl shook her head humoured by his words and her eyes landed on Topper, who was standing off to the side in an extremely minimalistic devil costume, his red horns poking out from under his tousled hair. He looked up at her, noticing her gaze, and she couldn’t help but smirk.

“Sexy. I like it” she teased, her tone playful.

Topper grinned at her response, clearly enjoying the attention. “Thanks,” he said, his voice laced with amusement.

Cooper, standing just behind her, handed her a drink. She took it from him, her fingers brushing against his as she sipped gratefully, savoring the burn of the alcohol.

“Good choice”

She muttered, turning to Topper again, a teasing glint in her eyes. Topper raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“I like your costume, by the way,” he joked, his eyes flicking over to her deer outfit. “Looks like you're part of the canine family.”

Y/n rolled her eyes, a dramatic sigh escaping her lips. “It’s a deer, asshole,” she corrected him, shaking her head. Topper chuckled, his gaze flicking between her and Cooper. He asked, the tone of his voice teasing, as if trying to get a rise out of her.

“Couples costume, huh?”

“-not a couple.”

She blurted out a little too quickly and froze, her hand tightening around her drink as her mind raced. The words came out harsher than she intended, and she immediately regretted them.

Well shit

Her heart skipped a beat as she looked over at Cooper, praying he didn’t pick up on the sudden awkwardness that had settled between them. He simply glanced over at her for a brief moment, his expression unreadable, before turning his attention back to the conversation, not letting on that he’d noticed anything off. She let out a nervous laugh, her fingers tapping lightly on the rim of her cup,

“Just a duo, you know?” she added, trying to downplay her words.

Topper raised an eyebrow, clearly sensing the tension but not quite knowing what to make of it. He nodded slowly, his expression shifting to something more casual as he tried to smooth over the moment.

“Yeah, yeah. Me and Rafe are a duo too, had to bribe him though...”

He said, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips. The mention of Rafe’s name was like a cold bucket of water being poured over her. Her throat tightened, and she could feel the sudden chill in the air, the weight of his name hanging between them. Her pulse quickened as the awkwardness seemed to settle even deeper. Cooper noticed the change in her posture immediately. He looked over at her, but his face remained neutral, giving nothing away. She cleared her throat, trying to shake off the uncomfortable feeling that had crept over her.

“Right. Uh, what's he wearing?” she asked, her voice slightly strained as she forced the question out. Topper didn’t seem to notice her discomfort.

“He’s an angel.”

He said, casually shrugging his shoulders. Y/n nodded, forcing a smile as the conversation shifted away from her. Y/N heard laughter and a playful 'Catch you later' the sound of footsteps mixed with the music heavily thumping and before she could turn to look, she felt a subtle shift in the atmosphere. A hand clapped onto Toppers back, the sound sent a jolt through her, she looked up, and her breath caught.

Rafe

He stood by the boy with small horns on his head. He was dressed in a white wife-beater that clung to his toned body, his muscular arms exposed out to the warm air in the kitchen. His dark jeans hung low on his hips with a belt that had a cross-shaped buckle rested around his waist, adding to his costume. But it was the white, feathery fake angel wings strapped to his back that really caught her eye. The wings fluttered slightly as he moved, adding an almost ethereal quality to his presence.

My Angel Baby

Y/N froze, the last time she had seen him was... well, it didn’t matter. Rafe turned around as he made his way into the kitchen, his eyes scanning the room and landing on her almost instantly and for a moment, it felt as though time stopped.

Y/n

It was as if the world had shrunk down to just the two of them, with that heavy, suffocating silence closing in between them. Her heart did something strange in her chest as she tried to steady herself, trying to make sense of the feeling that suddenly rose within her. Rafe’s lips curled into a slow small, hesitant smile.

"Princess"

His words hung heavy, like a weight he’d thrown at her and now expected her to catch. Her throat tightened.

Princess? Is he for real right now…

The nickname left his mouth quietly, like he was testing it, unsure if it still belonged to her. It didn’t land the way it used to—it wasn’t warm, it wasn't teasing. It felt foreign, strange, like it didn’t fit anymore. She forced herself to meet his gaze,

"Rafe," she replied with a hint of frost in her voice.

Rafe shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his posture awkward, his usual confidence visibly faltering. His eyes swept over her, lingering briefly on her doe costume before flicking back up to her face. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then stopped, his jaw tightening.

Cooper and Topper, who had been standing beside her, seemed to sense the change in the air immediately. Cooper’s body subtly shifted closer to hers, a protective gesture, but she didn’t know if it was for her sake or his own. “Rafe,” he greeted him coolly, trying to steer the conversation. Topper cleared his throat;

“Looking angelic, man.”

Rafe’s eyes flicked over to Cooper, but he didn’t let his attention stray for long. He nodded at him briefly, the charm still evident in his tone. “Thanks.” The boy's hesitated before delving into their own conversation in attempt to fill the awkward silence. Rafe's gaze returned to Y/N, his eyes softening just a fraction, but that only made things worse. It made Y/N ache, wanting so badly to ignore the pull he still had on her, the familiarity she didn’t want to feel.

"It’s uh- been a while… how’s everything been?"

Rafe asked, his voice almost too casual, like they weren’t standing in the middle of a room full of people, pretending they didn’t both wish the ground would swallow them up.

A while? Are you serious right now? Oh I don't know I’ve been pretty fucking good ever since you shamed me in front of almost the whole islan-

“Been great.”

She replied, her voice cool, detached. It was the best she could muster, though it sounded more brittle than she intended. He spoke out to her again,

“I didn’t think I’d see you here,”

Seriously? That's the best you've got

Y/N glanced at him, her fingers tightening around her drink. She could feel the heat of his gaze, steady and unrelenting, and it only made her grip harder.

“I wasn’t planning on coming,” she replied, the words slipping out sharper than she intended.

Her tone cut through the air, but Rafe didn’t flinch. He stood there, unmovable, though the slight twitch in his jaw betrayed him. She took a slow sip of her drink, the cool liquid doing little to soothe the bitterness that curled in her chest. She lowered the cup and glanced at him again, her expression carefully guarded. “But here we are,” she added, her voice tinged with something she couldn’t quite name- resignation, maybe. She cleared her throat, breaking eye contact as she took another sip, but it didn’t help. The tension coiled tight in her chest, making it hard to breathe.

“Enjoying the party?” she asked, her tone light, almost dismissive.

He hesitated, his gaze still fixed on her, and for a moment, she thought he might let the question slide. But then he nodded.

“It’s fine,” he said simply.

Fine?

The word hung there, bland and empty. She hated how it felt, how the silence after it stretched and frayed at her nerves.

“You?” he asked after a moment, his voice quieter now. “Are you… enjoying yourself?”

She huffed out a short laugh, bitter and sharp. “Sure,” she said, the word biting, cutting.

“What’s not to enjoy?”

Rafe shifted, his hands sliding into his pockets as he looked down briefly, breaking the tension of his stare. His jaw tightened, and she could see him debating something, though he didn’t speak right away. When he finally looked up, his expression was unreadable, his voice steady but quieter than before.

“I didn’t mean to…” He stopped himself, exhaling through his nose as if searching for the right words. “I just—”

“You just what?” she interrupted, her tone flat.

Rafe’s mouth pressed into a thin line, his composure slipping for just a moment. His shoulders stiffened, and when he spoke again, his voice was tighter. “I didn’t mean for things to… happen the way they did.”

The words hit her like a punch, stealing the breath from her lungs. She stared at him, her heart pounding, but her face remained carefully blank. “Didn’t mean to?” she echoed, her voice low and incredulous.

Rafe stepped closer, his presence overwhelming, but she stood her ground, refusing to shrink under his gaze. “Y/N—”

“Don’t,” she said sharply, cutting him off. She straightened her spine, the cup in her hand trembling slightly despite her best efforts.

“I don’t want to do this. Not here. Not now.”

Her words seemed to hit him harder than she expected. He stopped in his tracks, his expression faltering. “Okay,” he said softly, shoving his hand's deeper into his pockets, but she could see the tremble in them. “Okay.... yeah.”

Fuck what do I say

Say something

Shit

“You look…” he started, but the words seemed to stick in his throat. He exhaled sharply through his nose, glancing away for a second before continuing,

“You look nice.”

Nice?

Y/N let out a bitter laugh, short and cutting, the sound making his shoulders stiffen. She tilted her head, her lips curling into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. Rafe’s eyes darted to hers, and for a moment, he looked as though he wanted to take the words back, to swallow them whole. But he didn’t get the chance.

“Funny,” she continued, her voice low as she looked down at the cup in her hand, trembling slightly, though she tried to mask it.

“You sure I don’t look like a slut?”

…

Her words hit like a bullet, and she watched as Rafe’s face fell, the tension in his jaw softening into something that almost resembled regret. His eyes flickered, searching hers, but she didn’t give him the chance to answer.

“Y/N—” he started, his voice quiet, almost pleading but she wasn’t about to let him finish.

“Excuse me,” she said sharply, brushing past him before he could say another word.

Her heart was pounding as she walked away, each step feeling heavier than the last. The kitchen felt stifling, the air too thick, too suffocating. She needed to get away—to breathe.

She didn’t dare look back, but she could feel his gaze on her, heavy and unrelenting, as though he was willing her to stop, to turn around. But she wouldn’t.

Couldn’t.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The world felt like it had slipped loose from its hinges, the room around her swayed in slow, nauseating waves, the walls bending and tilting as if they were trying to close in on her. Lights blurred into streaks of color, their sharp edges softened by the haze clouding her vision. Every sound- the music, the chatter, the occasional burst of laughter- felt distant and muffled, as though she were underwater. Her body felt heavy and weightless all at once, her limbs sluggish, uncooperative. She stumbled slightly, catching herself on the edge of the table in the living room, the cold surface grounding her for a brief moment before the spinning started again. Her thoughts were jumbled, fragmented. Every time she tried to focus on one, it slipped away, dissolving into a mess of fleeting emotions.

Forget. Just forget.

The alcohol coursing through her veins was doing its job, dulling the sharp ache in her chest, blurring the edges of her pain. But it wasn’t enough. Rafe’s face still flickered in her mind like a cruel, persistent ghost, and no matter how much she drank, she couldn’t drown it out completely. She tilted her head back and took another sip, no it was more like a gulp, of whatever was in her cup. She didn’t know what it was, and she didn’t care. It burned on the way down, but the warmth spread through her like a blanket, smothering her thoughts for a moment, but the spinning wouldn’t stop. It grew worse when she closed her eyes, the sensation of falling endless and disorienting. She blinked them open again, gripping the counter harder as a wave of dizziness washed over her.

“Y/N?”

Someone said, their voice distant, almost unintelligible. She turned her head too quickly, the movement making her stomach lurch. He stepped closer, his brows knit with concern as he took in her state.

“You okay? I think you’ve had enough to drink for one night.”

“Mmhmm”

She mumbled, nodding sluggishly, though her grip on the counter said otherwise. She tried to steady herself, but the ground beneath her felt like it was tilting, swaying, threatening to pull her under.

“I just…” She trailed off, her words slurring slightly. “-need the bathroom.”

Cooper hesitated, his lips pressing into a thin line as he glanced around the room. “Alright,” he said finally, his voice soft but firm. “C’mon, let’s get you upstairs.”

He reached for her arm, his hand warm and steady as it wrapped around her elbow, but it felt unknown, not like the one she was used to, the one which would always lead her home at the end of the night.

Stop thinking about him

She stumbled slightly as she tried to move, her legs feeling like jelly beneath her. Cooper tightened his grip, his other hand moving to her lower back to steady her.

“Easy,” he murmured, guiding her through the crowded room. They reached the stairs, and Cooper paused, glancing down at her.

“Can you make it up, or…?”

She nodded, though the action made her head swim. “Yeah… yeah, I’m good,” she muttered, though her wobbling steps told a different story.

“Alright, I’ve got you,” Cooper said, as he kept a firm hold on her as they climbed the stairs, her hand gripping the banister tightly while his arm stayed steady around her. She hummed out as she walked through the door the boy had opened for her, her feet wobbly as she looked around. In front of her laid a bed, a bedside table, doors leading into an en suite and doors to a balcony.

Bedroom?

“This is a bedroom.”

She slurred, her words tumbling out as she glanced back at Cooper, who had just shut the door behind them. Her glassy eyes darted around the room, struggling to focus on its elegant decor. Cooper smiled, his expression amused but tinged with something else as he took her in. The top of her dress had slipped slightly, the loose ties revealing more than she probably realized in her current state. He stepped closer, steadying her as she swayed unsteadily on her feet. His hand found hers, firm yet careful.

“Yeah, it’s a bedroom,” he replied smoothly, his voice low. “One of the guest rooms, I think.” His chest brushed lightly against hers as he shifted closer, his grip tightening ever so slightly to keep her upright.

“Need to pee…” she mumbled, attempting to turn toward the en-suite bathroom but stumbling into him instead. Cooper chuckled softly, the sound warm.

“Careful princess,” he murmured, his arms circling her waist to steady her as her body pressed against his. He could feel the warmth radiating from her skin, the faint scent of her perfume clinging to the air between them.

“Let me help you,” he added, guiding her gently toward the bathroom. His touch was steady, a contrast to her wavering steps, as he led her to the en-suite. Reaching the doorway, she leaned heavily against the frame, her head still spinning from the alcohol. “Give me a minute,” she slurred, trying to wave him off as she stumbled inside.

Cooper didn’t move far. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, watching her with a faint smirk. “You sure you’re gonna be okay in there?” he teased, his voice carrying an edge of amusement.

“You seem a little… unsteady.”

“I’m fine,” she muttered, though her voice was far from convincing. Shutting the door behind her, she leaned her forehead against the cool wood, letting out a deep breath as she tried to ground herself. She gripped the counter, her reflection in the mirror blurry and unfamiliar. A wave of dizziness hit her, and she shut her eyes, trying to steady herself.

This is weird.

She’d never felt like this after drinking.

With a shaky hand, she turned the faucet on, splashing cold water onto her neck in an attempt to sober up. It didn’t help much. Her head was still swimming, her body heavy and uncooperative. Outside, Cooper waited, his eyes fixed on the door. He could hear the faint sounds of her fumbling around, the occasional clink of glass or the creak of the counter as she leaned on it. A small smile tugged at his lips as he listened. Her shaky breaths filtered through the door, and something about the sound made his expression shift, his gaze darkening. He leaned his head back against the frame, his thoughts clouded, though his posture remained calm and composed.

Y/N pressed her hands flat against the counter, willing the spinning to stop.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The back patio was quieter than the rest of the house, the thrum of bass from inside muffled by the sliding glass door. Rafe sat slouched in one of the chairs, a half-empty beer bottle dangling from his fingers. Kelce leaned against the railing, a joint pinched between his fingers, exhaling smoke lazily into the crisp night air. Topper stood nearby, sipping from a red Solo cup, his gaze flicking between the two of them. Rafe’s eyes were distant, scanning the groups of people inside as if he were looking for something- or someone. Topper sighed, breaking the silence.

“You tried, man.”

“I don’t know what to do”

Rafe’s gaze didn’t shift. He barely even blinked. Kelce snorted, the sound almost derisive.

“You fucked up so bad you’re gonna need… you’re gonna need a miracle—ha!”

He gestured lazily at Rafe with his joint, smirking at his own joke, clearly amused by the irony of the boy’s costume. Rafe shot him a look, his jaw tightening, Topper rolled his eyes at Kelce, clearly unimpressed. “Real helpful bro.” Kelce shrugged, taking another drag,

“I’m just saying. You can’t just say sorry for what you said and expect her to forgive you. That’s not how it works. You said some pretty fucked up shit”

I know

Rafe rubbed a hand over his face, letting out a frustrated sigh. The weight of the past two months pressed down on him like a physical thing. Every day without her felt wrong, like a part of him was missing. He’d thought the fight would blow over, that she’d come around eventually- but she hadn’t.

I miss her so much

“I just…” Rafe trailed off, shaking his head. “I can’t keep doing this.” He pushed himself up, setting his beer down on the table. “I’m going to find her.”

Kelce raised an eyebrow, flicking ash from his joint. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea, man.”

Topper glanced at Rafe, hesitating. “She’s had a lot to drink. Like, a lot,” he said, emphasizing the last word with a pointed look. Rafe’s brows furrowed, his eyes narrowing,

“What do you mean? How much is a lot?”

Topper scratched the back of his neck, looking slightly uncomfortable. “Like, I had to make sure Matty banned her from the kitchen because she kept going back for more. She’s seriously drunk, Rafe.” Rafe’s expression changed, a flicker of worry crossing his features, heartbeat quickening slightly.

“Where is she? Who’s she with?”

Topper hesitated for a beat too long, glancing at Kelce. “She’s with Cooper,” Kelce finally said, his tone nonchalant. “Relax, dude. He’s keeping an eye on her. She’s fine.”

Are you fucking seriou-

Rafe’s jaw clenched, his unease growing. “And you’re okay with that?” he asked, his voice low, an edge creeping into it.

Kelce raised an eyebrow at him. “Okay with what?”

“You’re okay with her being alone with some guy we don’t even know?” Rafe snapped, his frustration boiling over.

Topper exchanged a glance with Kelce, his brow furrowing. “We know him pretty well, don’t we?”

Kelce let out a dry laugh. “Seems like she’s gotten to know him pretty well, if you ask me.”

Rafe stiffened, his hand tightening on the armrest of his seat. He didn’t say anything, but the tension radiating from him was palpable. Kelce smirked, leaning in slightly.

“Who do you think she’s been with while you’ve been gone, Rafe?”

The words hit like a slap, and Rafe’s jaw ticked as he ground his teeth together. He didn’t respond, but his knuckles whitened where they gripped the table. Before he could do anything, someone appeared at the edge of the patio holding a tray of shots. “Hey, boys! Shots on me!” the newcomer announced, grinning wide. Kelce perked up immediately, stepping forward to claim one. “Now that’s what I’m talking about!” Topper clapped Rafe on the shoulder, pulling him back toward the group.

“Come on, man. One shot won’t kill you. You need to loosen up.”

Rafe hesitated, glancing toward the house one last time and reluctantly, he let Topper guide him back to the table, though his mind was still somewhere else.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The door creaked as Y/N pulled it open, her hazy vision landing on Cooper seated on the edge of the bed. He leaned forward slightly, forearms resting on his thighs, his gaze lifting to meet hers. The soft glow filtering in from the balcony doors illuminated his figure, casting dark shadows across his face.

Y/N let out a soft hum, almost to herself, as she stepped out of the ensuite, her movements unsteady and slow. She switched off the light behind her, plunging the room further into the warm, muted darkness. The gentle glow from outside danced across the room, Cooper’s eyes didn’t leave her, watching as she stumbled slightly, the alcohol clearly taking its toll. He straightened as she approached, his expression unreadable but his gaze heavy, lingering. His hands fidgeted in his lap for a moment before he stood, his tall frame now looming over hers as she swayed slightly.

“Careful,” he murmured, his voice low, almost a whisper.

Before she could respond, his hand found its way to her waist, the touch firm and steadying. Her breath hitched at the contact, and she instinctively placed her hands on his shoulders to steady herself, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

“You okay?” he asked, his head tilting slightly as he looked at her.

“Mm-hmm,” she mumbled, her sound slow and barely coherent.

His other hand came up, brushing against her arm as if to guide her closer. The proximity made her heart race- or was that the alcohol? She wasn’t sure anymore. Cooper’s touch was steady, grounding in contrast to the room spinning around her.

“You sure?” he asked again, his voice a little firmer this time, his brows furrowing slightly as he studied her face.

“Yeah,” she whispered, but even to her own ears, the word sounded weak.

She tried to focus on his face, the way the soft light carved out the sharp line of his jaw and highlighted the intensity in his eyes. Her head was still spinning, her body feeling both weightless and heavy at the same time. She shifted her weight slightly, leaning into him without realising it. Cooper’s grip on her waist tightened as he steadied her.

“You’re really drunk, Y/N.”

He said, his tone laced with something between concern and… desire?

Her lips parted as if to say something, but the words didn’t come. Instead, she blinked at him, her expression dazed, caught between wanting to push him away and being too exhausted to do anything but let him hold her up.

“I don’t know what’s wro-”

She was cut off as the boy pressed his lips against hers. She wasn’t expecting it but her hands now went to his chest trying to stabilise herself as she wobbled. Cooper deepened the kiss, his tongue slipping into her mouth, tasting and exploring, his hands moved from her waist to her hips, his fingers digging into her flesh. She could feel his need for her, the desperation in his touch as he pressed her closer against him.

“Taste so good princess” he mumbled against her lips, his voice hoarse with desire.

“Cooper-”

She breathed out barely audible as he pressed his lips against hers once more. His hands slid down her body grabbing at her ass harshly as he manoeuvred her around, pushing her down onto the bed, his body hovering over her as he looked down at her through hooded eyes. His hands moved to the tops of her legs, his fingers trailing up and down the soft lace material of her costume, his lips found the sensitive skin of her neck, his kisses hot and possessive as he moved down her body.

What is he doing

“Cooper-”

She tried to push against his chest but he continued working his lips against her neck. She let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding in. Her limbs felt so heavy, she felt life she was being weighed down, as though everything was moving in slow motion. The boy ignored her weak attempts to push him away, his lips continuing to trail down her neck and across her shoulder, his breath hot against her skin, hands moving across her body.

“Just let me take care of you” he mumbled against her skin, his voice heavy with need.

“-wait…”

Stop

She tried to slur out but the boy's lips were back on hers, his hands working on the ribbons of her dress, his hands moving down the material, easily undoing it, exposing her bare skin to the cool air.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The shot glass hit the table with a clink, but Rafe barely noticed. His leg was bouncing under the table, a nervous rhythm that matched the tapping of his fingers against the wood. The others were laughing, chatting, completely unaware of the storm brewing inside him. Each second felt heavier than the last, his unease growing into something tangible, pressing against his chest.

“Dude, you good?” Topper asked, raising a brow as he noticed Rafe’s agitation.

Rafe ignored him, his jaw tightening. The urge to find Y/N was gnawing at him, sharper now than it had been minutes ago. He could feel it in his bones.

I always take her home at the end of the night, I'm always with her when she's drunk this is wron-

He couldn’t take it anymore. The chair scraped loudly against the floor as he shoved it back and stood abruptly.

“I’m going to find Y/N,” he said, his tone clipped and leaving no room for argument.

“Rafe, come on, man,” Kelce called after him, his voice carrying an edge of protest. “She’s fine!”

“Rafe!” Topper added, but he didn’t stop.

The party felt like a maze, the dim lighting and loud music making it harder to focus. He weaved through the crowd, his eyes scanning every face he passed. Most were unfamiliar, laughing and shouting over the music. His irritation mounted as he asked a couple of people, letting out a groan at every dead end,

“Have you seen Y/N?”

“Nah man my bad.”

“She was dressed as a deer right-?”

“Uhhhh no?”

“Oh she was so cute!”

"Sorry, I haven’t”

Fucking useless

“She’s with Cooper, I think,”

A girl answered, her tone casual, like it wasn’t a big deal. Rafe’s jaw clenched as he muttered a tense “Thanks” and moved on. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. Each answer only added to the tight coil of worry in his chest. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right. Then he spotted Sarah, standing near the stairs, chatting with a group of girls. Relief surged through him as he strode over.

“Sarah-” he called, his voice cutting through the noise.

She turned, eyebrows shooting up in surprise at his tone. “Rafe?”

“Have you seen Y/N?” he asked. Her brows furrowed, a mixture of curiosity and skepticism crossing her face.

“Why? I thought you guys weren’t talking. Besides I don’t think that she’s going to want to talk to you-”

“Sarah!”

Please just tell me

“Listen I’m just saying, as her friend, that you really pissed her-"

“Sarah, don’t play with me right now. Where is she?” His voice dropped, laced with urgency.

“This is serious. She’s drunk, Sarah. She could get hurt.”

The shift in his tone made Sarah pause, her expression softening as realization dawned. “She went upstairs- to the bathroom or something.”

Rafe’s shoulders sagged slightly in relief before tensing again at her next words.

“I think she’s with Cooper,” she added, watching her brother’s face. He let out a flat, acknowledging hum, his lips pressing into a thin line as he turned toward the stairs. As he reached the top landing eyes looking over the busy hallway, he pulled his phone from his pocket, dialling her number. The ringing in his ear was deafening against the muffled thump of the music below, he was gripping the phone tightly as it rang.

Come on…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The faint hum of Y/N’s phone vibrated against the hardwood floor, the screen lighting up briefly before dimming again. It buzzed insistently, the sound barely audible over the girl's heavy breaths as she turned her head away from the boy above her. She weakly pressed against his shoulders, but he nudged her arms aside, capturing her wrists and pinning them to the bed once more. He groaned, flipping her onto her stomach, her cheek now pressed into the soft sheets beneath her which were anything but welcoming.

“C’mon Y/n, I’ve been so nice to you in the past two months. Don’t you think I deserve a reward?”

He said again, his voice softer yet his actions rough as his hands trailed down her sides, his touch both careful and controlled as he adjusted her beneath him. Her mind raced, the sharp sound of fabric being ripped snapping her out of the haze- her heart jumped in her chest.

Fuck

“No-”

She spoke louder now, the situation sobering her up, hands shakily pushing herself up only to be forced back down again by the boy, his hand clamping down over her mouth causing her eyes to widen.

“Shut up”

He grumbled out annoyed, the sound of his belt unbuckling causing her eyes to widen, her instincts screaming at her, making her lash out, arm coming back to elbow him in the stomach the boy letting out a groan, his hands releasing her wrists as he clutched at the spot where she had hit him. She shoved herself back, stumbling to the floor, her head hitting against the side of the bedside table causing her to let out a whimper.

Her vision was fuzzy as she tried to crawl over to the door, the light from underneath spilling out only for a hand on her ankle to stop her. The boy caught her, his grip strong and firm, preventing her from moving any further, his forehead wrinkled with irritation,

"Where do you think you're going, princess?"

“Get off of me-”

She croaked out, her hand coming up to her head as she touched it feeling a wet liquid where she’d touched it, her vision was hazy but she could make out the red on her fingertips. She kicked her foot out trying to get his grip off her as her hands reached out for the door.

“You want to do it on the floor like a dirty bitch? That’s fine-”

Please don't do this-

She was yanked back sharply by his grip, her breath hitching as panic clawed its way up her throat. The weight of his body pressed down on hers, suffocating and relentless. Her chest heaved with shallow, desperate gasps, the edges of her vision blurring with tears.

Her eyes darted to the soft glow of light spilling from beneath the door, shadows shifting behind it—a fleeting, fragile hope. Her body trembled violently as a choked cry escaped her lips, raw and broken. She managed to sob out a scream, her voice cracking with terror, but it was cut short as his hand clamped firmly over her mouth. Her muffled wails echoed in her ears, her struggles growing frantic as Cooper aggressively lifted her hips up to meet his.

Fabric ripping once more.

She shuddered as she felt his hands moving roughly along her inner thighs.

Quiet sobs racked her body as he moved, whimpers slipping past her lips as his hand pushed her hair away from her shoulder, his lips moving against her skin once more, the sounds she made only served to anger him further. He leaned down, pressing his body harder against hers,

“Please-”

Her eyes noticed the shadows under the door.

“HE-”

His hand lifted wrapping around her neck tightly causing her to gasp out her hand coming up to grip at his wrist, words caught in her throat as Cooper growled in irritation. He hissed into her ear,

"Just stop- …this will be a lot easier for both of us if you just be quiet."

Her eyes closed momentarily in acceptance.

Maybe if she didn’t fight it, the suffocating weight of it all would fade, the throbbing in her head, the pain between her thighs, and she could slip away into the numbness she craved. She tried to still her racing heartbeat, forcing herself to steady her breath as the reality of her helplessness settled over her like a heavy, suffocating blanket.

Maybe if I play along it will be over faster-

The sound of the door handle rattling caused her eyes to open immediately.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rafe’s patience was wearing thin, his fist collided with the bathroom door, a rapid, irritated pounding that echoed through the hall, causing people to turn their heads. He rattled the doorknob, a voice came from behind the door, deep and slurred, as a guy stumbled out, nearly knocking Rafe over.

“Yo, what the hell, man?”

Rafe clenched his jaw, trying to keep his cool. “Sorry, thought you were someone else,” he muttered before brushing past him, irritation flooding his veins. The hallway ahead was full of noise, bodies stumbling past him, the house buzzing with laughter and chaos. He moved past one door, trying the handle.

Locked

“Occupied!” came a giggling voice from within. Rafe groaned, frustration building, but he didn’t let it stop him. His fingers tapped the phone in his hand, waiting for the girl to pick up as he moved further down the hallway. His heart was hammering in his chest as the seconds ticked by. At the end of the hallway, the noise died down. It was quieter here, the last stretch of the floor empty. He approached the two doors at the end of the hall, both wide open, he stepped into one room, his eyes scanning it quickly.

Where is she

His hands gripped the edge of the desk near him, frustration bubbling up again. His breath was coming fast, chest tight as he stepped further into the room. And then, in a fit of rage, he grabbed the nearest vase, smashing it to the ground with a force that made the room reverberate.

“FUCK!”

He yelled, his voice raw with anger. He ran his hand over his face, gripping the bridge of his nose to steady himself, trying to regain control. The heavy breathing echoed in his ears as his mind raced, and that’s when he heard it. A faint sound in the distance, too soft to place at first.

The sound of crying.

His head snapped up, eyes darting around the room. Panic surged through him as his body moved before he could think. He stormed toward the ensuite, slamming the door open with a force that rattled the frame.

Empty

He stood still for a moment, his mind screaming, trying to make sense of everything that was happening. His fingers tapped against the screen of his phone again, the ringing breaking through the silence. He lifted it to his ear with shaky hands, the tension in his shoulders building with each passing second.

But then he heard it—vibrations, the faint buzz a phone ringing.

It was coming from somewhere else. His breath caught in his throat as he whipped his head around, eyes scanning the dark room, but there was nothing. No one. And that’s when it hit him.

It was coming from above him.

His body was already reacting before his mind could fully process. He clenched his fists and rushed for the stairs taking two at a time, leaving the room before the phone could stop ringing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cooper heard the sound of the door handle rattling and looked up, his eyes wide with panic. His grip on Y/N tightened, but as he glanced down at her, he saw the flicker of hope in her eyes as she looked toward the door. His jaw clenched, and he let out a low, frustrated growl. Her breath hitched against the boy's hand, which was now firmly pressed over her mouth. The weight of his body above hers felt suffocating, his other hand now rougher as it gripped her hip. She shivered under him, her body trembling in fear and desperation.

“Y/n?”

Rafe?

The door handle rattled again, louder this time.

Rafe’s voice rang out from the other side, cutting through the thick air. Y/N’s heart lurched at the sound, a tear rolling down her cheek in response.

“Y/N?!”

She sobbed out, but the sound was muffled, stifled by Cooper’s hand still firmly pressed against her mouth. Panic surged within her as she struggled against him, her eyes pleading. Cooper cursed under his breath, the realisation hitting him. He whispered harshly in her ear, his hand pressing harder over her mouth, his grip tightening on her hip.

“Stay quiet,”

The door rattled once more, but the lock prevented it from moving, leaving a silence that suffocated the room. Y/N let out a soft, muffled sob, her whole body aching for freedom.

This is my chance.

The thought screamed through her mind like a lifeline. In one swift motion, she threw her head back, slamming it into Cooper’s face. He fell backward, a grunt escaping his lips as he lost his balance and fell away from her, his hand slipping from her mouth. His name escaping her lips like a desperate prayer,

"RAF-"

The girl's voice was strangled in her throat, choked off by the sheer force as the boy’s hand slammed her head into the hard floor. The world blurred around her, and the sharp pain from the impact made everything go black for a second. Cooper swore under his breath, watching her head hit the floor with a sickening thud. The impact stopped her screams instantly, her body going limp beneath him as her mind tried to catch up to the chaos. Blood began to trickle from her nose, staining her lips and chin, but she couldn’t move, could barely breathe through the pain.

"Wrong move princess"

Cooper growled, his hands gripping her wrists tightly, holding her in place as she tried to slip away. He could feel her trembling beneath him, but it wasn’t fear now. She was just… too hurt to fight back. Outside the door, Rafe’s voice rang out, loud and frantic.

“Y/N please I know I fucked up please just- just open the door baby please”

Her heart seized at the sound of his voice, but all she could do was cry silently. She felt the blood drip from her nose, her hand shaking as it came up to touch it, her fingers slick with red. The pain was dizzying, but through it, she still heard the echo of a loud bang against the door. The sound reverberated through the room, making her heart pound. Cooper swore, his anger flaring as he hastily pulled up his trousers. His movements were rushed, irritated, and the loud bang against the door made him freeze. The force of it rattled the whole room, making him grit his teeth as he glanced down at the girl with disdain.

“You just had to make this difficult, didn’t you?”

Y/N lay on the floor, unable to move, her head pounding, the heat between her thighs burning uncomfortably. She could hear the banging on the door again, louder this time, before it suddenly stopped. Cooper stood behind her, a malicious glint in his eyes as silence filled the room. He straightened, brushing himself off as though nothing had happened.

The stillness was broken when the door swung open violently, Rafe rushing in with anger etched into every line of his face. His eyes scanned the scene, flickering between Y/N’s crumpled figure on the floor and Cooper standing next other hand on her arm the other on her back. Cooper tensed, forcing a fake calm as Rafe’s gaze lingered on the blood on her face and the tears streaking her cheeks.

“Oh princess- here let me help you up, that was a nasty fall wasn't it?”

Liar

Cooper said, attempting to feigned concern, though his voice betrayed a hint of unease. Her voice was barely a whisper, weak and trembling as she tried to speak through the haze of pain.

“Rafe-”

Rafe’s brows narrowed as he heard her. His gaze immediately shifted to her again, taking in every detail- her tear-streaked face, the blood dripping from her nose, and the trembling of her fragile frame.

“Y/n”

He began, stepping toward her instinctively, only for Cooper to step in his path, bumping into the boy blocking his way. The boy spoke, his tone sharp as his stance shifted to block Rafe completely.

“This doesn’t concern you Cameron,”

“Get out of my way before I fucking move you myself.”

Rafe snapped, his voice laced with venom as he squared his shoulders.

“I’m not moving anywhere,”

Behind them, Y/N shakily moved her arms, trying to push herself upright despite the pain. Blood from her nose dripped onto the floor, mixing with her tears. She winced as she leaned back, gasping audibly when the sharp, searing pain between her thighs flared. Her weak cry drew Rafe’s attention, his anger spiking as he noticed her efforts to sit up. His jaw clenched as he took in her disheveled state. Her hand reached up to wipe the blood beneath her nose, but the gesture only made it more apparent to Rafe what had happened.

Topless, her hair tangled, her tights ripped, her thighs marked with angry handprints.

Liar

Something in the boy snapped, and the sickening crack of his fist colliding with Cooper’s face echoed through the room. Cooper stumbled back, clutching his nose as blood poured between his fingers, his eyes wide with shock and pain.

“What the fuck?!”

He choked out, glaring up at Rafe through watering eyes. His attempt to stand was cut short as Rafe surged forward, grabbing him by the collar and slamming him back against the nearest wall.

“What the fuck did you do huh?”

Rafe snarled, his voice trembling with barely-contained fury. His fist connected with Cooper’s face again, the impact sending a fresh spray of blood down his chin. Cooper groaned, his legs giving way as Rafe shoved him harder against the wall.

“Rafe-”

Y/N’s frail voice cracked as she tried to get his attention, her trembling arms weakly reaching out. Her body screamed in protest, every movement amplifying the pain radiating through her but Rafe didn’t stop. Her words barely registered in his ears, drowned out by the sound of his ragged breathing and Cooper’s groans of pain. Cooper’s arms flailed, trying in vain to push Rafe off him. His words were a garbled mess, punctuated by coughs and gasps as Rafe’s fists repeatedly found their target. The thuds of bone against flesh echoed in the room, each hit fueled by a deeper, darker rage.

He threw Cooper to the floor with a force that rattled the furniture, the boy crumpling in a heap at his feet. Cooper groaned, trying to crawl away, but Rafe was on him again in an instant. He grabbed him by the shirt, hauling him up just enough to land another punishing blow to his jaw.

He's going to kill him

I'm going to kill him

“Rafe, please!”

Y/N cried out, tears streaming down her face. Her voice finally broke through to him, but only for a moment. He paused, looking over his shoulder at her, his chest heaving as his eyes flickered over her frame, eyes taking notice of her ripped tights. His fists clenched tighter, his knuckles white as he turned back to Cooper. He wailed out in agony, blood dripping past his lips,

“Stop-”

“Did you?”

He growled, his voice quieter now but no less dangerous as he held the boy up to look in his eye as he spoke.

“Did you stop? ”

“I didn’t- she-”

Cooper coughed, spitting blood onto the floor but Rafe didn’t let him finish. His hand came down wrapping around Cooper’s neck, pinning him to the ground as he leaned in close, the boy’s eyes widened in fear, his hands weakly clawing at Rafe's skin.

Y/N’s sobs filled the room, her broken cries pulling at Rafe’s fraying control. His hand loosened slightly trembling as he looked back at her. She was slumped against the bed, her arms wrapped around her chest as if trying to shield herself from the world. The sight of her- so vulnerable- made something inside him snap again, but this time it wasn’t rage.

It was guilt.

Guilt that clawed at his chest, threatening to crush him under its weight. He had been so blinded by his own pride, his own anger, the words he’d spat out at her in their argument echoing in his ears like a haunting refrain.

“You’re just a fucking slut.”

That was the reason she was here now, the reason she was stuck in this situation. If he hadn’t said those things to her, maybe they would be in his car, driving her home, maybe stopping to get ice-cream from that spot near the beach she loves so much.

The girl in front of him- was the consequence of his actions.

Of his words.

She should have never been in this position, he should’ve made it right before it ever came to this.

Her cries fell on deaf ears now. Rafe’s fists were slick with Cooper’s blood as he kept going, his knuckles slamming into flesh and bone. Y/N’s vision blurred as her sobs grew louder, her voice breaking as she begged him to stop.

“Rafe! You’re going to kill him!”

The commotion in the room had drawn a crowd. People gathered in the doorway and spilled into the hall, pushing against each other to see what was happening in the room, their whispers and gasps growing louder with each passing second. Someone muttered, “We need to call the police,” and Y/N’s heart clenched in panic, shaking her head weakly as tears streamed down her face.

No- no police

Suddenly, a pair of strong arms wrapped around Rafe’s chest, pulling him off Cooper. It was Topper, who struggled to drag the boy back as he thrashed against him.

“Rafe- RAFE! That’s enough man-” Topper grunted, his arms straining to hold him. “You’re gonna kill him!”

Kelce rushed in, grabbing Rafe’s arm to help Topper haul him away from Cooper’s lifeless form on the floor. Cooper lay unconscious, blood pooling beneath his head as his chest rose and fell shallowly.

"I'm gonna kill you- did you hear me? I'm going to fucking kill you-YOU ASSHOLE!"

Sarah burst into the room, her eyes immediately landed on Y/N, and she froze, her face paling as she let out a quiet gasp, John B following after her, realising what was going on and quickly walking over and crouching down near the unconscious boy on the floor.

“Oh my God-”

Sarah gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. She looked back at Rafe, her voice trembling with shock.

“-what did you do, Rafe?”

Sarah turned back to Y/n, her heart breaking at the sight of the girl’s tear-streaked face. She knelt down beside her, grabbing the blanket off the bed and placing it over her shoulders to cover her bare frame, her voice soft and soothing despite her own panic,

“Hey, Hey it’s okay-”

But Y/N couldn’t stop crying, her hands clutching the blanket tighter as she shook under the girl's touch. Rafe finally stopped struggling, his chest heaving as he watched Y/n. Topper and Kelce let go of him cautiously, their hands still hovering near his shoulders in case he snapped again, Rafe moved toward her slowly, his bloodied hands trembling as he knelt in front of her.

“Y/N…”

His voice was low, as he reached out hesitantly. She flinched at his touch, the boy pulling his hand away from her shoulder. Y/N’s shook slightly, watching as the boy walked back to Topper and Kelce, John B standing up to look at the brunette, they mumbled something that she couldn't hear, her ears still ringing. John B nodded as he walked over to the door, the Pogue put his hands up standing in the door way as he spoke shutting out the flashlights of the videos being recorded,

"Okay party's over guys get out of the hallway-"

His voice muffled in Y/n's ears as she looked at Rafe through watery eyes, her lips trembling as she whispered,

"Don’t leave”

The boy turned around at the sound of her voice, hesitating as he looked to the girl then back at John B, the Pogue gave him a nod before slipping past the door ushering people away.

Rafe walked back towards the girl crouching down next to her, his hand trembled as it brushed a strand of hair away from Y/N’s face, his eyes scanning her battered form. His gaze dropped to the cut on her forehead and the blood still dripped from her nose, her chest rising and falling in shaky breaths as she trembled against him.

“Sarah,” Rafe said quietly, his voice wavering as he turned to his sister, “- you need to call an ambulance.”

Sarah hesitated for just a moment, looking between her brother and Y/N, her hands hovering over the phone as if unsure what to do, but she nodded and quickly dialled the emergency number.

“Yeah, we need an ambulance,” Sarah spoke into the phone, her voice quiet but firm. “There’s a girl… She’s badly hurt-”

Y/N’s hand trembled as it gripped his shirt causing the boy's head to turn to her not expecting the touch, her gaze flickering up at him, but she shook her head weakly, her breath hitching as she winced in pain.

“No… no ambulance.”

Her voice was barely a whisper, hoarse and broken from the sobbing that had wracked her body earlier,

“I don’t need one… I’ll be fine.”

Rafe’s heart clenched as he looked at her, feeling the weight of her words. He could see the panic in her eyes, the terror that held her back from accepting help.

“Please,” he said, his voice soft but full of desperation, “You need help- don’t do this to yourself.”

Y/n’s hand gripped his shirt tighter as she shakes her head.

“I can’t… I can’t… I don’t want them to- know what happened.”

Rafe felt his chest tighten at her words. It wasn’t just the physical pain she was enduring; it was the emotional weight, the shame, the fear of having to confront what she had been through, but Rafe couldn’t let her keep suffering.

Please

Please don't be scared- I'm right here

“Y/N,” he whispered, his voice low and filled with compassion, “I understand but you’re in pain. But you’re hurt. Please let them help you.”

She didn’t respond, just clung to him tighter, shaking her head again but Rafe was too stubborn to let go. Before he could say anything else, he heard Sarah’s voice behind him,

“Please, just let them come,” her voice now softer but still resolute, “They’ll help you”

Y/N’s eyes shot up to Sarah, and she opened her mouth to protest, but no words came out. She could feel her body weakening, the pain between her legs, the aching in her head, and the nauseating dizziness threatening to overwhelm her. She wanted to resist, but her strength was slipping away faster than she could fight it. Y/N’s eyes blurred with more tears as she looked back at Rafe, her hands coming up to wipe them away, wincing as she hit her nose.

“I don’t want them to know… I can’t…”

“Shh, it’s okay,”

Rafe said gently, Sarah, despite Y/N’s protests, remained firm. The sound of the ambulance operator’s voice came through the phone, confirming that there was an ambulance dispatched and already on the way. Sarah hung up, setting the phone down. Y/N finally nodded weakly, her eyes closing for a moment as she tried to steady her breathing. Rafe’s hand hesitantly pressed against her back waiting for her reaction but nothing came, so he started rubbing soothing circles as he whispered comforting words in her ear.

He couldn’t tear his gaze away from the girl.

The boy could hear Topper and Kelce talking behind him, but their words felt distant. He didn’t care about Cooper right now- not when Y/N was in this state. The last time he’d seen her like this-

When her brother died...

If Topper and Kelce hadn’t pulled him off, he would’ve killed Cooper, he was sure of it. However it didn't worry him, the thought didn't repulse him either. The boy's voice broke through his thoughts, his tone low as he looked at Cooper’s unconscious body.

“Man, you really fucked him up”

Kelce muttered, his eyes lingering on Cooper’s bloody face. Topper, kneeling beside Cooper, was checking his pulse with his brow furrowed in concern.

“He’s still breathing…” Topper said.

Rafe didn’t respond, his attention still completely focused on Y/N. He kept replaying what had happened in his head- how he’d snapped, how he’d lost control… how he could’ve seriously hurt her too.

Her soft, labored breaths were the only thing keeping him tethered to reality.

He couldn’t look at Cooper, he didn't want to.

The image of the boy kneeled next to Y/n replayed in his mind and it made his stomach churn.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The wailing sound of sirens cut through the tension in the room.

Police.

Someone from the party had called, Y/N’s eyes snapped open at the sound of the sirens, her heart racing in fear. Panic surged through her, breath quickening as she realised what that meant.

They’re going to arrest Rafe for what he’s done to Cooper.

“No…”

Y/N whispered frantically, her voice barely audible through her panicked breaths. She tried to push herself off the floor, her body trembling with exhaustion and pain, but the effort was too much. Her head spun, and she let out a small, pained sob as a sharp ache shot through her body.

“Princess, don’t move,” Rafe he spoke softly, his hand gripping her shoulder to steady her.

Don’t call me that don't call me that don’t-

“Rafe, you have to leave-”

Her body trembled violently as the pressure of the movement became too much, her knees buckling slightly as she tried to stand.

“Y/N, stop—”

Rafe’s voice was more desperate now, but his hands were still gentle as he kept her from falling.

“I’m not leaving”

Y/N sniffled, her entire body shaking as she finally gave in and let Rafe pull her back against him. Yet the fear of Rafe being arrested made her chest constrict. She didn’t want him to go to jail. She couldn’t bear the thought of it.

“Please,” she whimpered weakly, tears rolling down her face, “I don’t want you to get arrested. You can’t… you can’t go to jail because of me, Ward would be so mad an-”

Rafe’s heart broke at her words, but he was willing to do anything for her. His touch on her back stayed firm as he sat on the floor next to her

“I’ll take care of it okay?” he whispered, his voice filled with certainty, though his mind was racing.

Rafe’s hand moved cautiously and was now resting on top of hers. She’d calmed a little since the sirens, but the weight of the situation was far from gone, her breath was shaky, uneven, her chest rising and falling in panicked gasps as she tried to steady herself. Every sound felt too loud. The distant sirens still echoed in her ears, a reminder that it wasn’t over yet and now, she could hear the unmistakable sound of heavy boots on the stairs, getting closer with every passing second. Her heart hammered in her chest.

Please please please please-

“Rafe, please…” she whispered under her breath, her voice barely audible as her body tensed again, the fear settling deep into her bones.

He didn’t need to ask. He could feel the change in her instantly- the way her body stiffened, the way her breath hitched with a renewed urgency. Her panic was coming back, sharper now, harder to suppress. He shuffled slightly closer, still careful not to overstep any boundaries which would trigger the girl, as he whispered her name trying to keep her grounded, but it wasn’t working. She was hyperventilating now, her chest constricting as she struggled to breathe through the overwhelming anxiety and fear. Her vision blurred at the edges, and she felt dizzy, detached from everything except the sharp, overwhelming pain that coursed through her and the thought that everything was falling apart around her.

“Y/N, hey, look at me,” Rafe said, his voice soft but firm as he tried to catch her eyes “Breathe. Come on, you need to breathe, princess. It’s okay. You’re okay.”

Please stop calling me that

Her breath came in rapid, shallow bursts, and her hands were shaking as they gripped her thighs, her nails digging into her skin. She could feel the pressure in her chest, the tightness that wouldn’t release, as the sound of those boots grew louder, closer. Shoupe walked in, making the floorboards creak beneath him as he stepped inside. His eyes immediately locked on the scene before him: Cooper, unconscious on the floor.

Y/N felt her entire body go cold at the sight of the sheriff. She couldn’t look at him. She didn’t want to look at anyone, she felt ashamed. She was so tired- she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to force the tears away, but it was useless. The panic was too much, and she could hear herself sobbing, the sound raw and desperate.

“What in the hell happened here?”

Shoupe's voice called out, his tone a mix of confusion and frustration as he looked at the scene before him. Rafe’s expression hardened, his jaw clenching as he turned toward the sheriff, he could feel Y/N’s cries seeping through him.

“I didn’t do this,” Rafe muttered, his voice low and defensive as he met the sheriff’s gaze.

“Cooper he…”

He trailed off, his eyes flicking to Y/N, he wasn’t sure what he was doing...

What the fuck am I supposed to say?

Don’t say it

Shoupe looked between Cooper and Y/N, the blood and the bruises on her face, the visible signs of trauma. His eyes flickered back to Rafe, then to Sarah, who was standing in the doorway, her face a picture of concern.

It was clear that no one had a good answer to what had happened.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The room was quiet now, the chaos of moments before replaced with the steady, measured voices of the paramedics as they worked on Y/N. She sat still, her body sore and exhausted, her mind still spinning with the memories of everything that had just happened. The paramedics were gentle with her, trying to assess her injuries without causing further pain, they’d already cleaned up the blood from her face and checked for any other signs of trauma, their movements swift and practiced as they worked efficiently.

Rafe sat next to her, his hand resting on her arm, offering what little comfort he could. His eyes were focused on her, but his attention also flickered toward the corner where Shoupe, Topper, Kelce, and Sarah were talking quietly. He could hear snippets of their conversation, the low hum of murmurs drifting through the air. Every so often, one of them would sigh or shake their head, this whole situation being something none of them wanted to face.

Sarah stood a little apart from the group, arms crossed, looking at the ground as she processed the gravity of what had just happened. Her eyes flickered to Y/N for a moment, but she quickly looked away, clearly uncomfortable with the sight of her, even more so with the knowledge of how much pain she was in.

Shoupe’s voice followed, a tone of regret in his words. He sounded almost apologetic, but his authority still carried the weight of someone who had seen too much and wasn’t quite used to witnessing this level of violence from people he knew personally.

“I don’t want to do this, but… I have to.”

Y/N’s eyes were closed now, her face emotionless, she could hear the conversations, the occasional sighs of disbelief, but it felt distant. Her head ached, her body ached, and she was exhausted in a way she had never known before. She nodded slowly when one of the paramedics asked her something, her body so heavy it felt like she could barely move. Her breath came in shallow measured intervals, her voice barely above a whisper as she responded to their questions.

I'm so tired

Rafe offered the occasional smile or reassuring nod when the paramedics addressed her, trying to keep her grounded in the moment. She didn’t speak much more, not even when the paramedic asked her about the pain. She simply shook her head. There were too many emotions swirling inside of her- too many things she wasn’t ready to voice.

“We’re going to take care of you, okay?” One of the paramedics said gently, placing a hand on her shoulder. “We’re going to take you to the hospital, get you checked out.”

Y/N nodded weakly, her eyes fluttering open briefly before closing again, the coolness of the paramedic’s hand against her skin felt soothing, but it didn’t stop the constant, nagging thought in the back of her mind- the reminder that things weren’t going to go back to normal.

From the corner, Rafe could hear more murmurs from the group. Topper, Kelce, and Sarah were still talking, their voices a little more animated now, though there was a sense of heaviness in the air. Rafe could sense the tension between them, the way they all seemed to know what had happened, but no one knew what to say next. No one could quite wrap their heads around the situation that had unfolded.

“Rafe, man, if you didn't kill him after what he did then I…” Kelce started, but he trailed off, glancing toward the paramedics who were still working on Y/N. There was no easy way to finish that sentence. They all knew what had happened, but it wasn’t something anyone wanted to openly discuss.

Not now, not in front of her

Sarah’s gaze was still fixed on the floor, but she glanced up at Rafe, her eyes filled with something close to sadness.

“Is she going to be okay?”

Topper’s voice cut through the quiet, his tone serious but there was a tone of hesitance under the facade, the girl was like his sister and he didn’t know how to react. His eyes weren’t on the Y/n, but on the paramedics, trying to gauge how dire the situation really was. The paramedic replied, her voice professional but with a hint of concern.

“She needs to be seen by a doctor. There’s some... - trauma, and we need to make sure she’s stable.”

The paramedics and Rafe helped Y/N slowly to her feet, the movement slow and careful as they supported her fragile form. She could barely hold herself up, her body shaking, a low wince escaping her lips as the pain between her thighs flared up. She didn’t want to show it, but the agony was almost too much to bear, and her breath hitched in the process. She bit her lip to keep from crying out, trying to push through the pain. The paramedics exchanged a glance, a subtle shift in their eyes that Y/N didn’t catch, but Rafe did. One of them spoke quietly, though not loudly enough for her to hear.

“We’ll give her a minute,” the paramedic murmured, her voice low but firm. They moved away from Y/N and Rafe, walking toward Shoupe, speaking in hushed voices. Y/N could barely focus on what they were saying, her head still spinning from the overwhelming pain and fear. She leaned heavily against Rafe, her body shaking slightly, trying to steady herself. He looked down at her, concern flashing in his eyes as he gently cupped her shoulder, holding her steady.

“You okay?”

Obviously she's not idiot

He asked softly, his voice a little rough, though gentle. The sound of it grounded her for a second, giving her something to hold onto in the chaos of her mind. Y/N sniffled softly, her eyes glossy with unshed tears as she squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. Her voice was barely a whisper, a tremor lacing her words.

“Hurts.”

She managed to say, her voice cracking slightly, her body was so weak, she couldn’t seem to find the strength to do anything more than breathe, and even that felt like a struggle. Rafe nodded, a simple, wordless acknowledgment of her pain. His gaze softened as he stayed by her side, letting her lean against him, offering his steady presence.

Her body felt like it was made of lead, and she could barely keep her eyes open as Rafe guided her toward the stairs. As they reached the door, the house was eerily quiet. The loud music and laughter from the party were long gone, replaced by an uncomfortable silence. The lights were dim, the place now abandoned.

The cool night air hit her, and she winced, feeling her body react to the change in temperature. The ambulance was parked right outside the house, its lights flashing in a rhythmic pattern, casting eerie shadows over the driveway. Rafe led Y/N to the open doors of the ambulance, and with careful precision, he helped her inside. She barely reacted, her mind too numb to feel anything beyond the persistent ache in her body, she whimpered as she sat down, causing the boy to grit his teeth.

Rafe sat beside Y/N, his body leaning slightly toward hers but not touching her, trying to provide the comfort she so desperately needed. She was quiet now, her breathing slow as the two of them were left in an uncomfortable silence. Her body trembled, her mind still reeling from the night. Rafe watched her closely, his hand gently moving over to try and rest on hers, fingers hovering but not quite touching. She met his gaze, he could feel her anxiety pulsing through the air,

“You’re gonna be okay”

He whispered, his voice low and soothing, trying to calm her down. He could see the way she stiffened, she didn’t respond, but after a moment, she moved her hand towards his which was resting on the bed. Her fingers trembled, but she intertwined them between his cautiously. Rafe froze slightly in surprise of her actions but he squeezed her fingers between his softly, offering her a sense of stability.

I love you, I'm sorry

For the first time in what felt like hours, Y/N managed the smallest of smiles, so faint it was almost imperceptible, but Rafe saw it, and it made something in his chest tighten. They sat there in silence, their eyes locked for a moment. It was strange, comforting even, just to be there together, without words but before either of them could say anything more, the silence was broken by someone clearing their throat.

They both looked over and saw Shoupe standing there, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. His expression wasn’t one of anger, but it was far from calm. He stood, his sheriff’s hat in his hands, rubbing a hand over his face in frustration.

“Listen, I really don’t want to do this, alright?” Shoupe began, his voice deep and weary, though there was a tone of regret in his words.

“But I gotta follow the regulations.”

Y/N’s heart began to race, and confusion flashed across her face as she looked between Rafe and the sheriff. She couldn’t make sense of what was happening. Rafe bit the inside of his mouth, the weight of what was coming slowly sinking in. He didn’t want to look at Y/N, not now- not when he saw the panic beginning to build in her eyes.

Rafe knew what he was about to say. “Rafe, son…” Shoupe’s voice softened just a bit.

“You’re going to have to come with me.”

What?

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, her pulse quickening as the realization hit her like a cold wave. Her eyes widened as panic spread through her body. Her fingers tightened around Rafe’s hand, her grip desperate.

“What?” her voice was trembling. “No… you can’t do that—”

“Y/N, I’m sorry,” Shoupe said, his tone not unkind, but firm. “But the law’s the law. I’m just doing my job.”

Sarah, having noticed the change in Y/N’s demeanor, rushed over and she gently placed a hand on her shoulder, trying to calm her down, “it’s okay.” she said, her voice soft but reassuring.

Shoupe sighed heavily, his expression sympathetic as he looked down at Y/N.

“Look, if he did the right thing, you’ve got nothing to worry about. He’ll be out soon, alright? He won’t be gone long.”

But Y/N didn’t seem to hear him. She was shaking her head, tears threatening to spill as she looked up at Rafe, her eyes wide with panic.

“No, please don’t leave-” she whispered, her voice breaking, “Please I-” the words got caught in her throat.

I can’t do this without you

Rafe looked down at her, his jaw tight as he fought to keep his emotions in check. He didn’t want to leave but he had no choice, he had to face the consequences. His gaze softened as he spoke,

“I’ll come see you at the hospital, yeah?” he promised, his voice steady, though there was a quiet sadness behind the words because he knew it was a lie. He'd be lucky if his dad could even find a was to bribe him out of this.

“You’ve got Sarah, she’ll be with you the whole time.”

Y/N nodded, but the fear in her eyes didn’t dissipate. She reached for his hand again properly this time, gripping it with everything she had left. Rafe paused for a moment, then raised their conjoined hands, pressing a soft kiss to the back of her hand.

He reluctantly let her hand go, and as he stood, he met Shoupe’s gaze. The sheriff gave a small, nod, and Rafe turned to leave, casting one last glance at Y/N as he was escorted away, the lights of the police car flickering against his face.

The door to the ambulance closed, and Y/N felt the weight of everything crash down on her all over again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

taglist: @evermorx89 @bellaed1t @user381953 @lovemanheim @loves0phelia @yourcrackleflame @kundaquarius @matthewswifeyy @pillowprincess4him @lilithblackkk @sunny1616 @slut-4-gojo @louxmcl @stelleduarte @p0gue420

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ittybxttykxttytxtty · 8 hours ago

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“I don't need to see it. You got your way about me going to the club and I think it's fair I get my way about the outfit,” you said. “We both know I could've met your friends another time. It didn't have to be tonight. So they'll meet me like this or not at all."

R.E.S.P.E.C.T. 😭 I legit screamed. Read him to filth, baby!!!! GO GO GO GO!

You gripped his wrist before his touch could move further down your body. “What if you upset or hurt me?” You asked.

I think this might be my fave chapter. I THINK. But she ate in this chapter so much. 🥹

If gaslighting was an Olympic sport, he could take the gold. Everything about the man had you second guessing just about everything.

GASLIGHT HIM BACK, GIRL PLEASEEEEEEEE!!!!!

“But before I forget, you owe me a picture of you since I found you.”

For the most part, I cringed hard at this. But I guess the good thing is, he asked...? Is this pathetic or what? I am confused. Buchanan, please control yourself. 😬

“Then let me introduce you to some of the staff. And don't worry. They know who you are,” he said.

It's just not comforting like he thought it is. 😭

“Nice to meet you,” Ari cut in, his voice deep and even. People probably hit on him, too. And as domineering as they were, you felt an odd sense of security.

Bucky look away for a sec. As an Ari girlie, ARI PLEASE SHOOT YOUR SHOT. IN EVERY FIC YOU GRACE US WITH YOUR PRESENCE, YOU ARE ALWAYS WELCOMED AND EMBRACED. 😭 I love him, your honor.

“I’m good with faces and you have a very pretty face,” he smiled.

Everyone in this establishment has a death wish, I swear to god.

“But someone did,” Bucky guessed, his eyes still dark when you didn’t deny it. “I’ll take care of it,” he promised, ushering you toward Ray.

Good, now kiss my forehead then kill that hoe.

It was no wonder Bucky did whatever he wanted unchecked.

Everyone is gaslighting, gatekeeping, and girlbossing. This is not good for the community.

“And you wanted someone to love you. So did he,” he said with more gentleness than you expected. “There’s always some madness in love.”

Omg, Ray. Shut up, stop spouting Shakespeare level romance shit on me. It isn't fair 😭

“And between love and madness lies obsession,” you said. That’s what Bucky was to you: obsessed. “Why am I the one? Why is he so desperate to have me?”

Omg, she came back swinging. 😮

“It’s good to see you again,” Steve smiled.

This bitch. I thought you were trustworthy! ( I did not, it's Steve. When there's Steve, there's Bucky.)

Hold You Tight: Part 7

Pairing: Club Owner!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Fic Summary: The owner of The 107th wants you to be his girl whether you like it or not.

Part 6 | Series Masterlist | Part 8

Chapter Summary: You meet some of the staff at the club and try to reason with one of Bucky's men about your situation.

Chapter Word Count: Over 4.3k

Chapter Warnings: DARK AU, tension, mention of stalking, inner conflict, insecurities, manipulation, possessiveness, flirting, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?), more warnings to come.

A/N: More Hold You Tight! Hope you lovelies continue to enjoy. Bucky edit by the beautiful @nixakimbo . ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby , but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You weren't sure exactly how far the club was from the bookstore, but you didn't say anything for a minute after his declaration. You’d read stories about instalove before, the accelerated trajectory of feelings and relationships. It wasn't something you thought you’d ever be on the receiving end of. That mixed with a dark antihero.

How was this your life?

Bucky chose to break the silence. “You can change here if you want.”

Your heart rate spiked as you stared at the garment bag. There was a chance that the dress was to your liking, your style. But in the car, it wasn't like you could shield yourself if you undressed. He’d see you. Maybe even try to touch you. Was it worth the risk?

Reaching for it, you took a deep breath and curled your fingers around the hanger. The moment you grabbed it though, you set it right back on the hook. You wouldn't bother unzipping it to take a look. You weren't a doll for him to play dress up with.

“Sorry, Bucky,” you began, shifting to face him. “I’m sure it’s a nice dress, but I'm not wearing it.”

“You sure?” He asked. “You haven’t even seen it.”

His eyes snapped to you, pinning you in place as you froze. Giving him an ultimatum over something he may consider trivial wasn't a smart move and it wouldn't be a hill you'd die on, but you needed some sort of win. Part of him had to understand that.

Bucky's lips curled in a small smile, but you still swallowed nervously. “You look stunning to me just as you are,” he said, tracing the collar of your shirt with his fingertip. "Perfect even.”

“What?” You asked. You were far from stunning. “You're really okay with me going into your club like this? I don't think it meets the dress code.” You were lucky your black dress was nice enough to get in the first time.

“And? I said in the bookstore that you can wear whatever you want since you look beautiful in anything, so of course I’m okay with it,” he said, his finger gliding down the middle of your chest. “If you're worried about anyone saying anything, don't be. You’re my girl and my friends and I will shut anyone up who tries to make you feel less than perfect.”

Your eyes widened at the casualness of the threat. There was no reason to threaten anyone on your behalf. You could also hear Marc's voice in the back of your mind, reminding you that Bucky was dangerous. “Bucky, you don't have to do anything.”

“If someone upsets or hurts you, yes, I do,” he said.

Addison was the type of person who would defend you if you were upset or hurt. You would do the same for her. A boyfriend type defending you was entirely different. He could've just said that to make you lower your guard or play on your insecurities. So why did it still sound like he meant it?

You gripped his wrist before his touch could move further down your body. “What if you upset or hurt me?” You asked.

Bucky blinked at your question, an unfathomable look in his eyes. “I promised I’d never hurt you,” he whispered. You were the only one safe from his underlying rage, weren't you? Because something was lurking beneath the surface that you hadn't yet witnessed. “But I'd do whatever I could to make you happy again if I upset you.”

“You realize dragging me to your club didn't make me happy?”

“I didn't drag you. You got into the car with my help,” he teased. When you didn't smile, he sighed. “I'm sorry. You told me you wanted a quiet night and I pushed you to go anyway. I just got so excited for everyone to finally meet the girl of my dreams and…” He shook his head. “That doesn't matter. I should've listened.”

The apology sounded so sincere it threw you for a loop. If gaslighting was an Olympic sport, he could take the gold. Everything about the man had you second guessing just about everything. “I appreciate that,” you said, going with a safe response.

He smiled as the car rolled to a stop. “I’ll make it up to you,” he promised, his gloved hand taking yours.

You wouldn’t ask how he planned to do that. “Wait,” you said, pulling him back slightly before he could open the door. “Can we just sit here for a second?” You weren’t ready to go into the club. Maybe you could buy yourself another minute or two.

“You're stalling,” he smiled. You didn’t disagree. “We can't stall for too long. The longer we stay, the more it pushes back the evening and I promised you’d be in bed by 10.”

“I just want to talk for another minute. I still don’t feel like I know much about you.”

“Like what?” He asked.

“Things like your family? You said there was a story about your mom,” you said.

A swirl of emotions passed in his eyes, a range of sorrow to anger and even hope. “There is, but I want to tell you that story when it’s just us,” he said. Just the two of you. Alone together. “I will say though that the original club belonged to her before I turned it into The 107th. It helps keep part of her memory alive for me.”

“That’s a beautiful thing,” you said honestly. She clearly meant the world to him. “And your dad?”

“He deserved what he got,” he said, not an ounce of pity or sorrow in his voice.

“Oh.” There was no lost love there. You wouldn’t linger on the topic since that was likely another story for another time. “Can you tell me why your left hand is always covered? You said I'd never be a mistress, but are you covering up a wedding ring or something?”

The storm raged in his eyes again and you had to keep yourself from shrinking back when he wrapped a hand around your neck. Your heart pounded as he applied a light amount of pressure, but he didn't squeeze any further. Would anyone help you or care if you tried to scream? “Do you feel a ring beneath the leather?”

“No,” you whispered, your eyes shutting when he leaned in.

His breath fanned across your lips. “I told you before that you’re the only one I see,” he whispered. “So when I do wear a ring on that finger, it’ll be on our wedding day.”

You let out something like a whimper when his thumb rubbed along your pulse. While you wanted to stall before, the car now felt too small. Too hot. You wouldn't be able to breathe if you stayed in there much longer. “I think we waited long enough to go inside,” you whispered.

Both of you sighed when he let go of your neck. “I think we did, too,” he agreed, taking your hand again. “But before I forget, you owe me a picture of you since I found you.”

You glared at him since you hoped he’d forget about that, but he only smirked before he helped you out of the car. Parked right in front of the club, you nearly jumped when you saw Raymond standing close by, his gaze flickering between you and his boss. “Hey, Ray,” you said as Bucky pulled you along.

Raymond said your name in reply as he followed close. There were already a few people lined up to get in, but your attention was on the bright sign of The 107th. It welcomed you. Taunted you. You had a feeling you were going to become very familiar with the ins and outs of this place.

“Let’s go, Kotyonok,” Bucky whispered. You hadn't realized you stopped walking until he slipped his arm around your waist and guided you forward.

Bucky nodded to the doorman and walked tall with you beside him. Of course he wasn't nervous. He had no reason to be. This was one of his castles and he was the king. And he chose a peasant to be by his side. A peasant he wanted to make his queen.

The music vibrated through the floor as you went inside and bypassed the coat check. The sound grew louder as you approached the main floor and watched the crowd, all dressed to impres. The lights bathed everyone in red and it felt like you had walked into a sensual version of Hell. And Bucky, the devil of the establishment, tugged you closer by the waist, but he might as well have put a collar around your neck to show everyone that you were his pet.

“Breathe,” he said close to your ear, making it hard to exhale. You were out of your element, the territory somewhat terrifying since you weren't in the company of your friends this time around. At least your legs weren't shaking. “Would you like a drink?” He asked.

“Maybe later,” you replied over the music.

“Then let me introduce you to some of the staff. And don't worry. They know who you are,” he said. Before you could respond to that and ask what exactly they knew about you, he turned you back toward the way you came and waved a couple of men over. Your breath caught in your throat when they approached. Both wore a black top and pants and were as large as Bucky and looked just as dangerous.

“This is Ari,” Bucky said, nodding to the darker haired man who had a scowl on his handsome face. “And this is Jax.” The blonde smirked when you made eye contact with him. “They’re two of my best bouncers and they’ll help keep an eye on you when you're not with me.”

You scooted closer to Bucky on instinct when both of them stared at you, but you didn't lower your gaze. Their looks could never be as penetrating as the man who owned this place. “Keep an eye on me? Are you my babysitters?” You asked. Would they watch your every move, too, and report back to Bucky?

Ari didn't smile, but the scowl softened. Jax, however, chuckled. “Guess you could say that, but we don't mind,” he said, his grin flirty and eyes twinkling as your cheeks warmed. “It's a pleasure to finally meet you, darlin’.”

“Jax,” was the only thing Bucky said, his fingers digging a bit more into your side. Ray gave the bouncer a warning glance, too.

Jax shrugged. “Just being polite,” he smiled. The man likely had people hanging all over him during his shifts with his charm. He probably wouldn't have looked at you twice under normal circumstances, but you smiled back anyway.

“I appreciate the politeness,” you said.

Bucky’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not being polite. You're flirting with my girl,” he said to Jax, your smile falling immediately when the air around you thickened.

“Just being polite,” he said again, not at all bothered by the look his boss gave him.

“Nice to meet you,” Ari cut in, his voice deep and even. People probably hit on him, too. And as domineering as they were, you felt an odd sense of security.

“It’s nice to meet you both. Hopefully you won't have to babysit me too much,” you said, glancing at Bucky. His fingers were still digging into your side, his muscles tense. Was he jealous? “Breathe,” you urged, giving him the same instruction he gave you moments ago.

The bouncers each had a look of surprise on their faces when Bucky listened and slowly exhaled. “Okay. Thank you,” Ray said, gesturing for them to get back to work. “Boss?”

Bucky’s hold on your relaxed a bit. “Let’s introduce you to Hal and then we’ll go to my office,” he said.

“Office?”

“Quieter than the VIP section,” he explained.

You weren't sure if people recognized Bucky or if it was just the aura of power that he gave off, but people moved out of the way without prompting as he led you toward the bar. He smiled as he did so, completely at ease in his domain. “You know, I don't need babysitters,” you told him.

“You need people to look out for you, especially if you’re with me,” he said.

“Because you’re dangerous,” you said. You’d eventually have to find out why. “Once again, you aren't giving me a choice.”

“When it comes to your safety, I can't,” he stated unapologetically. You grit your teeth as he took you to the bar where a couple of bartenders were working. You didn't pay much attention to the guy at the other end since the one right in front of you had no shirt on, his toned torso on full display.

“This is Hal. Our top bartender.”

“Hey!” The bartender flipped his light brown hair back and flashed you a smile almost as bright as his tan. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Again?” You repeated, nodding as your mind flashed back to Addison’s bachelorette party. “That’s right. You gave my friend a shot before we went into the VIP section. You have a great memory.”

“I’m good with faces and you have a very pretty face,” he smiled.

The attention from his staff was dizzying. It wasn't anything you were used to. What was it going to be like when you met everyone else? You felt so lost.

“First Jax, now you,” Bucky muttered. For a split second, you thought he would try to cover your eyes. “Would you put your fucking shirt back on and stop hitting on my girl?”

“Oh, c’mon. I'll put it on after my shift. This is getting me tons of tips already and will only continue through peak time.” Hal winked at you and you tried to smother a laugh. Between Jax and Hal, you wondered if the two of them had a bet going to see who could make their boss snap. If so, they were brave.

“Bucky, I’m not looking at Hal’s abs,” you said.

The bartender snorted when his boss's eye twitched. “Just get back to work,” he grumbled, stepping a couple of feet away from you to speak to Ray.

“You can look. I won't tell,” Hal smiled, leaning on the bar. “Boss man said you’d make an appearance tonight.”

“And here I am,” you smiled, leaving out that it wasn't by choice.

“Is there anything I can get you? Your drinks are always on the house.”

“I’m fine for-” A man in a blue suit elbowed his way in before you could finish. “Excuse me.”

The guy sneered at you as he gave you a once over. “Ugly underdressed bitch,” he said, making you flinch before he snapped his fingers at Hal.

You glanced down at your clothes, your throat tight. You stubbornly refused to wear the dress Bucky got you on principle, but the jerk’s comment was another reminder that you didn’t belong there. What would prompt someone to be so rude?

“Hey!” The guy snapped at Hal again when he didn’t serve him right away.

The bartender smiled, but it didn't look right as he stood back to his full height. Had he heard what the guy said? “You know, it’s not nice to interrupt a lady, John. Maybe you should apologize.”

“Fuck that,” the guy, John apparently, scoffed. He must’ve frequented the place enough if Hal knew the guy's name and you weren't about to cause a scene. A complete stranger shouldn’t make you feel bad anyway.

Hal’s smile disappeared completely. “Do you know who she’s here with?”

“It’s okay, Hal. Thanks,” you said, your burning eyes on the floor as you moved back to Bucky’s side. You didn't want to be there. You didn’t belong there. Why couldn't you just-

“You okay, Kotyonok?” Bucky asked, lifting your chin with a look of concern. “What’s the matter? What happened?”

“Nothing. I’m fine,” you answered, giving him a tight-lipped smile. You just wanted the night to be over. “Can we go to your office, please?”

Bucky intently searched your face, something dark taking over his eyes as your heart raced. “Ray?”

“Boss?”

“Quick change of plans. You take her upstairs and wait outside my office,” he ordered, swiping his thumb along your cheek. “I think Hal and I need to have a quick chat before I join you.”

“Hal didn’t do anything,” you said quickly. He was a sweet guy from what you could tell and he didn’t need to be on the receiving end of Bucky’s anger for something insignificant.

“But someone did,” Bucky guessed, his eyes still dark when you didn’t deny it. “I’ll take care of it,” he promised, ushering you toward Ray.

“Bucky, it’s fine,” you said over your shoulder, but he had already waved Hal over to speak to him.

“This way, please,” Ray said, leading you away from the bar.

Before you knew it, he took you up a flight of stairs and down a corridor, the decor sleeker than the main floor. The closed double doors at the end of the hall you could only assume was Bucky’s office since Ray had you stop just outside of them. You took a breath and leaned against the wall. Though you could feel the beat of the music against your back, it was much quieter. Less crowded. You didn’t feel completely overwhelmed.

“What’s he going to do?”

“Depends on what or who upset you.”

“You’re my girl and my friends and I will shut anyone up who tries to make you feel less than perfect.

You took a moment to look at the bodyguard as he stood against the opposite wall. Stoic. Pristine. “What am I doing here, Ray?” You sighed. This wasn’t your scene. It wasn’t your world.

“Meeting some of the boss’s staff and friends,” he answered.

“That’s not what I meant. I meant… God, I don’t even know what I mean,” you groaned and wondered how long it would be before Bucky joined you. “But I don't belong here.”

“Yes, you do,” he said.

Why in the world would he think that? “How long have you worked for Bucky?” You asked. It wasn’t that you wanted to really talk, but you didn’t want to let your mind race while you waited.

“A few years now,” he replied.

“You’ve seen him date people then. Has he stalked any of his past girlfriends that you’re aware of or am I the unlucky one?” You asked. Bucky told you he tried to go the traditional dating route and that the last woman he saw tried to rob him.

“You’re the only person he has gone to extremes for,” Ray carefully answered.

“Extremes. You mean stalking,” you said. Did that make you feel better or worse that it was just you? “So, you’re fully aware that he stalked me. And that he plans to move me into his place.”

Ray gave you a single nod, though you wouldn’t say he looked proud. “I am.”

“Can you stop him?” Your stomach dropped when he shook his head. “Why not?”

“You can’t stop or delay the inevitable. He wants you and I’m afraid that’s that,” he said.

Incredulity crossed your face. He sounded like Bucky, but this was somehow worse. Did he not see that his inaction helped upheave your life? “Oh, it’s that simple, huh? Bucky wants me, so he gets me? Did you even try to stop him when he began to do ‘research’ on me?”

“No,” he stated. One simple word that held so much weight.

“What the hell?” Fury seared through you as you pushed yourself off the wall. “You didn’t think to step in and at least tell him, I don’t know, that stalking is crazy and wrong and illegal?!”

Ray blinked and pushed his glasses further up his nose. “You think he’d listen to me?”

Your fury didn’t dissipate, but you did step back. “Well. I assumed…”

“That what? That we’re friends? He may respect my opinion from time to time and he may consider me a friend, but he’s my employer first and will not hesitate to remind me of that,” he said, glancing down the hall. “And perhaps it is not my place to say so, but as wrong as it is this is the happiest I've ever seen him. You ground him.”

“So, as long as he’s happy, it doesn’t matter what he does?” You asked, feeling more hopeless by the second. “Why am I bothering? You don’t care.”

There was no reasoning with Bucky nor his men. At this point, you were going around in circles. It was exhausting.

Ray blinked again. “You assume I don't care because I’m not stopping him. His methods are unconventional, sure, but he just wanted your full attention.”

“There are other less creepy ways to get my attention.”

“Are there? You know what we found when we researched you?” He asked rhetorically. “You never go out. You're either home or at work. When you’re at work, you don't give a second glance to any of the men who come in. Where was he supposed to naturally meet you?”

“That doesn't…” Tears stung your eyes, but you refused to weep. Being a homebody shouldn’t be a tool to use against you or used as a means to manipulate you. “I went out with my friends. And he flat out said ‘where’s the fun in that’ when I asked why he didn't just ask me out. Stop making excuses for him.”

It was no wonder Bucky did whatever he wanted unchecked.

“You went out with friends who are all in relationships and aren't interested in meeting anyone. So you didn't go out of your way to meet others which no one is faulting you for. Breaking in was a bit much, but he was desperate and took drastic steps to get to and keep you,” he said. He spoke like it was natural, logical. “You're afraid. I know. But you’re the one in his eyes. If you try to run, we’ll be forced to catch you. Is that really what you want?”

Your hands shook. “I just want normalcy.” Was that so wrong?

“And you wanted someone to love you. So did he,” he said with more gentleness than you expected. “There’s always some madness in love.”

“And between love and madness lies obsession,” you said. That’s what Bucky was to you: obsessed. “Why am I the one? Why is he so desperate to have me?”

The bodyguard considered your question. “Does there have to be one reason? He has no family left. Work and friends can only take so much of the emptiness away,” he said, glancing down the hall again.

You bit your lip. “When you dug into my life, was there something specific that set me apart from anyone else he ever encountered? An incident or anything?”

Bucky convinced himself you were his soulmate, mind, body, heart, and soul. Ray stood across from you and stated he was happy since you were in his life, the happiest he had ever been. But why? Was the man obsessed simply because you were you or was there a piece of the puzzle you were missing?

“That’s not for me to tell, but I can say he’s devoted to you and you only.” He glanced down the hall again before he straightened up. Was there something for Bucky to tell you then? “Be angry with me if you wish, but know that I’m not just looking out for my boss now. I’m looking out for you, too. We all will.”

You heard Bucky’s footsteps as he walked toward you, but your eyes remained on his bodyguard. “Okay,” you whispered. Ray wasn’t going to help you any further. Not tonight.

Bucky stood in front of you, effectively blocking your view of Ray. “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting long.”

“I hope Hal isn’t in any sort of trouble,” you said.

Bucky gave you a wolfish smile, energy buzzing around him. “Not at all. In fact, I’m giving him a raise,” he said, slipping his arm back around you. What did the bartender tell him exactly and what did he do in response? “I do want to warn you before we go in, they may stare since they’re not used to meetings like this.”

“What, they’re not used to you having someone on your arm?” You asked. You found that hard to believe.

“They’re not used to me having someone I’d burn the world down for,” he said proudly, nodding for Ray to open the doors. “All you’d have to do is give me the match.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you said, gulping when you heard the chatter and laughter inside.

Once again, you were the lamb going into the lion’s den. But you could do this. You just had to mingle a bit longer and then you could go on your way. Bucky swore he’d have you home and you’d hold him to it.

The moment Bucky took you into the office, all conversations ceased. The men appeared relaxed, like they weren't aware of or didn’t care about the aura that surrounded the man beside you. He was right though. They all stared. Including a man with a pair of blue eyes you recognized.

The man who bought tulips from your shop.

“It’s good to see you again,” Steve smiled.

With a sinking heart, you began to accept that there really was no escaping Bucky Barnes.

Sorry to cut this off before meeting the rest of the friends, but it was a natural stopping point. And we'll find out what happens to John in the next part. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

#bucky barnes x reader #reread

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mrsdarkandyandere7 · 1 day ago

Text

(Dark!) BNHA: Wanting a break from the relationship

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

Female Reader

Boys -> Hawks + Dabi + Deku

Reaction: Attempting to ask for a break in your relationship massively back fires against you - something you should've known.

WARNINGS: Toxic Relationship; Abuse; Manipulation.

AN: Please, reblog and give me feedback 😊

–

You: “You know I love you right?” you start, hesitating for a brief moment. “But I think this isn’t working …maybe we should take a break.”

Hawks

“You know what? You’re absolutely right. We really need a good relaxing break, don’t we?” you’re not expecting Keigo to agree with you, and he laughs at the shock on your face. “How do we feel about Hawaii? You always wanted to go there, right?”

Confusion replaces the shock you felt just brief moments ago. You stare at Keigo, bewildered at the strange turn of the conversation.

“What are you talking about?” you question.

“What are you talking about, my adorably confusing girlfriend?” he laughs it off, humorously. “You said we need a break and I totally agree with that. Plus, I think a romantic getaway is just what we need right now, it’s about time we get some vacations.”

“No, Keigo.” you stop him, “What I mean is that we should take a break from each other. Give it some time, y’know.”

There’s a moment of quiet silence and Keigo’s smiles, a stiff and hard smile that does a good job covering up the upset clenching of his jaw.

“Aren’t you being a tad bit dramatic with that? I mean, we’re perfectly totally completely fine, so what’s with that idea?” he questions you. “Why you tryna break something so perfect? Let me guess, attachment issues flaring up?”

“Because it’s not perfect, Keigo.” you answer back, a bit annoyed. “And we’re not fine, despite what you think. If you haven’t noticed, then maybe you’re not very clever, are you?”

That golden gaze, usually so warm, now burns with an intensity that makes your throat tighten and a wave of regret immediately washes over you.

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” he agrees, slowly dragging each word. “Maybe I’m not very clever. Cause if I was more clever, then maybe I would have noticed that you have a tendency to be overly dramatic.”

The turn of the conversation leaves you stunned. What?

“Dramatic?” you echo, forcing your voice to stay steady. “Keigo, we’ve been fighting constantly. You don’t listen, and I feel like I’m—”

“—Like you’re what? Neglected? Trapped?” he cuts you off, before stepping closer, and though his wings didn’t move, you feel their phantom weight pressing down on you. “Babe, everything I do is for you. For us.”

“I work myself to the bone to make sure you have everything you’ve ever dreamed of. Don’t I?” his words pinch your heart. “And this is how you repay me? By wanting space? After everything I’ve done for you?”

“It’s not about what you’ve done, Keigo. It’s about how I feel. I just... need time to think. And maybe so do you.”

“Time to think? What’s there to think about, sweetheart?” he huffs, “Who’s going to protect you, take care of you, if you leave? Hmm?”

His wings extend slightly to frame you both in the narrow hallway.

“Keigo, I—”

“Shh.” He pressed a finger to your lips, his eyes softening into something almost tender. “You’re upset right now, and that’s okay. But leaving isn’t the answer, dove. You belong here. With me.”

Keigo cups your cheek, so tenderly and affectionately that it clenches your heart. His smile returns, warm and reassuring, as if nothing had happened.

“Tell you what - let’s forget all this nonsense. How about I book that trip to Hawaii after all? A fresh start, just the two of us. You’ll see how perfect we are together.”

You want to protest, to grab your suitcase and leave, but his wings curl around you in a protective cocoon, and the weight of his touch - his words - render you paralyzed.

Somewhere deep down, a small voice screams at you to run. But Keigo’s voice, low and honeyed, drowns it out.

“See? Everything’s going to be fine,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You don’t need to go anywhere, dove. I’ll make sure of it.”

And you know, with a sinking certainty, that he meant it.

Dabi

The way his ice-blue eyes stare at you is chilling, to say the least. Dabi looks at you intently as if trying to discover something.

“Do you remember when we started dating?” he asks at last, leaving you surprised at the random question. “That night on the rooftop where you become mine.”

You slowly nod, unsure of what he meant. It’s only been six months since your relation became official, but it feels as if it’s been a lifetime ago.

There’s been so many major changes in it - you changed, Dabi changed, everything about your relationship changed. And not for the better.

“Good. Then you also remember when I told you - no - when I promised you that you’d never get fully rid of me, if you said yes. That you’d become mine, til your last breath.” his voice deepens at each step he takes towards you, looming and dark.

“That we’d be intertwined for the rest of our lives. That nothing would stop us from being together, no matter what.”

Shivers run down your spine, and you find yourself paralyzed. Frozen. No matter how much you attempt, your limbs won’t move. You’re completely frozen with fear.

“Then tell me…” Dabi nears you, looking more mutilated and burned than ever. His hand rises, softly brushing against your cheek and it takes everything in you not to flinch away. “... why are you suddenly too good for me?”

“It’s not like that ….”

Your meek attempt of protesting is quickly silenced when his other hand grips you by the elbow, too firm for you to slip away. He cages you with his body and hands and you are too nervous to stop the sweat that builds up in your back.

“Go on now, don’t be shy. I wanna hear all the pathetic excuses you got.” he dryly chuckles, slightly heating up his hand or maybe it’s just an illusion of your body, at this time you’re not sure anymore. “Tell me all about it. I’m looking forward to hearing you spew out all sorts of miserable apologies and justifications you can find.”

“Or maybe you’re planning to use the good old excuse everyone uses these days. It’s you, not me.” Dabi mocks you, but the lack of humor in his voice is evident.

“Dabi, please.” your voice is nothing but a weak frightened whisper, “You’re… scaring me.”

“Good, maybe fear can drill some good sense into that frail mind of yours.” he scoffs. “Cause I believe both of us know where this is headed. You’re not leaving me.”

He doesn’t wait for an answer before continuing, eyes and voice pouring of determination and assurance.

“You can never leave me, no matter how hard you try. I’ll always find you, you know that.” he warns, voice dipping low.

“And you should also be aware that your friends and family are meaningless to me. So, next time you think about pulling a stunt like this I highly suggest you think about their lives. Got it?”

Deku

There are moments when you feel as though luck has abandoned you since you started dating Izuku.

Today is one of them.

It’s partially your fault, had you realized earlier that Izuku came home in a poor pissy mood you wouldn’t have brought the conversation up.

“So, that’s how it’s going to be, huh?” his tone is serious and firm, borderline resentful. “After everything I’ve done for you and yet you are breaking up with me.”

The unnerving stare of the emerald eyes is enough to make you duck your eyes, and the way he’s towering over you, a powerful mass of muscle and scars, makes you hesitant to meet his eyes.

“Izuku, please.” you mutter. “It’s just… It’s for the best.”

“No, it’s not. Why don’t you just say it? That you’re just gonna dump me like I’m a piece of trash that got stuck to your shoe? Like I mean shit to you?” he spits, voice steadily rising and his words are cruel and effective enough to hit you hard and square on where it hurts the most.

“Izu—”

“Is this a joke to you? Huh? Am I a joke to you?” A yelp gets caught up in your throat when his fingers grab your arm. No amount of wriggling and twisting breaks his powerful grip over your wrist, his digits pressing hard against your bone.

“N-No! Of course not! Izuku, I don’t- Please!” your lips quiver as you beg for something. Mercy. Freedom. Salvation. Anything. “Please, let’s just talk this through and—”

“Talk about what, exactly?” Izuku presses further, messy tufts of green hair falling onto his eyes. “On second thought, I do wanna talk about this. I wanna talk about how long these ideas have been pestering your mind. So tell me, sweetheart, how long have you been planning to ditch me to the side like garbage?”

“It’s not like that.” you try, but Izuku barely allows you to say a few words before he’s speaking over you.

“Better yet,” he glares at you, his nostrils flare up and hand dangerously narrows around your hand’s bone. “Who put this stupid idea into your head? Answer me, damnit!”

You shrink at his tone, pathetic and unable to stand up for yourself, as Izuku keeps verbally charging at you.

Something in the back of your mind admonishes you for not sneaking away in the middle of night like a quiet mouse when Izuku would be deep in slumber.

You desolately wish you had done that.

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literatureloverx · 3 days ago

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BSD men as Lana Del Rey songs

( or how their darlings likely perceive them)

I was bored… ♥️ The Nikolai part was really hard to write because he’s clearly Britney Spears-coded. Anyway, I did my best—enjoy!

FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY

Lana Del Rey — Sad Girl

“But you haven’t seen my man, you haven’t seen my man…you haven’t seen my man, you haven’t seen him…He’s got the fire, and he walks with it. He’s got the fire, and he talks with it…”

Lana Del Rey — Young and Beautiful

“Dear Lord, when I get to heaven, please let me bring my man. When he comes, tell me that you’ll let him in. Father, tell me if you can… all that grace, all that body, all that face makes me wanna party… he’s my sun, he makes me shine like diamonds…”

Lana Del Rey — Once Upon a Dream

“I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream… I know you, that look in your eyes is so familiar a gleam… And I know it’s true that visions are seldom all they seem. But if I know you, I know what you’ll do…you’ll love me at once, the way you did once upon a dream…”

DAZAI OSAMU

Lana Del Rey — Cinnamon Girl

“Cinnamon in my teeth, from your kiss. You’re touching me. All the pills that you take— violet, blue, green, red—to keep me at arm’s length, don’t work. You try to push me out, but I just find my way back in. Violet, blue, green, red, to keep me out, I win.”

Lana Del Rey — Ultraviolence

“He hurt me but it felt like true love… Jim taught me that, loving him was never enough…with his ultraviolence…”

Lana Del Rey — Smarty

“Who has the face like smarty does? Who has the voice like smarty does? Who has the choice like smarty does? Nobody, nobody…”

NAKAHARA CHUUYA

Lana Del Rey — Million Dollar Man

“Someone as dangerous, tainted and flawed as you…one for the money and two for the show…”

“…You're screwed up and brilliant, look like a million dollar man…”

Lana Del Rey — Guns and Roses

“'Cause you were so much better than the rest of them. Out of all the others, you were the honest man. He loved guns and roses, guns and roses…”

Lana Del Rey — Born to Die

Come and take a walk on the wild side. Let me kiss you hard in the pouring rain…you like your girls insane.”

NIKOLAI GOGOL

Lana Del Rey — Art Deco

“You’re not mean, you just want to be seen…want to be wild. A little party never hurt no one, that’s why it’s alright. You want in, but you just can’t win…So you hang in the lights…”

Lana Del Rey — West Coast

“Your love, your love, our love… I can see my baby swinging, his Parliament’s on fire and his hands are up… On the balcony, and I’m singing, ‘Ooh baby, ooh baby, I’m in love…’”

Lana Del Rey — Gods and Monsters

“In the land of Gods and Monsters…I was an angel living in the garden of evil…Screwed up, scared, doing anything that I needed…shining like a fiery beacon…”

AKUTAGAWA RYUUNOSUKE

Lana Del Rey — Shades of Cool

“But I can’t fix him, can’t make him better… and I can’t do nothing about his strange weather… but you are unfixable…I can’t break through your world… ’cause you live in shades of cool, your heart is unbreakable…”

Lana Del Rey — Diet Mountain Dew

“Hit me and tell me you’re mine…I don’t know why, but I like it. Scary? My God, you’re divine…”

Lana Del Rey — Brooklyn Baby

“They say I’m too young to love you. They say I’m too dumb to see. They judge me like a picture book, by the colors, like they forgot to read… I think we’re like fire and water… I think we’re like the wind and sea. You’re burnin’ up, I’m coolin’ down…you’re up, I’m down…you’re blind, I see.”

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the-witty-pen-name · 18 hours ago

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The Love Triangle from Hell (4)

Steve Harrington x F!Reader / Eddie Munson x F!Reader

Synopsis: Following the events of PART THREE, things begin to heat up.

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI), piv sex, oral (f receiving), dirty talk/nicknames, kissing, messy messy feelings; unrequited love; cursing; arguments; crying; hurt/comfort; angsty angst; allusions to violence; miscommunication; jealousy

Series Masterlist

A/N: I continue to be overwhelmed by the love you all have given this series. I appreciate you all so much. Everyone who have commented, reblogged and followed- thank you so much. I love reading everything and I have had so much fun seeing everyone's reactions. It fills me with so much joy. Let me know what you think of this next chapter!

Please vote for Eddie or Steve in the poll at the end while it is live! The results will be how I end this series <3 BUT, if you want me to do an alternative ending as like a bonus chapter let me know cause I'd love to do that too.

His knuckles were white from his grip on the steering wheel, Steve felt like he lost control of his actions as he resolved to follow Eddie’s van. Eddie had said you wanted space, but now he’s here picking you up from the game? What the actual fuck. He’s fuming, the longer the night goes on. He should’ve just gone home, probably. But he was so angry at himself for taking forever, he couldn’t wait another second. He’d finally had the epiphany. He loves you. He wants you so badly, he can’t find it in him to care if he ruins everything.

Earlier that day, it had hit him all at once. That overwhelming, all encompassing realization that stopped him dead in his tracks. Robin had left for the day, and he was stuck behind the counter rewinding returned tapes. He’d been sitting with his own thoughts. He was thinking about that dream, and then he was also just thinking about you. You took up all his senses- all he could think about was you. He looked back on shared moments with you in a different light. So many moments between the two of you that would’ve been your start. How could he have not seen it, seen you, all this time?

Oh.

He’d bailed on the rest of his shift at Family Video, fuck it. Keith wouldn’t fire him anyways. He knew Robin mentioned the game- of course you’d be there. He’d realized he loved you and didn’t want to waste another second. He wanted to find you in the crowd, climb up over the stands to whoever you were, and finally fucking kiss you. It was his grand gesture.

His plan would have worked, but it was easier said than done. The confidence he felt before was wiped from him when he saw the way your face fell. He thought you didn’t want to see him, and that you were upset to run into him. He misread your sadness for distaste and resentment. That brief moment made his whole world come tumbling down around him. You were sad because you missed him, but he didn’t know that. So his plan fumbled in a moment of panic.

Seeing you with Eddie had been his final straw. He felt like a ticking clock counting down was looming over his head. He was running out of time, he was losing you. He couldn’t let that happen. Was he going about it the right way? Probably not, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care in the least as he stormed over. Everything he’d been feeling was heightened. He was panicked and desperate and angry and so fucking jealous. This should’ve been him with you, driving you home in his car, and he had fucked that up.

Eddie remembers how nervous he was when he picked you up for the dance that Friday night. He’d done his best to tame his hair, and Wayne let him borrow his suit. Wayne had stayed to help with his tie and to give him a talking to about how to be a gentleman when Eddie went to pick you up.

“Actually go up to the goddamn door and knock. Say good evening to her parents,” Wayne instructed. “Make sure you hold her hand to help her down the stairs, open her car door, hold the door for her…”

“Wayne I know, I know,” Eddie fused, worried he was going to be late. “It’s not a date anyways,” Eddie insists, although he wished it was. Wayne scoffs.

“Whatever you say,” he said, rolling his eyes at Eddie.

“Lemme get a picture,” Wayne had insisted, stopping Eddie from running out the door. Grumbling the whole time, Eddie stood in their little kitchen while Wayne fumbled with his old camera. “You never look halfway decent, gotta capture it for the book.”

The photo is still hanging up on Wayne’s fridge to this day. Eddie has not worn a suit since.

Arriving at your house was so daunting to Eddie. He’d never really met your parents before. Just in passing when he’d pick you up or drop you off for school. He’d been to your house before, you’d hosted a few times for Hellfire- but it was never anything like this. This was special.

He went up to the door like Wayne instructed and he shook your dad’s hand. He was worried that they’d judge him- they would hate his hair or something. It’s the first time he’s relieved that his tattoos aren’t out on display. They were both kind to him, but he could tell they were not sure how to react to him. Self-conscious, he worried they were disappointed because he wasn’t Steve. Eddie wasn’t who they pictured for you. They envisioned you with Steve. That was they future they had planned.

Eddie thought you looked absolutely unreal that night. He always thought that those scenes where the girl makes her grand entrance and floats down the stairs were corny. Until it happened to him and it felt like time stopped. Your descent down the stairs after your mom called you down had Eddie in a trance. You were angelic in your dress, the one Eddie will pretend you bought for him- not for Steve. Eddie must have been staring with his mouth agape, because your father needed to clear his throat for Eddie to realize you’d been expectantly waiting for him to say something. Literally anything.

“You look beautiful,” Eddie marveled, and you giggled a shy thank you. A few hundred photos later and you both were finally on your way.

You were right, the Snow Ball was not Eddie’s scene at all. He didn’t like the music, or the people, but he was just so happy to be spending time with you that he couldn't care about literally anything else. You seemed happy too. Eddie thought you were glowing. He even danced to every song you wanted and took the cheesy photo booth pictures. You tore the photo strip in half so you could each have some. You use yours as a bookmark to this day and Eddie’s is still clipped to the visor in the van.

You’d hardly even noticed Steve the whole night. Eddie kept you on your feet and kept you laughing so hard your stomach hurt.

The bang on the side of the van made you jump. You both were startled. You watched as Eddie’s eyes widened as the panic set in for both of you. Neither of you had ever seen Steve like this, it wasn’t his nature. You both didn’t know what to do.

“Just wait here,” Eddie said comfortingly, before jumping out of the van. “I’ll talk to him.”

Steve stood outside waiting impatiently, his hands on his hips as his chest rapidly rose and fell. His hair was messy, as you watched from the side mirror, you could tell he’d been tugging at it- a nervous habit of his you knew quite well.

“What the fuck is this?” He accuses. Eddie offers his hands up in surrender jokingly.

“Come on Steve…”

“You told me she wanted space! Then you swoop in and pull this shit?”

“She did want space- not to be fucking ignored for weeks!” Eddie points out. “You had every opportunity and you just left her alone, so how long did you expect me to just stand around while you play these fucking mind games with her? I was the bigger person, Steve! I was willing to literally take myself out of the fucking equation if you both wanted each other- and you didn’t do shit!”

Steve looks towards the van and you make eye contact in the side mirror. He looks devastated under the outward projection of anger. It’s like you’re a million miles away. He can’t be too late. He just couldn’t. How is he supposed to just walk away after everything? Is this just it? He pleads that you’ll do something- say something- anything! Just tell him you still care.

You avert your gaze. Steve shallows harshly.

Eddie crosses his arms, and steps in front of Steve’s view of you. “Come on man,” Steve pleads, voice cracking. “Let me just talk to her.”

Eddie looks to you, and you shake your head “no.”

“How about you call her tomorrow when you cool off? You’re scaring her,” Eddie proposes.

“You don’t speak for her,” Steve argues. “Baby, please,” he pleads looking over Eddie’s shoulder.

Baby? Eddie fumes- he can not be serious.

You roll down the window a crack. “I’ll call you tomorrow, Steve. I don’t want to talk to you right now,” you shout from the van. Before he can respond, you crank the window back up.

“Fine,” Steve glares at Eddie. It’s not over, but he’ll concede for now- if it’s what you want. He slams his car door shut before speeding away, the car screaming as he pulled away as quickly as he could.

He knew his parents would be gone, so he opted to go to their house to crash tonight. He couldn’t bear facing Eddie back at their place after this.

You don’t even realize that you’d be crying until you feel Eddie’s arms pull you in for a hug. He rubs your back comforting you as you are shocked at what just happened.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” he mumbles into your hair before placing a kiss on the top of your head. “Let me bring you home, yeah?”

The ride back to your apartment is silent, neither one of you knowing what to say. Eddie doesn’t want to push, and you’re too exhausted to get into it. You rest your forehead on the cold glass of the window to help your head. Eddie wants to reach out and hold your hand as he drives, but he keeps his distance.

Eddie always walks you all the way to your front door, even after you’ve told him he doesn’t have to so many times. Wayne would kill me, he would joke. He held the door open for you so you could hop out. He held your arm, helping you navigate the icy walk. And he walked you upstairs to your apartment.

There’s a piece of paper taped to the front of the door.

I decided to spend the night at Vicky’s. Do with that information what you will. - Robin

“I don’t want to be alone,” you admit, a little panicked knowing you’d be walking into an empty apartment. Eddie sighs, biting his lip nervously. Steve is going to never want to see him again, he’s sure of it.

“I can stay if that would make you feel better?” He offers. You nod.

“Please.”

You pull the note down and toss it in the bin on your way inside. Eddie follows after you, kicking off his boots in the entryway. You both hang up your coats. You move over to the thermostat and turn it up. Eddie lingers in the living room, not quite sure what to do with himself. You both say nothing for a few moments.

“Eddie, I’m so sorry about all of this,” you say finally. “Just everything- everything is falling apart it feels like.”

“None of this is your fault- it’s really not anyone’s fault…well, except mine,” he says, like a confessional and he takes a step closer.

“Yeah,” you reply softly, matching his step.

The air in the room was thick with tension between the two of you. In the silence and still, there was a pull dragging you into each other.

“The whole thing is quite unfortunate really,” he contemplates, a knowing smile forming on his face. One step.

“Most unfortunate,” you whisper. One step. He reaches out and intertwines with fingers with his.

“Awful,” he whispers, tracing circles on your hands with his thumb gently. It sears through you completely.

He tilts his head and his lips ghost over yours. Your body feels like it’s on fire being so close to him. The first kiss is so delicate, and the familiar feeling ignites in you. It’s perfect, being held by him by this.

His lips are softer than you expect when they slot against yours. You let yourself forget about everything else in that moment- everything just melts away at his touch. Your brain melts at the sensation and warmth spreads throughout your whole body. You part your lips, inviting him to deepen the kiss and he does gladly.

Waiting for a kiss like this was worth it, Eddie thinks. All the nights he spent thinking about it and all the times he held back from touching you… all of it felt like nothing as you fill up all his senses. It’s almost too much.

“Sweetheart… please,” he begs, mumbling against your lips. His hands rest on the expanse of your back and the sensation sends a shiver up your spine. You gently tug by his belt loops closer to you, so your body is flush against his. You moan softly against his lips.

Without disentangling himself from you, he guides you as you walk backwards towards the door of your bedroom. His hands make everywhere on your skin burn in their wake as he brings them down your back, to your hip, then settle firmly on your ass. It makes you whimper.

The back of you knees touch the edge of your bed, and you let yourself fall backwards- pulling Eddie to climb on top of you. His hair tickles as it curtains your faces, and he leans in to press hot kisses to your jaw and down your neck, a hickey forming right where he ends just above your collarbone.

When he pulls back briefly, you take the opportunity to pull your sweater over your head and toss it to the floor. Eddie’s movements stutter, his eyes hungrily taking in all of the newly exposed skin. You were a vision. “Shit,” he breathes, “look at you.”

He wastes no time pulling his shirt over his head, tossing it somewhere behind him. Warmth rushes to your core at the sight of his tattoos, the subtle muscle under his pale skin, the chain around his neck, the happy trail that leads down to wear his jeans are hanging low on his hips and showing off a prominent bulge… you’re fucked. He sits up on his knees over your thighs and your body aches at the separation.

You watch as he takes his hair and gathers it together in his hands. Making a ponytail should not be this sexy, but it’s Eddie. He winks at you as he does when he notices the way you’re staring with your mouth open, heaving breathing.

“Take these off, sweetheart,” Eddie hums, nodding down to your jeans as he pulls the elastic from his wrist around to secure it in his hair. You’re face is warm as you nod, wiggling out of them and kicking them away. You’re left in just your bra and panties and spread out before him.

“These are so pretty,” he muses, teasingly, running his ringed fingers over the skin just above the edge of your panties. He kneels down on the floor at the foot of the bad, hooking your legs over his shoulders in one fluid motion. “So pretty,” he mumbles, pressing delicate, teasing kisses to your inner thighs as his hands rub up and down the length of your legs.

His eyes are directly in line with the wet spot that has formed on your panties. It aches, and you’re desperate for him to do something about it. Without him even touching you yet, you’re squirming in the anticipation that he will do something to soothe the sensation that has been building up in your core.

He presses a kiss to your heat over your panties, his nose pressing against your clit and the feeling makes you gasp, relieved for just the littlest amount of contact. Satisfied with your response to him, he hooks his thumb through your panties, and drags them aside- the metal of his rings feel cool against the hotness of your skin and it makes you flutter.

He grins devilishly, “All of this for me, pretty girl?”

One hand holds your panties, the other rests on your hip to hold you steady when Eddie wastes no time, devouring you. His nose against your clit, his tongue lapping at your arousal- it was too much. He was like a man starved. How dare you deny him this for so long. He was desperate to taste you, and he groans- he knew you’d be so fucking sweet. He just knew it.

He pulls back to rub his thumb over your clit, making circles that feel so good you could cry. You’re so needy, writhing in his arms as you feel a familiar knot form in your stomach. With his thumb firmly in place, he returns to latch his tongue back to you.

“Eddie,” you whine, your hands tangles in your sheets to stabilize yourself. Your head is spinning, and you know you’re so fucking close. “Please,” you cry desperately at the sensation, chasing your climax.

Eddie continues his pace, the exact way you need him to and he continues to work you through your first orgasm. He kisses your thighs when you finish and he smiles at you- his face glistening with your slick. Cheeky bastard. He kisses your legs, your stomach and all the way back up to your lips, tasting yourself on him. He tugs off your panties and tosses them on the floor. Something about making you cum, a switch flipped in Eddie.

He’s kissing you like he’s depending on it to survive, he’s feeling confident and desperate to do that again. He practically growls against your skin, face buried in your neck. He works off his jeans and boxers. Your mouth waters. He’s gorgeous fucking everywhere.

“Your turn,” you mumble, unhooking your bra, eyes wandering to Eddie’s hard cock. He shakes his head, kissing you again. Fuck if he doesn’t want that, but he can’t trust himself to not completely fall apart.

“Next time, sweetheart,” he promises, and you pout. “Need to fuck you,” he mutters against your lips, his blood breath heavy against yours. You moan at his words.

“Please, Eds,” you drawl, “need you inside me.”

He teases your entrance, the top of his cock so painfully close to pushing inside you. “I’m going to fuck you so good you’ll forget all about Steve, sweetheart.”

“Oh, fuck, Eddie please,” you whine, you hips trying to create some friction, already desperate and needy for another release. Oh, you liked that, Eddie muses. He can deliver.

“He doesn’t deserve this pretty pussy does he?” Eddie muses, pushing in just the tip of his cock, watching as you fall apart, desperate for more of him. “This perfect… fuck, tight pussy,” he moans, pushing himself fully into you.

“Can’t take care of you as good as I can,” he promises, thrusting into you at just the right, hitting that spot that makes your brain go stupid. You feel so full of him, you can’t imagine anyone feeling better than Eddie by the way he’s fucking into you.

“He’s never gonna fuck you as good as this,” Eddie promises. You can believe it. He leans down and kisses your neck, his hand massaging your breast, tugging gently at your hard nipple before giving the same care and attention to the other one as well. He whispers more filthy things against your neck, and you moan- your body responding to his so well.

“Fit around me so good, sweetheart,” he muses, hot kisses trailing over the stance of your neck, “you take my cock so well.”

“Such a good girl… making my cock all messy,” he praises, and then he presses his lips to yours in a desperately messy kiss. “Fuck, sweetheart…”

Tears threaten the corners of your eyes, it all is too good, too overwhelming. You’re so over sensitive from your first orgasm, you are reaching your peak again, all too quickly for your liking. You can’t help it- he feels too good and he’s so fucking attentive and fuck- you feel so close.

“Cum on my cock princess,” Eddie encourages, feeling you tighten around his cock. “you’re gonna look so good for me, let me see you cum for me, yeah?”

He holds your cheeks in his hand, your lips squished together as you look up at him, wide eyed. “You can do it, be a good girl and cum all over my cock,” he encourages. It’s just enough to make you fall apart all over again. Messy things spilling from your mouth as your body pulses and he continues his pace, working you through it- kissing your forehead.

Eddie pulls out, making a mess on your stomach as he cums. Exhausted, he collapses on the bed next to you. He kisses you softly, praising you for being so good for him. It makes you feel like putty. He disappears for a second, disappearing behind the door. He comes back with water for you and a warm cloth. He kisses you, making you take the water from him, and then he cleans you up gently, kissing your body all over after the job is done.

You don’t know what you’re going to say to Steve. All you care about now, is burrowing yourself into Eddie’s chest. For the first time in weeks, you and Eddie both actually sleep soundly, limbs tangled together- your bodies intertwined.

Taglist: @sunshinepeachx @downbear @fanlifeaamt @exploding-bonbon @losingmygrasponreality @skiddypiddy @andvys @djodirt @moonlightsolo @kyga01 @sheisjoeschateau @melaninjhs @v3lv3tf0x @purpleeyeswithgoldensparkles @sunshine-mrk @danymunsonharrington

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yourlittlegoblin · 2 days ago

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{The Gift He Couldn't Ignore} Scaramouche x Reader

The way I giggled like a little shit at 4am when writing this is insane,,, anyways I hope you enjoy :) Fem!Reader but everyone is welcomed to read my posts!

Scaramouche is as sharp as the edge of a blade, his presence cutting through any room like a storm ready to strike. His words are quick and biting, his temper just as volatile. Many in his command know better than to cross him; even the boldest of the Fatui tread carefully around his wrath. A glare from him is enough to freeze the air, and his scorn lingers like a burn.

But you? You're the quiet ray of sunshine that somehow warms even his cold, stormy edges. You’re introverted and soft-spoken, but you have a calm presence that balances out his temper. There’s something about the way you carry yourself — unassuming, yet unwavering in your quiet kindness — that even Scaramouche can't deny.

It doesn’t take long for some of his subordinates to figure it out. When the air grows thick with tension, and Scaramouche's patience wears thin, they make a quick escape — to you. One by one, they appear at your door, frantic and desperate for refuge.

"Please," one of them says, out of breath and clutching their clipboard like it might shield them, "just let me stand here for a bit. He won’t yell at me if I’m with you."

You blink at them, slightly bewildered but not entirely surprised. “He won’t yell at you if you just get your work done.”

“Yeah, yeah, we know,” another mutters, shifting uncomfortably, “but he’ll find something to yell about anyway! We’re safer here.”

You sigh, but you let them linger, even offering them a cup of tea while you finish up your paperwork.

Eventually, Scaramouche storms in, his piercing gaze scanning the room. The Fatui scattered around you straighten like statues, their fear palpable. But when his eyes land on you, the fire dims, and something softer flickers to life.

You glance up from your papers, raising an eyebrow. “Something wrong?”

His sharp tone falters, softening into something that’s almost — almost — sheepish. “No,” he mutters, crossing his arms. He doesn’t acknowledge the others, though his gaze flicks toward them briefly.

The room is still for a beat. Then, with a low grumble, he turns on his heel and leaves. The tension dissolves instantly, and the subordinates slump in relief.

“You see?” one of them whispers, awe in their voice. “He can’t yell at us when you’re here. You’re our only hope.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips. “You’re all ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” another chimes in, “but it works.”

They’re not wrong. Scaramouche may be a force of nature, but around you, his storm quiets — and that’s something they’re willing to bet their lives on.

---------------------------------------------------

Soon after, you find yourself standing outside Scaramouche’s office, gently knocking on the door. His sharp voice calls out, “Enter.”

Pushing the door open, you step inside, offering him a small smile as his gaze lifts from the paperwork scattered across his desk. “Good evening,” you say softly.

He arches an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair. “What brings you here at this hour? Surely, you don’t intend to lecture me about yelling at my subordinates again.”

You let out a small chuckle, shaking your head. “Not this time.” Walking closer, you reach into your pocket and pull out a small, delicate trinket — a little bird carved from polished wood, its wings spread mid-flight.

“What’s that?” Scaramouche asks, his tone skeptical but laced with curiosity.

“I was wandering through the market earlier,” you begin, holding out the trinket, “and I saw this at one of the stalls. It made me think of you.”

He blinks, his eyes narrowing slightly, though you notice the faintest hint of color brushing his cheeks. “A bird?”

You nod, your voice soft as you explain. “It reminded me of… soaring high. Of reaching for your goals, your ambitions. I thought it might be a nice way to convey my wishes for your endeavors to end in success.”

For a moment, Scaramouche says nothing, his eyes flickering between you and the trinket in your hand. Then, slowly, he reaches out and takes it, his fingers brushing against yours. He examines the bird closely, running his thumb over its smooth surface.

“It’s… fine craftsmanship,” he mutters, though his voice has lost some of its usual sharpness.

You smile, rubbing your eyes as a small yawn escapes you. “I’m glad you like it.”

At the sound of your yawn, Scaramouche’s gaze snaps to you, his expression shifting. The faint shadows under your eyes and the way your posture droops don’t escape his notice.

“You’re tired,” he states, his tone firm but quieter than usual.

“I’m fine,” you say with a slight wave of your hand, though your body betrays you with another yawn.

“Don’t give me that,” he snaps, though there’s no real bite in his words. He sets the trinket carefully on his desk before standing and stepping around to your side. “Wandering the markets, running errands, and now coming to see me? Do you even know when to stop?”

You open your mouth to respond, but the glare he gives you silences whatever excuse you were about to give.

“Go to bed,” he orders, crossing his arms as he towers slightly over you. “Now.”

“Scaramouche, I’m fine—”

“Do I need to carry you there myself?” he interrupts, narrowing his eyes in challenge.

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.”

Scaramouche’s sharp eyes follow your every move as you rub your eyes and yawn once again, prompting an exasperated sigh from him. "You're hopeless," he mutters, setting the bird trinket carefully on the corner of his desk.

Before you can protest, he waves a hand dismissively. "The subordinate quarters are too far, and knowing you, you'll find an excuse not to rest anyway. Sleep here, on the couch."

You blink at him in surprise, glancing over at the modestly cushioned sofa tucked against the wall of his office. "Here? Are you serious?"

He gives you a look, one eyebrow arched in that signature Scaramouche way that screams do not argue with me. "Yes, here. Or do you want me to watch you stumble through the halls half-asleep only to collapse somewhere?"

You hesitate, fidgeting slightly. "I don't want to intrude..."

"You're not. Sit down before I make you." His voice is firm, but there's no harshness in it, only a strange undercurrent of care he’s trying desperately to hide.

With a small sigh, you relent, removing your coat and draping it over your shoulders like a makeshift blanket. The couch is surprisingly comfortable, and as you settle in, you hear him grumble, “I doubt you’ll actually sleep.”

“Watch me,” you murmur softly, already feeling the warmth of the room seep into you. The day’s exhaustion catches up all at once, and before you know it, your eyes grow heavy and drift shut.

Scaramouche leans against his desk, arms crossed, watching as your breathing evens out. “Idiot,” he mutters under his breath, though his gaze softens ever so slightly. He picks up the bird trinket once more, his thumb brushing over its polished wings as he glances between it and your peaceful, sleeping form.

For the first time in what feels like an eternity, his office feels a little less cold.

---------------------------------------------------

When you wake up, a comforting warmth envelopes you, much cozier than your thin coat could ever provide. You blink groggily and glance down to see Scaramouche's thick fur coat draped over you, its plush fabric soft against your skin. It carries his unmistakable scent—subtle hints of sharp spice and something faintly sweet, undeniably him.

For a moment, you’re caught between surprise and a quiet flutter in your chest. Carefully sitting up, you adjust the coat, its weight still lingering over your shoulders like a protective embrace.

Your gaze shifts toward Scaramouche, seated at his desk. His usual frown is gone, replaced by a calm, almost contemplative expression. He holds something small in his hands—a few of the trinkets you’ve given him over time. A bead here, a charm there, and even a tiny polished stone you had insisted would bring him good luck during one of his more ambitious missions.

He turns them over one by one, his gloved fingers tracing each object with uncharacteristic gentleness. It’s a rare sight, one that tugs at your heartstrings in a way you can’t quite describe.

You watch in silence, your heart growing warmer with every moment. Despite his sharp words and cold demeanor, this little glimpse of him—his quiet appreciation for the small things you’ve shared—makes all his rough edges seem a little softer.

You pull the coat tighter around yourself, smiling faintly as you silently decide to treasure this fleeting, tender moment for as long as you can.

Then Scaramouche looks up, startled to find your eyes on him. His surprise is brief, but it’s enough to break the tranquil moment. “How long have you been awake?” he asks sharply, though his tone carries a hint of embarrassment.

“I just woke up,” you murmur, still wrapped in his fur coat. Your gaze drifts back to the trinkets scattered on his desk, and without thinking, you say softly, ��You kept them.”

He scoffs, turning his head slightly as if to hide the faintest flush creeping up his neck. “Of course, I kept them. What do you take me for? I’m not someone so lowly as to toss away gifts given with sincere thoughts behind them.”

Despite his words, there’s a subtle defensiveness in his tone, almost as if the notion of doing otherwise would be an unthinkable affront. He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms with a huff, and adds, “Honestly, you’re such a fool sometimes, thinking I wouldn’t.”

You can’t help but smile at his reaction, though the warmth in your chest only grows. “Thank you,” you whisper.

“Don’t get used to it, idiot,” he mutters, looking away but making no move to reclaim his coat from your shoulders.

#genshin #genshin impact #scaramouche #scaramouche genshin #genshin scaramouche #genshin impact scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x you #genshin scaramouche x reader #genshin scaramouche x you #genshin x you #genshin x reader #drabble #dreabbles #x reader #x you #fyp

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claramelooo · 3 days ago

Text

CRIMSON REVERIE

How about a little of fluffy, huh?

Enjoy it <3

MINORS DO NOT MUST INTERACT

Summary: you find out about your version and Wanda in another universe.

Hey! Now I've a masterlist

SIGHTS

As you walked back to the camp, water droplets slid down your skin, the night breeze bringing a slight shiver that had nothing to do with the cold. Your mind was in turmoil, recalling Wanda's little show by the lake. The trees seemed quieter, as if even nature was trying to absorb what had just happened.

"Did you really have to do that in front of everyone?" you asked, breaking the silence, but your voice came out hesitant, almost shy.

Wanda glanced at you sideways, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. "And what exactly did I do?"

"Oh, come on, Wanda," you said, exasperated. "Lifting that guy into the air, threatening to erase them all from the multiverse? That’s not exactly... educational."

Wanda raised an eyebrow, pretending to be surprised. “What are you talking about? I was perfectly reasonable, if you want to know,” she said, her tone bordering on cynical, as if her threat to erase people from existence was something ordinary and completely justifiable.

"Reasonable?!" you repeated, your voice a bit louder than you intended. "You almost gave the poor guy a heart attack! He’ll never look at a campfire again without remembering you."

Wanda stopped walking, turning to face you with an expression that was both amused and exasperated. "He should be grateful," she retorted, as if explaining something obvious. "If I wanted to, he wouldn’t even remember what a campfire is."

"Oh my god! You’re impossible!" You crossed your arms, trying to look firm, but the way she was looking at you— that mix of unwavering authority and irresistible charm—made your heart race. "You know that’s not the point, right?"

She took a step closer, tilting her head slightly. "And what’s the point, then, dorogaya? That I should have let that bunch of filthy teenagers disrespecting nature go unpunished? I have principles, sweetheart! And none of them can see you like this except for me."

"I’m not talking about me," you replied, but your tone lost strength at the end of the sentence, because deep down, you knew there was something comforting—and, in a way, exciting—about the fact that she had defended you so fiercely.

"Oh, but I am," Wanda murmured, the intensity in her eyes making you feel as though the ground had disappeared beneath your feet. "No one will desire you in my presence. No one will even dare to think about you, and read my lips when I say, darling: I will know what they’re thinking. I always do."

You exhaled heavily, but tried to hide your smile at your witch’s over-the-top monologue. "Wanda… please."

Wanda turned to you, crossing her arms as she tilted her head. "Are you... worried about them?"

You opened your mouth to respond, but she just made a hand gesture.

"Happy?" she asked casually, beginning to walk again as if nothing had happened.

You furrowed your brow, quickening your pace to catch up with her. "What do you mean? What did you do?"

Without even looking at you, Wanda gave a small, satisfied smile. "They’ve forgotten everything, dorogaya."

Your eyes widened. "What do you mean 'forgotten everything'? Did you mess with their minds?"

She shrugged, fingers playing with a strand of her own hair. "Just enough to make sure no one will remember my ‘little show,’ as you call it."

You stared at her, a mixture of fascination and unease growing inside you. "You can do that? Alter memories?"

"I can do many things," Wanda replied, finally stopping and turning to face you. She seemed slightly amused, as if relishing your curiosity.

"Like what?" you asked, unable to contain the question.

Wanda leaned slightly toward you, her eyes shining with that characteristic mix of mystery and power. "Ah, milaya moya," she murmured, her voice low and enticing. "If I told you everything I can do, you wouldn’t sleep for weeks."

A shiver ran down your spine, but you couldn’t help but smile. "Is that a promise or a warning?"

"Both," she replied, laughing softly before continuing to walk.

Unable to resist, you hurried to walk beside her. "You really are something, Miss Maximoff."

Wanda stopped abruptly, making you almost stumble in your hurry to keep up with her. She turned to face you, an expression that wavered between surprise and amusement. "Something?" she repeated, raising an eyebrow as a smile danced on her lips.

"Yes, something," you reaffirmed, crossing your arms with an unexpected touch of boldness. "A force of nature, maybe. Or maybe a goddess with a heroine complex. But definitely something."

Wanda’s eyes sparkled, and you realized there was something more there. It wasn’t just amusement. It was admiration. Fascination. As if she was seeing something in you that intrigued her as much as you were intrigued by her.

"You’re bold," Wanda said, her voice soft but tinged with provocation. "Do you know what happens to people who challenge a goddess?"

"I have no idea," you replied, shrugging. "Maybe you should show me."

Wanda tilted her head, a dangerous yet charming smile forming. "You really want to know what I’m capable of, don’t you?"

"I do," you replied, firm, though your heart was pounding like a drum. "I want to know what makes you the woman you are. I want to see everything you can do. Because, if I’m going to be by your side, I need to understand... you."

For a moment, Wanda was silent, just watching you. Then, she stepped forward, closing the gap between you. Her fingers lifted to trace a slow path along your face, as if deciding how far she would take you on this journey.

"You have no idea what you’re asking for, dorogaya," she murmured, her voice like honey dripping. "My power isn’t just strength or control. It’s chaos. It’s destruction. It’s everything you fear and desire at the same time."

"Then show me," you insisted, your voice almost inaudible, but filled with determination. "If that’s what you are, I want to see it. All of it."

Wanda smiled, but this time, there was something deeper there—maybe a touch of respect. "You’re brave. So brave, lyubimaya. But be careful what you wish for."

She extended her hand to you, her eyes glowing with a deep red intensity. "Come with me. And I’ll show you what I’m made of."

You hesitated for a second, but just enough for Wanda to intertwine her fingers with yours, pulling you with her. "Hold on," she said, her lips curling into a smile that was as terrifying as it was beautiful. "You asked for this."

And then, with an almost imperceptible snap, the world around you began to change.

Wanda guided you with a firm yet strange touch through the veil between worlds. Reality around you unraveled in a tangle of colors and shapes, as if every line that composed the fabric of the universe was being unfolded before you. The air seemed to vibrate, charged with something incomprehensible—a raw, terrifying power.

"Welcome to the Multiverse, dorogaya," Wanda said, her voice soft as a whisper, but filled with an authority that made you shiver. "Get ready, because there’s no turning back."

Before you could respond, the first vision took shape.

The room seemed like it was from a dream. White, smooth, and flawless walls reflected the soft light streaming through large windows. Outside, there was a perfect garden, with well-manicured lawns and flowers of all colors. The house was a reflection of what Wanda seemed to believe was an ideal life: simple, cozy, and full of love.

Wanda was barefoot, wearing a light red dress that swayed with her movement. Her hair was loose, and she appeared... ordinary, but in an almost supernatural way. In her arms, a chubby, smiling baby played with strands of her hair as she looked at him with a tenderness so intense it almost broke your heart.

Vision stood beside her, smiling in a way you didn’t think possible for someone made of vibranium. He looked so human there, so... present. With one hand, he caressed Wanda’s face, and with the other, he held a small music box that played a soft melody in the background.

“This was my utopia,” Wanda began, without looking directly at you. Her eyes were fixed on the scene, as if she were immersed in the memory. “A perfect creation for a perfect life. A home where I could have everything the real world denied me.”

You realized the setting seemed like a reflection of an ideal from the 1950s or 60s — a perfect suburban life, almost like a magazine advertisement. Yet, the longer you looked, the more artificial everything seemed. The flowers in the garden had no scent. The sunlight didn’t warm. And suddenly, you realized there were no sounds from the outside.

“It was an illusion, of course,” Wanda continued, with a hint of melancholy. “But for a while... I wanted to believe it was real. I needed to believe. I did this for Vision. For myself. For my children.”

The scene abruptly changed. Now, the same room was dark, almost in ruins. The baby in Wanda’s arms had vanished. Vision was lying on the floor, lifeless, with a hole in his chest where the Mind Stone should have been. Wanda was kneeling, her hands stained with blood, her eyes fixed on the void.

“That’s when I realized,” she said, her voice faltering slightly. “None of this was mine. I was living a lie. And the truth... the truth was more cruel than any illusion I could create.”

You wanted to say something, but the words felt stuck in your throat. Everything around you screamed of pain, loss, and despair.

“I tried so hard,” Wanda whispered, more to herself than to you. “I tried to be good, I tried to be strong. But the more I lost, the more I became... this.”

You glanced at the woman, seeing tears held back in her large green eyes. Why doesn’t Wanda cry? Why does she keep everything to herself? These are questions you would like to understand and deconstruct with every reason she gives you.

This version of Wanda was a whirlwind of emotions, chaos personified. You saw her in different moments, different worlds, all versions converging on the same point: Vision. He was the center of her universe, and Wanda did the impossible to bring him back — to recreate the love she believed was her only anchor.

In the first scene, she was kneeling in a cold, metallic room, holding Vision’s lifeless body. It was a version of him without glow, without movement. The pale light reflected on her face, bathed in tears that flowed uncontrollably. Wanda murmured softly, almost inaudible, like a desperate prayer: "Please, come back to me. Please..."

You could feel the urgency in her voice, the kind of desperation that defies reason. She tried using her magic, her hands trembling as a scarlet glow surrounded Vision’s body. But it was futile. He wouldn’t return.

"I refused to accept death," Wanda explained, her voice low, as if confessing a terrible secret. "I thought I could deceive fate. That, if I wanted it enough, I could bring him back."

The scene abruptly shifted, and now you saw her in another world, facing a legion of colossal beings, each one more threatening than the last. They seemed to be guarding something — maybe an artifact or a secret she wanted. Wanda was at the center of the battle, her powers turning the ground into lava, the sky into darkness.

"I destroyed entire worlds," she continued, her eyes fixed on the scene. "I fought against those who tried to stop me, against those who said I was wrong. I didn’t care. I would do anything to bring him back."

You saw another Wanda, this time creating an entire world. She stood with her arms raised as houses rose from the ground, people took form out of nowhere, and a perfect blue sky stretched above everyone. At the center of this world was Vision, smiling, alive, as if nothing had happened.

"I created entire realities," Wanda said, a touch of bitterness in her voice. "But none of them were real. He... wasn’t real."

The last scene was the most devastating. Wanda was alone, watching a version of Vision disappear before her eyes. He touched her face one last time before fading into dust, and she remained motionless, as if there was no more strength left in her to react.

"For so long," Wanda said, her eyes filled with a pain that seemed endless, "I thought love was sacrifice. That everything worth having had to be earned with pain. But I was wrong."

She turned to you, the intensity in her eyes as crushing as everything you had just witnessed. "Love shouldn’t be this, right? It shouldn’t be pain, or loss, or despair. But it was all I knew."

You felt your heart tighten. You wanted to touch her, comfort her, but it seemed too small in comparison to everything she had faced.

"You showed me something different," she continued, her voice trembling slightly. "Something I never thought I deserved. You showed me that love can be... healing."

This time, the air was thick with tension as you entered that ruined house, used as a temporary refuge by Wanda Maximoff. The walls were cracked, and the smell of dust mixed with something else: magic, raw and pulsing, like a storm about to explode. The organization that had sent you knew she was dangerous, but you weren’t there as an agent or a heroine. You were there as a social worker, someone who had worked with people who had lost everything — and Wanda Maximoff was exactly that.

She was sitting in the darkest corner of the room, her eyes glowing with an unsettling scarlet hue. There was no apparent pain or mourning on her face; just a dangerous emptiness, the kind that swallows worlds.

"Leave," was the first thing she said, not even looking at you directly.

You didn’t leave.

"I just want to talk," you said, keeping your voice calm, even though your heart was pounding like a drum. "Nothing more."

Wanda laughed — a dry, bitter laugh, without joy. "Talk? Is that what they call interrogation now?" She finally raised her eyes to meet yours, and the weight of her gaze was almost physical. "I don’t need your pity."

"It’s not pity," you replied, not backing down. "It’s... concern."

Suddenly, the air around her shifted. It was as if an invisible hand was trying to grab you, crush you. Wanda raised her hand, and you saw the scarlet threads of her magic dance around her like serpents ready to strike.

"Do you think you can help me?" she whispered, her voice laced with sarcasm and something deeper: pain. "Do you think you can come in here and fix everything with your sweet words? I could end you before you even finish that sentence."

But she couldn’t.

The magic around her shattered like glass, vanishing into the air before it could touch you. Wanda’s expression transformed into something you would never forget: surprise. She tried again, raising both hands, muttering words in an ancient tongue, but nothing happened.

"Who are you?" she asked, standing slowly, her eyes fixed on you like a predator finding something unusual.

"My name is Y/n. I’m a social worker." You took a deep breath, trying to seem calmer than you felt. "And I think you need help."

"You idiot! Who sent you? Are you a witch? How do you know how to manipulate my magic?" she shot angrily.

Your hands were sweating, and you felt a strong urge to rush to the bathroom — but something completely insane inside you told you that you needed to stay.

You took a hesitant step forward, keeping your hands visible at your sides. It was like facing a wild animal, where every movement needed to be calculated.

"I’m not a witch, and no one sent me," you said, your voice calm but firm. "I’m just a social worker. And I’m here because you’re hurt."

Wanda laughed, but it was an empty, bitter sound. "Hurt?" she repeated, taking a step toward you. "You think you can help me? I’m the Scarlet Witch. I don’t need help from anyone, especially not from a... social worker."

"Maybe you don’t need it," you replied, trying to ignore the heat at the back of your neck and the trembling in your legs. "But maybe you want it."

Her face hardened, and for a moment, you thought you had made a fatal mistake. But then something changed. Her eyes lost some of their intensity, as if your words had touched a part of Wanda she was desperately trying to hide.

"Why aren’t you afraid of me?" she asked, tilting her head. "Everyone is. I can feel fear in people. But in you... there’s nothing."

You hesitated, searching for the right words. "Maybe it’s because I see beyond that," you said, taking another step. "I see someone who is hurt, who’s lost so much, but who is still here. Still fighting."

"You don’t know anything about me," she murmured, but her voice was quieter now, almost unsure.

"Then tell me," you responded softly. "Let me get to know you, Wanda."

There was a long silence. She watched you as if trying to decide whether you were real or just another broken piece in her world. Finally, Wanda sighed and turned her back, crossing her arms.

"You’re stubborn," she said, not looking at you.

"I hear that often," you replied, trying not to smile.

She chuckled softly, but it wasn’t a cruel sound this time. When she finally turned to you, there was something different in her eyes. Something more human, more vulnerable.

"If you’re going to stay, then stay. But don’t expect me to trust you anytime soon," she said, pointing to a worn-out sofa in the corner of the room.

"I don’t expect," you replied, carefully sitting down. "So, you can’t kill me with your red power balls, nor read my mind. What’s that supposed to mean?"

Wanda let out a disbelieving laugh, actually incredulous. Red power balls? She thought with a roll of her eyes.

"I don’t know." It was a low murmur.

"Maybe a sign that you should give me a chance…" You said with your shoulders shrugged and a sheepish smile on the corner of your lips.

Wanda could never have imagined that you would keep coming back, again, and again, and again — in fact, neither could you. A not-so-friendly conversation and death threats turned into a tea afternoon where Wanda told you about life in the Avengers before everything; then a lunch on the beach where you told her about how you almost drowned when you were 9 — that day, you saw the most genuine smile she could give you given her current conditions, and you felt your heart beat differently for the redhead. Then a dinner at your place — where you learned to make paprikash just to see her smile and complain that the dish lacked pepper — with wine, where Wanda cried missing her boys, and you were officially classified by her as: "the best shoulder I’ve ever cried on, and believe me, I never cry."

Wanda hadn’t realized how important your presence had become in her life, not until you needed to travel for an important case. She missed you, and that confused her. After all, how could a visit so unpleasant and peculiar make her want... for it to be daily? That you would visit her every day and bring the cinnamon rolls from that bakery on your street that she loved so much. That you would learn more Sokovian recipes just to make her smile.

Then the kiss happened in one of those moments of silence, when words were no longer necessary. You were sitting next to her, watching the sunset through the broken window of the house she called her temporary home. The sky was tinged with shades of orange and red, as if the universe itself was painting a canvas just for the two of you.

Wanda seemed calmer that day. Her shoulders weren’t as tense, and the eyes that always seemed to hold storms had a soft, almost peaceful glow. She suddenly looked at you, and there was something in her expression that made the air feel thicker.

"Why do you stay?" she asked, her voice low, almost a whisper.

"Because I want to," you replied, without hesitation.

She tilted her head, as if trying to understand something that didn't make sense to her. "You're strange," she murmured, but there was a small, almost imperceptible smile on her lips.

"I prefer 'unique,'" you responded, teasing, though your voice trembled a little.

Then, before you could say anything more, she leaned toward you. It was a hesitant movement, as if testing the waters, but when her lips finally met yours, everything else disappeared.

The kiss was everything both of you had imagined it would be — and more. It was soft, but filled with emotion, as if Wanda was pouring everything she couldn't say in words into that moment. You felt her hand move to your face, her fingers tracing your jawline with a tenderness that contrasted with the intensity of the kiss.

When you pulled away, she looked at you with something new in her eyes: hope. "You're not like anyone I've ever met," she said, her voice barely audible.

"Neither are you," you replied, smiling.

Months later, after your wedding in the Russian summer, when Wanda told you she was pregnant, the smile on her face was so wide it seemed to light up the entire room. You were sitting on the couch of your new home, a place you had chosen together, far from the chaos and painful memories of the past.

"I can hardly believe it," she said, placing her hands on her still-flat belly, but with eyes shining with genuine happiness. "After everything... after everything that happened, I never thought I would have this."

You held her hand, squeezing it gently. "You deserve all the happiness in the world, Wanda. And these babies already have the best mother they could ask for."

The following months were a mix of nerves and joy. You had never seen Wanda so happy. She decorated the twins' room with soft colors, but couldn't resist using a bit of magic to create constellations shining on the ceiling.

"I want them to grow up knowing that the entire universe is within their reach," she explained, smiling at you as she adjusted the details with a wave of her hand.

The day Tommy and Billy were born, Wanda cried. Tears of genuine happiness, as she held the two little ones in her arms. You were beside her, holding her hand, unable to hold back your own tears.

"I never thought I could be this happy," she whispered, looking at you.

"You deserve this, my love," you replied, kissing her forehead.

Exactly seven years later, when Wanda and you were waiting for the pregnancy test to be ready, this time for Seline, Wanda could hardly believe it. It was as if the universe was finally giving back to her everything it had taken before.

Wanda looked at you that day with the same gaze she had in your first kiss — full of love and hope. "You gave me this," she said, placing her hand on your belly, moved by feeling the baby's heartbeat against your skin. "You gave me everything I thought I could never have."

You laughed, wiping away a tear that escaped. "That's not how it works, Wanda. We did this together."

During Seline's pregnancy, Wanda seemed even more radiant than before. She spent hours reading storybooks to the twins, and often you would wake up in the night to find her caressing your belly, softly murmuring in Sokovian.

When Seline was born, you knew your family was complete.

"She's so perfect," Wanda said, with a soft smile as she held the little one in her arms.

"She has your eyes," you replied, feeling a wave of love flood your chest.

And in that moment, as you looked at Wanda and the three children you had brought into the world together, you knew that everything you had been through — all the pain, all the sacrifice — had been worth it.

The path back to the camp seemed almost irrelevant in the face of the intensity that was growing between you. Each step you took on the trail was an extension of what you had shared in that intimate moment, when Wanda had opened a piece of her soul to you. The words she had spoken echoed in your mind, but it wasn’t the words that mattered at that moment — it was the feeling.

You felt a mix of adoration and a deep desire for her, and Wanda seemed to understand this as clearly as you did. But there was something more, an urgency in both of you, as if fate had brought you together once again for another dance, this time with immeasurable depth.

"You asked me to show what I’m capable of," Wanda said, breaking the silence between you. Her voice was soft, but there was something threatening in the way she spoke, something that could only come from a woman who knew the power she possessed, yet remained vulnerable. "Do you still want to love me after all of this?"

She turned her face to you, and her eyes were shining with a mixture of insecurity and provocation. The silence between you seemed to carry centuries of repressed desire, of lost and found loves, as if you both were made for this moment, but had lived countless lives and universes before finally being here, together.

You didn’t hesitate. Your hands rose to Wanda’s face, touching her gently, as if you feared she might disappear at any moment. But she didn’t disappear. She was there. And you, without words, simply looked into her eyes, trying to convey all the love and certainty you felt.

"I want to love you because of all of this," you said, your voice firm, but heavy with something more — a promise, an oath made with heart and soul.

When your eyes met, the distance between you vanished, as if the entire universe had been reduced to this single moment. Time stopped. And deep down, you felt something like the touch of past lives, as if you had been there with her, in some other place, in some other time. Something that transcended everything that had happened, all the struggles, all the deaths and rebirths.

She leaned in slowly, and her lips touched yours with an unexpected softness, as if testing the moment, measuring the intensity of her own desire. But soon, the softness turned into urgency, as if, finally,

Wanda knew there was no turning back. And you, with your heart racing, matched every movement of hers, with the same intensity, with the same hunger. It was as if everything around you had disappeared, and there were only the two of you. No universe, no past, no pain.

The kiss was like a river flowing between mountains, gentle and impetuous at the same time. When Wanda’s lips touched yours, there was no more space for anything — no fear, no doubt, just the need to be consumed by her, to surrender to what fate had already drawn. It was as if everything had been a preparation for that moment. Your souls recognized each other immediately, as if they had known each other since the beginning of time, as if they had met in all past lives, in all universes, in all reincarnations. The feeling of something eternal, something that couldn’t be broken, settled between you.

It was a soft touch at first, a silent exploration, but soon the need for more became apparent. Wanda’s tongue slid against yours, and the tension between you dissolved in the intensity of that contact. It was more than passion; it was a union of everything you had been and everything you would still be. The kiss became more urgent, as if, by touching, you were rediscovering each other, merging. The world around you disappeared, the sound of the rain, the shadows of the night — everything became secondary. There was only the heat of bodies, the exchange of breaths, and the silent magic dancing in the air, reflecting the indescribable connection between you.

Wanda slowly pulled away, as if reluctant to leave that moment. Her eyes were darker now, but there was something deeply different in them. Something deeper than any expression you had ever seen in her before. Something immense, an ocean of feelings overflowing without words. And you knew. You knew that, in that look, she was giving you her soul, all the pain, all the love, all the hope.

She touched your face with trembling hands, as if wanting to engrave the outline of your being into her memory, as if she needed you desperately, as if her happiness now depended on you. Her voice was hoarse, broken, but filled with a sincerity so pure it seemed to tear her very heart apart.

"You are everything I need," Wanda murmured, almost like a plea, like a truth she was finally accepting. The desperation was there, in her eyes, in the tone of her voice. "I never knew what it really meant to live until now... until you."

Those words settled in your chest with the force of a silent scream. And then, without needing to respond, you moved closer to her, your bodies fitting together as if they had always been meant to do so. It was as if, by being together, the entire universe became lighter, clearer.

And in the touch, in the exchange of heat, you knew. You knew that she was desperate to be saved, to be happy, to find a home. It wasn’t just about the love you shared, but everything she wanted to build — a life, a family, a future. That kiss was not just passion: it was a promise. A promise that, together, you could create something that would resist time and fate.

When she pulled her face away slightly, breathing heavily, you saw the vulnerability in her eyes, the fragility of someone carrying the weight of an entire world on their shoulders. But you also saw something more — a renewed strength, a confidence. Because, even with the pain she carried, she knew you were there, by her side, for whatever came.

And you whispered back, with a soft but firm voice, so Wanda would know what you felt, without doubt, without hesitation. "I’m here, Wanda. Forever. And we will build all of this together. As many times as it takes."

She smiled, a smile mixed with tears and hope, as if, at that moment, the world was finally a place worth conquering. You knew their future would be unpredictable, but you also knew, with an almost palpable certainty, that they had found each other for the last time. And that, in the end, was all that mattered.

The kiss that followed was gentler, but no less intense. It was as if, in that moment, you were building a new beginning. The future, uncertain and challenging, seemed promising, because by her side, Wanda had everything she had always needed: you. And by your side, you had everything you had always wanted: her.

And so, in the silence of the night, with the rain tapping on the windows and the distant echoes of the camp, you and Wanda surrendered to this truth. A truth stronger than any magic, stronger than any fate. Because what you shared was eternal, and nothing, no one, could destroy it. The connection between you was stronger than anything that could be said. Stronger than any magic, stronger than any destiny. It was something intangible, yet as real as the air you breathed. Something eternal, that would withstand any battle, any pain.

And so, in the silence of the night, between the distant echoes of the camp and the touch of your bodies still tingling from the intensity of the kiss, you both knew that nothing else mattered. Because, in the end, you were together.

~*~

Oh. I need her.

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