#This chapter was supposed to be one chapter

[jupiterpilgrim]

Drown With Me

Pt.2: Interpolation

Ningning x Minji x Male Reader

word count: 7K

part 1 | part 3

A/n: Pt.2 and pt.3 were supposed to be a single chapter, but it was split in two because of the block limit.

I wish I could be everything you wanted.

—

Oh, here we are again. But this time we're going back in time. We journeyed into the past because some things must be witnessed. And I say 'witnessed,' not 'understood.' For understanding confines the subtleties of human connections to a singular perspective, and that restricts the strange language of the heart.

We're at a bar now, where a lot of stories start. This is one of those:

The lights are dim and amber, casting warm shadows over the polished countertops and the scratched wooden floor. It’s a quiet Tuesday night, a lull between the weekend rush and midweek regulars. You’ve been working here long enough to know the rhythm of it—the predictable ebb and flow of people looking for drinks to drown whatever piece of life was gnawing at them. But then, just as you’re stacking a row of freshly washed glasses, the door swings open, and in walks her again.

She hesitates in the doorway, framed by the cool, blue glow of the streetlights outside. The first thing that grabs you, as it did last night, are her eyes—huge, almond-shaped, and impossibly feline. The kind of eyes that make you forget what you were supposed to be doing. They dart nervously around the room before finally landing on you, and for a moment, she freezes.

“You again,” you say, a smile tugging at your lips. You lean casually against the bar, arms crossed, trying not to seem too eager.

She’s wearing a cropped, black leather jacket that clings to her slender frame, sharp and a little out of place against the pale softness of her features. Beneath it, a white tank top hints at the curve of her collarbone and the toned lines of her stomach. Her high-waisted jeans, faded and torn at the knees, hug her slim legs like they were stitched onto her body. The scuffed Doc Martens on her feet somehow make her look even more striking—an accidental runway model lost in a world of beer stains and neon signs.

Her broad shoulders, almost too strong for her petite height, square up as if she's trying to summon some hidden reserve of confidence. But it’s her shyness, that hint of hesitation in every movement, that makes her feel like a puzzle you want to solve. She brushes a lock of jet-black hair behind her ear, her eyes darting away from yours as though the floor might swallow her whole if she stares for too long.

You tilt your head toward the bar, beckoning her closer. “Second night in a row, huh? You sure you’re not stalking me?”

Her lips part in a soft laugh, so quiet you almost miss it. “Hardly. My friend dragged me here yesterday. Tonight… I just needed some air.”

Her voice is as soft as her laugh, tinged with a slight huskiness that adds depth to her otherwise delicate demeanor. She approaches the bar slowly, her movements careful, like someone who’s always aware of the space she takes up.

“Well,” you say, pulling a coaster from under the counter and setting it down in front of her, “welcome back to the quietest bar in town. What can I get you?”

She perches on the stool, her knees pressed close together, hands tucked into the sleeves of her jacket. “Um…just a Coke, actually.”

“Coke?”

She nods, her eyes flicking up to meet yours, only to dart away again. “I don’t drink much.”

“Second night in a row at a bar and no drinks? You’re full of surprises.” You grab a glass and pour the soda, sliding it toward her. “Not that I’m complaining. Makes my job easier.”

She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear again, a nervous habit, you realize, but it only adds to the quiet allure of her presence. “You work here often?”

“Most nights.” You lean against the bar again, giving her your best casual smile. “And you? What’s your excuse for gracing us with your presence twice in a row?”

“I’m…” She hesitates, then shrugs. “I guess I just liked the vibe. It’s not like other places.”

“It’s not like most places because most places actually get customers,” you joke, gesturing to the mostly empty room. “But hey, if the vibe brought you back, I’m not going to argue.”

She smiles, faint but genuine. “It’s nice. Quiet. Less… intimidating.”

“Intimidating?” You raise an eyebrow, genuinely curious.

She fidgets with the straw in her glass, swirling the Coke absently. “Bars aren’t really my thing. Too loud, too crowded. I usually avoid them.” She glances up at you, almost shyly. “This one feels… different.”

You don’t miss the slight blush that creeps up her neck as she speaks, and something about it tugs at you. “Different’s good,” you say softly. “I like different.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The faint hum of the jukebox in the corner fills the silence, playing some slow, melancholic track that perfectly matches the mood. You watch as she takes a small sip of her drink, her lashes casting long shadows over her cheeks.

“So,” you finally ask, breaking the quiet, “what’s your name? Or should I just keep calling you ‘Coke Girl’?”

Her lips twitch into a smile again, a little more confident this time. “Ning Yìzhuo. And you?”

“Coke Boy,” you deadpan, earning a small laugh from her. “Kidding. It’s—”

The door swings open again, cutting you off as a group of rowdy patrons stumbles in, disrupting the peaceful bubble you’d been sharing. Ningning’s shoulders tense immediately, her fingers tightening around her glass. You can tell she’s debating whether to stay or bolt.

You lean closer, your voice low. “Don’t worry. They’re harmless. Plus, I’ve got your back.”

She looks at you, her eyes searching your face for something—reassurance, maybe. And whatever she finds there seems to calm her, if only a little. She nods, taking another sip of her Coke.

You don’t know why, but you can already tell she’s going to stay with you longer than just tonight. Something about her feels significant, like a spark of lightning caught in a jar. Quiet, shy, and utterly captivating.

—

The weeks bleed into one another, and before you know it, Ning is a fixture at the bar. Not officially, of course. She doesn’t work here, doesn’t drink much, and always leaves by midnight like Cinderella with a self-imposed curfew. But she’s here. Three nights a week, like clockwork, perching on her usual stool and ordering her usual Coke, sometimes daring to live dangerously with a Sprite.

At first, you thought she came because it was quiet, because she needed a place to escape whatever stresses her life held. But it’s become increasingly clear that the bar’s charm isn’t the only thing pulling her back. It’s you. And you’re not mad about it.

Tonight, she’s dressed like she always is—effortlessly cool in her slightly oversized sweater, rolled-up jeans, and her beat-up Doc Martens. Her leather jacket is slung over the back of the stool, her dark hair spilling over her shoulders like ink. She’s got her sketchbook with her tonight, the same one she’s been carrying for weeks. You’ve seen glimpses of the drawings—sketches of people, abstract swirls, the occasional cat—but she guards it like it contains state secrets, never letting you get a proper look.

“What are you working on this time?” you ask, leaning on the counter with the practiced nonchalance of a bartender-slash-business-student who definitely isn’t secretly invested in whatever she’s drawing.

She glances up from her page, cat-like eyes sparkling under the warm glow of the bar’s lights. “Nothing special. Just doodling.”

“That’s what you said last time,” you point out, reaching for a clean glass to wipe down. “And then you showed me that sketch of that old guy in the corner, and it looked like something out of a museum. You can admit it, Ning—you’re talented.”

She ducks her head, a faint blush creeping up her neck. “It’s not that good.”

“Sure,” you deadpan, “and I’m not the best bartender in this city.”

She laughs—a soft, melodic sound that you’ve started to look forward to more than you’d like to admit. “You’re not even the best bartender in this bar.”

You feign offense, clutching your chest. “Ouch. And here I thought we were friends.”

“We are friends,” she says, smiling up at you. “Which is why I’m honest with you.”

“Brutally honest,” you correct, smirking. “Fine. Tell me this: do all fine arts students have this much sass, or are you just special?”

“Special,” she says, sticking her tongue out. “And for the record, it’s not fine arts. It’s animation and visual effects. Totally different.”

You nod sagely, as if you know the first thing about animation or visual effects. “Ah, of course. Animation. You’re going to make the next Toy Story, right?”

She rolls her eyes, but she’s grinning. “Something like that. What about you, Mr. Future CEO? Made any spreadsheets cry lately?”

“Every day,” you reply solemnly. “It’s part of the curriculum in business administration. They don’t let you graduate until you’ve traumatized at least three Excel files.”

Her laugh comes easily, her shoulders relaxing as she sips her Coke. She looks comfortable here now, like this place—and you—have become a safe haven for her.

It’s nice.

She’s nice.

“You know,” you say, setting the glass down and leaning closer, “when you first started coming here, I thought you were just using the bar as a library with worse lighting.”

She raises an eyebrow. “And now?”

“Now I think you’re here because you can’t resist my charm.”

She snorts into her drink, nearly choking. “Your charm? Please.”

“Hey, admit it. I make this place bearable for you.”

She tilts her head, pretending to consider. “You do make pretty good jokes.”

“High praise from the queen of sarcasm.”

Her smile softens slightly, the teasing edge in her voice fading. “I just like talking to you. You make things… lighter. Easier to deal with.”

You don’t know what to say to that. It’s rare for her to let her guard down like this, and you feel a sudden, inexplicable urge to keep it safe, to make sure she never regrets being vulnerable.

“Well,” you say, keeping your tone light, “as long as you keep coming back, I’ll keep telling terrible jokes. Deal?”

“Deal,” she says, holding out her hand like you’re signing a legally binding contract.

You shake her hand, her skin warm and soft against yours. There’s a moment—a brief, fleeting moment—where the noise of the bar fades away, and it’s just the two of you. Friends. Companions in this odd little corner of the world.

“By the way,” you add, breaking the moment, “if you ever need a businessperson in one of your animations, I know a guy.”

“Let me guess,” she says, smirking. “He’s incredibly charming and makes terrible jokes?”

“Exactly.”

She laughs again, and for the rest of the night, the bar feels a little brighter.

—

Ning sits cross-legged on her bed, a pencil tucked behind her ear and her sketchbook balanced on her knees. The room is bathed in soft, golden light from the desk lamp Minji insisted on buying, claiming it was better for productivity. Across the room, Minji herself sits at her desk, perfectly upright, fingers flying across the keyboard of her sleek laptop. She looks like a Vogue spread come to life, even in her oversized knit sweater and black leggings, her shiny, straight hair falling effortlessly over her shoulder.

Minji’s skin practically glows, the kind of flawless complexion that makes you wonder if she’s secretly Photoshopped in real life. Her glasses—a stylish, rectangular pair with gold rims—rest perfectly on the bridge of her pointy nose, framing dark, intelligent eyes that seem to miss nothing. Her lips, soft and plump, are painted a subtle pink, just enough to look effortlessly put together. She’s everything Ning isn’t: confident, composed, intimidatingly perfect.

Ning chews on her pencil, staring at her friend’s back. “Hey, Minji?”

“Hm?” Minji doesn’t look up from her screen. She’s probably working on some group project for her international business course. Even in her downtime, Minji is an efficiency machine.

“How do you, like…” Ning hesitates, fiddling with the corner of her sketchbook. “How do you get guys to notice you?”

That gets Minji’s attention. She swivels her chair around, fixing Ning with a look that’s equal parts amused and curious. “What kind of question is that?”

“You know what I mean,” Ning mumbles, heat rising to her cheeks. “You always have a line of guys chasing after you. It’s like… you just exist, and they’re obsessed with you.”

Minji raises an eyebrow, leaning back in her chair. “It’s not like I’m trying to get their attention.”

“That’s exactly my point!” Ning groans, flopping backward onto her bed. “You don’t even try, and they’re all over you. Meanwhile, I could walk into a room naked, and no one would notice.”

“First of all, don’t do that,” Minji says dryly, folding her arms. “Second, you’re exaggerating.”

“I’m really not,” Ning mutters, staring at the ceiling. “You’re like this goddess of elegance or whatever, and I’m just… me. How do you make people like you?”

Minji sighs, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose in that annoyingly perfect way she does. “It’s not about making people like you, Ning. You just have to be yourself.”

Ning sits up, frowning. “That’s so easy for you to say. You’re perfect. People like you without you even trying.”

“I’m not perfect,” Minji says, though the way she says it makes it clear she knows she’s pretty close.

Ning snorts. “Please. You’re gorgeous, you’re smart, you’re the only person I know who actually looks good in those glasses. And don’t get me started on your ‘I just woke up like this’ hair.”

Minji chuckles softly, a sound that somehow feels condescending and comforting at the same time. “Okay, fine. Maybe I have some good qualities. But seriously, Ning, if you want people to notice you, just… put yourself out there.”

“That’s easy for you to say. You’re not shy,” Ning mutters, pulling her knees to her chest.

Minji leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “Shy people are fine, but if you never let anyone see who you really are, how are they supposed to notice you?”

“What if who I really am is… shy?” Ning asks, her voice small.

“Then be the best version of shy,” Minji says simply. “Confidence doesn’t mean being loud or outgoing. It just means being comfortable with who you are. People are drawn to that.”

Ning stares at her, skeptical. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It’s not,” Minji admits, brushing a stray hair behind her ear. “But if you don’t at least try, nothing’s going to change. And trust me, you don’t need to change who you are. You just need to stop hiding it.”

Ning chews on her lip, mulling that over. Minji makes it sound logical, like a formula to be solved. But Ning isn’t sure she can simply flip a switch and become “the best version” of herself.

“And if it doesn’t work?” she asks.

Minji shrugs, her lips curling into a faint smile. “Then it’s their loss.”

Ning laughs despite herself, the tension in her chest loosening just a bit. “You’re annoyingly good at this, you know that?”

Minji smirks, turning back to her laptop. “I know. Now stop overthinking and start being fabulous. You’ve got this, Ning.”

Ning watches her friend for a moment longer, a mixture of admiration and frustration swirling in her chest. If Minji says she can do it, maybe she can. But it still feels like an impossible climb.

“Hey, Minji?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

Minji doesn’t turn around, but her voice is warm. “Anytime.”

—

The door to the bar swings open, and in walks Ning with a determined look in her cat-like eyes. She’s wearing a fitted white crop top that shows just a hint of her toned stomach, a plaid mini skirt, and her signature scuffed Doc Martens. Her hair is loose, cascading over her shoulders in soft waves, and there’s a hint of pink gloss on her lips. Tonight, she’s decided, is the night.

No more shy, stammering Ning. Tonight, she’s confident, bold, maybe even flirty. She’s spent the past three days psyching herself up for this moment, replaying Minji’s advice in her head like a mantra. Put yourself out there. Be the best version of yourself. You’ve got this.

The bar is warm and dimly lit as always, the low hum of conversation filling the air. She spots you cleaning a table, laughing at something one of the regulars said, your easy charm on full display. You see Ning and wave to her with a smile. Her heart skips a beat, but she steels herself. You’ve got this, she repeats silently, striding toward the bar.

Or at least, she tries to.

What she doesn’t see, in her single-minded determination, is the bright yellow Wet Floor sign in the middle of the room. Her Doc Martens hit the slick patch of tiles, and suddenly, her confident stride turns into a cartoonish flail.

“Shit—!”

She feels herself going down, her arms pinwheeling as gravity takes over. But just before she hits the ground, a pair of strong hands catch her, one gripping her waist and the other cradling her back.

“You okay?” Your voice is close—too close—and when she blinks up at you, she realizes her face is just inches from yours.

Her heart is pounding, and not just from the near-death experience. Your eyes, warm and concerned, lock onto hers, and she can feel the heat rising in her cheeks. “I—yeah, I’m okay. Thanks.” Her voice comes out quieter than she’d like, all the confidence she’d mustered evaporating on the spot.

You grin, helping her stand upright but keeping a hand on her arm to steady her. “That was a close one. You almost went full slapstick there.”

“Yeah, well, I like to keep things entertaining,” she mumbles, avoiding your gaze. Her ankle twinges as she shifts her weight, and she winces.

“You sure you’re okay?” you ask, noticing the way she’s favoring one foot.

“It’s just my ankle,” she admits. “I think I twisted it a little.”

“Let’s get you off your feet,” you say, guiding her to a booth in the corner. “Come on, sit down.”

“I’m fine, really,” she protests, but you’re already pulling out a chair for her.

Once she’s seated, you crouch down in front of her, gently taking her foot in your hands. “Let me check it out. I can’t have my best customer suing the bar.”

She snorts softly, despite herself. “It’s my fault for not seeing the sign.”

“Well, next time, try looking where you’re going,” you tease, flashing her a grin that makes her heart skip again.

You slide off her boot carefully, your fingers brushing against her ankle. She tries not to shiver at the touch, but it’s impossible. Your hands are warm and firm, and when you start to massage the sore spot, she has to bite her lip to keep from making an embarrassing sound.

“You’re really good at this,” she says, her voice coming out a little breathier than she intended.

“Comes with practice,” you reply, focused on her foot. “My ex used to come home from work with sore feet all the time, so I’d give her massages. Got pretty good at it after a while.”

Ning’s ears perk up at the mention of your ex. “Oh?” she says, trying to sound casual. “What happened there?”

“She was… complicated,” you say, choosing your words carefully. “Kind of jealous. Possessive. A little manic, honestly.” You pause, then chuckle, shaking your head. “I guess I have a type. Crazy girls seem to find me.”

She swallows hard, caught off guard. “Is that why you’re single now?”

“Pretty much,” you admit, still massaging her ankle. “Taking a break from relationships for a while. Thought I’d give myself some peace and quiet, you know?”

Ning’s heart sinks, though she forces a smile. “Makes sense. Less drama.”

“Exactly,” you say, glancing up at her with a grin. “And besides, who needs a girlfriend when I’ve got customers like you to keep me company?”

She laughs softly, but it feels hollow in her chest. She watches as you go back to massaging her foot, completely unaware of the tiny heartbreak you’ve just caused. But she doesn’t say anything.

Because Minji’s words echo in her head: Be the best version of yourself. And tonight, the best version of herself is just a good friend. Nothing more, nothing less.

—

The dorm bathroom is small, humid, and filled with the faint scent of citrus-scented body wash. The door is open, so the fragrance invades the whole bedroom. The overhead light flickers faintly, casting a soft glow over the scene. Minji stands by the sink in nothing but a pale lavender bra and matching underwear, her skin luminous under the harsh fluorescent light. She’s methodically applying lotion to her arms, her long, straight hair pushed over one shoulder to avoid smearing it. Every movement she makes is precise, deliberate, like everything else about her.

Ning is by the closet, half-dressed, rifling through her limited wardrobe with a furrowed brow. She’s wearing an oversized graphic tee that hangs off one shoulder, exposing the curve of her collarbone and the straps of her bralette. Her plaid pajama shorts are crumpled, a stark contrast to Minji’s immaculate appearance.

“Can I ask you something?” Minji’s voice cuts through the quiet hum of the room, soft but with that unmistakable edge of curiosity.

Ning freezes, her fingers lingering on the hem of a black skirt she’s debating on. “Uh, sure. What’s up?”

Minji finishes with her arms and moves on to her legs, bending one knee and propping her foot up on the closed toilet lid. Her movements are unhurried, as if the question isn’t a big deal. “Where do you go every week? At night, I mean.”

She glances over her shoulder, her face warming under Minji’s unreadable gaze. “Nowhere. Just… out.”

“Nowhere?” Minji’s lips curve in a faint smile as she straightens up, tilting her head slightly. Her sharp, dark eyes scan Ning, taking in the flush on her cheeks, the way her fingers fidget with the fabric of her skirt. “That doesn’t sound like nowhere.”

“I mean it’s not anywhere in particular,” Ning mumbles, turning back to the closet. She grabs a random top to busy her hands, hoping Minji will let it go.

But Minji doesn’t let things go. “Ning,” she says, her voice calm but insistent. “You’ve been going out at least twice a week for the past month. You get dressed up, come back late, and you never say where you’ve been. It’s weird, because it's not something you used to do.”

Ning turns around, clutching the top against her chest like a shield. “It’s not weird.”

Minji quirks an eyebrow, her lips twitching as if she’s holding back a laugh. “You don’t think so? Because to me, it looks like you’re sneaking off to see someone.”

“I’m not!” Ning’s voice rises slightly in protest, her face turning a deeper shade of pink. She tosses the top onto the bed and grabs her sketchbook from the desk. “Look, I take this with me, okay? How could I be seeing a boy if I’m bringing this?”

Minji’s eyes drop to the sketchbook, then lift back to Ning’s face, skeptical but intrigued. “I don’t know. Art students have strange habits. Maybe you’re sketching him while you’re there.”

Ning groans, plopping onto the bed and flipping the sketchbook open to a random page. “It’s not like that. There’s a bar I go to. It’s… quiet, and it helps with creativity.”

“Creativity,” Minji repeats, crossing her arms as she leans against the sink. Her hair falls perfectly over one shoulder, her glasses catching the light just enough to make her look like a chic librarian. “That’s your story?”

“Yes!” Ning huffs, holding up the sketchbook like it’s evidence in a trial. “See? Just sketches. No boys, no dates, nothing like that.”

Minji steps closer, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studies Ning’s face. “So you’re telling me you sit at a bar all night, alone, with your sketchbook? That’s it?”

“Well…” Ning hesitates, her fingers gripping the edges of the book. “There’s this bartender I talk to sometimes. But he’s just a friend.”

“A friend.” Minji’s voice is flat, but there’s a glint of amusement in her eyes. “What’s his name?”

“Does it matter?” Ning mutters, ducking her head.

“Probably not,” Minji replies, her tone maddeningly casual. “But now everything is even more suspicious.”

Ning sighs, flipping the sketchbook closed. “Oh, whatever! He’s the bartender. We talk. That’s it.”

“And you’re just friends?”

“Yes.” Ning’s voice is firm, but her cheeks betray her with their telltale blush.

Minji watches her for a moment longer, then does something that catches Ning completely off guard. She smiles. Not her usual poised, mysterious smile, but something softer.

“Can I go too?”

Ning blinks, sure she’s misheard. “What?”

“To the bar,” Minji says, stepping closer until she’s standing right in front of Ning. “If it’s so great for creativity, I want to see it.”

“You want to go to the bar?” Ning asks, her voice incredulous. “The one I go to?”

“Why not?” Minji shrugs, grabbing her towel and tossing it into the laundry basket. “It’s not a date, right? If you’re just hanging out with a friend, I don’t see why I can’t come along.”

Ning stares at her, unsure whether to laugh or panic. “Are you serious?”

Minji leans down slightly, her glasses sliding down her nose as she meets Ning’s wide-eyed gaze. “Dead serious.”

“But…” Ning struggles to find a reason, any reason, why this is a terrible idea. “What about your coursework? You’re always busy.”

Minji straightens up, brushing her hair over her shoulder with practiced ease. “I can spare a night. Besides,” she adds, smirking, “I want to meet this ‘just a friend’ of yours.”

Minji’s calm confidence is both reassuring and terrifying. She knows Minji means well, but she also knows her friend. Minji doesn’t just show up. She observes.

Still, it’s hard to say no when Minji looks at her like that, her dark eyes steady and full of quiet determination.

“Okay,” Ning says finally. “You can come.”

Minji smiles, a triumphant glint in her eye. “Great. I’ll get ready.”

As Minji walks away, Ning flops back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. This was supposed to be simple. Just her, the bar, and a chance to take things slow with you.

Now?

She has no idea what’s about to happen.

—

The bar’s hum is steady but quiet tonight, soft music playing from the jukebox, mingling with the low murmur of scattered conversations. You’re behind the counter, wiping down glasses and vaguely thinking about the economics lecture you skipped today when the door swings open.

You look up instinctively, and there she is—Ning. Except she’s not alone.

Ning walks in first, a bundle of energy in her casual but cool outfit: a cropped black sweater that shows just a hint of her toned stomach, paired with loose cargo pants that sit snug on her hips, and her ever-present Doc Martens. She looks great—like she always does—but it’s the girl walking in behind her that makes your breath catch.

Minji.

She’s dressed simply—an elegant cream blouse tucked into high-waisted, dark-wash jeans that make her legs look impossibly long. Her black hair falls in a sleek curtain down her back, and she’s wearing the kind of gold-rimmed glasses that make other people look like try-hards but somehow make her look even more stunning. There’s something about her presence—poised but approachable, with a quiet confidence that fills the room—that makes it hard to look away.

“Hey!” Ning’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts as she practically bounces over to the counter. She gestures enthusiastically toward her companion. “This is my best friend, Minji. You’ll love her.”

You recover quickly, setting the glass down and offering a smile. “Hey, Minji. Nice to meet you.”

Minji steps forward, her smile polite but warm. “Nice to meet you too. Ning comes here every week, I got curious and realized I needed to see it myself.”

You nod, trying not to seem too obvious as you take her in. “Well, welcome. Hope it lives up to the hype.”

Ning slides onto her usual stool, pulling out her sketchbook like it’s just another normal night. “He’s being modest. It’s the coolest place ever. And the bartender’s alright, I guess.”

You smirk at her teasing but find yourself glancing back at Minji. “What can I get you two?”

“The usual for me,” Ning says, flipping through the pages of her sketchbook.

“And for you?” you ask Minji.

She tilts her head slightly, considering. “Something light. I don’t drink much—health reasons.”

“Got it.” You start preparing the drinks, glancing at her again. “If you don’t mind me asking, health reasons?”

Ning's Coke is ready in moments, she takes a sip absentmindedly as she looks at her sketchbook.

“I have a heart condition,” she says casually, like she’s used to explaining it. “Nothing too serious, but I can’t really handle strong drinks.”

“Fair enough,” you say, sliding the glass across the counter toward her. “This should be light enough.”

She takes a sip, her lips curving into a small smile. “Perfect. Thanks.”

Ning, who’s been scribbling something in her sketchbook, looks up suddenly. “Minji has been really nosy lately, she wouldn't leave me alone until I brought her here, she's never done this before.”

“Oh yeah?” you say, raising an eyebrow at Minji. “Was she really that mysterious about it?”

Minji laughs softly, setting her drink down. “You have no idea. She’d leave without saying much, come back late, and when I’d ask where she was, she’d just shrug and say ‘out.’” She glances at Ning, her tone amused. “It was suspicious.”

Ning groans dramatically. “It wasn’t suspicious! I just didn’t feel like explaining.”

“Well, I’m glad you brought her along tonight,” you say, smiling at Minji. “It’s nice to meet one of Ning’s friends.”

“Best friend,” Ning corrects, nudging Minji with her elbow. “We’ve known each other forever.”

Minji chuckles. “She’s exaggerating. It’s only been a few years. But yeah, we’ve been through a lot together.”

You lean against the counter, genuinely curious. “How’d you two meet?”

“Orientation,” Minji says, glancing at Ning.

“At first I thought she was snobbish for being so serious."

“And I thought you looked like a troublemaker,” Minji counters, her eyes sparkling with humor.

You can’t help but laugh at their banter. “So, Minji, what are you studying?”

“International business,” she says, adjusting her glasses slightly. “What about you?”

“Business administration,” you reply, and her face lights up with interest.

“Oh, really? That’s great. What year are you in?”

“Third,” you say. “It’s not as glamorous as international business, but it keeps me busy.”

“It’s not glamorous,” Minji says with a small smile. “But it’s practical. And honestly, that’s more important.”

You nod, impressed by her straightforwardness. “So what made you choose international business?”

She takes another sip of her drink, her expression thoughtful. “I guess I like the idea of understanding how things work on a global scale. It’s a challenge, but I enjoy it.”

Ning, who’s been quiet for a moment, suddenly speaks up. “She’s being humble. She’s the smartest person I know. She even helps me figure out my art projects sometimes.”

Minji shrugs, clearly a little embarrassed. “I just give her feedback. She’s the real talent.”

You glance at Ning, your curiosity piqued. “What kind of feedback?”

“She helps me refine ideas,” Ning says, twirling her pencil. “Like, if I’m stuck on a concept, she’ll point out things I didn’t think of. It’s annoying how good she is at it.”

Minji rolls her eyes, but there’s a hint of affection in her expression. “It’s not that hard. I just have an outside perspective.”

“Well, it sounds like you two make a good team,” you say, genuinely impressed by their dynamic.

Minji smiles, her gaze lingering on you for a second longer than you expect. “We do. But I think I understand why Ning likes coming here now. It’s… nice.”

“Yeah,” Ning chimes in, her voice a little softer. “It is.”

The three of you fall into an easy rhythm after that, talking and laughing like old friends. But every now and then, you catch yourself glancing at Minji, wondering what it is about her that feels so… magnetic.

—

The bar has never been livelier for you, not because of an influx of customers but because Ning and Minji have made it their unofficial hangout spot. At first, it was a bit surreal—Ning showing up with her best friend in tow, bright-eyed and eager to introduce her to her favorite bartender. But over the next few weeks, it becomes routine.

Monday Night

Ning and Minji arrive together, as they always do. Ning’s dressed in her usual casual style—cropped sweatshirt, ripped jeans, and her trusty Doc Martens—while Minji looks effortlessly polished in a tailored blazer over a white camisole and straight-leg pants.

“Usual?” you ask Ning, already reaching for the soda gun.

“Of course,” she says, hopping onto her usual stool.

“And for you?” you ask Minji.

“I’ll take the same thing as last time,” she says, her smile easy. “That drink was great.”

You get to work, sliding the Coke over to Ning and preparing Minji’s light cocktail. “So, how’s the week been treating you two?”

“Terrible,” Ning groans dramatically, opening her sketchbook. “I’m behind on like, three projects.”

Minji snorts, glancing at Ning over the rim of her glass. “That’s because you spent the entire weekend rewatching Spirited Away instead of working.”

“It was research!” Ning protests, flipping through her sketches. “It’s a masterpiece!”

You chuckle, leaning on the bar. “She’s got a point. Spirited Away is definitely worth rewatching.”

Minji raises an eyebrow. “I don’t disagree. But maybe she could balance her research with her deadlines.”

The two of you share a laugh, and Ning pouts.

“You’re both nerds,” she mutters, earning a grin from you.

“Guilty as charged,” you say, raising a random glass in a mock toast.

Wednesday Night

Tonight, Minji’s in a soft blue sweater that matches her dark-rimmed glasses, her hair swept back in a loose braid. Ning looks a little tired, probably from pulling an all-nighter.

“You look like death,” Minji observes bluntly as they sit down.

“Gee, thanks,” Ning says, dropping onto the stool and slumping over the counter.

“You okay?” you ask, sliding her a Coke without waiting for her order.

“Just tired,” Ning mumbles, sipping her drink.

Minji tilts her head at you. “So, did you finish that econ paper you mentioned last time?”

You perk up, surprised she remembered. “Yeah, just barely. Turns out writing about financial markets at two in the morning isn’t fun.”

“I could’ve told you that,” Minji says, her lips curving into a small smile. “But I bet you still nailed it.”

Ning watches the exchange, feeling a pang of something she can’t quite name. She clears her throat. “Hey, can we talk about something not boring?”

“Sure,” you say, turning to her. “What’s on your mind?”

“Aliens,” Ning declares, grinning. “Do you think they exist?”

Minji sighs. “Oh god, not this again.”

You laugh, genuinely amused. “Honestly? I hope so. Would make the universe a lot more interesting.”

Ning beams, satisfied, while Minji shakes her head. “This is why she likes coming here,” Minji says dryly. “You encourage her nonsense.”

“Hey,” you protest, “it’s not nonsense. It’s curiosity.”

Minji chuckles, and Ning feels a little less out of place.

Friday Night

The bar is slightly busier, but the two of them still manage to snag their usual seats. Minji looks radiant in a sleek black blouse and gold hoop earrings, her makeup subtle but flawless. Ning, in her oversized hoodie and her Doc Martens looks comfortable but feels distinctly underdressed next to her friend.

“You look nice tonight,” you say to Minji as you hand her drink over.

“Thanks,” she replies, her voice calm and self-assured. “Ning practically dragged me out of the dorm, so I figured I’d make an effort.”

“You’re welcome,” Ning says with mock pride.

“So,” Minji says, turning to you, “tell me more about your business classes. Do you focus on entrepreneurship or management?”

“A little of both,” you reply, leaning on the counter. “Right now, we’re working on case studies about startups.”

“Oh, I love those,” Minji says, her eyes lighting up. “Which case studies are you doing?”

As you dive into the topic, Ning finds herself zoning out. The conversation is engaging—Minji is clearly knowledgeable, and you seem genuinely interested in what she has to say—but it’s not her world. She fiddles with her straw, feeling invisible as the two of you talk animatedly about market trends and business strategies.

Eventually, she clears her throat. “Hey, do you think they’d let me draw on the walls here?”

Both of you turn to her, surprised.

“I mean, this place could use some art,” she says, grinning.

“Go for it,” you say, laughing. “Just don’t tell my boss I approved it.”

Minji chuckles softly, shaking her head. “You’re hopeless.”

“Hopelessly creative,” Ning corrects, feeling a little more grounded again.

Sunday Night

The bar is nearly empty, the quiet hum of the jukebox filling the space. Ning is doodling absently in her sketchbook, while Minji sips her drink and chats with you.

“So, what do you do for fun?” Minji asks, her tone light but genuinely curious.

“Work, mostly,” you admit. “But when I have time, I like hiking. Clears my head.”

“I didn’t peg you as the outdoorsy type,” she says, a hint of teasing in her voice.

You shrug. “Gotta balance all the business talk with something peaceful.”

Ning glances up from her sketchbook, watching the two of you. There’s something about the way Minji leans slightly forward when she talks to you, the way her smile lingers a little longer.

“Do you hike?” you ask Minji.

“Sometimes,” she says. “But only when Ning drags me along.”

“Hey, I make hiking fun,” Ning protests, jumping back into the conversation.

“You complain the whole time,” Minji points out, smirking.

“Because you always pick the hardest trails!”

You laugh, the sound warm and genuine. “I’d pay to see that.”

“Next time, you’re coming with us,” Minji says.

Ning blinks, caught off guard by the suggestion. She glances between you and Minji, unsure how to feel about the way this strange triangle is starting to form.

As the night winds down, the three of you settle into a comfortable rhythm, but Ning can’t shake the feeling that something is shifting—slowly, subtly, but undeniably.

—

The three of you have fallen into a strange, unspoken routine—meeting up not just at the bar but beyond it, like some evolving trio of mismatched energy. It feels natural, at least on the surface, even if Ning occasionally finds herself analyzing every interaction, dissecting every glance and laugh.

Tonight, you’re at the movies, sitting in a darkened theater. Ning insisted on watching the latest animated film, claiming it was "research" for her art, though the truth is she just really loves animated movies. You and Minji went along with it, no complaints. Ning sits between you and Minji, a giant bucket of popcorn balanced precariously on her lap.

Halfway through the movie, she notices how Minji leans slightly toward you, sharing whispered comments about the plot. Ning can’t quite hear what you’re saying, but the low rumble of your laugh makes her feel strangely uncomfortable.

“Pass the popcorn,” you murmur, your hand brushing Ning’s as you reach for the bucket.

She stiffens slightly, then relaxes. “Here. Don’t eat all the good pieces.”

“You’re weirdly protective of popcorn,” you tease, taking a handful.

“Popcorn hierarchy is a real thing,” she replies, smirking. But her voice sounds hollow to her own ears.

Minji chuckles, leaning closer. “She’s serious about it. She once bit my hand when I took the last caramel piece.”

“I did not bite you!” Ning protests, her cheeks flushing.

Minji glances at you, her smile lingering. “She absolutely did.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “I believe it.”

The sound of your laugh sends a pang through Ning’s chest. She knows it’s stupid, knows she’s overthinking. But the way you and Minji interact—effortless, like equals—feels different.

Later That Week

The three of you are at a college basketball game, seated in the bleachers. It was your idea this time, a way to do something “normal and fun” after a week of classes. Ning, determined to feel confident, showed up in a cropped tank top and tight jeans, her makeup more pronounced than usual.

But as the game goes on, she notices the subtle ways you treat her. When she trips on the bleachers, you catch her arm, laughing softly. “Careful, kid. Don’t want you breaking something.”

“Kid?” she echoes, raising an eyebrow. “I’m literally an adult.”

“Barely,” you tease, ruffling her hair in a way that makes her want to scream.

Meanwhile, when Minji leans over to ask you something, your tone shifts. It’s subtle, but Ning catches it. You’re attentive, leaning slightly closer, your voice quieter. When Minji laughs at something you say, it’s like the whole world fades out for a second, leaving just the two of you.

Ning fiddles with her phone, pretending not to notice.

At one point, Minji turns to her. “Hey, are you okay? You’ve been really quiet.”

“I’m fine,” Ning says quickly, forcing a smile. “Just… not a huge basketball fan.”

Minji studies her for a moment but doesn’t press. She turns back to you, asking something about the game. Ning doesn’t bother listening.

The Bar, One Week Later

It’s a typical slow night, the kind you’ve come to expect when it’s not the weekend. You’re behind the counter, wiping down glasses and occasionally glancing at the door out of habit. When it swings open, you look up, expecting to see Ning and Minji together as usual.

But it’s just Minji.

She steps inside, her presence as poised as ever. She’s wearing a fitted black turtleneck and a sleek gray coat, her hair tucked neatly behind her ears. There’s a calm confidence in the way she walks, like she owns the space without even trying.

“Hey,” you say, smiling as she approaches the bar. “Where’s Ning?”

“She’s sick,” Minji replies, sliding onto one of the stools. “It’s just me tonight.”

There's a hint of excitement in her voice, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond. The absence of Ning—her usual energy, her playful remarks—feels strange. But Minji’s presence is undeniable, grounding.

“Just you,” you repeat, setting a glass on the counter. “Alright. What can I get you?”

Minji smiles, a small, knowing curve of her lips. “Surprise me.”

part 3

[pboogerswbb]

SO IT GOES - chapter 7

Paige Bueckers x oc Warnings: sexual content, mental abuse, toxic relationship, language Wordcount: 7.7K A/C: SHE'S BAACKKK!!! omg i missed you guys so much you don't even know! I AM BACK and i'm locked in and i finally got this chapter out for you, ty for being so so patient with me, i will have more time to write for everyone now!! ily guys and tysm for 1k followers, i have a little surprise to you to celebrate that soon :)) ILYM <33

italics are flashbacks

-

Before London

“You buckled up?”

“Yes,” I murmur, crossing my legs and looking out the window. It’s one of those days where it’s been grey and gloomy since the morning. The dark clouds billow in along the horizon, causing an unbearable humidity to fall over Dallas. The weather felt heavy, everyone hoping for a gentle May storm to bring some relief. I could feel sweat growing in my neck, the humidity causing my hair to turn unruly, impossible to manage, dark curls twisting every which way except the direction they were supposed to.

The heaviness was impossible to escape, even in Paige’s car - though I’m not exactly sure if it’s the weather or the tension between us having my stomach doing flips.

“Jesus…” The blonde mumbles to herself when a song by The Weeknd starts playing, nimble hands quickly skipping it.

Since our interrupted moment on my couch we hadn’t talked about it, neither of us wanting to be the first to bring it up. We left it at that, just a moment of weakness between us both, Paige avoiding my gaze whenever she could. The blonde, however, had been growing uncharacteristically more frustrated ever since. Whether because of what happened between us or the game tomorrow, I wasn’t sure.

“So… When’s your dad coming?” I ask carefully, knowing she has been irritated all day. Matter of fact Arike and Lou had warned me about it earlier.

“Tonight, I’ll pick him up from the airport,” she mumbles and then groans, hitting the steering wheel like remembering something. “I was gonna clean before but I forgot.”

“Do you need help?”

“Nah.”

“Paige, I really don’t mind,” I insist, watching the hooper driving with practiced ease in her Nike sweats and a black t-shirt. “I kind of owe it to you since you took care of me…”

Paige’s blue eyes flicker from the road to me, back to the road, face turning red at the memory of us on the couch. Just as she’s about to answer, another song by The Weeknd begins to play.

“This fuckin’ playlist,” Paige groans, quickly skipping every song with any type of sexual implications. It was almost funny, really, the way she was behaving. She’s huffing, fumbling with her phone to change songs before throwing the device to me. “Just put on sumn Iz, please, I’m getting pissed off.”

“I can see that,” I chuckle, picking another list which seemingly is more chill. “Nervous about the game huh?”

“I dunno man,” she mumbles, rubbing her face and leaning back against the seat, jaw clenching. Truthfully, I felt just as frustrated, my mind spinning around how the girl felt on top of me. Everything she did felt so effortless, yet had me probably wetter than I had ever been in my life with such ease. The mere memory had been driving me mad, my own hand trying to relieve the ache between my thighs but with no such luck. Honestly the tension was driving me just as frustrated as Paige is. And God this stupid, overbearing heat, the way it had turned my skin sticky, making it hard to breathe. Paige rubs her own chest, as if feeling the exact same.

Even now, watching the blonde, her veiny hands on the wheel, arms glistening with sweat from the humidity, neck bobbing as she swallows heavily, blonde hair down and straight. all of it had that familiar ache grow between my legs again. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anyone this much.

I lick my lips and move my eyes to the road, beginning to feel flustered. The temptation of toying with the idea of going to bed with the blonde had been growing stronger and stronger, driving me up the wall. Maybe it was time for me to try on someone else. But I felt afraid, it had been years since I slept with anyone else but Jasper. Maybe this could be a good chance to see how it might make me feel? But then again Paige would need to understand that it has to be just sex. Nothing more. No attachment. 

Memories of her filthy words repeat in my head. I swear no one’s ever spoken to me like that before. No one had ever told me such dirty things. It was exhilarating, it had me soaked. 

The drive is quiet, Paige letting out frustrated huffs now and then and chewing on her lower lip.

“Will we still do the pregame interview for socials tomorrow?” I ask.

“Course,” she huffs with annoyance.

“Okay no reason to have an attitude with me now,” I answer, growing a little annoyed or perhaps frustrated too.

She pulls up to our building’s parking lot, exhaling loudly. “You right,” she mumbles and turns to me, face softening exponentially. Paige reaches over, taking both my hands into hers. It’s enough to make my stomach flip. “You right Iz, I’m sorry. Ion wanna be like that with you I just… It’s this damn heat and everything.”

Our eyes lock, and I consider leaning over the center console and kissing her. But I wasn’t brave enough. Not yet, at least.

“It’s okay Paige,” I hum. Slightly hesitantly, the blonde brings my hands up to her mouth and presses a soft kiss to both of them, eyes fluttering shut. I feel the familiar blush build on my cheeks as I watch her, jolts running through my body. No, I’m done being scared. I need her now.

“Can I come over to yours please?” I ask as politely as I can, though the look in my eyes lets Paige know exactly what’s on my mind. I swear I’ve never seen her nod so quickly, barely letting my words sink in. She clumsily climbs out of the car, practically running to my side to open the door and helping me out. The blonde’s steps are hurried, long strides making it hard for me to keep up as we climb to her floor, a slight grin on my face as I watch the eagerness in which she was moving with. 

Paige’s hands scramble with the lock, the key shaking a little in her hand as she finally opens the door, allowing me in first. My stomach starts to twist, and there’s a burn spreading around my upper thighs as I take off my heels, suddenly significantly shorter than the blonde girl following on my tail.

I hear the door close and turn around, chest heaving much like Paige’s is as I watch her blue eyes roaming my body, the black pencil skirt and the body hugging maroon short-sleeved top, her gaze landing on my face, mouth already agape and breaths growing heavy. 

For a moment we just breathe, our eyes locked on each other, taking the moment in. The tension, the pent up frustration, the need we have for each other, until the blonde snaps and pushes me into the wall which feels cold against my warm back. Paige’s hands land on my waste as our lips crash into a messy, sloppy, needy kiss. A type of kiss I had never had before. It leaves me breathless, my arms wrapping around her shoulders, long fingers wrapping into her hair and pulling the girl closer. She moves her lips off mine, beginning to trail to my neck, hands on my waist travelling downwards to my ass, groaning as she feels it under her grip. 

“W-wait,” I gasp breathlessly, legs already beginning to shake. 

“Mhm,” Paige hums against my skin, lips never quitting working on my neck. 

“I- fuck,” I whimper. “I just need you to know that this has to be just sex.”

Without even thinking I feel the blonde nod, lips sucking right below my ear. “Okay, whatever you want Iz.”

I pull her away from my neck by her hair, meeting her eyes. “I’m serious. Just sex.”

Paige’s eyelids are heavy, the normally bright blue of her eyes turning dark with lust as she gazes down at me. “Izara, I mean it. Whatever you want me to be I’mma be okay?”

When those words leave the blonde’s mouth I nearly crumble to the ground. I can’t wait for a second longer, the wetness pooling between my legs enough proof of that.

“Take me to bed,” I tell the younger girl, who picks me up with ease as my legs wrap around her torso. She kisses me hungrily, our tongues meeting in a battle for dominance which the blonde soon wins as she places me down on her bed softly, my skirt now hiked up halfway up my thighs.

For a moment Paige stands above me, eyes roaming my body as she shakes her head in disbelief. “You’re so beautiful,” she mumbles, then climbs on top of me, her right hand hiking my skirt all the way up, revealing my lacy red panties. When Paige notices, she lets out a groan, practically drooling but working hard to pace herself.

“Take this off,” I murmur, yanking on Paige’s t-shirt.

“Yes ma’am,” she replies, pulling it over her head and onto the floor. I watch the way her muscles in her abdomen clench and I can’t help but drag my fingernails along it as she sits up on top of me, straddling me while I lie flat against the soft blanket.

“Fuck,” she moans hoarsely, throwing her head back, her hands inching underneath my top.

“Would you like it off?” I ask, chest heaving.

“Yes. Please.”

I pull the top off, the blonde’s fingertips leaving tingles as they drag over my ribs. Somehow I don’t feel nervous, all my anxious thoughts left the second I felt Paige on me again.

“Goddamn…” The girl sighs, her hand dragging to my matching lace bra and palming my round breast, making me whimper. I pull her down by the chain on her neck, kissing her feverishly, my underwear growing wetter with every passing moment, mind spinning with need. As I let out a whine, Paige gets the hint, her right hand dragging down my body to my bare thigh and squeezing. 

My back arches off the bed, another whine spilling from my lips but quickly silenced by the blonde’s kiss, her fingers trailing up my inner thigh torturously slowly.

“Paige,” I cry out.

“Tell me what you want?” Paige asks, her voice gravelly in a way I haven’t heard before.

“You to touch me,” I whimper, my brows furrowing with need. “Please.”

“So polite ma,” she grins, beginning to kiss my neck, inching downwards my body to my breasts. “I’mma take good care of you baby, don’ worry.”

My legs spread wider in anticipation as her lips trail downwards along my stomach. I can feel my head spinning, unable to accept that this is real and actually happening. That I would finally find relief to the awful ache inside me.

Faint giggles take me out of the moment, snapping me back to reality. I must’ve imagined - no wait, I can definitely hear giggles. “Paige,” I say.

“Mhm,” she hums, kissing along my inner thighs now.

“You hear that?”

“Hear what,” she mumbles against my skin, nuzzling it, her eyes finally opening when I sit up.

“Listen,” I complain, pushing her off by her forehead to make her pay attention.

“I hear nothin, just lie down and re-”

It’s clear. The sound coming from the front door. Paige’s front door, someone fumbling with the key in the keyhole, turning it and-

“What the fuck?” Paige asks, abruptly getting off me and hurrying to the door of her bedroom, peeking into the corridor in her sports bra and sweats. I get up too, pulling my skirt down, wanting to cry with frustration.

-

There they are. By my doorstep. KK, Ice, Azzi, Jana and Ash, holding balloons and banners and other decorations, giggling amongst each other.

“I- wh- KK? Ice? A- how did y’all get in?” I ask, eyes flickering between the girls and Izara in the bedroom, pulling her skirt down and throwing her top on frantically. 

“Why aren’t you at practice?”

“It ended early,” I say, my voice rising uncharacteristically as I attempt to steady my breathing from what almost just happened. How close I was to getting what I had been craving for weeks. I loved these girls but, God could I kill them right now. “How the hell do y’all got a key to my place??”

“Oh it’s your dad’s,” Azzi giggles. “We were gonna surprise you, he’s downstairs.”

Oh so not only my girls but my dad was gonna arrive at the scene. With a girl in my bedroom. I glance at Iz, who’s fixing her hair in the mirror, but she looks completely fucked out. And I bet I do too. I had no idea how to explain myself out of this one.

“Wh-” I start

“Yeah why aren’t you hugging us and shit? You forget all about us?” KK huffs.

I rub my face, letting out a heavy exhale when Izzie walks out of the bedroom into the eyeline of the group of girls. All their eyes widen, and I can’t ignore the shared looks between them. Quick, Paige, say something.

“Uhh, guys this is Iz- I mean, Zari, she uh, was over to uh…” I scratch the back of my neck, KK already covering her mouth trying not to laugh.

“I just needed to borrow…” Izzie’s eyes scan the room. “Paige’s lamp! Mine broke, so. Couldn’t see to read my book.” Her face is bright red, the usual composure with which she presented herself completely gone. I almost groan at the excuse but realise that would just make the situation seem a million times worse.

“Yes! She was! Uh let me get it for you,” I mumble, about to walk into the bedroom to actually grab a lamp for the girl.

“No no! You say hi to your friends, I can do it myself!”

I wanna bury my face into my hands and go back into the bedroom and lock the door and never come out. All the girls are staring with amused faces, hands holding balloons and flyers and little decorations in preparation for my first game tomorrow, clearly suspicious of us two. Just when I think it can’t get worse, my dad - yes my dad - walks in.

“Why are you girls all- Oh hi, don’t you have practice?” He asks, holding a cake.

I rub the bridge of my nose, not sure whether to laugh or cry at this point.

“Got home early,” I sigh, too flustered to even enjoy the fact that my best friends and my dad were here to see me.

“This girl here is borrowing a lamp,” KK mumbles under her breath to my dad, trying to hold in her snickers. What a stupid excuse. I thought Izzie was supposed to be smart. Borrowing a lamp, what kinda excuse was that?

My dad’s eyes land on Izzie, flickering between me and her and the awkwardly large distance between us as if that might help us look less suspicious. Though based on the small grin on my dad’s face, I can tell it’s doing the exact opposite.

“I’m Bob, Paige’s dad,” my dad slides inside through the girls who are eyeing the situation with amused expressions, shaking hands with Iz like I wasn’t just between her legs ready to do something unimaginable.

“Hey, I’m Izara. I’m a friend of your daughter’s.”

“Izara huh?” He turns to me with a sly grin, something I’d inherited. “You haven’t mentioned an Izara?”

“She prefers Zari,” I correct, trying to avoid his eye. “She does media for the Wings.”

For a moment everyone’s quiet, multiple pairs of eyes staring at me, then Zari, then me again. The silence lingers, bordering on uncomfortable when to everyone’s relief KK speaks.

“Bro we don’t even get a hug or nothing?”

-

She’s there, sitting on my couch, in between Ice and Azzi and laughing that sweet giggle of hers. She looks comfortable, already gaining the approval of my friends with ease. We’re sitting in a circle around the coffee table eating pizza, easy conversation flowing between everyone. But all I could pay attention to was the brunette girl, how easily she fit in, how she had already charmed the hell out of my dad. I couldn’t take my eyes off her, the way her eyes sparkle when she laughs at my friends’ stupid jokes, or the coy smile on her perfect lips when my dad asks her a question. I needed her, badly, even more than before if possible. 

“Excuse me, I need some water,” Izara catches my eye and excuses herself to the kitchen. Without a word I get up, following on her trail like a puppy. I know everyone notices us leaving, but I don’t care. I wanted to take every second to be with her, to touch her, to have her to myself.

“Hey,” I mumble, leaning against the doorframe and watching as she looks through my cupboards for glasses.

“Hey,” she hums with a smile. I walk to the girl, pressing my front into her back as I reach for a glass in the cupboard above us.

“Oh, thank you,” Izzie says, her voice shaky as my hand lands on her waist. The girls’ voices are loud but distant, echoing around the sparsely furnished living room. So in a moment of weakness I allow my head to tilt down into the crook of Izara’s neck, inhaling the fruity, gentle jasmine scent of her perfume, nuzzling my nose against her goosebump forming skin. I feel her shift, the curve of her ass pressing against me as I allow my lips to press soft kisses onto her golden skin.

The dark haired girl lets out a shaky breath and the sound drives me wild, it taking every drop of my self discipline not to make everyone leave just so I could have my way with her, just to make her feel good. Izzie’s head tilts back, resting against my chest as I bite on her shoulder, my lips gliding and leaving sloppy kisses on her neck.

“Paige,” she whispers chuckling, clearly torn between asking me to stop and asking for more.

“You’re fucking killing me,” I murmur into her ear, my voice hoarse and trembling with need. 

The girl turns around, her green, emerald eyes wider than usual looking up at me as her hand moves onto my chest. I let my fingertips slide underneath the hem of her shirt, feeling the soft skin there. “We’ll have time. Later,” she comforts me softly, but it’s not enough.

I throw my head back in frustration and groan, like a child not getting their way.

“Izzie I’m so forreal, I need to have you before the game tomorrow or I’mma be so out of it.”

The girl giggles, shaking her head, wrapping her arms around my neck. “Come over in the morning?”

“I gotta leave at 10. Needa take my time with you.”

Izzie chuckles. “Okay, 8:30?”

“8:00,” I argue, though no amount of time would be enough.

“Do you need two hours?” The girl laughs but I shake my head, trying to stifle the grin on my face.

“Ion need more than five minutes ma, trust,” my words make Izzie’s cheeks turn a shade of red. “But need to take my time. Wanna do it just right.”

Izara might be poised and have a great poker face, but I can tell she needs it as bad as I do. It’s in the way her chest is heaving, the way her pupils are wide and the way her mouth is parted. So I lean in, my lips hovering over her ear.

“Gonna eat that pussy so good ma, gonna have you crying-”

“Yooo…”

I pull away urgently, helped by the fact that Izzie practically pushes me off her, both our heads turning to KK standing in the doorway, trying not to laugh.

“Uhh, I’mma be back,” she says turning around but I grab the shorter girl by the arm and pull her back in.

“Whatchu need?”

Izzie is blushing, trying to hide the smile growing onto her face by holding her hand over her mouth and staring at the wall.

“A tissue, I dropped some food,” KK says.

I gasp. “Bro not on the rug right?”

KK scoffs, grabbing the tissue from me. “Dallas changed you already ‘cause why you care about a rug more than me?”

-

Paige

Yo I’m so sorry I gotta head in early

That’s okay Paige, good luck. I’ll see you before the game, yeah?

I reread the texts on my screen that I never got an answer to. I’m not worried, she’s probably nervous. Or busy. But it’s so… unlike her. Paige was usually the one to message me back the moment I texted her. I was probably overthinking. I hated how I got when I liked someone. Not that I liked Paige. I wanted her badly. But there were no feelings involved and there surely could never be. I wasn’t even close to being ready.

Despite all that I could feel an uncomfortable twist somewhere deep in my stomach watching the way the blonde girl had left me on read. Like I always did when I began to get feelings. I was painfully aware of how scary it was, those feelings stirring within me again. I just had to keep them in control. I know how these things end. I know Paige seems amazing right now - unreal almost. But it was just an illusion. Soon she’d be bored of me, leaving me in tears, crying myself to sleep at 3am. That’s how it always ended up. I promised myself I’d never be that girl again.

-

“Jasper, please, could we just sit down and communicate?”

My voice is steady, gentle, like it had to be when he was in one of these moods. I sit on the couch, watching as he paces around me, trying not to blow up. I try to make myself small, breathe quiet, not look him in the eye, anything that might set him off. Once Jasper was set off there was nothing to do. I knew that better than anyone.

“Here we go again,” he groans, throwing his head back in frustration. A bitter, sarcastic laugh escapes his mouth.

“No, not like that, please. I swear I just want to talk-”

“No Izara you want to bitch about my drinking again. You’re behaving like a controlling bitch-”

There’s a pang of pain in my chest, the tears I’ve been swallowing making themselves known as my eyes grow wet.

“Please, Jasper, I’ve asked you before not to call me that,” I plead, my voice still soft but growing weaker.

The man rolls his eyes at the sight of me. “Wow, here we go again. Poor Zari, always perfect, always the victim.”

“I never said I was perfect, far from it! I’m just asking you to not call me a bitch,” I debate, my voice rising in response to feeling defensive.

“I didn’t even say you were a bitch! I said you’re behaving like one!” His voice is harsh, cutting through the air and ringing my ear painfully. Familiarly. This was a discussion we’d had about 15 times before. And it always went the same. I don’t even know why I was still trying. 

“God, you’re so manipulative, trying to put words into my mouth,” he murmurs under his breath. He’d said those words so many times part of me had started to think he might be right. Maybe I am manipulative. Maybe I need to just let him be. I’m being dramatic and his drinking wasn’t an issue. Jasper never physically hurt me or hit me. It could be so much worse. Words can only do so much.

I feel the tears spill over finally, dripping down my cheeks. As Jasper notices he lets out a laugh, shaking his head. “What, you’re crying now? Like you’re the victim here?”

“Jasper, please, I’m tired,” I cry, my voice shaky as I bury my face into my hands. “Can we just forget this and go to sleep? I’ve got that important meeting tomorrow.”

“Well probably should’ve thought of that before, huh? Before starting all this drama for nothing!”

“I just wished you wouldn’t have been so drunk tonight! I was having a hard day, I needed you with me!” I finally snap, yelling back. I never yell, but sometimes with Jasper it felt like it was the only way for him to hear me. Even though I always hated myself afterwards.

“So what? I’m a bad boyfriend? Worst boyfriend in the world?”

“No, that’s not what I said-”

“Fine, if I’m so bad I’ll leave,” Jasper simply says. walking to the entryway, grabbing his coat off the coat rack. Urgently, I get up and run after him, panic spreading all over me. He knew this triggered me. He did this every time he was about to “lose” one of our fights. Because it hurt me the most.

“Wait, wait wait wait,” I cry, my voice weak and trembling as I grab his arm. “Please no, don’t go, please, Jasper, please.”

He ignores me, pulling his arm out of my reach and looking for his keys.

“Jasper,” I sob, legs too shaky to hold me up anymore. I fall to my knees, trying not to throw up all over the man. “Jasper, please. I’m sorry. You’re right, I’m too hard on you. You’re so wonderful to me. I love you okay, I love you. I’m sorry. Please don’t leave me.”

The man finally turns, looking down at me and shaking his head as my wide eyes blink up at him. With a deep sigh, he puts down his keys and lifts me up from the ground.

“Are you done?” He asks, voice frustrated and tired.

I nod, tears still spilling from my eyes. “I’m sorry, please don’t go. Please.”

“I won’t Izara, but these fits of yours need to end,” Jasper says as his comforting, familiar arms wrap around me.

“You’re right, Jasper. It’s my fault. I’m sorry.”

-

My cab finally pulls up to College Park Center, and I quickly slide in through the side door, making my way through the confusing corridors with practiced ease now. I wanted to find the blonde girl, just to make sure she was okay. Just to see her before the game. I check the gym, the weight room, the dining hall but see no sign of her. Finally, as a last resort, I knock on the door of the dressing room, shifting on my feet and smoothing over my black mini skirt and the red sweater hanging off my right shoulder nervously. At last the door opens, Lou peeking her head out with a smile.

“Oh hey.”

“Hey Lou, happy game day!” I greet her, trying to not make it obvious I was looking for someone. Like I was just casually there to wish the girls good luck.

“Thanks Zari, big day,” the girl smiles, looking at me expectantly.

“Oh, uh, is um, is-”

“Paige is here, you need her?” I don’t miss the grin on the brunette’s face, the knowing look she has in her eyes. Thought I had been hiding it better with Paige, apparently not.

“Yes, actually I do,” I chuckle awkwardly, clasping my hands in front of me, acrylics scratching against my skin. My heart races as I wait, my stomach turning at the idea of seeing her. Seeing Paige.

Soon the blonde girl arrives at the door, but the familiar wide smile isn't there. Her eyes look red, tired, the skin darker than usual underneath, mouth in a straight line. 

“Paige, are you okay?” I ask, taken back by her appearance.

She looks at me for a while, blue eyes landing on mine, big hand rubbing her jaw. “I’m alright.”

I can tell that she’s not. 

“Paige,” I repeat, looking at her challengingly. The blond sighs and shrugs and it’s then I notice the shaking of her hands. Uncontrollable, clearly visible. “Whoa, what’s going on darling?”

She looks back into the changing room before stepping out, shaky hand rubbing her eyes. I don’t miss the slight tremble of her lower lip, the way her blue eyes grow glossy.

“Whoa, hold on love,” I coo, grabbing a hold of her hand and pulling her into a new corridor, opening the door to the often empty media team office to find it desolate of people once more. “Come on.”

I close the door behind us and watch closely as the blonde plots herself down on the couch, chest heaving fast. 

“Paige, talk to me,” I comfort her, following behind and sitting next to her. As the blonde lifts her blue eyes off the floor, I see she’s tearing up avoiding my gaze.

“I’m so fucking scared Iz,” she admits, lower lip quivering. My heart fills with affection, and instinctively I wrap my arms around her broad, bare shoulders in her sports bra. 

“Of what?”

“Of screwing up, everyone got crazy expectations. Everyone gonna be watching,” Paige sighs, sniffling weakly. I had never seen her like this, in my head she wasn’t afraid of anything. Guess I was wrong.

“Paige,” I begin, pulling back and grabbing hold of her warm hands. “It’s a big moment, it’s okay to be nervous, to be scared even. But you’re not gonna fail. The only expectations that matter are the ones you put on yourself.”

“I don’t know, I love my girls y’know but fuck I don’t need em here today,” she sighs, wiping a tear from her left cheek. I let my thumb help her a little, brushing against her soft skin. 

“They wanted to surprise you, they love you very much, you know?”

“I know,” Paige murmurs, her thumbs rubbing the skin of my palms. “But I just needed to focus on myself today. I dunno, just feel really fucking overwhelmed.”

“Hey,” I stop her, chasing her gaze. The blonde’s blue eyes meet mine, finally softening. “You’re going to go out there, and you’re going to pretend it’s just you and your team at practice. No audience today, no one you know watching. Just you. And whether you get none of your shots in or all of them, it’s okay. And you get to try again. You’re just dipping your toes in okay? This isn't the defining moment of your career. It’s just one of many.”

Paige listens and takes every word in, processing as her eyes remain locked in mine. Finally her brows soften and she lets out a final, relieved breath. 

“My dad really liked you, talked about you all night after you left.”

“Really?” I grin, making the blonde nod with a smile. 

“My friends too, they wanna get to know you better,” Paige adds. I feel a slight panic in my chest for a moment, the fear of what Paige might’ve said to her friends about us. After all, we had agreed to be just friends despite everything. I hope she didn’t have the wrong idea that I might change my mind.

“Wish I had time to come see you this morning.”

I feel my cheeks heat up immediately. “Yeah?”

She nods, a small grin growing on her face. “Yeah, wouldn’t be feeling so tense.”

I chuckle as her hands let go of mine, landing on the back of my head and pulling me into a sweet, caring kiss that takes me by surprise. But I can’t bear to pull away, nor do I want to. So for a moment we kiss, our lips moving together sending jolts all over my body as the blonde’s hand lowers to my waist and pulls me closer to her. Without a thought my body obeys, skirt hiking up as she pulls me on top of her to straddle her.

Both of our breathing grows heavier as the kiss turns more urgent, Paige exhaling loud through her nose as her hand finds the soft skin of my bare upper thigh, grabbing it needily making me wince. I could feel my arousal pooling between my legs once more, the blonde’s hand sliding upwards until her thumb meets the sheer fabric of my panties, pressing against my clit. We both let out a quiet, desperate whimper, me from the contact, her from how wet I already was. 

This wasn’t sensible, anyone could walk in. Paige’s first ever game in the league would start in only a few hours and she had just been crying from feeling so overwhelmed. But both of us had forgotten, too consumed by the lust that had been eating us alive. I needed her. She needed me.

Paige pulls away from the kiss, long eyelashes blinking at me and pink lips slightly parted. She looked beautiful, like she was already completely out of it. 

“Need to feel you ma, please let me,” she whines, looking for any sign of approval on my face. “Need to feel this pussy around my fingers.”

No one had ever spoken in such a filthy way to me before. And it drove me crazy. The sheer dirtiness of the things Paige said, the way her voice turned hoarse and whiny, the way she really, truly behaved like she would die unless she got to fuck me. I had never experienced it before. Everything about it intoxicated me, my soaked panties prove of how much so.

“Paige, are you sure this is smart?” I ask, my voice weak and shaky.

“Ion care about smart, need to fuck you before my big game,” the blonde murmurs, beginning to kiss my neck, fingertips rubbing gentle circles on my clit against the fabric. “Please mama, need to make you cum, that’s all I want.”

I let out another whimper, her words winning me over.

“C’mon ma, can feel how wet you are for me. Lemme help baby, lemme take care of you.”

Finally I snap, desperately nodding. Without missing a beat, Paige’s fingers hook around the edge of my panties, pulling them to the side as I stay straddling her, feeling the cool air on my dripping cunt.

“This ain’t right. I gotta see that shit,” Paige murmurs and before I understand what she means, she’s pushing me back, my spine hitting the couch as she remains still, my thighs spread wide for her as she sits in between.

Paige’s blue eyes are nearly blown out black with lust as her gaze travels slowly from my flushed face, to my heaving chest, down my stomach, all the way to the panties slid to the side, finally landing on my core. I swear I have never seen the girl so dazed, like everything around her disappeared, her lips parting further, tongue darting out to lick them.

“Fuck,” she whispers, fingers spreading my lips apart to see my wetness glistening in the lighting of the office. To see my folds and the way I was already throbbing for her. I had never been looked at like that before, yet didn’t feel shy or unsure. Because I could tell Paige was in absolute awe.

“So fucking pretty, huh?” The blonde asks, finger carefully brushing up and down against my folds and clit, making my whole body shiver. She was barely touching me yet I couldn’t fight the whine spilling from my lips. This was so unlike me, spread out in overhead lighting in a room anyone could walk into at any moment with a girl I hadn’t even been out on a date with. But it was the last thing I cared about. I needed Paige Bueckers to fuck me now.

“Paige, fuck me,” I demand, my voice breathy and brows furrowed as I watch her.

A sly grin forms on her lips as she gathers wetness through my folds with ease, beginning to circle my clit lazily. The sound is obscene, caused by how slick I had grown for her in the past few minutes. I moan softly, covering my own mouth and letting my eyes fall closed.

“What do you need? Tell me baby,” Paige coos, but she knows. She can see the way my pussy is clenching around nothing, crying for her, begging to be filled. 

“Baby,” I whimper, bucking my hips but the blonde’s free hand brings me down by my thigh.

“Use your words ma.”

“Inside,” I whisper, cheeks growing redder at having to tell the girl with words what I needed from her.

“Yeah? You need my fingers inside your pussy?”

I nod, the words making my arousal grow even more.

“Please,” I add, hoping to hurry the blonde along.

Suddenly, Paige’s fingers slide downwards towards my entrance, circling before two of them begin to break into me, painfully slowly. A loud gasp threatens to spill from my lips but the blonde covers my mouth quickly, her fingers sliding into me all the way. 

It’s impossible to describe how good it feels, to feel her touch me like this. The stretch of her fingers making my body tense and relax simultaneously. I was in heaven, surely sex never felt like this before. Only with her.

“Oh fuck you’re so tight,” Paige hisses, beginning to curl her fingers against me. The sound of squelching quickly takes over, only joined with both our moans. My back arches desperately, and I feel myself writhing for more, for the blonde to move faster.

It’s in the moment I’m about to start begging for more, the familiar sound of a keycard being slid against the reader takes over. Someone’s about to open the door. Both of us panic, Paige pulling her fingers away and quickly getting up from the couch as I struggle to get off my back, pulling my skirt down eagerly right as Trey walks in.

“Oh hey!” He smiles widely, oblivious to the heavy breathing me and Paige are both trying to get under control. “Oh Paige! Whatchu doing here?”

“Uh,” she murmurs, fingers still glistening with me before she wipes them on her thigh. “We uh,”

“We were planning that pregame interview! Should we film it soon?” I quickly interrupt, noticing Paige’s flustered expression. The shake in my legs is obvious, so I lean against the wall next to me.

“Yeah yeah, the interview,” the blonde murmurs which makes Trey’s brown eyes light up.

“Well great! Why don’t you go change and we film after.”

Paige glances at me as I do her, both of us trying to ignore the tension in the room that the man seemed to not recognise.

“Uhh yeah, lemme go do that,” the taller girl mumbles and leaves, my heart pounding faster than ever from earlier. As she closes the door, Trey turns to me.

“By the way Zari, we shouldn’t let anyone back here that isn’t part of the team, okay? Linda would freak.”

“Oh,” I say, brushing my hand through my hair. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

Trey looks at me for a while, leaning back against the desk behind him.

“You know, it’s okay to be friends with players but I think it’s better to keep things at a professional distance. Don’t wanna be getting too close, you know what I mean?”

I can tell he’s digging for something, trying to get me to fess up. Instead I cross my arms over my chest and nod. “Agreed, shall we prepare the interview?”

-

“Okay, Paige, stand here.”

Trey is maneuvering the blonde around, trying to find the best lighting as I check my notes over and over, my mind still swirling with all the interrupted moments that are growing tiresome. Paige is fiddling with her hands, staring at anything but me feeling just as frustrated by the interruption.

“Ahh, got it. Zari, would you.”

“Yes,” I murmur and step next to the blonde, a slight awkward distance between us. Every cell in me was itching to get closer, to press into her. I was dying for her. But it wasn’t the time. I had to focus on work. It was just hard to look away from her. That’s it.

“Closer Zari,” Trey chuckles, reaching for my shoulder and pushing me closer to Paige. We exchange an awkward, slightly giddy smile and I can tell the girl is beginning to blush, our shoulders pressing together. The blonde gazes upwards towards the low ceilings of the corridor, trying to kill the smile growing on her face.

“Okay, we good?” Trey asks, and I let out a soft giggle. Paige looks at me and giggles too, confusing the man behind the camera. “Something wrong?”

“No, no, we’re good,” I giggle, looking to the floor. The blonde nods in agreement, licking her lips to stifle the grin.

“Whenever you’re ready ladies,” Trey says, pressing record.

I take a deep breath, turning my eyes to the blue ones beside me. The ones I could get lost in forever. But now wasn’t the time. Not the time Izara. Work.

“I am here with our dear rookie, Paige,” I smile, licking my lower lip and looking away from the blonde, her intense gaze becoming too much. “First game today, how are we feeling?”

Paige kisses her teeth and sighs. “Oh man,” she starts, blue eyes boring into the side of my face. “It feels surreal, I’ve been waiting for this moment my whole life and now it’s finally here. Feelin’ really blessed and fortunate for sure. Playing my first against the Lynx just feels right, you know.”

I watch as her lips move, the way the edges of them curve when she speaks, barely registering the words coming out from how badly I needed her. 

“Favourite thing about Dallas so far?” I ask, crossing my arms and smiling up at the blonde. Her blue eyes are sparkling, a slight glimmer in them as she watches me with a smirk. As if the camera wasn’t filming every moment.

“Oh definitely the ribs,” Paige grins, suddenly interrupted by Arike standing at the other end of the corridor.

“Yooo, bro what?!” 

Me and Paige both begin to laugh, leaning into each other as we do. My hand instinctively graces her forearm as Trey pangs the camera to Arike.

“Alright, alright. And Arike,” Paige chuckles, making me scoff.

“Oy!” I shout, slapping her arm playfully.

“And you!” She grins, raising her hands in defeat. I can’t help the blush covering my face or the stupid smile stretching across.

“As I should be,” I joke, taking a deep breath and trying to remind myself of the planned questions and of Trey’s watchful eyes. It felt impossible under Paige’s gaze so intensely roaming my face, eye fucking me.

“You’ve got some friends and family in the audience tonight, who are you most excited to see you play tonight?”

The blonde looks at me for a meaningful moment, and I don’t miss what she wants to say. What she’s trying to express with her eyes. What she can’t admit in front of Trey.

“Uhh,” she blinks stupidly, finally breaking eye contact. “Probably my dad, yeah. But I’m excited to play for all the Wings fans too, needa impress them.”

“I’m sure you will,” I smile, my tone clearly flirty yet I don’t even recognise the fact. “Happy game day!!”

“Happy game day,” Paige echoes my words, wrapping an arm around my shoulder just as Trey puts the camera down. Yet the man keeps staring over at the two of us, studying every move, every exchanged look.

“Paige! Go change and let’s start warming up, c’mon!” Chris nods the blonde towards the lockers. I see her eyes turn to me once more, softening. 

“Wish me luck ma,” she murmurs, wrapping her arms around me and pulling me into a hug. I let her.

“Good luck Paige,” I mumble into her eyes, letting go and watching as she walks into the dressing room, leaving me alone with Trey. I could feel nerves bubbling in my stomach, heart beginning to pound in anticipation for the game. The man watches me for a while, deep in thought.

“Zari…. I gotta ask you something,” the man starts, his voice echoing in the corridor. He walks us to our office letting me know this wasn’t going to be a light subject, which made me nervous.

I sit on the desk, my legs hanging off as I cross them and watch the brunette pace around the room for a moment before turning to me. 

“Is there something going on with you and Paige?”

Fuck.

I think about lying, looking through my brain for any cover up story. There isn’t one. I was a horrible liar anyway. So I just sigh, looking down before nodding.

“Yeah, I didn’t mean for there to be but I like her. She likes me,” I admit, carefully looking at the man. “Look, it’s nothing though. Nothing serious, just fun.”

“For fucks sake Zari,” Trey sighs, rubbing his forehead.

“Excuse me?” I ask offended. Sure, it wasn’t great, but he was hugely overreacting.

Trey walks over to me and grabs a hold of my hands, stopping much too close to my liking.

“Zari, Linda is very… strict. You know this. But she does not allow anything like this, she must’ve told you? She gave me this big speech too when I came in.”

I blink at him, my lips parting a little. It wasn’t allowed. That’s it. That simple.

“Wh- no she never said,” I murmur. Trey nods, letting out a sigh.

“Zari you have to end it. You could get fired.”

My heart drops, mind starts spinning. I could get fired. Have to go back to the UK. Just like that. Fired. Just because I didn’t have the self-discipline to resist Paige.

“Trey, you’re not going to-”

He shakes his head. “No, of course not. Linda won’t know. But only if you end it now, okay? If she finds out I know I could get in trouble too.”

I look at the walls, covered in pictures of the entire Dallas Wings overtime, faces changing and some persisting year after year. I finally land on this year’s picture, on the blonde standing on the right side, smiling that familiar, wide, charming smile. It didn’t matter how much I liked her, how badly I needed her on me. None of it would matter if I got fired, if I got my visa revoked. I couldn’t do this dance we’d been playing the past month anymore. I had to end it.

-

taglist:@wbbgetsmewetter @thaatdigitaldiary @pb524830 @bueckersfive @lupinqs @sierrale8ne @d3arapril @lovegalor333 @avvwritesstufff @rosemariiaa @bueckers22 @taylynbueckers44 @unadulteratedcyclepaper @rizzlerbuckets @wosolipa @bridgetloveswomen @paiges-1vur @slut4uconnwbb @xxloveralways14 @bueckersbitch @janaelalfysblunt @omg-imtumbling @angryflowerwitch @ohbueckers

[fairytaleendingss]

Room for One More?

Chapter 10

Summary: You finally end up spending some time alone with Remus.

CW: Coughing, Fever, Fainting, Description of sickness, Nightmares, Sirius being emotionally stunted.

Pairing: Poly!Marauders x fem!reader

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9

Hey guys! Sorry for the delay on this one. I've been trying to branch out a bit with my writing over the last little bit to keep the inspiration going.

To be honest, I'm feeling a little lost with this story. I'm going to continue writing it, don't worry! But I really only properly planned up until the Christmas chapter, so if anyone has any ideas of what they'd like to see happen, feel free to send me a request!

--

The door closed behind you with a loud thump. You leaned your head on it for a moment, panting to catch you breath.

It had been a particularly long day at work. Most of the staff were off sick due to a flu outbreak and it meant that all the more responsibility fell on you. On top of that, you'd felt extremely exhausted all day. You weren't sure if it was from being overworked or a lack of sleep or some twisted combination of the two but your limbs felt like lead and your eyes had kept falling shut from where they were fixated on the screen of your computer.

The walk up the stairs had been torture paired with the fatigue that was consuming your bones and you felt your legs ache as you entered the hall of your apartment.

"Are you alright?"

You jumped as a voice emerged from behind you and you swung around to see Remus seated on the couch with a book in hand.

"Jesus!" you shouted, clutching a hand to your chest.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

You shook your head, sniffling slightly. "No it's fine. I just... didn't expect you to be sitting there."

He chuckled dryly. "Right, well no one is home so I thought I'd make use of the living room for a bit."

"Right..."

James had left two days ago for some sort of 'team building' trip with his workmates and you supposed Sirius had a gig tonight with the band, leaving only you and Remus in the apartment. As happy as you were that you didn't have to interact with Sirius tonight (you were still upset with him and really didn't have the energy right now to put on a happy face), you sort of wished James was there to ease the tension. Things had been more amicable with Remus lately. His Christmas gift had helped to ease some of the animosity between you, but you were still far from friends. You barely talked outside of necessary pleasantries and you definitely never spent time alone together.

You cleared your throat awkwardly but it quickly morphed into a loud cough. Remus looked up from his book once more, his brows furrowed as he assessed you from across the room.

"That doesn't sound good. Are you feeling okay?"

You huffed out a breath, throwing your bag down on the kitchen counter and running a hand over your face.

"Oh yeah, I'm fine. Just a bit tired," you murmured awkwardly. "I think I'll have an early night."

Swiftly, you began moving across the room towards the bathroom.

"Okay but-"

You shut the door with a sigh before Remus was able to continue.

You leaned back against the bathroom door, feeling a drop of sweat trail from your hairline and down the side of your face. If you were being completely honest, you felt like shit. You were just too embarrassed to admit you felt like shit in front of Remus.

You took a deep breath and straightened up, hoping a shower would help you feel a little more like yourself.

You stripped off, shivering in the cool air of the bathroom and turned the shower nob. Then you stepped under the spray, letting the warm water wash over you as the room began to fill with steam.

You didn't know how long you stood under the water, letting it sooth your aching bones but once you stepped out, you noticed that the sky outside the bathroom window had grown dark.

Slowly you trudged from the bathroom to your bedroom at the end of the hallway, pulling on your comfiest pajamas. With the little energy you had left, you shuffled out into the living area in the hopes of finding some leftovers in the fridge to at eat for dinner before you went to bed and inevitably slept for the next 48 hours.

As you emerged from the hallway, you noticed that you had begun to feel substantially worse. You were shivering despite wearing your thickest woolen pajamas, but somehow you were sweating at the same time.

You were glad to see that Remus had retired to his bedroom for the evening, not wanting him to see you in such a pathetic state. Your legs felt like they had cinderblocks tied to them, every step taking an immense amount of your dwindling energy.

As you made your way through the room, you suddenly began to feel... odd. You're head felt heavy, your vision darkening around the edges.

You came to a halt beside the couch, blinking absently and taking a second to catch your breath but it didn't seem to help all that much. Then, without warning, everything went black.

--

"Y/n?..."

"...hey, can you hear me?"

There was a voice coming from somewhere above you but you couldn't quite place who's it was.

You blinked slowly, awareness returning to your foggy mind. As you vision cleared, the first thing you saw were Remus' concerned chocolate eyes boring down on you.

"Hey, are you okay? You with me now?"

It was then his full face came into frame. Looking around, you realised that you were lying on the floor beside the coffee table, your feet resting on a pile of couch cushions. Remus was on his knees beside you, leaning down with a hand resting gently on top of your head.

You mustered a nod, a wave of embarrassment rippling through you.

"Okay, that's good," he murmured kindly. "Did you hit your head?"

"I- um," you took stock of how you were feeling. You were uncomfortable and still vaguely dizzy. Your elbow was throbbing from where you must've hit it on the corner of the coffee table as you fell but other than that, you didn't seem to have injured yourself too badly.

"N-no. I don't think so."

Remus nodded, his brows pinching in thought as he scanned through the next steps in his head.

"How many fingers am I holding up?"

He flashed a peace sign in your direction.

"Two."

"Good, that's good. Do you think you feel ready to sit up?"

"Y-yeah... I think so," you mumbled unsurely.

"Okay, I'll help you. Take your time," he responded in a voice more gentle than you'd ever heard him speak in - to you at least.

He shuffled around a little bit so he was rested at your hip and then with steady hands placed under your back, he helped you sit up. The room tilted as you came upright but not nearly as violently as it had before.

Then, Remus guided you so that you were leaning back against the edge of the couch. He sat back on his knees, observing your form and you let out a heavy sigh, shaking with embarrassment - or maybe that was from the fever.

"Sorry about all this," you mumbled, shutting your eyes in the hopes of blocking out Remus' devastatingly concerned facial expression.

"It's not your fault," he was quick to reassure. "Besides, I'm a med student. You've given me an opportunity to test my knowledge on something practical."

You knew he was joking but your cheeks flushed nonetheless.

"It's really fine," he stated sincerely, upon noticing the mortification written across your face. "I just want to make sure you're okay. Your fever is pretty high."

"It is?"

He chuckled half-heartedly. "Yes. I would recommend that next time you don't take a scorching hot shower when your temperature is already at 39 degrees."

You cringed. "So this whole fainting ordeal could've been avoided then?"

"In theory, yes."

You groaned and covered your face with your hand. "Well on that note, I think I'm just going to go to bed."

You moved to pull yourself up but Remus rushed to grasp your arms on the way.

"Woah, hey, let me help you. You shouldn't be moving around too much yet."

"Right, sorry," you uttered awkwardly.

"It's okay. Here," with gentle precision, Remus got to his feet and lifted your arm around his shoulders. With so little energy remaining, you weren't bothered to be self-conscious as you leaned your weight against him and the two of you hobbled down the hall into your room.

When he deposited you into your bed, you immediately curled up in the sheets, shutting your eyes.

However, they popped open once again when you felt something cool press against your forehead only moments later.

You looked up to see Remus retreating from your room after laying a cool towel across your feverish forehead. As you drifted off into a fitful sleep, your last thought was about how he'd never been in your room before. You wondered if you'd remembered to tidy it.

--

You were running through a dark dense forest. Something was chasing you. You couldn't quite make out what it was but you knew it was angry.

You tried to move faster but as you ran, the forest grew wider and longer and darker. The branches were becoming thicker, they scratched your arms as you waded through the trees. You could hear the creature growling behind you. It was getting closer. You were panting and sweating, pushing yourself as fast as you could go but it felt as though the forest floor was covered in sand, your feet sinking into it every time they hit the ground.

You pushed on, carrying yourself forward, willing yourself to pick up the pace.

Then the ground dropped away completely. A cliff ledge had emerged in front of you and before you could stop yourself, you'd reached it.

Then you were falling.

--

You awoke with a start, gasping and panting for air. You were drenched in sweat, tangled up in your crumpled bed sheets. It was too hot, almost unbearably so. You thrashed around frantically for some semblance of relief.

It was at that moment, your door creaked open and a tentative Remus entered your room. He froze when he noticed you were awake and gaping at him with wide eyes.

"I just came in to check on you. How are you feeling?"

You went to respond but were overtaken with a slew of coughing that wracked through your body. Remus was at your side in an instant, a gentle hand placed on your back as you rode out the fit.

"I think it's time for some medicine," he mumbled under his breath, likely directed more towards himself than you.

It was then that you noticed the tray of items he'd placed on the table beside your bed. There was a bottle of water and an assortment of medicines as well as a thermometer which he picked up and proceeded to press into your ear.

You were so out of it, practically delirious with fever, that it took you a moment to realise how unusual this situation was. Remus - the same roommate who had been consistently cold and abrasive towards you in the months since you moved in - was now sitting at your bedside taking care of you while you were ill. It was completely unexpected, although you had to admit, not unwelcome. Something inside you stirred at the care he was showing you.

The pulled away, humming disapprovingly at the reading. You watched him with wide eyes as he busied himself reading medicine labels.

"Here, take these," he told you and dropped an assortment of pills into your hand. Then he uncapped the water bottle and handed it to you.

After you'd taken the medicine he gave you, he encouraged you to nestle back down under your covers and he pulled your duvet up to your chin.

"Try to get some sleep. Hopefully you'll feel better with a bit of rest," he told you.

He then turned, beginning to walk towards the doorway but you grabbed a hold of his wrist before he was able to leave.

"Remus," you muttered weakly, looking up at him with big, imploring eyes. Maybe it was the medicine or the fever, you weren't really sure, but an unwarranted confidence had begun to possess you.

He turned to look at you, his eyebrow raised in concern.

"Will you stay with me? Just until I fall asleep?"

He paused for a moment, clearly surprised as he pondered the request. Then he looked back at you, taking in your pathetic form and he sighed, his shoulders relaxing.

"Okay. I can do that."

You wriggled over a little, patting the left side of your bed. Remus hesitantly took a seat on top of the covers, looking very out of place in your bedroom.

Subconsciously, you edged towards him, drawn into his body heat as you moved to a comfortable position.

Your eyes grew heavier as the effects of the medicine began to take hold. However, as sleep claimed you, a few last words rolled off your tongue before you could stop them.

"Why don't you like me Remus?"

He turned to you, raising an eyebrow as his gaze cast over your form.

"I mean, I try really hard to be your friend and I want us to be closer but you always treat me like you don't care. I don't know what I've done wrong."

Remus sighed heavily. "That's not true, Y/n. I do care about you. I just... I was worried that when you moved in, the dynamic with my friend group was going to change and I didn't know how to deal with it. But I'm sorry that I took it out on you. It was my issue, not yours and I should've been kinder. The truth is, I-"

He was cut short when you let out a congested snore beside him. He looked down to notice that your breathing had evened out and you'd drifted off into a semi-peaceful sleep, your warm head pressed up against his hip.

He couldn't suppress the fond smile that crossed his features at the sight. With a feather-light touch, he leaned down and pressed a small kiss to your forehead.

--

It was just past one in the morning when Sirius returned from a gig with his band at a Pub down the road.

It had been a good night. The crowd was energetic and they didn't mess up any of their set-list. It was a great show and he'd hung around afterwards for a couple of drinks and a bit of flirting with a few of the girls who'd been in the front of the crowd. However, despite the success of the evening, something felt like it was... missing somehow.

Even sitting across from an eager and curvaceous ginger, with a free beer in hand, his mind couldn't help but linger on... you. This was something that had happened more times then he cared to admit over the past few weeks.

To his own surprise, he'd turned down her advances in favour of heading home to your company. He hoped you'd still be awake as you sometimes were at this time on a Friday night. He expected to find you binge-watching Modern Family in the living room with a glass of wine in hand.

However, when he arrived back at the house, he was disappointed to find the space void of human life.

He took off his leather jacket and hung it on the rack by the door as his eyes scanned the empty living room. When he walked down the hallway, he was happy to see that there was a faint light coming from under your door.

He carefully pushed it open, not wanting to disturb you if you were writing. To his surprise, the sight he was met with was far from the one he expected.

There was Remus, sitting on your bed, reading a book in the soft glow of your bedside lamp while you were practically curled up in his lap, your breathing ragged as you slept.

Remus looked up to meet his friend's wide eyes as he observed the scene before him.

"Oh, hi. You're back earlier than expected."

Sirius blinked at him for a moment, trying to act nonchalant as he regained his bearings.

"Ah yeah. I guess I just wasn't feeling it tonight," then he gestured towards you. "Is she okay?"

Remus just nodded, sending his friend a soft smile. "Yeah. She's a little under the weather but seems to be a little better now."

He brushed a few fingers over your forehead, stroking some hair away from you eyes in the process as he got a gage of your temperature.

Sirius' heart clenched in a way he couldn't quite make sense of as he watched the moment unfold.

"She had a pretty high fever earlier," Remus explained. "But we managed to get it down."

"Ah, right," Sirius muttered, leaning against the doorframe. "Is... um, is there anything I can do? or..."

Remus gently shook his head. "Thanks for the offer but I think we'll be fine."

"Okay, well... I'll leave you to it then," Sirius stated with a tight-lipped smile.

"Okay, goodnight. Sleep well, Sirius."

"You too, Rem," He responded, closing the door behind him.

He let out a huff of air once he was out of earshot. There were a bunch of unexplainable feelings swirling inside of him. Was he jealous? No that wasn't it. It was something else. An odd sort of ache that lingered inside of him, a yearning for something that he couldn't quite place.

All he knew was that he didn't like it.

--

Taglist:

@hisparentsgallerryy @navs-bhat @shushbruv @magicwithaknife @eeviee4 @notapoetjustscar @gugggu6gvai @robertsmithclone @ilovesugurugeto69 @taytayy178 @its-notkiee @bugworldsworld @switchingfandomslikecrazy @evangelquill, @delusional-4-fake-people, @ch4rlotte35, @insideoutjulie, @hiireadstuff, @laniirackssss, @starrystormwritings, @strategicsweetheart, @1800brat, @sammyreid, @frootloops1213, @ill-be-okay-soon-enough, @loveelylani, @ilovejamespottersomuch, @that-gay-person-27, @serenadingtigers, @lily-mylove

[clockwayswrites]

A Hill to Die On ch2 (mostly)

ch1(ish) this is a first draft, please no editing or concrit <3

This is most of Chapter 21, cutting out the smut. IT DOES SPICY🌶️⚠️: alludes to smut the night before and blatant talk leading into more.

Tim wasn’t in his own bed. He wasn’t in his Manner bed either. He was pretty sure it also wasn’t the spare bed at Jason’s or Kon’s bed. It wasn’t Stephanie’s or Bart’s or one of the Titan Tower beds. No, this was a stranger’s bed. That should worry him, Tim knew that, but the worry didn’t come.

Instead of worry, Tim felt calm, pleasantly satiated, and sore.

Tim knew why.

Caroline clung to him, like the heavy remnants of a dream. She was right there, pressing against the back of his mind and assuring him that this was all fine. More than fine even; she was quite pleased.

Grudgingly, Tim opened his eyes and blinked up at the nondescript ceiling. Trying to remember what had happened last night was like watching through low resolution clips of time. Things were rather clear at the start and became less clear as time went on. But he very much understood why he was sore and just how much Caroline had enjoyed himself.

Tim was sure he was blushing an embarrassing amount as he carefully sat and swung his legs over the edge of the side of the bed. Yep, sore. Right, well. Tim cleared his throat as if that would also clear up his embarrassment. How was he supposed to act after sleeping with a complete stranger?

“I thought I heard you awake, gorgeous,” the guy—Danny, his name was Danny—drawled from behind Tim. “I know it’s not the right sort of thing for you, but I put some lounge pants and a shirt in the bathroom for you if you want to shower. Pancakes will be up in about fifteen or so, but take your time.”

“Ah, thanks, that’s nice of you,” Tim said.

He waited until he heard Danny walk back off to wherever the kitchen was before he got up and slipped into the bathroom. All of Caroline’s clothing had been folded into a neat pile, other than the lacy underwear, which were washed and drying on the towel rack. Which was rather sweet.

Tim added the bra to the pile, stretching out the feeling of having worn that all night.

Figuring out how to get the shower turned on and hot was a puzzle, showers always were, but Tim managed it smoothly enough. Danny’s shower actually got decently hot too, and Tim took advantage of that to stand under the spray and just try to center himself.

Should he pretend to be Caroline?

Should he come clean?

He didn’t know what was best… or safest.

But Danny was safe. Tim hated that the certainty of that lingered in his mind, but it did. Caroline was convinced that Danny was safe, at least in these regards. He supposed she must have to lingered like this and still be at Danny’s place in the morning. Tim took a deep breath, breathing in the citrus scent of Danny’s shampoo he as using, and let it out slowly.

Okay, truth it was.

The shower had washed away the last of Caroline, which meant it was only Tim standing in the kitchen, trying not to fidget. He was better than fidgeting, he had been a Robin. But he really wanted to right then as he waited for Danny to turn from the stove.

Danny dished up some bacon onto a plate and turned the stove off before turning. “Turkey bacon,” Danny explained with a little raise of the plate before he set it on the little table which was rather full, “and we have scrambled eggs and, of course, pancakes. Take a seat and dig in.”

“That all sounds great.” Tim didn’t move.

Danny tilted his head with a little frown. “Is everything alright? If, ah, this is too much it’s okay if you just want to leave. I don’t usually… do one nightstands so if I’m breaking some sort of taboo with this I’m sorry.”

“No,” Tim said quickly, “it’s not you, it’s me. Wow, not like that. Sorry. I guess I’m just a little awkward about this. I don’t really do this either. Well, that’s not—I don’t do this. I’m sorry, I’m making an absolute mess of this. I guess, just, okay. I guess I should start by saying you should call me Lin. I’m not… exactly Caroline right now.”

He wasn’t ‘Lin’ either, but no matter what Caroline thought he wasn’t going to give Danny his real name. He was too recognizable for that.

Danny sat down slowly in the chair closest to him. “Are you… not Caroline right now because of how you’re dressed or because you’re not Caroline because you’re someone else now?”

“Oh,” Tim wiggled a handy. “Both but more of the second?”

“Okay,” Danny said, his tone careful in a way that made Tim tilt his head curiously. “Are you… freaked out by waking up somewhere different? Do we need to talk about… anything that happened last night?”

“Oh, oh no,” Tim replied quickly. “I’m mostly aware of what happens when I’m Caroline. Besides I was sort of… in between when I woke up this morning. We’re good.”

Danny shoulder’s slumped and he ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back. “Okay, good. I really didn’t want—because everything last night was very, enthusiastically consensual and—”

“We’re good, really,” Tim reassured Danny. It was actually pretty sweet how worked up Danny was about this. “Caroline didn’t do anything—okay, well she does it more freely than me, but, ah, let’s just say we’re in agreement about you.”

Danny looked surprised before a frankly adorable smile curled his lips. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, though maybe don’t get too smug about it,” Tim said with a little shrug and finally took a seat at the table. “I never said either of us had good taste.”

Danny’s surprised laughter was a nice sound. “Don’t worry, I know I’m not hot stuff. The attention is still flattering. I spent most of the night not sure how I ended up with Caroline in my bed.”

Tim rested his chin on his hand, watching Danny curiously. “Even though she’s not what she looks like?”

“Like I said last night, any combination of bits is a good combination.”

“That usually doesn’t mean… personalities,” Tim pointed out.

Danny just gave a little shrug. “Nope. But as long as I haven’t hurt her, or you, then I don’t mind this either. Is it different? Sure. And it has me curious about things, but I’m curious by nature.”

“Curiosity killed the cat,” Tim quipped.

“But boredom killed it quicker,” Danny replied, finishing the verse.

It was Tim’s turn to smile. “I can’t say I’ll want to or can answer everything, but you can feel free to ask a few questions.”

After a considering noise, Danny took a few bites of breakfast as he obviously thought about what to ask. “So since you know things that happened as Caroline, does that mean you have the same preferences about things?”

“Nope. Caroline’s go to drink is a martini. I like whiskey better,” Tim said, thinking to last night. “Or she likes eggs that are runny but I hate that.”

“Huh, okay. Does that keep going to more serious things too?”

Tim tilted his head and took a bite of the rolled up pancake he had just buttered. As far as morning after breakfasts went, this was pretty nice. “Serious like what?”

“Well, like, last night. Take… a blow job. How would Caroline like one?”

“She wouldn’t,” Tim said easily. “She might give one, but mostly to get someone worked up to fuck her.”

Danny chuckled, a low sound that made Tim want to lean in closer to where Danny lounged in the other chair. “Okay. So you know that pretty easily. But what about you? What about Lin?”

Tim tilted his head. “Lin, I mean I like blow jobs, yeah.”

At least he was pretty sure he did. He didn’t do this sort of thing much as him.

Danny smiled like he was amused. “Okay. And any preference? Leaning against a wall? Pressing me against a wall? In bed? Sitting on the couch. Right here in the kitchen with your legs thrown over my shoulders?”

Tim swallowed reflexively. If Tim was Alvin right then, he’d want Danny on his knees, back pressed against the wall while Alvin held his jaw open and fucked his face. But for Tim… “That last one, please.”

“Please as in now?” Danny asked.

“Yes, please,” Tim said, the words much more blatant begging than he had intended.

“Okay, sweetheart.” Danny drawled the pet name in a slow, easy way that reminded Tim of whipped honey. “But you gotta be good for me and let me hear you.”

-

[Smut goes here. Tim has a very good time.]

-

“No pressure, but here’s my number,” Danny said. He was holding out an actual slip of paper folded in half. He ducked his head a little. “You know, if you or Caroline or you and Caroline want to reach out.”

Tim took the slip of scrap paper, the back of some cut up sales sheet and tapped it against his fingers. “You’d want to hear from both of us?”

“Yes, of course! As long as that won’t cause any issues between you and Caroline. And, I mean, obviously I’d like a heads up who I was talking to,” he said with a shy, crooked smile.

It made Tim give a little laugh. “I bet, it would get real confusing otherwise. I can get another number for her and use it through an app. It keeps everything nice and separate for all of us.”

“Yeah? That sounds good,” Danny agreed. “And you’re sure you don’t want me to get you a cab or walk you to the station?”

“I’m sure. I’ll be fine. I’ve been running around Gotham my whole life.” Or close enough, anyways. “Besides, one of Caroline’s bracelets is a low level tazer.”

“Really? But to fit all of that in—sorry, off topic,” Danny said sheepishly. He leaned in and kissed Tim lightly on the edge of his lips. “Thank you for staying, and telling me who you were.”

“Thanks for being so great about,” Tim said. He stole a quick kiss himself before he slipped out the door. He was too tired for things to descend into another round of sex, not matter the position.

Just before he got outside Danny’s apartment building, he took the time to put Danny’s number in his phone and sent of a quick ‘and thank you for the pancakes’.

[giuliettagaltieri]

Oliver Twist

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Chapter Synopsis: In which Charles Leclerc becomes a sugarbaby.

Warning: Aftermath of unprotected sex and innuendos

Word Count: 4647

Chapter: 3

Sunday mornings are supposed to be calm.  For people to wake up peacefully and go about their day slowly, it is for having hearty breakfast and whispered conversations about the most mundane of stuff.

But here you were, with a possible corpse right in front of you.

In instinct from all the training you got from your job, you carefully assess the look of his neck.  Unusually thick but it doesn’t look broken, still, you wouldn’t want to risk moving him.  Instead you pat his shoulders firmly to check for responsiveness.

“Hey, hey!  Are you okay?”

There’s no response and you whimper, you were just placing two fingers on his carotid when he groaned and the relief that washed over you was immense, you wanted to hug him just for breathing.

He twists and lies on his back instead and you hug the duvet closer to your body as you look over him.  The man grimaces and looks alarmed when he sees you.  It was a bit funny if the situation was different.  He looked so disoriented and scared, all the while looking incredibly sexy covered in red lipstick stains.

“Hey...uhm…I’m sorry for being dramatic.  Are you okay?”  You ask sheepishly and you let out a sigh of relief when he nods.  “Does anything hurt?”

The man struggles to get up to a sitting position and you hesitantly help him up.  “Yeah…my head.  But it could be just the hangover.”

If this isn’t a serious situation, you would have swooned at his thick accent.

“Shoot.”  You bite your swollen bottom lip in worry.  His eyes follow your movements and his eyes don’t miss the marks he undoubtedly left on your neck and shoulders.  He watches as you leave to search for something and return with your phone and turn on the flashlight

“What are you doing?”  He asks as you lift it to his face, his eyes squinting immediately.

“Oh, sorry.  I just need to check your pupillary reflex.”  You say with your cheeks flushing and he lets you.  God, he really has the prettiest eyes you have ever seen in your entire life.

“How are they?”  He asks as he blinks.

Still pretty.  “They’re brisk and equal to size and shape, which is good…uhm…let’s go to the hospital just in case.”  You say gently to him as you turn off your flashlight.

He considers it for a moment.  “How discrete are your hospitals here?”

Your eyes narrow suspiciously.  “Why?  You’re not some criminal on the run, are you?”

This somehow makes him chuckle before wincing and clutching his forehead.  “Not really.”

“There’s only one hospital here.  I work there as a nurse and we’re very strict on the records.  Plus our town isn’t big on social media, or phones in general if you’re worried about that.  Most of the population here are uhm…a bit old school.”  You try to explain and he nods.  “I’m Y/N, by the way.”

“Charles.”  He smiles charmingly, showing off his dimples.

“Nice to meet you…get dressed.  I will too.”  You say stiffly, still not knowing what to make of the situation and trying not to melt in front of this gorgeous, gorgeous man.  “Hurry okay?”

When he nods, you immediately scurry to your walk-in closet, dragging the duvet like some makeshift gown and when you get out with fresh clothes held tightly in one arm, you both stare at each other, his hand pausing while reaching for his shirt atop your vanity.  You awkwardly smile and he does too, you step to the side and again you laugh awkwardly before running off to the bathroom.  You are absolutely freaking out in there.

Once you’re in the safety of the bathroom, you scream soundlessly, clutching the duvet until your knuckles turn white.  You can’t believe you slept with someone!  And what are the odds that you’d do it with probably the most attractive man you have laid eyes upon.  But what are you doing!  You’re in an emergency here.  Traumatic Brain Injuries are not something to be taken lightly.

But as soon as you drop the duvet, you cannot help the shrill scream this time.  You look like you were mauled by a bear!

A knock on the door startles you and you immediately run behind the shower curtain.

“You good in there?”  His voice is muffled behind the door but you do hear the concern.

“All good, sorry!”  You try to forget the insane amount of purples and reds on your shoulders and breasts.  You quickly pee and pray you don’t get UTI because from the looks of your position earlier, you looked like you were knocked out after your deed, with no chance to have gone to the bathroom after.  You hurriedly grab a towel and wet it under the tap to wipe on the copious mess he left between your thighs.

Despite how cute he is when he smiled, you’d kill him if you hadn’t already tried earlier.

Hastily you slip on your bra and panty which you quickly lined with a pad and put on the first sundress you saw from your closet.  You splash your face with water and you hurry out of the bathroom.  He stands just outside the door and asks if he can use it.  Of course you let him, the poor guy still has lipstick stains all over his face.  While he’s in the bathroom, you went to your room to collect your stuff.

When you came back with your bag, he also stepped out of the bathroom.   He notices that you wrapped a light summer scarf around your neck now.

“Ready?”  You ask and he nods.

You lead him out and into the parking space.  You didn’t see how his bottom lip juts out as both his eyebrows raise, taking a liking to your car.

He didn’t feel quite comfortable about sitting on the passenger side but he doesn’t say anything about it when you head over to the driver’s seat.  His masculinity is not fragile, he can let a woman take the wheel once in a while.  He does fasten his seatbelt as soon as he sits down though.

You glance at his cap to make light conversation as you start the car.  “Are you a Ferrari fan?”

Unexpectedly you hear a sigh from him.  “I don’t think so anymore.”

“Oh.”  You say softly as you get into the highway, feeling the need to apologize for suddenly ruining his mood, even though you have absolutely zero idea why.  And he sees it, now feeling like kicking himself for making you feel bad.

“You should’ve asked me yesterday morning.”  He tries with a lighthearted  tone, making you lose the stiffness of your shoulders a little bit.  “I was probably one of the biggest fans.”

You laugh lightly, even if you don’t understand just to get rid of the awkwardness.  “How are you feeling, by the way?  Any lightheadedness or nausea?”

He tells you no, and is now silently judging your driving.  You’re pretty good at it, much to his surprise.  It’s not that he’s strongly opinionated about women’s skills in driving, he just rarely sees women do it.  Most have chauffeurs or have their husbands or boyfriends drive for them from where he’s from.

Charles sees a building, it’s smaller than he thought and the paint looks a little weathered but it does look more modern than the rest of the town, so he can’t complain.  You park your car and you both get out.

He watches you hurry to his side as you lead him to the ER.

“Do you have an ID?  I’ll fill up your information sheet for you.”  You say as you make him sit on the triage where a nurse gets his vitals.  He hands you his international driving license and you sit next to him, filling up the sheet.

You know the nurse so Charles was a bit confused when there’s no instructions given and you just headed inside the ER while clutching his hand.

Another nurse meets you inside the ER and was quite surprised to see you, his sleepy eyes widening over his mask.  It was early in the morning but Charles could see the nurses bustling about, either doing something with the computers lining the station or restocking items around the place.  The nurse leads you to a hospital bed, where he guides Charles to sit, and takes the sheet from your hand.  

The nurse greets you both and introduces himself as he reads through the information sheet.  When asked about your relationship, your throat went dry, not knowing how to respond.

Charles puts his hand on your shoulder and answers for you.  “I’m her boyfriend.”

The nurse looks at you for a moment before breaking into a cheeky smile, his eyes crinkling on the sides.  You know what’s running through his mind now.  Nurses can be pretty judgmental.  You should know.  “Alright.  So you are visiting her?”

“I am.”  Charles nods with a charming smile.

“That makes you his guardian.”  The nurse points a finger at you.  He excuses himself and pulls the privacy curtain around the bed and leaves to talk to a doctor.

You glare at Charles, dramatically collapsing on a chair at his bedside.  “Why boyfriend?”  You whisper yelled at him.

“We slept together.”  He shrugs. 

This guy.

“We could’ve just been cousins or distant relatives.”  You grumbled.

Charles sighs.  “Again, we slept together.” 

“Friends then!”  You say while throwing your hands in the air in frustration.

You’re kinda cute when you get mad.

“I’m sorry, okay?”  The little shit doesn’t look apologetic at all.  “It’s just the first thing that came to mind.  Considering what happened earlier and because of the…evidence.”  His eyes scan your shoulders and neck and you gasp, immediately fixing your hair to hide the evidence better.  But who are you kidding, there’s way too many, you should’ve worn a turtleneck if you really wanted to hide them.

The nurse comes back with the doctor and you immediately act civil when the curtains are pulled to the side.

They run a few neurological tests and the doctor says that there’s no apparent signs and symptoms of traumatic brain injury and decides not to have Charles go through diagnostic tests but he should be closely monitored nonetheless.  You are quite worried still and tried to offer to have him go through CT scan but after gathering a quick patient history interview, the doctor deduced that the brief loss of consciousness might be a result of mild alcohol poisoning.  Charles did reluctantly admit that he drank a lot yesterday.  The doctor eyed you as if you had anything to do with it!

After giving him IV fluids for hydration, Charles was quickly discharged.  You both got out with a bit of your anxieties lifted off, well most of it.  You still don’t know what to make do of your little situation.  But since you both rushed to the hospital on an empty stomach, you made a quick drive through which put the both of you in a better mood. 

“Sorry, I might have overreacted.”  You admit but he turns to you with an understanding smile, which you only see through your periphery as you focus on not crashing your car.  “It’s just that, you were knocked out upon impact so I thought it was Traumatic Brain Injury for sure.”

“I got good neck strength actually, tried to lean my head back and use my chest to break the fall, but I appreciate that you’re concerned, especially for a stranger.”  Charles tells you and he looks around when you go to a route he didn’t think you took earlier that morning.  “I saw multiple times what TBI does to people.”  

You briefly glance at him, now driving at the parking lot of some mall.  “What do you mean?”  You manage to park successfully.  Charles mirrors your movement as you unbuckle your seatbelt.

Charles purses his lips in contemplation and then looks at you, a small smile threatening to crack in his lips.  “Are you familiar with Formula 1?”

Raising a brow you eye his smile suspiciously.  “Kinda…?  It’s like racing, right?”  You say hesitantly which made his smile widen as he nodded.  “Are you like a medic?”

“No, sweetheart.”  He shakes his head, chuckling in pure amusement that he really had to introduce himself and what he does.  “I’m an F1 driver.”

For a moment you just look at him.  “…So like you drive around in circles?”

Charles looks at you in the most offended way anybody could have ever looked.

“I’m sorry!”  You apologize quickly.  “I am familiar with the idea of F1 but I am not like…a fan?”  You grimace and Charles lets out a series of words of disbelief in his thick accent and he just starts rambling…in French or was it Italian…both?

“I’ll look it up, alright?”  You say with a tired exhale, trying to calm him as his hands start flying in large gestures, still is pure and utter disbelief.  You reach for your bag on the backseat and you fetch your phone, waving it in front of his face and he calms down a bit, exhaling from his flared nostrils.

You start searching his name on Google.  “Charles Leclerc, right?”  You mumble and he loudly confirms it, his arms now crossed over his broad chest.  “Geez, calm down.  Remind me not to piss off a French dude.”  You chuckle as you type it in Google.  “With three wins, 11 podiums and nine pole positions, he was the only man able to consistently take the fight to champion Max Verstappen, ooohhh wow.”  You grinned at him excitedly but the man wasn’t smiling at all.

“You understood none of that, did you?”

“…yes.”  You say honestly.

Charles rolls his eyes.  “First of all, I’m Monégasque…meaning I’m from Monaco.”  He explains when you tilt your head to the side.  “I am a Ferrari driver…or at least, was a Ferrari driver until yesterday.”

There’s a drop to his voice at the end and you tried to continue the conversation.  “I love cars and I may not be following F1 but I do admire Ferrari greatly.  And to represent them in an international race?  Charles, that is beyond impressive.”  You say with pure admiration.

“I no longer represent them.”  He says with a stiff smile.  “I messed up last night and they terminated my contract.”

You look at him apologetically.  “I…I’m sorry.”  That explains the alcohol poisoning.

“It’s not your fault.”  He turns to you before looking out the windshield.  “In fact I should be sorry.  I took it out on you last night and I caused trouble this morning too.” 

You flush at his words but you can’t stop the laugh that escaped you.  “No, that’s okay, Charles.”

He scratches at his cheek, glancing briefly at your crime scene of a neck and you can’t help but smile at his little quirks.

“May I ask what happened?”  You ask gently.

Charles considers for a moment and lets out a long sigh.  After what happened between you, he thinks you have the right to have your questions answered.  “My girlfriend dumped me over the phone.”  You wince and he grins at your reaction.  “But it wasn’t that that made me spiral.  I was kind of okay with the break up.  I was losing her long before it happened…I just…I don’t know.  I felt like I needed a break from everything so I drank.”

“So if you’re from Monaco, how did you even get here?”

“I took a plane.”

You nearly snorted at how serious he is about it.

“What?”  He now laughed at your reaction.  “I did come here from Monaco on a plane!  Then I took a few cabs, stopped by some bars along the way, I think I took a bus but I’m not sure.  Now I’m flat out broke, no cellphone, and I have no intentions of using my ATM, or my PR team will show up at your doorstep.”

You shake your head as you reach for your bag, slowly taking in the information.  What a rough day he had yesterday, no wonder you can feel the ache all over your body.  He watches you apply your red lipstick perfectly.  You got out of the car right after killing the engine, Charles followed after you.

“So that’s how you ended up with alcohol poisoning.”  You narrow your eyes playfully at him.  “Also, don’t worry about the money.  I’ll just adopt you for now.”

“Thank you…but why?”  He looks genuinely puzzled. 

“I’m feeling kind of responsible for you since uhm…I think I’m the only one around here who knows what’s going on.”  He looks grateful but his facial expression shifts to concern when you grimace and hook a finger to fix your scarf.  “Ugh, why did I buy this?  It’s so itchy.”

“Why don’t you take that off?”  Charles casually suggests.  “Are you embarrassed to be seen with hickeys?”

You click your tongue.  “Anybody sane would be, Charles.”

“It is proof you had a good time.”  He says playfully with his accent drawling again and you smack him with your bag, making him laugh out as if he wasn’t just telling you about the disaster that landed him there.  You really admire the resilience of this guy.  “But what about you, we’ve been talking about me all morning.”

The mall’s automatic doors slide open and you lead him to the clothing department.

“Uhm…my life’s pretty boring actually.”

He shrugs.  “Still wanna know.”

Since he’s so insistent, you give in and you tell him your name and age like it’s some sort of interview.  “I’m uh…not from around here.  I just moved to this town for work.” 

Charles hums and asks where you’re from and you tell him.

“And it’s just you here?  No relatives?”

You shake your head no as you bend to grab a basket which you gently push to his chest.  He takes it from you without questions.

“Not around this area.  I have relatives here in US but they’re in different states and I kinda like being here.  Alone.”  You walk ahead and he follows you with his eyes.

“Alone?”  He echoes and you nod, picking up hangers with…underpants?

“Boxers or briefs?”

Charles chuckles with an awkward frown, making you look at him with frustration clear on your features.

“Come on, you need to change into fresh clothes.”  You huff but he can’t stop chuckling.  “Wait, how long are you planning to stay?  Don’t feel any pressure by the way, you’re welcome in my apartment…if you behave.  But like…do you have a date in mind when you’ll be heading back to Monaco? You just came here out of impulse afterall.”  You press your lips together, realizing you rambled.

His laughter dies out and you watch the internal battle behind his pretty eyes.

“I honestly don’t know yet.  I don’t plan to come back to Monaco anytime soon, that’s for sure.  This year’s season also ended a month ago so I don’t have any commitments.  Plus, Ferrari kicked me out of the team so...”

You sum it up for him.  “So you’re staying for a while.”  When he nods you place the hangers back and step to the shelf of some brand he doesn’t usually buy from but is familiar with.  “Well, you’re welcome to crash on my couch for as long as you want.”

He opened his mouth to respond but you held up two boxes from the shelves to his face.  These boxes hold at least a week’s worth.  

“Boxers or briefs?”  You ask again.

Charles glares at you with no real anger behind it, clearly just frustrated with your insistence but he knows you’re being practical.  He wordlessly attempts to snatch the briefs from your hand but you tighten your hold on the box.

You give him a mischievous grin.  “Large, medium, or small?”

He scoffs.  “I think I’ll choose my underpants on my own, thank you.”  Underpants aren’t even based on that stuff, why are you being so insufferable about it?  “And are you sure you want to keep teasing about sizes?  I got you staining the sheets last night, no?”

You open your mouth to retort but you settle with a quick “Suit yourself.”  You push the boxes to his chest before disappearing behind other aisles.

Charles follows you with his gaze before he looks at the boxes of underpants you shoved at him.  He scans the boxes and chooses the one that is his size.

You come back with a set of socks and a couple of…gym towels…he thinks.

“Are you done?”  You ask in a chirpy tone and he nods.  You pull him to the men's clothing section and you grab another hanger but this time with a long sleeved black linen shirt.  You hold it against his chest and Charles leans back slightly to keep the hanger’s hook from poking his eye.

You hum before putting it back and grab a different linen shirt with a better cut, this one in white and your eyes visibly brighten and you take it off from its hanger and drape it over your arm.  You grab the same design but in light blue.  You also hold a plain white t-shirt against him and you nod silently, he watches you grab another one of the same design and color and another one in black.  You are practically grinning when you place them in the basket he’s holding before you gasp.

“Oh my.  I’m literally playing dress up with you.”  You look genuinely apologetic and he finds it funny that you’re just figuring it out.  “You’ll be the one wearing them, you should choose for yourself.”

Charles scratches his chin.  “You’re paying so I can’t complain and I also like the ones you’ve chosen so far…can I get an extra pair of pants though?”

You look so adorable as you listen to him talk and the quick smile as he finishes, God!  “Sure.”  You say and he can’t resist ruffling your hair, making you slap his hand away. 

Charles follows you like how a chick would to its mother hen.  You like how he’s being vocal about what he wants.  “I’m thinking…something lighter in color, to go with the linen shirts…the one I have on now is denim so it’s perfect with the t-shirts.” 

He rambles more to himself and you can’t help but smile.

He picks out a cream colored pants and you raise your thumbs up when he proudly shows it to you.  Charles double checks the waistline before placing it on the basket that isn’t empty anymore now thanks to you.  He acknowledges it too and can’t help but think for a moment.

“I know I already asked…but I still don’t get it.”  He mumbles.  “I’m still a stranger.  We just slept together, why are you being so kind?”

Because you’re cute?  Your eyes widen at your own thoughts and you shake your head to get rid of it.“Well…I don’t know.  I just, it felt different having someone over in my apartment…and it’s a good difference, despite the…accident.  This is the first time that my boring morning routine changed like ever, so I’m not in a hurry to get rid of you.”  You smile at him from your shoulder.

“But I’m a stranger.”  He argues as you run your fingers on some sweatpants, falling right back into the urge to pick out clothes for him.

“Waistline?”  You ask and he responds quickly, making you pick out the gray sweatpants where your hand is resting.  You check the waistline then show it to him and he nods without looking at it, still wanting a clear answer.  “If it was me who woke up in your apartment, with no idea where I am, no money, no friends or relatives whatsoever in the area, would you kick me out?”  You place the pants against his legs and once you’re satisfied with the length, you pull it out of the hanger and fold it neatly to be placed in the basket.

He shifts his weight on his feet.  “Well, I don’t think so.  But I’d probably pass you to my team so they’d handle your uhm situation.”

You laugh at his honesty.  “I don’t have a team to pass you to and I just…I feel like being a good person at the moment.”  Like hell you’d tell him that you’re just lonely.  “Plus I already told you I’ll adopt you so I’m standing by what I said.”

“I feel indebted to you now.”  He chuckles.  “Don’t worry though, I’ll find a way to repay you somehow.”

“As long as you pick up after yourself in the apartment, we’re good actually.”

“Are you really sure I can stay in your place?  You said you liked being alone.”  Charles hesitates but you’re busy choosing workout shorts for him.

“Having company is nice every now and then.”  You mumble as you do the same thing you did with the sweatpants and you fold two dark workout shorts to be placed on the basket.  “Just don’t trash my house, help me a bit with the chores, and respect my alone time and we won’t have a problem.”

He gives you a lopsided smile.  “Roger that.”

“Oh, I also run an online business.  Don’t bother me when I pack orders.”  You say before leading him to different aisles of hygiene products.

“So you’re an entrepreneur too.”  He bumps your shoulder, making your cheeks heat up. 

“It’s just a small business, I only started it last year.”

“Wait…how?  You’re working?” 

You pick out items from the shelves as you answer.  “I go on duty in the hospital only for three days.  The rest of the week, I work on my business.”

“What kind of business is it again?”

Humming, you stare up into the ceiling, he smiles when it brings back memories from last night.  “Stationary…accessories…shirts…uhm regular girl stuff.”  You place basic toiletries in the basket.  You’re unfamiliar with the male products but you heard good things about the brands you chose. 

Charles looked at them and gave a silent approval.  “Must be tiring.”

“It is.”  You bemoaned.  “I work in the operating room and despite this place being a small town, we still get a lot of road incidents.  And hip replacements.”  You chuckle.  “Yeah we get a lot of those.”

“You’re a busy girl.”  He watches you toss a deodorant on the basket.  You also stop in front of various bottles.  “Perfumes?”

You nod as you turn to walk off somewhere.  “Yeah, choose something please, I’m getting kinda hungry again.”

Charles puts down the basket and opens a cap of perfume, his face immediately scrunching up.  He opens another one before he finally finds one that smells a bit like his usual perfumes.  He leans down and places the bottle on the basket, your feet come to his view and he watches you place a pack of razors and aftershave.  There’s also a facial cleanser and body lotion.  How’d you get those so quickly?

“You’re really serious about adopting me, huh?”  He grins and picks up the basket as you lead the way.

“I am officially your sugarmama.”

This cracks him up.  He follows you to the health section and watches you pick up a pack of sanitary pads, making his perfect brows furrow.

“Those are for me.”  You tell him and it makes more sense to him now.  “Do you need anything else?’

His eyes go over your head and he can’t help but let out a weird sound that sounded like groaning and a laugh.  “No, I don’t need anything else.”  He places an arm around your shoulders and leads you away.

You struggle to take a peek and you flush when you see condoms lining that part of the aisle.

Overdrive

[qwibkwib]

Careful What You Wish For

Series: Promised 9 Chapter - 1

Chapter 0 Lee Chaeyeoung (Fromis_9) X Male reader Word Count: 8.8k+ a/n: please read chapter 0 first...

“...Just a little nap.” A voice—familiar yet frustratingly elusive—echoes in your mind as you jolt awake, drenched in cold sweat. The words linger, slippery and insistent, like a whisper you’re not supposed to remember.

Your heart pounds as your eyes dart around, landing on the ceiling of your room. Afternoon light filters through the curtains, casting golden streaks across the walls. You sit up abruptly, a vague unease twisting in your chest. Something feels... off, though you can’t quite place it.

Shaking the thought, you glance at the alarm clock on your bedside table, only to realize it isn’t there. Did you forget to set it up last night? No time to ponder. Your body moves on instinct. Late. You’re definitely late.

Throwing on a crumpled shirt and the first pair of jeans you find, you fumble with your shoes, skipping the hassle of socks. There’s no time for a shower; no time for anything, really. Professor Min doesn’t tolerate tardiness, and while you’d normally convince yourself you could charm your way out of it, today is different. You feel heavy—foggy, like a part of you is still struggling to wake up.

You rush out of your room, backpack slung hastily over one shoulder. Yet as your hand touches the doorknob, you pause. A strange sense of déjà vu washes over you, like you’ve forgotten something important. A flicker of... something—a faint image—dances on the edge of your consciousness.

Darkened windows. Cyan blue. Laughter and whispers.

You blink, and it’s gone.

“What the hell...?” you mutter, shaking your head as you swing the door open.

The hallway feels unfamiliar, even though you’ve walked it countless times. The walls seem a little too bare, the light a little too dim. Your feet carry you forward, but the nagging sensation that something isn’t right refuses to leave.

As you step outside, the sun’s warmth strikes your skin, grounding you momentarily. Yet, as you hurry toward campus, you can’t help but glance over your shoulder, as though expecting to see someone—or something—following.

The faint echo of that voice, soft and teasing, creeps back into your thoughts.

“Just a little nap.”

And for the life of you, you can’t remember what came before it.

As you step out of the dorm building, your hurried stride falters. A particular car catches your eye—a sleek, emerald green Mini Cooper parked casually at the curb. Its glossy finish gleams under the afternoon sun, an almost hypnotic allure drawing your gaze.

You pause, a strange pang of familiarity gripping your chest. It’s an uncommon car for this area, a neighborhood more accustomed to well-worn sedans and the occasional scooter. This Mini Cooper feels out of place, yet somehow… it doesn’t. Something about it nags at the edges of your mind, tugging at thoughts you can’t quite grasp.

“Why does this feel so... familiar?” you mumble under your breath, your feet rooted to the spot.

You study the car closely, as though its curves and details might unlock the reason it stands out. The deep green hue reminds you of something—vivid yet blurred, like a dream slipping away the moment you wake. Your thoughts swim with fragmented flashes: evening, under the street light, brown hair.

And then, nothing.

You shake your head, frustrated with yourself. It’s just a car, you tell yourself, though the words feel hollow. A part of you knows it isn’t just a car. It’s connected to something—or someone. But no matter how hard you try to chase the thought, it remains just out of reach, like a name you can’t remember no matter how many times you roll it around in your mind.

With a final glance at the Mini Cooper, you force yourself to move. There’s no time to stand around playing detective. Yet, as you walk away, you can’t help but feel like you’ve left behind more than just a car.

As you jogged up the university steps, the sharp echo of your hurried footsteps reverberated through the halls. The sound was accompanied by the pounding in your chest, a mix of adrenaline and residual confusion from your abrupt awakening. Your mind raced just as quickly as your feet.

"Please don't be over, please don't be over," you muttered under your breath, clutching your bag tightly as you approached the classroom door.

With a quick glance at the room number to confirm you were at the right place, you pushed the door open. The chatter inside abruptly quieted, and you were met with a sea of unfamiliar faces staring back at you. No sign of Professor Min. No familiar classmates. Instead, a lecturer you didn’t recognize stood at the front of the room, mid-discussion.

"Uh… sorry," you stammered, stepping back awkwardly.

The lecturer barely spared you a glance, and the students returned to their notebooks and screens. Confused, you slipped back into the hallway, your heart sinking. This didn’t make sense. You checked the schedule last night—it was supposed to be Literature in this room today.

Pulling out your phone, you glanced at the time. 1:47 PM. That was correct. But something else caught your eye.

The date.

You blinked, certain you’d read it wrong. Friday.

But that’s impossible, you thought. Yesterday was Wednesday, Wasn’t it?

Your stomach churned as you refreshed the screen, but the date stubbornly remained the same. You checked your calendar app, your messages—everything confirmed it was Friday.

A cold wave washed over you as the realization hit. Somehow, an entire day had slipped past you, and you didn’t even remember it. You staggered back against the wall, struggling to steady your breathing.

What’s going on?

—

You find yourself staring at your reflection in the school's bathroom mirror, your damp hair clings to your forehead. The gnawing discomfort of losing an entire day weighed heavily on you, but what else could you do? you need to move on. Whatever had happened to Thursday—or your memory of it—was a mystery you weren’t equipped to solve. At least not now. For now, you have to focus on damage control.

Pulling out your phone, you checked the course materials. The latest lecture—The Promised Nine. you frowned. The title rang a distant bell, but you couldn't quite place it. Deciding you wouldn't get anything done in your cramped apartment, you fix your damped hair and head out . Golden Brew seemed like the best choice; it was quiet, comfortable, and you had a shift there later anyway.

The walk to Golden Brew feels longer than usual. The streets are quieter now, the usual hustle of students replaced by a calm that only deepens your unease. You can’t shake the feeling that something is missing—something important—but every time you try to grasp it, it slips away like smoke.

When you finally push open the door to the café, the familiar scent of roasted coffee beans and freshly baked pastries washes over you, grounding you for a moment. The place is bustling, as always, with students hunched over laptops and faculty members sipping espresso. You scan the room, looking for a quiet corner to settle into, when your eyes land on her.

Gyuri.

She’s behind the counter, her usual warm smile in place as she hands a customer their drink. But something about her feels different today. Her movements are slower, more deliberate, and there’s a faint crease between her brows that wasn’t there before. It’s subtle, but you notice it—the way her gaze flickers to the door every so often, as if she’s waiting for someone.

“Junho,” she calls out, her voice warm but with a hint of something you can’t quite place. “You’re early today.”

You approach the counter, forcing a smile. “Yeah, I… had some time to kill. Thought I’d get a head start on some reading before my shift.”

Gyuri studies you for a moment, her eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re not usually this early. Everything okay?”

Her question catches you off guard. There’s a suspicion in her tone, a probing curiosity that makes you feel like she’s seeing right through you. “Yeah, everything’s fine,” you say quickly, perhaps too quickly. “Just… trying to stay on top of things.”

Gyuri doesn’t look convinced, but she doesn’t press further. Instead, she nods toward the usual spot in the corner. “Well, find a seat and make yourself at home. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Thanks,” you say, grabbing a cup of coffee before heading to an empty table near the window.

As you sit down and pull out the book you borrowed from the library, your eyes drift across the room. That’s when you notice her.

Seoyeon.

She’s sitting in her usual spot, hunched over her laptop. She looks the same as ever, but something about her presence feels… heavier today, as if she’s carrying a weight she doesn’t want anyone to notice.

You watch her for a moment, struck by how familiar she seems, even though you’ve never had a proper conversion with her. She’s always here, always in that same spot, typing away at something. You’ve seen her countless times, but today, for some reason, she stands out to you. Maybe it’s the way she seems so detached from the world around her, or the way her tired eyes flicker to the screen with a kind of quiet intensity. Whatever it is, you can’t look away.

Gyuri doesn’t mention her, doesn’t even glance in her direction. It’s as if Seoyeon doesn’t exist to her, which strikes you as odd. You’ve always assumed they knew each other, given how often Seoyeon is here, but now you’re not so sure. The two of them seem to exist in separate worlds, even though they’re in the same room.

And yet… something about the way they don’t interact feels wrong to you. It’s not just that they don’t acknowledge each other—it’s that they should. You don’t know why you think that, but the thought lingers, nagging at the back of your mind. There’s a strange dissonance in the air, like a puzzle piece that doesn’t quite fit, and you can’t shake the feeling that you’re missing something obvious.

Shaking off the thought, you pull out your phone and open the document. The title stares back at you: Myths and Legends: The Promised Nine. It’s the same myth Professor Min discussed in class yesterday—or at least, the class you think was yesterday. You flip to the chapter, skimming the first few lines. The words feel familiar, almost too familiar, as if you’ve read them before. A faint sense of déjà vu washes over you, and you pause, your fingers hovering over the page.

“Long ago, during a time when humanity was steeped in chaos, war, and unrelenting greed, there was a king—a wise man, yet weary of the barbarism that plagued his people…”

The words echo in your mind, but not just from Professor Min’s lecture. Something deeper, something more recent, tugs at the edges of your memory. Fragments of last night begin to surface—flickers of a darkened café, the hum of low voices, the glow of cyan light. Your chest tightens as the images grow clearer. The women gathered around the table, their presence commanding and otherworldly. Gyuri’s uncharacteristic coolness. Jiheon’s playful smile, her fingers glowing with that eerie light. The weight of their words—The Promised Nine. Anchor. Deceit.

Your breath catches, and you nearly drop your phone. It all comes rushing back—the meeting, the cryptic conversation, Jiheon’s spell. You remember everything. The shock of it hits you like a punch to the gut, and you grip the edge of the table to steady yourself. Your heart races, your mind reeling as the pieces fall into place.

Gyuri and Seoyeon. They were there. They were part of it. They’re part of this—whatever this is. The realization sends a chill down your spine, and you glance up, your eyes darting to Gyuri behind the counter. She’s watching you, her expression unreadable but her gaze sharp, as if she can sense the turmoil in your mind. Seoyeon, too, has paused her typing, her tired eyes flickering toward you for the briefest moment before returning to her screen.

You force yourself to take a deep breath, trying to calm the storm in your head. You can’t let them know you remember. Not yet. Not until you figure out what’s going on. Slowly, you close the book and set it aside, your hands trembling slightly. You take a sip of your coffee, the bitter taste grounding you, and pretend to focus on the steam rising from the cup.

But inside, your mind is racing. The Promised Nine. Anchor. The weight of their emotions, their burdens. And you—somehow, you were there. You heard it all. You saw it all. And now, you’re caught in the middle of something far bigger than yourself.

Gyuri’s voice breaks through your thoughts. “Junho, everything okay over there?”

You look up, forcing a smile. “Yeah, just… got lost in thought for a second.”

She studies you for a moment, her gaze lingering a little too long, before nodding. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“Will do,” you say, your voice steady despite the storm inside.

As she turns away, you glance at Seoyeon again. She’s still typing, her movements slow and deliberate, but there’s a tension in her shoulders that wasn’t there before. You can’t tell if she’s aware of your internal crisis or if it’s just your paranoia, but one thing is clear: you’re not as invisible as you’d like to be.

For now, all you can do is keep up the act. You reopen the book, pretending to read, but the words blur as your mind races. The memories of last night play on a loop, each detail sharper than the last. You need answers, but you can’t risk tipping them off. Not until you know what you’re dealing with.

The café hums with activity around you, but at your table, the silence is deafening. You take another sip of your coffee, the bitterness grounding you slightly. Whatever is going on, you’re determined to figure it out. But for now, all you can do is sit here, pretending to read, while the weight of the unknown presses down on you. The hours drag on as you finally start your shift, your mind still reeling from the flood of memories that returned while reading the book. Every movement feels deliberate, every action calculated, as if Gyuri might notice the slightest slip-up. You’re hyper-aware of her now, her presence looming larger than ever as the two of you work in close proximity behind the counter. Her usual warmth is still there, but it feels… different. Like a mask she’s wearing, one that’s just a little too tight.

You fumble with the espresso machine, nearly spilling a shot as you pour it into a cup. The milk steamer hisses louder than usual, startling you, and you overfill a latte, the foam spilling over the edges. Each mistake piles up, small but noticeable, and you can feel Gyuri’s eyes on you more and more often. Her smile remains, but there’s a tension in her posture, a sharpness in her gaze that makes your stomach twist.

Finally, after you nearly drop a tray of pastries, Gyuri steps closer, her voice low but firm. “Junho, can I talk to you for a second?”

You freeze, your heart pounding as you nod and follow her to a quieter corner of the café. Her warm smile is still in place, but it feels strained now, like it’s holding back something you can’t quite name. Anger? Frustration? Whatever it is, it’s enough to make your palms sweat.

“Is everything okay?” she asks, her tone gentle but probing. “You’ve been… off today.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you say quickly, forcing a smile. “Just… tired, I guess. Didn’t sleep well last night.”

Gyuri studies you for a moment, her eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re sure that’s all it is?”

You nod, though your throat feels dry. “Yeah. Just a rough night.”

She doesn’t look convinced, but before she can press further, the bell above the door jingles, drawing both of your attention. You glance over, and your stomach drops.

Chaeyoung.

She strides in with effortless confidence, her presence commanding the room the moment she crosses the threshold. A bold blue sweater clings to her frame, the faux fur trim brushing against her collarbone—a perfect reflection of her duality. Allure and restraint. Desire and control. Her sharp gaze sweeps across the café before settling on you, a sly smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

You recognize her instantly from last night. But you force yourself to look away, pretending you don’t.

From the corner of your eye, Gyuri stiffens ever so slightly, though she quickly masks it with her usual warm smile. “I’ll let you handle this,” she says, her tone light but laced with something unreadable. Before you can respond, she’s already disappearing into the back, leaving you alone at the counter with Chaeyoung.

Your heart pounds as you turn to face her, forcing a polite smile. “Welcome to Golden Brew. What can I get for you?”

Chaeyoung doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she leans against the counter, her eyes locking onto yours with unsettling ease. “Junho, right?”

Your stomach drops. The name feels heavier coming from her lips. You scramble to keep your composure. “I... don’t know you.”

She smirks, savoring your discomfort. “Of course you don’t.” She gestures lazily toward your chest. “I read it off your name tag. Unless we have met before?”

“No— I... we haven’t,” you stammer, fingers curling involuntarily. “Can I take your order?”

“I’ll have a caramel macchiato. Extra shot.” She watches you with an almost amused expression. Then, casually, she adds, “Funny thing... I feel like we have met. Maybe you just don’t remember?”

Your throat tightens, and you quickly focus on the register, keying in her order. “That’ll be 4,500 won.”

Chaeyoung makes no move to pay. Instead, she leans in, her voice dropping to a whisper. “You remember, don’t you?”

Your hands tremble slightly as you fumble with the cash drawer. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Her smile widens, and there’s a flicker of something dangerous in her eyes. “Sure you don’t. But just in case you’re lying... meet me after your shift.” She tilts her head slightly, the threat barely concealed beneath her playful tone. “If you don’t, I might have to let the others know your memories are coming back. And trust me... you don’t want that.”

Your pulse quickens, the café suddenly feeling too small, too stifling. Before you can respond, Gyuri reappears from the back, her timing unnervingly precise. She places the caramel macchiato on the counter, her smile unwavering but her eyes sharper than usual. “Here’s your drink. That’ll be 4,500 won.”

Chaeyoung straightens, pulling out her wallet with deliberate slowness. “Thanks, Gyuri. Always so helpful.”

Gyuri’s smile doesn’t falter, but there’s an unmistakable tension in her posture. “Junho, can you check on table three? They’ve been waiting for their order.”

You seize the opportunity, nodding quickly and stepping away. As you walk toward the other side of the café, you can feel Chaeyoung’s gaze burning into your back, her presence lingering like an unwelcome shadow.

—

The shift drags on, each minute feeling heavier than the last. By the time evening rolls around, the café has emptied out, the usual hum of chatter replaced by an eerie silence. You’re hyper-aware of Gyuri’s presence, her every movement sharp and deliberate, as if she’s watching you more closely than usual. Your clumsy mistakes throughout the day haven’t gone unnoticed, and the tension between you feels like a taut wire, ready to snap.

Seoyeon, who had been typing away in her usual corner, left at some point without you even noticing. Her absence feels strange, as if the café lost a piece of its atmosphere when she walked out. You’re so caught up in your thoughts that you barely register Gyuri approaching you, her expression softer now but still tinged with concern.

“Junho,” she says, her voice gentle but firm. “You can leave early tonight. I’ll close up.”

You blink, caught off guard. “Are you sure? I can stay and help—”

“No,” she interrupts, her tone leaving no room for argument. “You’ve been… off today. You should rest. You don’t look well.”

Her words sting, not because they’re harsh, but because they’re true. You do feel off—like you’re teetering on the edge of something you can’t quite understand. Still, you hesitate, glancing around the café. “Are you sure you don’t need me?”

Gyuri’s smile is warm, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’m sure. Go home, Junho. Get some sleep.”

You nod reluctantly, grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder. As you head for the door, you can feel her gaze on your back, heavy and unreadable. The bell above the door jingles softly as you step outside, the cool evening air hitting you like a splash of water.

The street is quiet, the golden glow of the café’s windows fading behind you as you walk. Your mind is still racing, the events of the day—and the night before—swirling together in a chaotic mess. You’re so lost in thought that you almost miss it.

A flash of light catches your eye, and you turn to see a sleek, blue sapphire Porsche parked a short distance away. Its engine purrs softly, the headlights briefly flickering as if to get your attention. Your breath hitches. It’s one of the cars you saw last night, parked outside the café after hours. And now, it’s here.

Your stomach twists as you realize what—or rather, who—it must belong to. Chaeyoung.

The memory of her threat echoes in your mind: “Meet me after your shift. If you don’t, I might have to let the others know your memories came back.”

You hesitate, your feet rooted to the spot. Part of you wants to turn around, to walk away and pretend you didn’t see anything. But another part—the part that remembers the weight of her gaze, the sharpness of her smile—knows you don’t have a choice.

Taking a deep breath, you walk toward the car. As you approach, the passenger-side window rolls down, revealing Chaeyoung behind the wheel. Her sharp eyes meet yours, a sly smile playing on her lips. She’s dressed in the same sleek blue dress from earlier, the deep blue fabric catching the faint glow of the streetlights.

“Get in,” she says, her voice smooth and commanding.

You glance around, as if hoping for some kind of escape, but the street is empty. Swallowing your unease, you open the door and slide into the passenger seat. The interior of the car is as luxurious as you’d expect, the leather seats cool against your skin. The scent of her perfume—something rich and intoxicating—fills the air, making your head spin.

Chaeyoung doesn’t say a word as she pulls away from the curb, the car gliding smoothly through the quiet streets. The silence is heavy, broken only by the soft hum of the engine and the occasional flick of the turn signal. You sit stiffly, your hands clenched in your lap, your mind racing. Where is she taking you? What does she want? And most importantly, what happens if the others find out you remember?

The tension builds with every passing second, and you can’t take it anymore. “Chaeyoung,” you say, your voice tight with impatience, “what’s this about? Why did you bring me here?”

She glances at you briefly, her smirk widening. “Impatient, aren’t we? Relax, Junho. We’ll get there.”

“Get where?” you ask, frustration creeping into your tone. “You said you wanted to talk. So talk.”

Chaeyoung chuckles softly, her fingers tapping lightly on the steering wheel. “So eager. I like that. But some things are better discussed in private, don’t you think?”

You clench your jaw, trying to keep your composure. “You threatened me back at the café. Said you’d tell the others if I didn’t meet you. What do you want from me?”

Her expression doesn’t change, but there’s a glint in her eyes that makes your stomach twist. “Patience, Junho. All in good time.”

You want to press her further, to demand answers, but something about her calm demeanor stops you. She’s in control, and you’re not. The realization makes your skin crawl.

The car continues to glide through the city, the streets growing quieter and more upscale the further you go. Finally, Chaeyoung slows the car and pulls into the driveway of a luxurious hotel. The building looms ahead, its glass façade reflecting the city lights like a glittering jewel. A valet steps forward as the car comes to a stop, but Chaeyoung waves him off with a dismissive hand.

She turns to you, her sharp eyes locking onto yours. “We’re here.”

You stare at her, your heart pounding. “A hotel? What are we doing here?”

Chaeyoung’s smile is slow and deliberate, her voice dropping to a low, almost teasing tone. “Like I said, some things are better discussed in private. Come on.”

Without waiting for your response, she steps out of the car, her movements smooth and confident. You hesitate for a moment, your mind racing. This feels like a trap, but what choice do you have? If you walk away now, she might make good on her threat. And if the others find out you remember...

Swallowing your unease, you open the door and step out, the cool night air doing little to calm your nerves. Chaeyoung is already walking toward the hotel entrance, her heels clicking softly against the pavement. She doesn’t look back, as if she knows you’ll follow.

And you do.

—

The penthouse suite is bathed in the soft glow of city lights filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The room is spacious and opulent, with plush furniture and a sleek, modern design that screams luxury. But you’re too on edge to appreciate any of it. Chaeyoung stands a few feet away, her back to you as she pours two glasses of wine from a decanter on the counter. The bold blue sweater she wears clings to her frame, the faux fur trim brushing against her collarbone as she moves. She looks relaxed, almost casual, but you know better. There’s nothing casual about this.

“Sit,” she says, not turning around. Her voice is smooth, commanding, and you find yourself obeying before you even realize it. You perch on the edge of a sleek leather sofa, your hands gripping your knees as you watch her.

She turns, holding out a glass of wine to you. You hesitate, but she raises an eyebrow, and you take it, your fingers brushing against hers for the briefest moment. The contact sends a jolt through you, but you quickly pull your hand back, setting the glass on the table in front of you.

“Relax, Junho,” she says, her lips curving into a sly smile as she sits across from you, her posture languid and confident. “I’m not going to bite. Not unless you want me to.”

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to meet her gaze. “Why are we here, Chaeyoung? What do you want from me?”

She tilts her head, her smile widening. “Straight to the point, huh? I like that.” She takes a sip of her wine, her eyes never leaving yours. “I told you before. I’m curious about you. You’re… interesting.”

“Interesting how?” you ask, your voice tight.

She leans forward slightly, her elbows resting on her knees. “You somehow got through the mist. Jiheon just let you through. And now, Jiheon lied to the others for you.”

You shake your head, trying to keep your composure. “Mist? Jiheon? We’ve only known each other since yesterday. And didn’t you also see me when you entered the café that night?”

“Hmm,” she hums, her gaze sharpening. “Maybe… but that makes you even more interesting.”

You don’t respond, your mind racing. She’s toying with you, and you know it, but you can’t figure out her angle. Why bring you here? Why the games?

Chaeyoung sets her glass down and stands, moving to sit beside you on the sofa. You tense, but she doesn’t touch you, her presence alone enough to make your heart race. “You’re nervous,” she observes, her voice soft, almost teasing. “Why? Do I make you uncomfortable?”

“No,” you say quickly, though the lie is obvious. “I just… don’t understand what you want from me.”

She smiles, her eyes glinting with amusement. “Maybe I just want to get to know you better. Is that so bad?”

You don’t answer, your throat dry. She’s too close, her scent—something rich and intoxicating—filling your senses. You try to focus, to keep your guard up, but it’s getting harder. There’s something about her, something magnetic, that’s pulling you in, and you can’t figure out why.

Chaeyoung leans in slightly, her voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re fighting it, Junho. Why?”

“Fighting what?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

“This,” she says, gesturing between the two of you. “The tension. The attraction. You feel it too, don’t you?”

You shake your head, trying to deny it, but the words catch in your throat. She’s right, and you hate that she is. There’s something about her, something irresistible, and the more she leans into it, the harder it is to resist.

“You don’t have to fight it,” she murmurs, her voice like velvet. “Just let go.”

Her words are soft, almost hypnotic, and you feel yourself leaning in despite your better judgment. Your mind screams at you to pull away, to leave, but your body betrays you, drawn to her like a moth to a flame. She’s close now, so close you can feel her breath on your skin, and you know you should stop this, but you can’t.

And then, just as your lips are about to meet hers, you see it—a faint flash in her eyes the color of allure and depth, sapphire blue, like a spark of light catching the edge of a gemstone. It’s there for just a moment, so brief you almost convince yourself you imagined it. But before you can process it, her lips are on yours, and all rational thought evaporates.

The kiss is electric, consuming, and you’re powerless to resist. Her hands slide up to cradle your face, her touch both gentle and demanding, pulling you deeper into the moment. The taste of her is intoxicating, a mix of wine and something uniquely her, and it’s impossible to think, to breathe, to do anything but surrender.

For a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you—the warmth of her body, the softness of her lips, the way she seems to know exactly how to unravel you. But even as you lose yourself in the kiss, a small, distant part of your mind whispers that something isn’t right. That flash in her eyes… It wasn't normal. It wasn’t human.

But then she deepens the kiss, her tongue brushing against yours, and the thought slips away, drowned out by the overwhelming sensation of her. The way she moves is deliberate, teasing, and you can’t help but respond, your own instincts taking over. Her fingers tangle in your hair, pulling you closer, and you’re lost in the heat of the moment, unable to think, to reason, to do anything but feel.

And at that moment, you don’t care. Whatever she’s doing, whatever game she’s playing, you’re too far gone to stop it.

When she finally pulls away, it’s slow, deliberate, her lips lingering just inches from yours. Her breath is warm against your skin, and her eyes—now their usual dark, piercing gaze—lock onto yours with an intensity that makes your heart skip a beat.

“See?” she murmurs, her voice low and husky. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You're too dazed to respond, your mind still reeling from the kiss. She smiles, a slow, satisfied curve of her lips, and leans back, putting just enough distance between you to make you ache for her closeness again. Your eyes meet with hers. You can tell what she's thinking, she takes pleasure in seeing you this flustered. Chaeyoung's fingers trail down your chest, her touch sending shivers down your spine.

She kneels down in front of you, her eyes locked onto yours as she slowly unfastens the button on your pants. The zipper slides open with a gentle click, and she pulls your trousers down with deft hands. You can't help but breathe a little heavier as she cups your lenght through the fabric of your boxers, her touch sending sparks along your body.

She teases you for a moment, tracing patterns on your skin with her fingers before giving in to the desire that's been building between you two. Chaeyoung asks, her voice low and husky as she leans forward to whisper in your ear, "Want to see something?" You can't help but nod, your throat dry with anticipation.

With a sly smile, Chaeyoung takes her time, pulling down your pants and boxers with a gentle tug. Her eyes dance across your body, drinking in every detail as she licks her lips in anticipation.

"Look at me," Chaeyoung says, her voice low and commanding. "Tell me what you want to do with yourself."

You try to form words, but all that comes out is a groan of desire. Chaeyoung laughs, a soft sound that sends shivers down your spine.

"Oh, I think this guy knows what he wants," she says, glancing at your shaft before her eyes lock onto yours with an intensity that makes your heart skip a beat.

Her lips brush against your skin, sending waves of pleasure through your entire body. She kisses you slowly, incrementally making her way up to your tip. With each gentle touch, your meat twitches in response, and Chaeyoung enjoys every reaction, her eyes never leaving yours.

As she reaches the base of your shaft, she pauses for a moment before continuing her ascent. Her lips dance across your skin, sending shivers down your spine with each caress. You feel yourself becoming harder, more insistent, as if begging to be claimed by her touch.

Chaeyoung's mouth covers yours now, warm and soft against your skin. Your breath catches as she nibbles at your tip, sending waves of pleasure through your entire body. She takes her time, savoring the moment as much as you are. Your heart pounds in time with hers, the rhythm matching the beat of your desire.

Just when you thought you were finally adjusting to the explosion of stimulation you’ve experienced. She stopped, her eyes met yours.

"Want me to make it easier for you?" Chaeyoung asks, her voice low and husky as she leans forward to whisper in your ear. "Want me to show you exactly what I want?"

Your gaze locked with Chaeyoung although her mouth is preoccupied to form a smile, you can see it through her eyes. She planted both her palms on your lap, gripping them, as her cheeks hollowed as she took you in deeper, her tongue moving freely, swirling around your meat. The sensation was too much, her warm, wet mouth enveloping you as she worked to bring you pleasure. All you can do is groan. As you helplessly grip the sofa.

The reaction as if giving her energy, her pace grew faster, taking you even deeper, you can feel her tongue pressed down by your shaft as she sucks. The wet sound rings to your ear, her moans muffled, its vibration moves through your skin as she serves you pleasure, and it's close. She matched your eye once again, you can see she has no intention of stopping. Her lip tightening around you as she sucked even more harder, her tongue swirled around your tip, her movement grew bolder as she knew you were near the edge.

You groaned one last time as it finally happened. At the last moment she freed her mouth from your length and switched it immediately with her palm cupping the top of your tip, catching your release.

"That's it?" her eyes looking at you disappointed. Before her attention shifts to her hand full with cum. "It was fun at least". She continues.

You stare at her still in dazed, as she was sitting on the floor, she first licked her palm clean of your cum, then her fingers sucking them one by one. After cleaning herself up, she realized you were still staring at her.

“‘You’re still here?’ Chaeyoung mildly amused, her eyes locked on yours once again. A faint, otherworldly light seemed to dance in their depths, as if they were absorbing the very air around them.

“You can leave now,” she said with a wave of her hand, as if ousting you from her presence.

Your confusion deepened at her question. "What do you mean, leave?" you replied, unsure of what she was getting at.

Chaeyoung's eyes widened in surprise as you sat up straight, mirroring her bewilderment. "How?" she asked again, her voice tinged with frustration and curiosity.

Your confusion deepened at her question. "What do you mean, how?" you replied, unsure of what she was getting at.

Chaeyoung stood up and placed her hands on either side of the sofa, trapping you in between her grip. Her eyes, filled with the tiniest hint of blue, bore into you, making you feel as if she was delving into your soul.

"You remember?" she asked cautiously.

"Yes, I remember last night. Isn't that why we're here?" you answered back.

"No, not that. Just now, what happened, did you remember it? Were you conscious?" Chaeyoung queried again.

“Am I not supposed to?” You asked.

Still maintaining her lock on you, she broke eye contact and started muttering, "So Jiheon didn't lie... you're either resistant if not immune..." Her thoughts drifting away from you.

"Helloooo..." you try to get her attention, snapping her out of her musings. Her gaze returns to your eyes, reminding you of how close your face is.

"Anyway, what will you do now? Will you leave?" she asked, her voice regaining its usual confidence.

"Should I leave? Do you want me to?" you reply, starting to get annoyed with the constant questions and stacking confusion.

Chaeyoung seemingly recognizes your hidden desire. "So you don't want to?" She shifts her position, her arms which were on your sides before now resting on your shoulder, crossing behind your neck. Her feet, once on the ground, now on both your sides as she sits on your lap.

"Why? Is there a reason you want to stay?" she asked, her voice teasing you.

"Well, I feel like it's only right that I return the favor," you answer, your desire to explore this new dynamic between you both growing. Chaeyoung's eyes widen at your response, her lips curling into a smile as she leans in, her breath brushing against your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

Chaeyoung's eyes widened further, her smile turning into a predatory grin. "Be careful what you wish for, Junho," she whispers in your ear, her voice laced with both warning and invitation. "Are you sure you want to continue?, you sure you can handle it?”

She pauses, allowing the weight of her words to sink in. "It's not too late to walk out, after this there's no going back" Chaeyoung explains, her voice low and intense.

Driven by lust and the thrill of the unknown, Junho doesn't take her warning too seriously. "I can handle it," he responds, his confidence fueled by arousal.

Chaeyoung's grin widens as she leans back, her eyes never leaving yours. "Then show me how much you can handle," she dares you.

Your heart races as you accept the challenge. You take hold of Chaeyoung's waist, pulling her closer as your lips meet in a passionate, fiery kiss. Your hands roam her body, exploring her curves and feeling the heat of her desire.

She moans into your mouth, her hands moving to your chest, then to the end of your shirt, pulling it up, undressing you as if impatient to have your skin against hers. Your lips never falter, continuing their fiery dance as her hands roam over your chest, exploring every ridge and valley.

With the same fervor that you tore her clothes, you begin to undress her, your lips never leaving hers, your hands never leaving her body. Only stopping to catch air, you take a break from kissing, giving you enough time to admire her now barely dressed top, with only her black lace bra remaining.

Chaeyoung, impatiently, hastily stands up, and in a fluid motion, removes her shorts, then her panties, casting them aside. You, not idle, pull down your pants and boxers which were already previously unbuckled.

After undressing, with the exception of Chaeyoung's bra, you're both completely naked. She returns to your lap, and resumes the kiss, her hands roaming your back, her nails digging into your skin, urging you on.

Your hands grasp her waist, pulling her closer, your bodies pressed tightly against each other. As the kiss deepens, you can feel her hardened nipples rubbing against your chest, sending shivers down your spine.

Chaeyoung breaks the kiss, her lips trailing down your jaw, to your neck, her teeth gently nipping at the sensitive skin there, as her hands reach around to unclasp her bra. It falls away, her breasts freed, her nipples standing erect, aching for your touch.

You eagerly complied, your hands finding Chaeyoung's breasts, cupping them gently, thumbs teasing her nipples, rolling them between your fingers, making her shiver with pleasure. Her head falls back, a soft moan escaping her lips.

You move your hands lower, tracing her stomach, and settling between her legs. Your fingers part her folds, gently rubbing her swollen clit, feeling her wetness coating his digits. Chaeyoung's moans grow louder, her hips bucking against his hand, encouraging you to continue.

Your other hand leaves her breast, moving to her hip, steadying her as you begin to finger her, slowly at first, then increasing the pace as you feel her body reacting to your touch. Her back arches, and her fingers claw at your shoulders, leaving red marks.

The air is thick with the scent of desire, the sounds of their heavy breathing, and the wet slaps of your fingers penetrating her. Chaeyoung's eyes flutter shut, her body quivering, on the edge of release.

You feel a surge of power, knowing you're the one bringing her closer to ecstasy. You stop, smirking against her lips as you pull your fingers from her, bringing them to your mouth, tasting her on them.

Chaeyoung's eyes open wide, a look of both frustration and desire on her face. "Put it in.." she whispers, her voice breathy and needy. Junho smirks, ready to continue their erotic dance. You prepare yourself to pierce Chaeyoung, the sensation was both overwhelming and exhilarating. The tight warmth enveloping me sent shivers down my spine. You could feel her muscles clenching around you, gripping your length, and her orgasm washes over her like a tidal wave.

Chaeyoung's body arched, her fingers digging into my shoulders, her cry of ecstasy echoing in the room. Her eyes seemed to lock onto yours, filled with the subtle color of allure. I asked her, "Why did that happen so fast?" My voice was laced with curiosity and a hint of concern.

Flushed with both embarrassment and amusement, Chaeyoung admitted, "I... I haven't done it in a while." Her cheeks were a vivid shade of red as she revealed, "Usually, others never got this far."

You feel a surge of pride and protectiveness, your heart pounding with each beat. you start to move within her, your thrusting slow and deep, feeling her body responding to your touch. The sensation of her legs wrapping around your waist, pulling you closer, is intoxicating.

“Oh…. Fuck… that feel… sooo.. Good…” Cheayoung exclaimed.

You feel the telltale signs that Chaeyoung is nearing her climax once again. Her moans grow louder, her pants hasten, her muscles tightening around your length, her nails digging deeper into your shoulders. You can sense the electricity building between you two, as you match her intensity, with lust fueling both your passion.

"That's it… I'm close, keep going… plea–... please," Chaeyoung pleaded, her voice trembling with desperation as she pressed against me, her body yearning for release. The air was electric with tension, and you couldn't help but feel a surge of desire at the sight of her, her skin glowing with sweat, her eyes locked on yours with an unspoken plea.

As Chaeyoung reaches her climax for the second time, her body shudders, her grip on you tightening as her cries fill the room. A wave of satisfaction and arousal washes over you, and you continue to move with her, wanting her to feel every moment of connection between the two of you. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered promise sends shivers down your spine.

"Wa- wait… not yet," she gasps, her words interrupted by uncontrollable moans that echo through the room like a symphony of pleasure. Her body begins to tremble, her muscles convulsing as if trying to release a pent-up storm.

Breathless yourself, you decide to heed her plea, slowing your movements to give her a moment to recover. Chaeyoung's body, now glistening with sweat, slumps against yours, her stiff nipples brushing against your skin as she rests her head on your shoulder. Her face is a mess, strands of hair clinging to her flushed cheeks, her lips parted as she gasps for air.

Gently, you guide her into a new position, placing her hands on the backrest of the couch and helping her kneel on the cushions. You stand behind her, taking a moment to admire the curve of her toned back, the delicate dip of her waist, and the graceful arch of her hips. The sight of her is intoxicating, and you feel a renewed surge of desire that threatens to overwhelm you.

Chaeyoung's brief respite ends as you join with her again, moving in a rhythm that feels both familiar and exhilarating. Her body responds to yours, her grip tightening as if unwilling to let go. Every movement, every breath, every whispered promise sends shivers down my spine, building the tension until it becomes almost unbearable.

"I can't... no... I- can't..." she murmurs, her voice a mix of protest and surrender, though the way she clings to you tells a different story. You wrap one of your arms around her waist, holding her in place for support, while the other reaches up to grip her neck, feeling the tension in her throat muscles as each of her moans vibrates through her body.

With a gentle pull, you bring her closer, your bodies pressed tightly together as you stand. Her hands, desperate to find something to hold onto, wrap around your hair and grasp it firmly. Her head turns to yours, her eyes locking onto yours with an unspoken plea for release, for connection, for the one person who can satisfy her.

"You feel so good," you whisper, your voice husky with desire as you meet hers once again in a fierce, passionate kiss. Chaeyoung's body shudders and trembles beneath you, her third climax building to a crescendo that threatens to consume them both.

And then, in a burst of energy, you felt your body tense and release, your orgasm building to a crescendo as Chaeyoung's muscles responded to yours. You could feel your seed mixing with hers, a union of flesh and blood that was both intimate and primal. The sensation was overwhelming - a mix of pleasure, pain, and release that left you breathless and trembling.

As the wave of pleasure washed over you, you felt Chaeyoung's body tighten around yours, her muscles contracting to hold onto your spent form. You knew then that you had come inside her, that your seed had mingled with hers in a union of flesh and blood that would remain with you forever.

As you hold on to her tightly, feeling her body lose strength against yours, you can sense the power dynamic shifting in between you. You are the one in control, the one guiding her movements, but she is still clinging to you, as if needing your strength to keep her upright.

You continue to hold her close, your lips never leaving hers, as Chaeyoung's body begins to relax into yours, her breathing slowing and her muscles releasing their tension. You can feel her heart pounding in time with yours, a rhythmic match that seems to be growing stronger by the second.

Just when you thought she was spent, her body turned to face you. She created distance between your lips, giving you a clear view of her face, even with her messy hair and sweat-drenched cheeks, her face wore a smile, instead of exhaustion and satisfaction. Her still eyes full of passion and hunger seemed to bore into your soul.

You realized the night had just started, her eyes hinting at a desire for an endless night. “I told you, Junho, be careful what you wish for”.

Her lips returned to you, unrelenting as she led you to the bedroom. The rest of the night was blurry, but one thing was clear - your desires and hers had merged into a single, all-consuming passion.

—

You wake to the soft glow of pre-dawn light filtering through the window, the sky painted in muted shades of blue and gray. The bed beneath you is warm but messy, the sheets tangled and damp, a testament to the night’s activities. You blink slowly, your mind still foggy, as you take in your surroundings.

By the window, Chaeyoung stands, her silhouette framed against the cityscape. She’s completely bare, her back to you, her posture relaxed yet commanding. The faint light catches the curves of her figure, and for a moment, you’re struck by how effortlessly she commands the room, even in stillness.

Her voice breaks the silence, soft but clear, and you realize she’s not just standing there—she’s on the phone.

“...Jiheon was telling the truth,” she says, her tone thoughtful. “It doesn’t work on him. He’s… resistant to it.”

You freeze, your breath catching in your throat. Resistant to what? Your mind races, fragments of the night before flashing through your thoughts—her sapphire-blue eyes, the way she seemed to pull you in, the way you couldn’t resist her. Was it all… her? Her magic?

A deep unease coils in your chest, the realization creeping in slowly. What have you done? You replay the night over and over in your head, trying to convince yourself it was your choice—that you wanted it. But doubt gnaws at you, whispering insidious thoughts. Did she manipulate you? Was any of it real? Or were you just another piece in whatever game she was playing?

Chaeyoung continues, her voice calm but firm. “He’s perfect for the job. What else do you need? He’s already acquainted and close to the other girls. Plus, he knows our secret, and we can’t exactly get rid of him now, can we?”

Her words send a chill down your spine. Perfect for the job? What job? And what secret? Your mind spins, but before you can process it, Chaeyoung turns toward the bed. The dim light hides her expression, but you can feel her smile, sharp and knowing, as if she’s aware you’re awake and listening.

“Don’t worry, Romsae,” she says, her voice dropping slightly. “He’s more than adequate. I checked him myself.”

The way she says it—confident, almost smug—makes your cheeks burn. The heat rising to your face is laced with something far heavier than embarrassment—regret. Should you have resisted? Should you have walked away when you had the chance? Now, it feels like you’ve stepped into something far beyond your understanding, and there’s no easy way out.

You want to say something, to demand answers, but your body feels heavy, your thoughts sluggish. Chaeyoung ends the call and sets her phone aside, her movements unhurried as she approaches the bed.

Her eyes meet yours, and for a moment, you’re pinned under her gaze. You search her expression for anything genuine, anything real—but all you find is that same knowing look, like she’s already figured you out.

She reaches out, her fingers brushing against your cheek, her touch surprisingly gentle. “You should sleep more,” she murmurs, her voice soft, almost soothing. “It’s going to be a long day.”

Her words wash over you like a lullaby, and despite the storm of questions raging in your mind, you feel yourself drifting. Your eyelids grow heavy, and the last thing you see before sleep claims you is Chaeyoung’s faint smile, her sapphire-blue eyes glowing softly in the dim light.

And as darkness takes you, the doubt lingers—settling deep within your bones. Did you make the right choice? Or did you just seal your fate?

[deliciousangelfestival]

Change of Heart - 2 | Bucky

Character: Bucky x Female! Reader

Theme: Angst, tragedy, romance.

Summary: The interviewer asked her a provocative question:

“If you were offered a million dollars, would you leave your partner?”

Without hesitation, she replied with a smirk, “Give me one dollar, and I’ll leave him this second.”

True to her word, she walked away, leaving the man stunned and searching for answers. Now, he’s desperately trying to find her, grappling with the haunting question—why would she leave him so easily?

And is there more to her departure than a single dollar could ever explain?

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 ,-

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

By the way, I publish my book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing on Kindle.

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

“Fine,” he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck in frustration. He knew there was no point in pushing further. Grace was like a fortress, guarding whatever secrets you had entrusted her with. Talking to her felt futile, like arguing with a wall that refused to crack.

“I won’t press you for more answers,” he said, his voice softening, though the tension lingered in his tone. “At least tell me this—is she in trouble? Is someone trying to hurt her or threaten her?” His jaw tightened as he spoke, his concern leaking through despite his best effort to remain composed.

Grace hesitated before answering. “No,” she replied firmly, her gaze unwavering.

A part of Bucky felt a wave of relief at her reassurance. If Grace said you weren’t in danger, then maybe you were safe. But another part of him sank deeper into confusion and sadness. For two years, you had been his constant, his safe harbor.

You weren’t just his wife on paper; you had been someone he could rely on, someone who listened to him without judgment. Now, the thought that you might be facing something he had overlooked made him feel hollow.

Had he missed something? Overlooked a sign? The thought gnawed at him as he stood there in silence. You had always been a good listener, absorbing his worries and frustrations like a sponge. Better than any therapist he’d ever paid for. In fact, since marrying you, he had stopped going to therapy altogether.

But then it hit him. You’d rarely opened up about your own life. He couldn’t even recall the last time you shared anything personal. Was that his failure? Not listening to you when you needed him most? His chest tightened with guilt as he realized that the contract, which was supposed to ensure mutual understanding, might have become a barrier instead of a bridge.

Before he could say anything else, his phone buzzed, breaking his train of thought. He glanced at the screen and saw the agency’s number.

“Mr. Barnes, it’s about the arrangement,” the voice on the other end said.

“What is it?” His tone was curt, impatient.

“Your wife has decided not to renew the contract.”

He gritted his teeth. “I know that already.”

“Yes, sir,” the voice continued, cautiously. “But she also returned the money you gave her.”

Bucky froze, his grip on the phone tightening. “What?”

“She left it with us. I’m sorry for the way this unfolded, Mr. Barnes. If you have time, we’d like to meet and discuss this in person.”

He clenched his jaw. “I’ll think about it.”

“Understood. One more thing—Miss L/N left a message. She wanted you to know that she’s sorry.”

Bucky ended the call without a word. His mind was racing, a cacophony of thoughts and emotions he couldn’t untangle.

As he turned to leave, Grace finally broke her silence. “She told me to tell you not to look for her,” she said, her voice low but resolute.

Her words landed like a punch to his gut. He turned back to face her, his expression a mixture of disbelief and sorrow. His fists clenched at his sides, and for a moment, he didn’t say anything.

“Don’t look for her,” Grace repeated, softer this time, as if trying to ease the blow.

Bucky’s lips parted, but no words came out. He swallowed hard, his throat tight. Without another word, he turned and walked away, her parting message crushing him with every step.

🌸🌸🌸🌸

The matchmaking agency didn’t have an official name. To the outside world, it appeared to be an upscale wedding organizer. But beneath the surface, it operated a discreet business, catering to an elite clientele. The agency specialized in PR, celebrity pairings, and finding partners for those seeking unconventional marriages.

To join this matchmaking service, clients paid exorbitant fees, a cost justified by the agency’s ironclad guarantee of success and confidentiality. This exclusivity made it accessible only to the wealthiest 1%. For most clients, love wasn’t a priority. Many were too jaded, too broken, or simply unwilling to risk their hearts again, yet they craved the semblance of companionship.

Companionship didn’t necessarily mean intimacy. Some sought emotional connections without physical ties, while others wanted a blend of friendship and trust. In essence, the agency sold what its clients desired most: a reliable partner tailored to their needs.

That’s where Bucky came in. He wasn’t looking for love. He needed someone he could trust, someone who fit seamlessly into his life. You had checked every box. You charmed his parents and, more importantly, his grandfather—a critical seal of approval.

Now, Bucky sat in the CEO’s office of the agency, his jaw set and his posture rigid. The room was sleek and modern, dominated by a white sofa where both of them sat. He accepted the black tea she offered but barely touched it.

The CEO, a sharp-eyed woman in her late forties, sat across from him, her demeanor professional but empathetic. She had started this agency after her own marriage fell apart. Betrayed by her husband’s infidelity and weary of meaningless dates, she realized she wasn’t alone. Many shared her frustration with traditional relationships. That realization had birthed her unique matchmaking business.

She leaned forward slightly, her expression neutral but observant. “Thank you for making time to meet with me, Mr. Barnes,” she began.

Bucky’s voice was clipped. “Do you know what she did?”

“Yes,” the CEO replied calmly. “She came here yesterday and asked me to give you these.” She placed two envelopes on the table between them.

“This one contains the check for the money she received. She’s returning it to you. The other is a letter she wanted you to have.”

Bucky’s gaze dropped to the envelopes. They were unassuming, just thin paper, yet they felt heavier than the multimillion-dollar contracts he signed daily. He hesitated, his fingers brushing over the edges. Despite his composed exterior, uncertainty gnawed at him.

“Would you like me to open them for you?” the CEO asked gently.

“No, thank you.” His voice was firm, though his hand trembled slightly as he picked up the envelopes.

Slowly, he opened the first one. Inside was a check for the exact amount you’d received when signing the contract—$2 million for two years.

His chest tightened. So that damn $1 was enough to make you leave? Why?

Didn’t you say the money was meant to help you break free from your parents’ control? You wanted to save it to open a café, to buy a boat, to carve out a life of your own.

With a deep breath, he opened the second envelope. This was the one you had specifically instructed to be given to him. He unfolded the paper, hoping for answers, for clarity.

Instead, there was only one sentence:

“It’s not you. It’s me.”

Bucky scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. His grip on the paper tightened as his jaw clenched. What kind of joke is this? Of all people, he never thought he’d be the one on the receiving end of such a cliché. And didn’t everyone know? The person who said those words was usually the one placing blame.

So it is me. I’m the reason you left.

He pressed a hand to his forehead, closing his eyes as the weight of realization settled over him. He thought back to the countless times you’d listened to him, your quiet understanding, your patience. Had he ever done the same for you? Had he missed the signs that you were unhappy?

He cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “Did you see her face yesterday?” he asked, his voice low but steady.

“Yes,” the CEO replied, her expression unreadable.

“What did you see? Was she sad? Angry? Happy?”

The CEO took a moment before answering. “I sensed relief when she handed me the check.”

Bucky’s shoulders tensed, his chest constricting at her words. Relief? Was that all you felt after two years together?

“But,” she continued, her voice softening, “when she gave me the letter for you, I saw regret in her eyes.”

Bucky froze, those five words—I saw regret in her eyes—hitting him like a punch to the gut. He swallowed hard, his gaze dropping to the letter still clutched in his hand.

If you regretted it, why did you leave? Why didn’t you say anything? Was it really so unbearable to stay?

His thoughts spiraled as he sat there, motionless, staring at the remnants of what he thought was a stable arrangement. The unanswered questions twisted in his mind, leaving a hollow ache in their wake.

“Forgive my frankness, Mr. Barnes,” the CEO began, her tone professional yet slightly playful. “Since you’re officially single now, would you like me to add you back to the list?”

Bucky’s eyes darkened, and his jaw tightened as he leveled a cold glare at her. “Marriage is the last thing on my mind.”

The CEO nodded, her smile faint and understanding. “Of course. I apologize for asking.”

Bucky stood, adjusting his suit jacket with deliberate movements, signaling the end of the conversation. He turned to leave, but the CEO rose to her feet and extended her hand toward him.

“It’s been a privilege having you as our client, Mr. Barnes,” she said with a polite smile. “I hope our paths cross again.”

He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly as he regarded her. After a brief hesitation, he reached out and shook her hand, his grip firm but curt. “This is the last time I’ll be here.”

Her smile didn’t falter, remaining calm and composed. “Safe travels, Mr. Barnes. And thank you for using our services.”

Bucky released her hand without another word, his expression unreadable as he turned on his heel and strode toward the exit. His footsteps echoed in the quiet, elegant office, a stark reminder that this chapter of his life was closing for good.

🌸🌸🌸🌸

Bucky slid into the backseat of his car, running a hand through his hair in frustration. The driver glanced at him through the rearview mirror, hesitant but professional. “Where to, Mr. Barnes?”

Bucky exhaled sharply, leaning back against the seat. “To Grandpa’s house.”

“Yes, sir.”

As the car wove through the streets, Bucky stared out the window, lost in thought. His mind wandered to his grandfather, Paul—stubborn, sharp-tongued, and annoyingly perceptive. He wondered if the old man already knew you had left or if he was still blissfully unaware.

Ever since you met his family, you’d formed an immediate bond with Paul. The connection between you two had been almost effortless. You once told Bucky that, having never known your own grandparents, you’d always yearned for an elder figure in your life.

For Paul, who often clashed with Bucky during their 20-minute tolerance window, you were a revelation. You brought out a side of him Bucky rarely saw—a livelier, softer version of the strict, commanding patriarch. Paul saw in you the granddaughter he’d always wished for: someone who called him, visited him, and actually listened to his long-winded stories.

Yet even that bond hadn’t been enough to make you stay.

When the car pulled up to the grand estate, Bucky stepped out and made his way inside, his movements tense and deliberate. He headed toward Paul’s study, where the old man often spent his afternoons.

Pushing open the door, he paused. Paul sat in his wheelchair by the fireplace, glasses perched on his nose, reading a letter. The firelight cast warm hues across the room, highlighting the lined face of a man who had lived through decades of triumphs and disappointments.

Before Bucky could announce his presence, Paul’s voice broke the silence.

“She left, didn’t she?” The elder’s tone was heavy, filled with resignation. He crumpled the letter in his hands and tossed it into the flames, watching as it curled into ash.

Bucky froze, guilt knotting in his chest. “She… she said goodbye to you?”

Paul didn’t look up. “And about the agency.”

Bucky’s stomach dropped. His mind raced, scrambling for an explanation. Did Grandpa know everything?

“Grandpa, I can explain—”

“Shut up, you stupid boy!” Paul snapped, his voice rising with a force that belied his age. His hand moved to his chest as if to steady himself. “You fooled me twice, Bucky. Twice! First, you made me believe your marriage was real. Then, you made me believe I finally had a granddaughter.”

Bucky instinctively stepped closer, his hand resting gently on Paul’s shoulder, his other moving to massage the elder’s chest. “I’m sorry, Grandpa. I—”

Paul shook him off, his eyes blazing with disappointment. “And don’t get me started on that ridiculous matchmaking agency. It’s absurd! What happened to normal relationships? Real love?”

Bucky swallowed hard, his throat dry.

Paul’s voice cracked, the anger giving way to heartbreak. “You broke this old man’s heart, Bucky. I thought… I thought I could finally go in peace, knowing you had a wife. A good girl by your side. But now…”

He saw it with his own eyes—that Bucky and you were a perfect match. Turns out, it was all a lie. It broke him.

“Tell me,” Paul said, his voice trembling with a mix of anger and desperation, “does she mean anything to you? Or was it just a contract?”

Bucky hesitated, the weight of the question pressing down on him. He opened his mouth but no words came out.

Paul’s eyes narrowed, his disappointment deepening. “You know what? She was right to leave you for a single dollar.”

The words hit Bucky like a slap. His fists clenched at his sides, his jaw tightening. Everyone seemed to blame him for your departure—Grace, the agency, and now his own grandfather. What did I do that was so wrong?

He finally snapped. “If she didn’t mean anything to me, would I have walked out of a $100 billion meeting to go ask where she is?”

It hurt even more because he had lost his best friend. A wife was just a word to him, but a best friend? Yes. Yes, you were. You meant a lot to him, and to his grandfather as well. And you just left without a proper goodbye, as if he didn’t deserve one. He needed answers.

He even skipped a meeting worth billions of dollars. For him to miss it means you are worth more than billions to him.

Paul’s eyes widened, his expression shifting from anger to realization.

“Then what are you doing here?” Paul barked, his voice regaining its edge. “Go find her!”

Bucky stood, stunned into silence.

“Don’t come back until you’ve found her!” Paul continued, pointing toward the door. “And forget about the company. It can survive without you. She’s the one you need to fix this with.”

Bucky nodded stiffly, his expression a mix of determination and frustration. Without another word, he turned and strode out of the study, leaving Paul alone by the fire.

🌸🌸🌸🌸

As Bucky stepped out of his grandfather’s house, the weight of the conversation still hanging over him, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He took it out, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration before answering.

"Sir," came the voice of his head of security.

Bucky sighed, exhaustion creeping into his bones. "Tell me at least some good news," he muttered, running a hand through his hair.

"We found her."

The words hit him like a jolt of electricity. His pulse quickened, and for the first time in what felt like ages, a flicker of hope lit in his chest.

Bucky straightened up, his posture shifting from defeat to determination. "Where is she?" His voice was sharper now, his body leaning forward, eager for any hint of where you might be.

This was the news he’d been waiting for, the answer he desperately needed.

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[fr0stf4ll]

A court of Shadows and Moonlight - Part 10

paring; Azriel x reader

summary; In the wake of looming war and changing traditions, a gifted healer returns to the Night Court after centuries of wandering the continents. Tasked with stepping into Madja’s legendary role, she must guide reluctant healers, soothe wounded warriors, and face the entrenched prejudice of Illyrian leaders. But as she mends torn wings and broken spirits, an unexpected bond awakens between her and the Night Court’s enigmatic Spymaster. With rivalries simmering and a dangerous threat looming on the horizon, she must reconcile duty and desire, learning that true healing can extend beyond flesh and bone—if she dares to embrace the light hidden among the shadows.

word count ; 10k

Trigger warning; mention of clipping

notes; Yo everyone! Hope you’re all doing well! <3 Here’s a new chapter (it’s pretty long, btw) packed with fluff, hehe. Writing slow burn is so fun because it lets me dive deep into the characters’ stories—but let’s get this shit started right (nothing too intense, but still lol). I’m still trying to settle into a proper posting schedule, so for now, it’s once a week (even though I’d love to post the next chapters already because I’m obsessed with them hahaha). Also, I’m thinking of writing a one-shot soon, so if anyone has requests, feel free to share! Enjoy the chapter and see you soon! <333

Links; part 9

The city was breathtaking in the fading light of the setting sun, each building bathed in warm hues of gold and amber that seemed to shimmer like something out of a dream. The streets were alive with the soft hum of evening life—merchants closing their stalls, children laughing as they chased one another down cobbled paths, and couples strolling hand in hand beneath the glow of lanterns that flickered to life as dusk settled in.

You walked a step ahead of Azriel, trying to steady yourself and brush off the strange unease that had lingered since your encounter with the healers earlier. The tension in your chest felt misplaced here, in this beautiful city where you had spent some of your most formative years. It was supposed to feel like coming home, yet the ache in your heart made you question every step. You tried to mask it, keeping your voice even and your steps steady as you spoke.

“Welcome to Solterra,” you said, your tone light but practiced. “The city’s divided into three main areas. We’ll start with the Artisans’ Quarter—that’s where most of the skilled crafters live and work. The Dawn Court is famous for its glasswork, pottery, and textiles, so you’ll see some of the best of that here.”

Azriel, walking quietly beside you, gave a small nod, his gaze scanning the streets as if he were cataloging every detail. His shadows curled at his feet but didn’t stray far, as if even they were captivated by the tranquil beauty of the city. He looked entirely at ease, which was a sharp contrast to the storm of emotions you were trying to push down.

“And after that?” he asked, his voice calm, his golden eyes flicking to meet yours.

You gestured toward the northern part of the city. “We’ll head to the Markets. They’re more chaotic but worth the visit. You can find almost anything there—spices, jewelry, rare herbs, even weapons.” You paused, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “Though I doubt you’ll need those.”

Azriel raised a brow, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “I think I’ll survive without adding to my collection.”

The ease in his voice and the faint humor in his expression eased some of the tension in your chest. He was behaving like nothing had happened earlier—no awkwardness, no lingering tension, just calm and steady as ever. It surprised you how much that helped, grounding you when you felt like your emotions were spiraling out of control.

“And after the Markets,” you continued, trying to match his calm tone, “we’ll end in the Gardens. They’re best seen at night when the lights from the palace reflect off the fountains.”

Azriel’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than you expected before he nodded again. “Sounds perfect.”

The Artisans’ Quarter unfolded before you like a scene from a painting. Intricate mosaics adorned the walls of buildings, their vibrant colors glowing in the dim light. Glassblowers worked behind large windows, their movements graceful as they shaped molten glass into delicate forms. The scent of fresh bread and spiced tea wafted from a nearby bakery, mixing with the earthy smell of clay and paint.

“Most of these families have been here for generations,” you explained, gesturing to the shops and studios. “The skills they pass down are considered sacred. I spent so many hours wandering here when I lived in Solterra. I’d sit for hours watching the glassblowers work—it’s mesmerizing.”

Azriel listened intently, his sharp gaze taking in everything around him. “It’s... peaceful here,” he said after a moment.

You smiled softly, nodding. “It is. That’s one of the things I missed most when I left. No matter what’s happening in the world, this city always feels like it’s standing still, like nothing can touch it.”

As the two of you continued through the quarter, the tension that had been sitting heavy in your chest began to ease. Azriel’s quiet presence was surprisingly reassuring, and you found yourself relaxing, falling into the rhythm of the city and the steady cadence of his steps beside you.

The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the cobbled streets, and you turned toward the northern part of the city, leading Azriel toward the bustling Markets. The sight of the vibrant stalls and the hum of voices filled you with a sense of nostalgia, and for the first time in what felt like days, you allowed yourself to breathe deeply and let go of the thoughts that had been weighing on you.

Azriel didn’t say much, but the way his shadows softened around him and the faint smile that played on his lips told you he was enjoying himself. It made you smile in return, a genuine expression that reached your eyes as you began pointing out the different areas of the city with renewed energy. Whatever awkwardness you’d felt earlier had been replaced by something lighter, something that felt almost... normal.

The climb up the narrow, winding stairs was not for the faint of heart, but you had done it countless times before. Your steps were steady and sure, though you were keenly aware of Azriel’s presence just behind you. The sun had fully set by the time you reached the top, the last few golden rays fading into deep purples and blues that painted the horizon.

When you stepped onto the open terrace, you paused, waiting for Azriel to join you. His footsteps slowed, and when he emerged from the staircase, he stopped short. His sharp intake of breath was barely audible, but you caught it nonetheless. He stood still, his golden eyes scanning the view before him.

From this height, the entirety of Solterra stretched out like a glowing tapestry. The city lights flickered like stars in the dark, and the streets wove intricate patterns that mirrored the constellations above. The palace, with its gleaming white spires, stood at the center, its reflection shimmering faintly in the waters of the fountains and canals that crisscrossed the city. The glow of lanterns, their light soft and golden, spilled over the edges of the rooftops, casting everything in an otherworldly glow.

Azriel took a slow step forward, his shadows curling back as if to let him fully take in the scene. “It’s... stunning,” he murmured, his voice uncharacteristically quiet.

You turned slightly, watching his reaction with a small, knowing smile. “It’s my favorite spot in the city,” you admitted, your gaze sweeping over the view. “Whenever things felt overwhelming, I’d come here. It has a way of making everything else seem... smaller. Easier to manage.”

He nodded slowly, his eyes still fixed on the scene before him. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence filled only by the distant murmur of the city below and the faint rustle of the wind. Azriel’s wings shifted slightly, catching the faint light and adding to the ethereal atmosphere of the moment.

The terrace itself was simple—stone tiles worn smooth by time, bordered by a low railing carved with intricate designs of stars and moons. Small, glowing orbs floated at the edges, casting a soft, magical light over the space. Ivy climbed up the sides of the railing, its dark green leaves adding a touch of life to the otherwise serene setting.

“It’s hard to believe places like this exist,” Azriel said finally, his tone softer than usual. “It feels... untouched.”

You glanced at him, noticing the way his usually guarded expression had softened, his features lit by the faint glow of the orbs. “That’s the beauty of Solterra,” you said gently. “Even when everything else feels chaotic, it stays the same. Like it’s frozen in time.”

Azriel didn’t respond immediately, his gaze lingering on the city below. There was a stillness in him, a quiet reverence that you hadn’t expected. It was rare to see him like this—unguarded, almost at peace.

“Thank you for bringing me here,” he said after a while, his golden eyes meeting yours.

You gave a small shrug, your smile warm but playful. “You needed to see it. Besides, I couldn’t let you leave the Dawn Court without experiencing this view.”

He huffed a soft laugh, his shadows curling around his feet again. “You were right. It’s worth the climb.”

You let the silence settle between you again, a comfortable quiet as the two of you stood side by side, taking in the beauty of Solterra under the night sky. For the first time in a long while, the weight of your responsibilities felt a little lighter.

You rested your hands lightly on the cool stone railing, your eyes fixed on the glittering city below, the soft hum of life drifting up from Solterra. The weight of the earlier conversation with the healers lingered, no matter how much you tried to push it aside. Finally, you took a breath and broke the silence.

"I'm sorry," you said softly, your voice barely carrying over the quiet night. "For what you overheard earlier."

Azriel, who had been standing a few steps behind you, moved closer, his shadows weaving gently around him. “You don’t need to apologize,” he said, his tone steady. “If anything, I should apologize for hearing it. It wasn’t my place to intrude on something so personal.”

You turned your head slightly, offering him a small, bittersweet smile. “It’s not your fault. And besides...” Your voice trailed off as the bond hummed faintly in your chest—a painful, persistent ache that you couldn’t ignore. Shaking your head lightly, you added, “It’s nothing I haven’t faced before.”

Azriel studied you, his golden eyes unwavering. “Are you better now?” he asked, his question simple but weighted with genuine concern.

You reached up, running a hand through your hair as you exhaled slowly. Turning back to the city, you said, “Much better now. That was... centuries ago. But I suppose it’s not surprising that some healers would talk about me like that. When I arrived here, I was a mess.”

“That doesn’t make it right,” Azriel interjected, his voice firmer now. His shadows curled closer to him, as if reflecting his inner tension. “It’s not normal or acceptable for anyone to speak about you that way.”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “Thank you, but it’s fine. Really. I’ve grown used to it, and... in some ways, they’re not wrong. Back then...” You hesitated, your gaze fixed on a distant point in the city. “When I lost my wings, I only wanted one thing. To die.”

Azriel’s entire body stilled, his shadows frozen in place as he processed your words. “You don’t have to tell me what happened,” he said quietly, his tone surprisingly gentle. “Not if it’s too painful.”

You glanced at him, your lips curving into a faint, almost sad smile. “It’s fine,” you replied softly. “And besides, you’ve already heard most of it.”

He didn’t argue, but the flicker of emotion in his eyes told you that he was still grappling with the weight of what you had shared. You turned back to the view, the city lights reflecting in your eyes as you gathered your thoughts.

“For a long time, I thought losing my wings was the end of everything I was,” you admitted. “It felt like I was no longer whole, like the only thing that made me... me had been ripped away."

“I left the Night Court after it happened,” you admitted, your voice quieter. “It was too hard to stay. Everything reminded me of what I’d lost. It took me months just to be able to walk properly again.”

Azriel’s brows knit together, his gaze intent on you. “Months?” he asked, his voice laced with concern. “How did you manage to keep going?”

You let out a faint, humorless laugh. “I think if I’d been clipped younger, it would have been different. But by then, I’d already spent seventy years flying above Velaris and the Night Court. Losing that freedom…” You trailed off, shaking your head. “It broke me in ways I didn’t even realize at first.”

His shadows shifted around him, curling gently as though reflecting his own unease. “But you came here,” Azriel prompted softly. “To the Dawn Court.”

You nodded. “Thesan and Talyen helped me through it. During my training, they gave me purpose again—something to hold onto when I couldn’t see the point of anything. And you know how it ended with Thesan.” A wistful smile touched your lips. “It took me a long time to be able to come back to the Night Court. I wasn’t sure I ever would.”

Azriel frowned slightly, his wings twitching as if in reaction to your words. “Why didn’t you stay here? If they helped you so much, why leave?”

You tilted your head, considering his question. “Because this wasn’t home,” you said simply. “The Night Court was still my home, even if it hurt to admit it at the time. And deep down, I knew I needed to face what happened. Running away might’ve been easier, but it wasn’t what I needed. I don’t have a family, the Night Court, Velaris, Madja, Illyria, they were the only thing grounding me and actually giving me a feelling that I had an attached somewhere.”

Azriel studied you for a moment, his golden eyes shadowed with something you couldn’t quite place. “Do you ever think about what could’ve been?” he asked.

“Sometimes,” you replied honestly. “But what happened shaped who I am now. And even though it’s not the life I imagined for myself, I’ve found meaning in it. I’ve found a way to be okay.”

The bond between you hummed faintly, the ache of its presence both comforting and painful. Azriel seemed to sense it too, his expression flickering with something unreadable.

For a moment, the two of you stood in silence, the cool night air wrapping around you like a second skin. Then, as if to shift the weight of the conversation, you leaned back against the railing and offered him a small, wry smile.

“Now, enough about me,” you said, your tone lighter. “Have you talked with Rhys?”

Azriel’s jaw tensed slightly, and his shadows coiled closer. “Not yet,” he admitted. “I’m not ready to deal with that right now.”

You nodded, your gaze softening. “That’s fair. But don’t let it fester for too long, Azriel. Things left unsaid have a way of turning into walls between people.”

His lips quirked into the faintest of smiles, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ll handle it when the time is right.”

“Good,” you said simply, letting the moment settle between you.

Azriel’s jaw tightened as the question lingered in the air. He glanced away, his shadows curling around him protectively as if to shield him from the conversation. “I haven’t spoken to Rhys yet,” he admitted, his voice low and tense. “It’s... the first time I’ve been this mad at him for so long.”

You tilted your head, your gaze searching his face. “Because of what he said?”

He nodded sharply, his wings shifting in agitation. “It wasn’t just what he said. It’s how he said it. As if... as if I’m incapable of making my own decisions. As if my feelings aren’t valid.”

Your chest ached at the pain in his voice, the rawness of emotions that he so rarely shared. “Have you thought about what you’ll say to him when you’re ready?” you asked softly.

Azriel shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “No. I haven’t even been able to think about it without... without wanting to hit something. And that’s not who I am. Rhys and I—we’ve always been brothers in every way that matters. But this time...” He trailed off, his shadows curling tighter. “This time, it feels different.”

You nodded slowly, understanding the weight of what he was saying. “It’s hard when someone you care about deeply lets you down.”

He didn’t respond immediately, his golden eyes fixed on the horizon as the light from the city below reflected in their depths. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer, almost vulnerable. “And then there’s Elain.”

The name hung between you like a heavy cloud. You didn’t press him, sensing he needed to find his own words.

“I don’t even know what I feel anymore,” Azriel admitted, his tone laced with frustration. “When she first came here, after being dumped in the Cauldron, I was the one who helped her. I saw her at her worst—terrified, broken, unsure of everything. I wanted to protect her, to help her find her footing in this new, impossible life. I guess... I grew attached.”

You nodded, your expression neutral but your chest tightening as you listened. “Attachment can be powerful,” you offered carefully. “Especially when it’s built on moments like that.”

Azriel exhaled deeply, his shadows flickering faintly around him. “But it’s not just attachment, is it? There’s something more. Or at least, I thought there was. And yet, every time I look at her, I’m reminded that she has a mate. That no matter how I feel, she’s bound to someone else in a way I can never be.”

You leaned slightly against the railing, watching him closely. “Do you love her?”

The question hung in the air, and for a moment, Azriel didn’t answer. His jaw worked as if trying to find the right words, and his shadows stilled, almost hesitant.

“Maybe not love, at least not anymore...” he said finally, his voice raw with honesty. “But I care about her. More than I ever thought I could. Enough that it hurts to think about letting go. And yet...” He trailed off, his wings drooping slightly. “Maybe I should. Maybe I need to. Because this... this thing between us, it’s just a reminder of what I’ll never have. What I’m not meant for.”

Your heart clenched at the pain laced in his words, the quiet resignation that seemed to settle over him like a heavy cloak. “Letting go doesn’t mean forgetting,” you said softly. “And it doesn’t mean what you felt wasn’t real or valid. But sometimes, letting go is the only way to move forward.”

Azriel’s gaze shifted to you, his expression unreadable. “And what if I can’t? What if the bond... or the absence of it, keeps pulling me back?”

You offered him a small, sad smile. “Then maybe it’s not about forgetting or moving on entirely. Maybe it��s about finding a way to hold onto the parts of her that made you better, while still leaving space for yourself to grow. To heal.”

He looked at you for a long moment, his shadows curling around him as if to guard his thoughts. Then, he gave a small nod, though his expression remained conflicted. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It’s not,” you admitted. “It’s one of the hardest things to do. But you’ve faced worse, Azriel. You’ll find your way through this too.”

For a moment, the silence stretched between you, not uncomfortable but heavy with unspoken emotions. Then, Azriel exhaled slowly, his gaze once again drifting to the city below. “Thank you,” he murmured, his voice so quiet it was almost lost to the breeze.

You didn’t respond, but the faint hum of the bond between you seemed to carry your unspoken understanding.

Your hands trembled slightly, barely noticeable, as Azriel’s words lingered in your mind. It was hard—hard to hear him talk about someone else with such care and longing, even as you tried to remind yourself that the bond between you wasn’t something he knew about, let alone wanted. Lost in your thoughts, you startled slightly when you felt a soft tug at your hair.

Glancing to the side, you saw one of Azriel’s shadows twirling a loose strand between its wispy tendrils, as though it was curious. It tickled, and despite the heaviness in your chest, a small smile broke through. “It seems your shadows have taken a liking to me,” you teased lightly, brushing the strand back.

Azriel’s brows furrowed in surprise, his gaze following the shadow as if it had acted without his permission. “They don’t usually...” he began, trailing off as another shadow curled lazily around your shoulder. He looked genuinely perplexed.

You laughed softly, the sound light against the quiet night. “Well, I don’t mind,” you said, though the sensation made you squirm a little as it tickled the back of your neck. “It’s... endearing, in a way.”

Azriel shook his head, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “They have a mind of their own sometimes,” he admitted. “But this is... new.”

You smiled, brushing the shadow away gently, and turned toward him. “Let’s get something to eat,” you offered, eager to change the tone of the evening. “I know a place nearby. It’s simple, but it’s one of my favorite spots in Solterra.”

Azriel tilted his head, his curiosity evident. “Lead the way.”

This time, you didn’t walk ahead; the two of you moved side by side, your steps falling into an easy rhythm. The city had transformed under the night’s embrace, its streets illuminated by warm golden lights. Lanterns strung above the narrow alleys swayed gently in the cool breeze, casting soft, flickering shadows against the sandstone buildings. People bustled around, vendors calling out their wares while laughter and chatter filled the air. Musicians played lively tunes on street corners, their melodies weaving through the lively hum of the crowd.

The stand you brought him to was modest—a small, well-loved cart tucked away near the edge of the marketplace. The scent of spiced meat wafted through the air, mingling with the aroma of fresh bread and roasted vegetables. Azriel’s sharp gaze took in every detail, but his focus lingered on the way the vendor’s face lit up when he saw you.

“Y/N!” the man greeted warmly, his voice carrying over the din of the street. “It’s been too long. What brings you here tonight?”

You smiled, stepping closer to the stand. “You know me, I can’t stay away for too long,” you replied, the warmth in your tone genuine. “Azriel, this is Nadir. He makes the best sandwiches in Solterra.”

Nadir grinned, nodding at Azriel. “You’ve got good taste if you’re with Y/N. She’s a regular—used to come by late at night after long shifts. I always knew when she’d had a tough day.”

Azriel inclined his head politely. “It smells incredible,” he said, his shadows coiling faintly as if curious about the food.

“What do you like?” you asked Azriel, glancing over the menu scrawled on a wooden board.

“Anything,” he said, a hint of amusement in his tone. “I trust your judgment.”

You ordered for both of you, chatting with Nadir while he worked. The sound of sizzling meat and the rhythmic chopping of vegetables filled the space as the sandwiches came together. A few moments later, Nadir handed over the wrapped bundles with a cheerful “Enjoy!”

The two of you found a quiet spot near the gardens, a place where flowering trees lined the edge of a small fountain. The night’s quiet was punctuated by the occasional ripple of water and the faint laughter of passersby.

Azriel unwrapped his sandwich, taking a tentative bite. His eyes widened slightly, and he nodded in approval. “This is... really good,” he admitted, the faintest hint of surprise in his tone.

“I told you,” you teased, taking a bite of your own. The warmth of the spiced meat and the fresh crunch of vegetables was exactly what you needed.

At some point, Azriel glanced at you, his expression softening as his sharp eyes caught something on your cheek. Without thinking, he reached out, brushing his thumb gently across your skin to wipe away a small streak of sauce.

The touch startled you, and you froze, blinking at him. A rush of heat bloomed across your face, and you stammered, “Oh, um—thanks.”

Azriel pulled his hand back quickly, clearing his throat. “Sorry,” he murmured, his own cheeks faintly pink. “It was—there was sauce.”

You laughed, the sound a little too loud in your effort to ease the tension. “Yeah, I’m a mess when I eat these,” you joked, trying to wave it off.

The two of you settled back into a comfortable silence, the soft glow of the city lights around you making everything feel oddly peaceful. For a moment, it was as if the weight of everything—the bond, his struggles, your past—had lifted, leaving only the quiet companionship of a shared meal under the stars.

Your evenings had fallen into a quiet rhythm over the past few days. After the meetings, Azriel would find his way to your room in the palace, and the two of you would settle into an easy companionship that felt strangely natural. It had started with a simple offer of tea and had grown into these shared moments—both of you working, sometimes talking, and occasionally just enjoying the calm silence.

Your room, one of the largest in the palace, was warm and inviting. Soft golden light filtered through tall windows, casting a gentle glow over the plush rugs and intricately carved wooden furniture. The bed, draped in deep teal and gold linens, sat against one wall, while a wide desk occupied the other, covered in neatly organized stacks of notes, scrolls, and ledgers. A small sitting area near the hearth had become your favorite spot, with two armchairs and a low table perfect for tea and conversation.

Azriel’s presence in the room had become so routine that it no longer surprised you when he knocked lightly before entering. Tonight was no different.

“You’re getting predictable,” you teased as he stepped inside, carrying his reports under one arm.

Azriel raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching in a faint smile. “I could say the same about you. Tea’s already ready, isn’t it?”

You laughed softly, gesturing to the steaming teapot and cups on the low table. “Touché. I figured you’d show up.”

He sat across from you, setting his reports aside for a moment as he poured himself a cup of tea. “Busy day?” he asked, his voice low and calm.

“Always,” you replied with a sigh, leaning back in your chair. “The logistics for the next round of resource exchanges are a mess. Half the courts aren’t sure what they can spare, and the other half want more than they’re willing to give.”

Azriel nodded thoughtfully, taking a sip of tea. “Sounds familiar. Negotiations between the High Lords aren’t much different. Everyone wants something, but no one wants to compromise.”

You chuckled dryly. “At least with the healers, we have the same goal. It’s easier to remind them what we’re working toward. The High Lords, though...” You shook your head. “I don’t envy you.”

He gave a small shrug, his shadows curling faintly around his shoulders. “It’s what I’m used to. But I imagine dealing with this,” he gestured to the neatly organized papers on your desk, “isn’t much easier.”

You followed his gaze and sighed. “Not really. It’s a lot of juggling—balancing what each court needs with what they can offer. And on top of that, making sure it all gets where it’s supposed to go.”

Azriel leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees. “If anyone can handle it, it’s you. I’ve seen how you manage these meetings. It’s impressive.”

The unexpected compliment caught you off guard, and you felt a flush creep up your neck. “Thank you,” you said softly, glancing down at your cup. “But it’s not just me. The other healers make it work. They’ve taught me as much as I’ve taught them.”

The room was quiet save for the faint crackle of the fire and the occasional rustle of parchment. You had been glancing at Azriel for a while, noticing the slight tension in his movements as he wrote. His fingers occasionally twitched, the pen faltering for just a second before resuming its sharp, precise strokes.

“Is everything okay?” you asked, setting your own quill down.

Azriel paused mid-sentence, looking up at you. “What do you mean?”

You gestured subtly toward his hands. “You’re struggling a bit. Does that happen often?”

He glanced at his gloved hands, flexing his fingers briefly. “The scars don’t hurt much,” he admitted. “But sometimes they make it harder to grip things properly. I usually use a cream to help, but since we’ve been here, it feels a little worse.”

“That’s not surprising,” you said with a faint smile. “The climate in the Dawn Court is much drier than Velaris.”

Azriel nodded, his expression neutral, though there was a flicker of discomfort in his golden eyes. Before he could brush the matter aside, you stood and rummaged through your things.

“What are you doing?” he asked, watching you with a mix of curiosity and exasperation.

“Hold on,” you replied, pulling out a small jar of salve you’d mixed during one of your quiet evenings. You turned back to him, holding it up triumphantly. “This will help.”

“Y/N, you don’t have to—”

You shot him a pointed look, cutting him off. “Azriel, it’s nothing. Stop being difficult,” you said, your tone teasing.

The corners of his mouth twitched upward, and to your surprise, he chuckled. The sound was warm and low, and it sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach. You couldn’t help but smile back, your cheeks heating slightly.

Pulling a chair in front of him, you sat down, your knees brushing his. “May I?” you asked softly, gesturing to his hands.

He hesitated for a moment before nodding. Slowly, you reached forward, peeling off his gloves with gentle care. Your breath hitched slightly at the sight of his scarred hands—marred by burns but still strong and capable.

“How did it happen?” you asked hesitantly, looking up to meet his gaze. “If you don’t mind telling me.”

Azriel’s expression didn’t change, though his eyes darkened slightly. “When I was younger, my half-brothers wanted to see what oil and fire would do,” he said, his voice calm but laced with an undercurrent of pain. “They decided my hands would be the perfect place to test it.”

Your horror must have shown on your face because he added quickly, “Don’t worry about it. I’ve learned to live with them.”

Your hands trembled slightly as you opened the jar of salve. Scooping a small amount onto your fingers, you reached for his hand, your touch feather-light. “You shouldn’t have had to learn to live with this,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Azriel didn’t respond at first, his gaze fixed on you with an intensity that made your breath catch. As your fingers gently massaged the salve into his scarred hands, it was as if the world outside the room ceased to exist. Each movement was deliberate, your touch light but firm as you worked the cream into the roughened skin, tracing over every ridge and scar with quiet reverence.

Your magic stirred softly, a faint glow emanating from your fingertips as you worked. The light was subtle, a pale shimmer that seemed to dance across his hands, sinking into the damaged tissue and soothing the strain beneath. You weren’t entirely sure if it was for him or for yourself, this act of care. But as the magic melded with the salve, you could feel the tension in his hands ease, the tightness in his skin softening under your touch.

The air between you seemed to thicken, becoming charged with something unspoken yet deeply felt. Azriel’s golden eyes followed your every movement, his shadows curling faintly around his shoulders as if reacting to the moment. They reached out tentatively, brushing against your arm like curious tendrils, almost mirroring the gentle care you were giving him.

Your fingers paused for a moment, resting on a particularly deep scar near the base of his thumb. You traced it lightly with your thumb, your expression unreadable. “Does this one still hurt?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Azriel shook his head slightly, his voice low and steady. “Not physically. Not anymore.”

The weight of his words hung between you, and you didn’t press further. Instead, you resumed your work, your fingers gliding over his knuckles with a featherlight touch. The warmth of your magic pulsed faintly, and you let out a small, satisfied sigh when you saw the way his hands relaxed under your care.

The room felt smaller, quieter, as if it were holding its breath for the two of you. Azriel’s gaze never wavered, his focus locked on you with an intensity that made you acutely aware of every movement, every shared breath. The way you worked—your brow furrowed in concentration, your lips slightly parted as you focused on him—it rooted him in place, a grounding point he didn’t realize he’d been seeking.

Your touch was meticulous, almost reverent, as if you were trying to undo some of the harm etched into his skin—not just with the salve and your magic, but with the quiet care you poured into the act itself. It wasn’t just about soothing his scars; it was about showing him, in a way words never could, that he was worth this kind of gentleness.

Finally, you set the jar aside and rested your hands lightly on his, letting the warmth linger for a moment longer. When you glanced up to meet his gaze, the depth of emotion in his eyes made your chest tighten.

“Better?” you asked, your voice soft, almost hesitant.

Azriel nodded slowly, his lips curving into the faintest of smiles. “Much better,” he murmured, his tone thick with something unspoken.

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy or awkward—it was full of unspoken understanding, a quiet acknowledgment of the connection that had deepened between you in those stolen moments. And as you both lingered there, the faint shimmer of your magic faded into the stillness, leaving only the warmth of your touch and the steady rhythm of your breaths.

At one point, he broke the silence, his voice quiet but steady. “What about you?”

You glanced up, puzzled. “What about me?”

Azriel tilted his head, his expression softening as he studied you. “You spend so much time taking care of everyone else. Do you ever take time for yourself?”

A faint smile tugged at your lips. “This,” you said, gesturing around the room, “is my time for myself. These moments... they’re enough.”

Azriel nodded slowly, his gaze unwavering. “Good,” he said softly. “You deserve that much.”

The sincerity in his voice stirred something deep inside you, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to simply bask in the quiet companionship. In a life full of chaos and responsibility, this small corner of peace felt like a gift—one you hadn’t realized you needed until now.

 

Azriel arrived outside your door, punctual as ever, only to hear a frantic shuffle on the other side. He knocked lightly, waiting.

“Coming!” your voice called, muffled but rushed.

The door flew open, and there you stood, dripping wet, wrapped only in a towel. Your hair clung to your skin, and water dripped onto the floor. You blinked up at him, wide-eyed, clearly caught off guard.

“My bad—go wait inside, please,” you stammered, stepping back to let him in. “I’m so sorry—give me two seconds.”

You turned, slipping slightly on the wet floor, your arms flailing as you barely caught yourself on the doorframe. Azriel blinked, clearly fighting back a laugh, though the corner of his mouth twitched.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice low but amused.

"Fine!" you chirped, disappearing back into your room. "Totally fine! Just... give me a minute!”

The space felt as alive as you were—vibrant and lived-in. Shelves lined the walls, stacked with books, jars of herbs, and an array of trinkets collected from various courts. Your desk was a study in organized chaos, papers and notes sprawled across its surface, mingling with teacups and a few candles. A large, open window let the morning sunlight pour in, illuminating everything in a warm glow.

Azriel took a seat on the edge of a cushioned chair, his sharp eyes scanning the room. He couldn’t help but notice the quiet hum of comfort that seemed to radiate from the space, much like its owner.

A few minutes later, you emerged, struggling with the intricate ties of your top, the fabric stubbornly refusing to cooperate. "Azriel," you called, your voice slightly frantic. "Help me out here!”

Azriel stood, stepping closer. “Sure,” he said simply, taking the ties of the top in his hands. As he moved behind you to secure it, his gaze fell on your back.

There, faint but unmistakable, were scars. They cut across your skin in jagged, silvery lines, a stark contrast against the smooth canvas of your back. He froze for the briefest moment, his breath catching. His shadows stirred restlessly, betraying his thoughts.

He didn’t say anything, didn’t let his hands falter as he tied the delicate laces with precision. But something tightened in his chest, a mix of sorrow and admiration for what you must have endured.

You, oblivious, continued fussing. “Usually, it’s Ydle who helps me with this,” you muttered.

Azriel blinked, his brow furrowing. “The bird?”

“Yes, the bird, Azriel,” you said, glancing over your shoulder with an incredulous look. “He’s actually quite good at a lot of things, you know.”

A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “Right. A lot of things.”

You turned fully, giving him a pointed look. “Stop with your nasty thoughts, Shadowsinger. Not all winged beings think with their dick, you know.”

That earned you a full, genuine laugh from Azriel, his shadows swirling around him in amusement.

"You’re late," he reminded, clearly enjoying your flustered state.

"Yeah, yeah," you muttered, grabbing your notes and practically running around the room to gather the last of your things. "I ended up drinking with the girls last night—like, a lot—and I went to sleep about... oh, two hours ago."

Azriel raised an eyebrow, his smirk returning. "And now you expect to lead a meeting?"

"I’ll survive," you said, waving him off. "Let’s go, or we’ll both be late."

As the two of you left your room, Azriel couldn’t help but shake his head, a quiet chuckle escaping him. You might have been chaos incarnate that morning, but there was no denying you’d pull it together the moment you stepped into that meeting room—and he admired that more than he’d ever admit.

When you and Azriel entered the meeting room, it was clear that the tone of the day was already set. The head healers, though composed, bore an unspoken tension that hung heavy in the air. Your sharp eyes quickly took in the details—slightly rumpled clothes, dark circles under a few pairs of eyes. A quick glance at Farah and Amara confirmed your suspicion: you weren’t the only one running on minimal sleep.

“Rough night?” you murmured to Farah as you passed, taking your seat at the head of the table.

The Day Court healer offered you a tired smile, golden strands of her hair slipping from her loose braid. “You could say that. Seems the city’s festivities are hard to resist.”

Amara groaned softly, resting her elbows on the table. “Why do they schedule these meetings the morning after celebrations? We look like we’ve been dragged through the ocean.”

A few chuckles broke the tension, and even Azriel’s lips twitched faintly at the comment as he took his place near the doorway, his shadows drifting unobtrusively.

“All right,” you said, your voice firm but warm as you tapped the table lightly. “Let’s focus. We have a lot to cover, and not much time.”

The healers straightened in their seats, the atmosphere shifting into something far more serious.

As the meeting pressed on, the air in the room thickened with the weight of the topic now at hand—Koshiev’s growing influence. The earlier camaraderie and trust among the healers gave way to grim determination, each word spoken heavy with the stakes of what was to come.

Rordan from the Autumn Court began, his amber eyes burning with frustration. “Koshiev’s forces aren’t just expanding—they’re leaving devastation in their wake. Entire villages along the borders have been wiped out because of sickness that, mother above, look like they come straight from hell, and the survivors are trickling into the courts as refugees. Camps are overcrowded, and infection spreads like wildfire.”

Veras from the Winter Court leaned forward, his braided hair falling over his shoulder. “The frostbite cases we’re seeing aren’t just from the cold anymore. It’s as if something in the air itself is making the wounds worse, harder to heal. We suspect Koshiev’s forces are using some kind of dark magic, but we have no way to confirm it.”

You nodded, taking in the information with a furrowed brow. “If they’re using magic to weaponize the environment, we’ll need to prioritize protection. I can look into shielding spells that can be used alongside standard care. Farah,” you turned to the Day Court healer, “your court specializes in purification. Do you think you could develop something to counteract this?”

Farah’s golden eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “It’s possible, but we’d need samples to understand what we’re dealing with. Without knowing the exact nature of this magic, we’re working blind.”

Azriel, silent until now, spoke up from where he stood at the edge of the room. His deep voice cut through the air like a blade. “I can get you the samples. If there’s something in the air or water, I’ll have my spies retrieve it.”

The room turned to Azriel, some with surprise, others with relief. You caught his eye briefly and nodded, grateful for his quick offer.

Amara from the Summer Court exhaled heavily. “Even with countermeasures, this is a problem we’ve never faced before. Koshiev’s forces are using tactics that defy every natural law we know. We need more than just defensive strategies—we need to be proactive.”

“You’re right,” you said, standing straighter. “It’s not enough to react to what Koshiev does. We need to anticipate his next moves. That means gathering intelligence—not just on his methods but on his motives. Why is he targeting specific regions? What does he gain from leaving the lands uninhabitable?”

Teylan, the healer from the Dawn Court, added, “And we need to coordinate evacuation protocols. If entire regions are to be affected, we must ensure that civilians can be moved quickly and efficiently. It’s not just about healing the injured—it’s about preventing the injuries in the first place.”

The group murmured in agreement, and you saw Azriel’s sharp gaze shift to Teylan. There was respect in his expression, though his shadows swirled slightly tighter around him, as if unsettled by the weight of the conversation.

“Let’s assign specific roles,” you suggested, your voice cutting through the growing tension. “Veras, work with Farah to develop purification methods. Amara, focus on distributing resources—we’ll need herbs, salves, and antidotes ready for immediate deployment. Rordan, can you focus on organizing supply routes and establishing safe zones within the Autumn Court?”

Each healer nodded, their expressions set with determination. You turned to Azriel. “And Azriel, if you can retrieve those samples, it will give us the edge we desperately need.”

Azriel inclined his head, his shadows flickering like flames in response. “Consider it done.”

The meeting continued with precise planning. Containment strategies, resource allocation, and magical countermeasures were all discussed and debated. Each healer brought their expertise to the table, but the weight of Koshiev’s looming threat was undeniable.

By the time the meeting concluded, the atmosphere in the room was heavy but resolute. These weren’t just plans—they were the foundation for survival, the first step in a war that would test every ounce of strength Prythian had.

As the healers began to file out for a much-needed break, Azriel lingered near you, his gaze steady and unreadable. “You’re carrying a lot on your shoulders,” he said quietly.

You met his gaze, your tired smile barely masking the exhaustion. “We all are, Azriel. But this is the work that needs to be done.”

His shadows flickered faintly, and for a moment, he looked as if he wanted to say more. But instead, he simply nodded, his silence speaking volumes.

The battle against Koshiev had already begun, and you both knew it would demand everything from everyone involved.

The meeting had finally drawn to a close, the weight of the discussions settling heavily on your shoulders. You bid farewell to the other healers, offering last-minute reassurances and final notes for the upcoming plans. As the last of them departed, you made your way back to your room, your steps slower than usual. The exhaustion from the day's intensity pulled at you, but your mind refused to quiet.

Your room greeted you with its familiar warmth and quiet elegance. You sighed, stepping inside and shedding your outer coat. Moving to the small kitchenette, you set about preparing tea. The rhythmic motions of boiling water and selecting herbs gave you a rare moment of peace.

The sound of a knock at the door broke your focus. You turned, half expecting Azriel, but instead found Thesan leaning casually against the frame, his smile warm and familiar.

“You didn’t think I’d let you retreat so easily, did you?” he teased, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation.

You chuckled softly, rolling your eyes. “I thought you’d be busy catching up with your court, not chasing after me.”

“Multitasking is one of my many talents,” he quipped, settling into a chair with an ease that spoke of years of friendship. His gaze swept the room, a fond glint in his eye. “Still feels like you’ve left your mark on this place. It’s alive, somehow—like you.”

You scoffed lightly, pouring two cups of tea. “You’re being dramatic again.”

He accepted the cup you handed him, his smile never faltering. “Maybe. But I’m also right.”

The lighthearted banter faded as his expression turned more serious. “You handled yourself well today. The meeting was impressive, even for you. But that’s not why I’m here.”

You hesitated, sitting down across from him. “Then why are you here, Thesan?”

“To check on you,” he replied simply. “You’ve been through a lot, Y/N. And I know you—sometimes you carry things alone when you shouldn’t.”

The words hit closer to home than you cared to admit. You stared into your tea for a moment before taking a steadying breath. “There is... something,” you admitted, your voice quieter now. “Something I haven’t told anyone.”

Thesan waited patiently, his gaze unwavering. Finally, you looked up and met his eyes.

“It’s not just the war or the plans,” you admitted finally, setting your cup down. “It’s... Azriel.”

Thesan raised a brow, his curiosity piqued. “The Night Court’s spymaster? What about him?”

You inhaled deeply, the words tasting foreign as they left your lips. “He’s my mate.”

The admission hung in the air between you, heavy and undeniable. Thesan’s expression shifted to one of quiet understanding, his head tilting slightly as he studied you.

“And does he know?” he asked gently.

You shook your head, the weight of the secret pressing down on you. “No. And I don’t plan on telling him. He’s... attached to someone else. Elain. One of the High lady’s sister. And there’s the war, the chaos. It’s not the right time.”

“Is there ever a right time for something like this?” Thesan asked gently. “Do you... love him?”

The question caught you off guard, and you hesitated, your fingers tightening around the cup. “I don’t know,” you admitted. “But being around him feels... different. Like a part of me is at peace when he’s near.”

Thesan leaned back slightly, his brow furrowed in thought. “Mates are rare, yes. But they’re not infallible. If you feel this strongly, maybe you shouldn’t dismiss it. Just... be careful.”

His advice hung in the air, heavy with meaning. Before either of you could say more, a soft knock at the door interrupted the moment. Thesan rose smoothly to answer, his calm demeanor never wavering.

Azriel stood in the doorway, his shadows curling faintly around him. His sharp eyes flicked to Thesan, a hint of surprise crossing his face. “High Lord,” he greeted, his tone polite but clipped.

Thesan smiled, leaning casually against the doorframe. “Spymaster. What brings you here?”

Azriel’s gaze briefly shifted beyond him, but he couldn’t see you from where he stood. “I was going to ask Y/N if she wanted to take a walk through the city before we leave. But clearly, she’s... occupied.”

Thesan’s smile deepened, and there was a hint of something playful in his tone. “We were just catching up, but...”

Azriel nodded curtly and cut him mid sentence, stepping back. “Another time then, I don’t want to disturb you both.” he echoed, his voice neutral.

He left without another word, his shadows lingering briefly before disappearing into the hallway. Thesan watched him go, a knowing look in his eye as he closed the door and turned back to you.

“Well,” he said, his tone dry, “he’s certainly... something.”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “I don’t even know what to do anymore.”

Thesan placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder, his expression softening. “Take it one step at a time, Y/N. You’ll figure it out.”

Azriel sat on the balcony of his assigned room in the Dawn Court palace, the cool evening air brushing against his skin. The sun had just dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of soft orange and deep indigo. His shadows whispered faintly, their tones uncertain, as if they too were trying to process what he was feeling.

He hadn’t intended to overhear you with Thesan, but the sound of your laughter, followed by the soft murmur of your voices, had drawn him to the door. He had stopped himself from intruding, reminding himself that it was none of his business. Yet, the sight of Thesan’s easy smile as he stood in your doorway, the familiarity in his posture, and the casual way his hand rested on the frame had stirred something in Azriel—something sharp and unwelcome.

He knew you had a history with Thesan. He knew that Thesan had a mate. And yet, he couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling of jealousy. The knowledge that you and Thesan had shared something once, something real and intimate, unsettled him in a way he couldn’t fully understand.

You weren’t like Mor, whose vibrant energy had captivated him for centuries. You weren’t like Elain, whose gentleness and quiet beauty had drawn him in, offering a fleeting hope for something he could never truly have.

You were you—Y/N.

There was an effortless strength in you, the way you commanded a room without raising your voice, the way you navigated delicate situations with a calmness that belied the fire in your heart. You carried yourself with grace but never hid your scars. You worked tirelessly, yet somehow always found time to smile, to offer comfort, even when you were the one most in need of it.

And that smile—Mother above, that smile. It wasn’t a demure thing meant to appease or charm; it was genuine, lighting up your face in a way that made everything around you seem brighter. Your laugh was low and warm, the kind that lingered in the air long after it faded. The way your eyes crinkled slightly at the corners when you were truly amused stayed with him.

He thought of the way you spoke to him—honest, unafraid to challenge him but never cruel. How you had listened to him in the clinic that night, your words carrying a weight of understanding he hadn’t found in anyone else.

Azriel exhaled deeply, running a hand through his hair. He didn’t know when it had started—this attachment to you. But he knew it had grown steadily since the moment the two of you arrived in the Dawn Court. You had drawn him in with your unwavering dedication and the quiet vulnerability you allowed to slip through your defenses.

It wasn’t like him to let someone in so easily, to let himself care so quickly. But with you, it was different.

And now, the thought of Thesan knowing you so intimately—knowing parts of you that he could only hope to uncover—gnawed at him. It wasn’t rational, he knew that. But the thought still burned.

His shadows curled tighter around him, as if trying to shield him from the onslaught of emotions. But they couldn’t muffle the truth. He had grown attached to you. Too attached. And for the first time in a long time, he didn’t know what to do about it.

Later that evening, you found yourself standing outside Azriel’s door, a faint sense of unease settling over you. You had to talk to him about organizing your departure, but something felt off. You took a deep breath and knocked softly, waiting until you heard his voice.

“Come in.”

Pushing the door open, you stepped inside to find Azriel sitting in a chair by the window, his shadows swirling lazily around him. His face was unreadable, the sharp planes of his features cast in soft shadows from the lamp beside him. He looked up briefly as you entered, but his gaze quickly flicked back to the papers in his hands.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you,” you began, your voice light but careful.

He shook his head. “No. Don’t worry. What do you need?”

You hesitated for a moment, noting the slight edge to his tone. “I wanted to go over the plan for tomorrow’s departure,” you said, stepping closer. “We need to coordinate with the palace staff for supplies, and I wanted to confirm our route.”

Azriel nodded curtly, gesturing for you to sit, but he didn’t offer much more. His responses were short, his demeanor cooler than usual. You frowned, watching him as he scanned the papers in his hands.

“Is something going on?” you asked softly, leaning forward slightly in your seat.

Azriel’s shadows curled tighter around him, a sure sign of his tension. “No, everything is ok don’t worry.” he said flatly, not looking up.

You tilted your head, unconvinced. “Azriel, I’m not leaving this alone. We’re going to be stuck together for at least four hours during the flight, and I promise you—I will not stop bothering you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought he might brush you off entirely. But then he set the papers down and leaned back in his chair, his amber eyes locking onto yours.

“Fine,” he said, his voice low but firm. “Do you still have something going on with Thesan?”

You blinked, caught completely off guard by the question. “What?”

He pressed on, his shadows flickering erratically. “It’s just... sometimes, even if people are mated, they still—” He hesitated, his lips pressing into a thin line before continuing, “They still keep things with their previous partners.”

You stared at him, the words settling over you like a wave of confusion and exasperation. “Are you serious right now?”

Azriel met your gaze, his expression unreadable, but his eyes carried a flicker of vulnerability he was clearly trying to mask.

You sighed, leaning back in your chair and crossing your arms. “Azriel, do you honestly think either Nesta or Feyre would be okay with Cassian or Rhysand running off to sleep with an ex-partner? Because, no. They wouldn’t. And it’s the same here.”

His brows furrowed, and you continued, your tone softening slightly. “Thesan is a friend now, Azriel. Nothing more. I don’t want anything else, and neither does he. And his mate would probably kill me if I even consider him more than that.”

The tension in his shoulders seemed to ease slightly, though his shadows still hovered around him. He nodded once, his voice quieter now. “I... I just wanted to be sure. Not that it was an actual problem, but...”

You couldn’t help but huff a small laugh, shaking your head. “You could have just asked, you know.”

Azriel’s lips twitched into the faintest hint of a smile, his shadows finally retreating a bit. “Maybe next time, I will.”

“Good,” you replied, standing and smoothing the front of your shirt. “Now, can we get back to the actual reason I came here, or should I start worrying about more questions?”

Azriel chuckled softly, a rare sound, and gestured for you to continue. The tension between you had eased, and as you began discussing the logistics of your departure, you noticed that his gaze lingered on you just a little longer than usual.

After clearing the air, you sat up straighter, your tone turning more professional. “Now, about tomorrow’s flight. The weather reports show strong winds in the region where we flew last time, so we’ll need to make a detour.”

Azriel’s brow lifted slightly, his focus sharpening. “A detour?”

You nodded, gesturing to the small map you had brought with you. You spread it out on the desk between you, pointing to a marked path. “Instead of cutting directly through the mountains, we’ll follow the coastline for a bit. It’ll take us an extra hour, but it’s safer than risking the turbulence.”

Azriel leaned forward, his shadows quiet as he studied the map. “The sea route?”

“Yes,” you confirmed. “The winds over the water should be calmer, and there’s a better chance of clear skies. I checked with the palace staff earlier—they’ve used that path before in similar conditions.”

His expression was thoughtful as he traced the route with his finger. “It’s a smart call. And the scenery will be... different.”

You chuckled softly. “Different is one way to put it. I hope you like ocean views.”

Azriel glanced at you, a hint of a smirk on his lips. “I’ll take ocean views over unpredictable mountain winds any day.”

“Good,” you said with a small smile. “I’ll let the staff know to adjust the flight plan accordingly.”

He nodded, his demeanor more relaxed now. “Anything else I should know?”

You hesitated for a moment, then added, “The winds might still be a bit tricky when we’re closer to the coast, so we’ll need to stay alert. But I think we’ll manage just fine.”

Azriel’s smirk deepened. “You sound like you’ve done this a hundred times.”

You shrugged lightly, a playful glint in your eyes. “Maybe not a hundred, but I’ve healed enough Peregrins to know what I’m talking about. Trust me on this one, Shadowsinger.”

His gaze lingered on you for a moment, his shadows flickering faintly around him before he nodded again. “I trust you.” 

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[overadores]

જ⁀➴°⋆ Love Me Like A Friend ୨ৎ Daniela Avanzini

“Every night you're sleeping in my bed”

“Every morning you're fucking with my head”

୨ৎ synopsis. When Katseye’s main dancer, Daniela Avanzini makes her debut, no one is aware of her secret friends-with-benefits arrangement with chart-topping producer and singer Y/N L/N—a relationship they’ve kept under wraps due to Daniela’s strict no-dating rule. However, as rumors circulate about Y/N’s supposed affairs with other women, and her enigmatic song lyrics appear to reflect Daniela’s mixed signals, tension starts to build. With public speculation intensifying and jealousy brewing behind closed doors, their closely guarded secret is on the verge of unraveling, compelling them to face what they truly mean to one another.

୨ৎ tags. fluff, crack, smau, little writing, friends with benefits, sexual jokes, mention of substance and alcohol, toxicity, red flags, tiny bit of angst, profanities, kys jokes, friends-lovers, suggestive themes.

୨ৎ pairing. daniela avanzini x producer!reader

୨ৎ guests. billie eilish. renee rapp. ph1 ( hwang intak ). enhypen ( lee heeseung ). katseye. other celebs.

"Every morning you love me like a friend"

୨ৎ status. on-going

୨ৎ author's note. This is an original work of smau, and is written for entertainment purposes only. Any names or characters, businesses or events or incidents, are fictitious and for the lore the place is going to be in Los Angeles. The characters identity have no relation to the actual persons/portrayers— and are solely based on the author's imagination. Don't bother looking at the timestaps 'cause it's not that important unless stated and also the face claim would be random masc peepz at pinterest so ctto. taglist is also open.

୨ৎ in queue never be the same - camila cabello, mgk; wicked games - kiana lede; into it - chase atlantic; echo - the marias; heaven - julia michaels; after hours - the weeknd; butterflies - denise julia; easy - haven, wild

୨ৎ profiles. gaybies pop dani-thology '25 pop dani-thology '25 2.0

୨ৎ chapters

01. hear me out

02. such a tease

++ more chapters to come ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

[fangdokja]

Yoo, can I ask a question? - yandere (of course) tartaglia, wanderer (or scaramouche) and kazuha, with a reader who has.. a slightly interesting temper, that is, the reader has an unconventional, sarcastic, extremely cynical sense of humor) humor is the reader's protective reflex, maybe.. The reader is constantly trying to turn everything into humor,often makes sarcastic little comments even if at the wrong moment.. (but reader still manages to make people laugh) Maybe this is a bit of a strange request, but why not? (I just often see how in yandere fics the reader is assigned almost the same behavior, I would like to read something new, and besides, you are one of my favorite yandere writers!) I hope my request complied with your rules, because there are SO MANY OF THEM.. I don't even remember some of them lol.. I'll be glad if you accept my request! thank you 💋

Too many thoughts, not enough brain cells. Let’s see what happens.

❤︎ Synopsis. A chaotic whirlwind of sarcasm and unfiltered humor, you—channeling the energy of Gojo Satoru—navigates life like it's a comedy show. Nothing is too serious, and everything’s an opportunity for a joke—even when the world’s falling apart.

♡ Book. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Genshin Impact Males (Tartaglia, Wanderer, Kazuha) x Fem. Gojo (?)! Reader (separate?)

♡ Headcanon. Humor First, Consequences Later - Part 1

♡ Word Count. 12,339

♡ TW. dom + top + older yandere, general non-con + manipulation, angst + tragedy, sexual themes

♡ Note. Due to Tumblr policy, all characters are all of age.

♡ A/N #1. This turned out longer than it was supposed to be......... but it was necessary for the build-up. So waha. And, this definitely has a different formatting and plot development style from all my other works (especially formatting), but that was done on purpose. And, yes, I'm putting this story in WITD, despite it's length, because of the formatting. Well, either way, hope you all enjoy :))

♡ A/N #2. Thank you for the support and reading so far, I appreciate it and also for taking the time to read the RULES. But, I have to inform you all on some important rules especially. As mentioned in my rules, requesters aren’t allowed to assign behavior towards the reader. For only MY works particularly, I agree that most of the behavior of reader is generally the same. Why? Well, simple, I hardly encounter self inserts with apathetic, actually not emotional readers. I lack book food. There are SO MANY emotional readers inserts. And even sarcastic sassy ones. I have no food. So I cooked my own food instead. I’ve read so many over the years, that honestly? The ones close to my personality are ALWAYS original novels with male characters. Literally Fang Yuan from Reverend Insanity cooks hardest, and even then there was that stupid part in almost Chapter 3k mark that I hated. Because they added emotions and shiz. And here I thought I found a true villain character. Small rant. But even then only he cooks really, both intelligence wise and even personality wise. No one has even beaten Fang Yuan in terms of strategy and intelligence from books that I haven’t created.

♡ A/N #3. I get it. Females are emotionally built, even biologically. But, I’m not overly emotional. I can act it, but feeling it? No. I can create other personality readers. I’ve literally written a lot of OC’s from thinkers to feelers so I can. But. Guys. I also self-insert myself in these stories whahaha. It’s not exactly my personality, but it’s still part of me. However, I’ll make an exception this time since I just released a new book, “Whispers In The Dark” for short stories. Since I’m actually a person who dislikes reading self inserts with mean readers of any kinds. This does not sound humble at all, but I’m not a mean person at all if it comes to commentary. I just keep to myself or keep my mouth shut. And I also HATE reading main characters with tempers. Probably because, I have a very mellow personality in reality. And emotions? Hardly feel anything tbh.

♡ A/N #4. Anyways so I won’t get mad when writing this, here’s basically a Gojo inspired Reader. Most ENTP’s (especially 8w7 and 7w8) are relatable to me, and I relate to Gojo a lot. Never simped, but I relate. But, next time, to anyone. I will NEVER be writing content that assigns a personality to reader. It’s one of the few things I have freedom in to just enjoy writing. I would honestly just get really irritated if I had to follow a set personality to reader. Yeah, I may write consistently the same reader, but that like genuinely makes me happy to write a reader that I can finally relate to. I hardly find stories like that. Much more in reader inserts. I hope you all understand. Kind of pathetic to say “I just wanna have fun”. But, it’s true and foundational to me. I have a difficult time writing if I’m not having fun.

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia (Childe) who first noticed you in the midst of a chaotic battlefield, blades clashing and blood splattering in all directions. He was there for his own mission, but your laughter—loud, sardonic, and downright inappropriate—caught his attention.

You’d just disarmed one of his men with a sarcastic comment and a flashy spin move, only to remark, “Well, that’s one way to make him stop talking.” Tartaglia’s first thought was: This one gets it.

The two of you had crossed paths before, but this was different. You fought with a ferocity he hadn’t seen in a long time, and the fact that you seemed entirely unfazed by the danger surrounding you only intrigued him further.

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia who you clashed blades with in the middle of a chaotic battlefield. The air was thick with violence and the sound of metal, but there you were, laughing through the chaos.

"Well, this is fun! Is this your idea of a date, or should I try harder?" you joked, dodging his ruthless strikes with a grin that could only be described as wicked. Tartaglia couldn’t stop himself from grinning back, impressed by your chaotic energy and your apparent lack of fear.

"You're bold, I'll give you that," he quipped, flipping his spear expertly. "But I gotta ask—are you always this insufferable, or am I just lucky?"

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia who first noticed you during a chaotic battlefield where chaos was your language, and you spoke it fluently. You both crashed into each other mid-fight, swords clashing in a brutal rhythm, but the moment his eyes locked with yours—amidst the blood, the screams, and the madness—he felt a jolt of recognition.

Not of fear, no, but of pure chaotic understanding. "Well, well, well, looks like you're not just another pretty face—you're a disaster in the best way possible."

You didn't miss a beat, "Flattery will get you nowhere, buddy. But I’ll take it. You really should work on your aim though."

Despite being enemies in that instant, he couldn’t help but enjoy the way you threw yourself into battle—your sarcasm as sharp as your blade. Every strike was a witty remark wrapped in bloodshed. You were an unfiltered storm of energy, and he couldn’t help but think, “This is the kind of chaos I want in my life.”

After the battle, despite the blood and sweat, you both shared a laugh as if you had just finished a light sparring session, not a life-or-death duel.

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia who being the chaotic soul he was, immediately clicked with you, and your shared irreverence made it impossible for him to hate you, even if you were technically enemies.

Tartaglia spoke with a handsome boyish grin, "I’m gonna need a drink after that, how about you?"

"Nah, you’ll need a bottle, pal. But we both know you’re a lightweight."

"You wound me."

———

♡ Yandere! Wanderer (Scaramouche) who hated you immediately. The moment he met you, you gave him the most obnoxious smirk and made some comment about how “intense” he looked, like a lost kitten trying to be menacing. You couldn't help it—his dramatic aura was begging for a punchline.

“Oh, look. A robot with an existential crisis. What’s next, a lecture on how you’re misunderstood by the world?” The sheer audacity of your sarcasm sent a shockwave through him, one that made him freeze for a split second.

“I’d ask you to smile, but I’m pretty sure that would crack your face,” you quipped, and the cold, calculating expression he wore only made it worse. He stared at you with thinly veiled contempt, his distaste for your flippant attitude and sarcasm immediate.

♡ Yandere! Wanderer who hated you even more when you opened your mouth. During a tense moment of political intrigue, Wanderer was deep in a conversation with some high-ranking officials, trying to manipulate them for his own advantage, when you interrupted with a perfectly timed comment.

"Wow, these people talk more than my grandmother at Christmas dinner. Do they even hear themselves?"

The room went dead silent. Wanderer’s eyes narrowed as he turned to look at you, trying to figure out who this... jester was. Your irreverent attitude was a sharp contrast to his own cold, calculating nature.

"Are you always this... unbearable?" he asked, his voice laced with disdain.

"Well, only when I’m surrounded by such charming people like you," you replied, not a hint of fear in your voice.

♡ Yandere! Wanderer who didn’t know how to handle your complete lack of respect. He saw you as an irritating fly—one he couldn’t just swat away because of your sharp tongue and unpredictable nature. But that didn’t stop the twisted curiosity that started to bloom in him. Maybe he hated you, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy watching you twist every interaction into a dark comedy sketch.

“Do you always treat people like this?” he sneered, but you only shrugged.

“Nah, just you,” you replied with a wink, “but don’t feel too special. I hate everyone equally.”

———

♡ Yandere! Kazuha who, unlike the others, didn’t immediately form an opinion about you. You met him on a peaceful evening, sitting by the fire as you shared a drink.

"Nice music, but tell me—do you ever sing songs about decapitations or revenge? You know, the classics," you asked, leaning against a tree with a mischievous grin. Kazuha blinked, momentarily thrown off balance by your unexpected question.

He chuckled, albeit nervously. "Ah, well, I do tend to favor more peaceful melodies. The world has enough violence, don’t you think?"

You shrugged dramatically. "Sure, but I think it’s just a matter of perspective. You’ve never heard a good ‘revenge ballad,’ have you? Something with blood, guts, and a sweet vengeance story?"

♡ Yandere! Kazuha who was calm, collected, and in no hurry to make judgments about people.

"You’ve got a sharp tongue," Kazuha remarked with a soft laugh, sensing the tension you carried beneath your humor.

"Sharp enough to cut through all the nonsense in the world," you replied with a smirk. "It’s a survival tactic, you know? Get too serious, and people start thinking you’re a threat."

Kazuha chuckled, but there was a quiet understanding in his eyes. Unlike Wanderer, who despised your sarcasm, Kazuha found a strange comfort in it.

♡ Yandere! Kazuha who spent hours talking with you—half serious, half joking—and by the end of the night, you couldn’t quite tell if Kazuha had warmed to you or simply found your humor amusing. He was neutral, calm, but there was something about your cynicism that tugged at his heart. Not in a romantic way—more like a curiosity about the darkness behind your jokes.

Despite everything, Kazuha found himself oddly protective of you, even if you were too much of a loose cannon for his liking.

"You really know how to push people’s buttons," Kazuha mused with a faint smile, sipping his drink.

"It's a gift," you replied with a grin, letting the conversation fade into the night.

♡ Yandere! Kazuha who didn't dislike you. It was more that he didn’t quite understand you. He found your humor bizarre—borderline morbid, really—but at the same time, it made him appreciate the way you could maintain your composure in the face of things that would send anyone else into a frenzy. He didn’t want to admit it, but there was something magnetic about your wit, your sharp tongue, and the way you saw the world.

────────────

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia who couldn’t get you out of his head after that battlefield encounter.

At first, it was your audacity that stood out—who cracks jokes while fighting for their life? But as you two clashed more often, he found himself genuinely entertained by your wit. Each fight became less about winning and more about trading barbs.

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia purposefully pick fights with you just to hear your comebacks. One time, mid-battle, you yelled, “You gonna twirl that spear all day, or are we actually fighting?” He almost dropped it because he was laughing so hard.

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia who invites you for drinks post-battle as if you’re not enemies. “Come on, you’ve earned it,” he’d say with a grin. “I’ll even let you pick the bar. But if you poison my drink, we’re gonna have a problem.”

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia becomes your unofficial sparring partner. The battles become a game of who can outwit the other with sarcastic comments.

“You call that a strike? My kid brother could hit harder,” you’d say, dodging his attack.

“Oh yeah?” he’d reply, smirking.

“Maybe I’ll let him fight you next time.”

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia when he eventually starts treating you like one of his comrades. He shares stories about his family, asks about your past (you deflect with humor), and even brings you snacks during downtime. “You fight better when you’re not hangry,” he claims.

———

♡ Yandere! Wanderer despises your existence but can’t seem to avoid you. Every time he’s working on some secretive plan, you pop up with a sarcastic comment.

“Wow, plotting world domination again? Don’t forget the evil laugh—it really sells it.”

♡ Yandere! Wanderer tries to ignore you, but your presence grates on his nerves. “Do you ever shut up?” he snaps one day, glaring at you.

“Not if I can help it,” you reply with a smirk. “What’s the point of silence when your misery is so much fun?”

♡ Yandere! Wanderer reluctantly teams up with you during a mission. It’s strictly business, but you make it nearly impossible for him to stay professional.

“You know,” you say, “if you smiled more, people might actually like you.” He glares, but the faintest twitch of amusement betrays him.

♡ Yandere! Wanderer when for the first time he lets his guard down, it’s accidental. After a long, grueling day, you find him staring at the stars.

“So, what’s the brooding about tonight?” you ask, sitting beside him. He doesn’t answer immediately, but eventually, he mutters, “Nothing you’d understand.”

“Try me,” you challenge, and for once, he indulges you.

♡ Yandere! Wanderer begrudgingly respects your intelligence. Despite your flippant attitude, you have a knack for solving problems in ways he wouldn’t consider. He won’t admit it, but he’s impressed.

“You’re not as useless as you look,” he says one day.

“Thanks, I’ll embroider that on a pillow,” you reply.

♡ Yandere! Wanderer when your sarcasm starts to grow on him.

When someone else insults him, you’re the first to step in with a cutting remark. “Hey, I’m the only one allowed to call him insufferable, okay?”

———

♡ Yandere! Kazuha meets you on a quiet evening, and your energy is a stark contrast to his calm demeanor.

“Do you ever stop being so mellow?” you ask after he recites a haiku. “What’s life without a little chaos?”

He smiles faintly and replies, “Perhaps you bring enough for both of us.”

Traveling with Kazuha feels like a comedy routine. You constantly try to bait him into arguing, but he just humors you.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you enjoy this,” you tease.

“Perhaps I do,” he replies, eyes twinkling.

♡ Yandere! Kazuha is the only one who sees the cracks in your humor.

Late one night, you sit by the fire, unusually quiet. “Even storms have calm moments,” he says softly, offering you a drink.

“Don’t get used to it,” you reply, smirking, but there’s gratitude in your eyes.

Your dark humor doesn’t faze him; if anything, he finds it endearing. When you jokingly suggest writing a song about a gruesome battle, he actually considers it.

“A ballad of bloodshed and bravery?” he muses. “Sounds poetic.”

♡ Yandere! Kazuha subtly encourages you to open up. He never pries, but his quiet patience makes it easier for you to let your guard down.

“You’re oddly calming, you know that?” you admit one day. “Like a weirdly wise fortune cookie.”

He laughs and says, “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

♡ Yandere! Kazuha, despite his gentle nature, doesn’t hesitate to protect you. When a fight breaks out during your travels, he steps in without hesitation.

“Don’t worry,” he says, drawing his blade. “You’re not facing this alone.”

────────────

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia who realizes he’s falling for you during one of your sparring sessions. You’d taken a hit—nothing serious—but enough for him to notice. After the match, he grabbed your arm, inspecting the wound with an uncharacteristically serious expression.

“Relax, Childe, it’s just a scratch,” you said, smirking through the wince.

“Stop joking for one second,” he replied, a little sharper than usual. As he wrapped the bandage around your arm, his hands were surprisingly gentle.

You tried to lighten the mood. “What, worried you’d have to explain this to my ghost?”

He didn’t laugh this time. “No, I just—” He stopped himself, his usual cocky grin faltering.

“You’re reckless, you know that? I can’t always be around to patch you up.”

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia who finds himself watching you more carefully after that, his playful facade slipping every time you brush off an injury or laugh in the face of danger. It’s in those moments he realizes your humor hides something deeper—a pain he’s desperate to understand.

When you finally catch him staring, you raise an eyebrow. “What’s with the puppy-dog eyes? You’re not getting sentimental on me, are you?”

His grin returns, but there’s a softness behind it. “Maybe I just like looking at you.”

For once, your usual quip dies on your lips, and the silence between you is louder than the battlefield.

———

♡ Yandere! Wanderer who starts noticing your distant stares during quiet moments. He catches you gazing into the horizon, your usual smirk replaced by an uncharacteristically serious expression.

“What’s wrong? Forgot your punchline?” he asks, his tone biting but not cruel.

“Just thinking,” you reply, your voice softer than he’s used to.

“That’s new,” he mutters, sitting beside you. When you don’t snap back with a retort, he frowns. “What’s going on with you?”

You shrug, deflecting with humor. “Guess I’m out of jokes for the day. Mark your calendar—it’s a historic moment.”

But he doesn’t let it go. “You can’t fool me with that act. Whatever it is, you don’t have to carry it alone.”

♡ Yandere! Wanderer who doesn’t push you to open up but finds himself frustrated by your reluctance to trust him. He hates that you make him care this much, but the thought of you being hurt—physically or emotionally—makes his chest tighten.

When you finally let out a small, dry laugh and say, “You really don’t know when to quit, huh?” he feels an odd sense of victory.

“Someone has to keep you in line,” he replies, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

———

♡ Yandere! Kazuha who finds you one evening, hunched over a journal he gifted you long ago. You’re scribbling furiously, completely absorbed, and he can’t help but smile softly at the sight.

“You’re quite the writer,” he comments, startling you.

“Geez, give a person a warning next time,” you grumble, closing the journal instinctively.

Kazuha tilts his head, amused. “What are you hiding in there? Plans for world domination?”

You smirk. “Nah, just embarrassing poetry about how much I love chaos.”

But when he gently reaches for the journal, you hesitate before handing it over. Inside, he finds sketches of places you’ve traveled together, snippets of conversations, and little notes about your adventures.

“You kept all of this?” he asks, his voice quieter now.

“Yeah, well, don’t get a big head about it,” you reply, trying to downplay the sentiment.

♡ Yandere! Kazuha who notices the way your humor becomes softer, almost shy, when you talk about the memories you’ve shared. It’s in those moments he realizes how much you’ve let him into your life—even if you don’t fully trust him yet.

“You’re more sentimental than you let on,” he says with a gentle smile.

“Don’t spread that around,” you reply, but there’s a flicker of vulnerability in your eyes that he treasures.

────────────

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia who catches you off guard one evening after a particularly intense sparring session. You’re both sitting on the ground, exhausted but grinning. He hands you a flask of water, and as you take it, your fingers brush.

“Careful, Childe,” you tease. “I might think you’re getting soft on me.”

He chuckles, but his eyes are serious. “Maybe I am. Around you, anyway.”

You pause, your usual smirk faltering as you look at him. “Don’t joke about that,” you say, your tone unusually soft.

“I’m not joking,” he replies, his voice steady. “You’re more than just a good fight to me. I care about you.”

For once, you don’t deflect. Instead, you lean back, staring up at the stars, and mutter, “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

But the way your lips twitch into a small, genuine smile doesn’t escape his notice.

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia, as he’s walking you back to your camp, and you stop abruptly. “Hey, Childe?”

“Yeah?”

You turn to face him, your grin replaced by something softer, almost vulnerable. “Thanks. For putting up with me.”

The warmth in your eyes is something he’s never seen before, and for the first time, you seem completely unguarded. Before you can say anything else, he cups your face with his hand, his thumb brushing your cheek.

“You’re worth it,” he murmurs, leaning in slightly. And when you don’t pull away, he closes the distance, his kiss surprisingly tender.

———

♡ Yandere! Wanderer who finds you sitting alone under a tree, the sun setting behind you. There’s an unusual stillness in your demeanor, and he approaches cautiously.

“What’s with the brooding hero act?” he asks, sitting down beside you.

You snort. “Maybe I just like the dramatic lighting.”

But he notices the way your fingers fidget with the hem of your sleeve, a telltale sign of your unease. “You’re terrible at lying,” he mutters.

“Only to people who can’t take a joke,” you quip, but your usual bravado lacks its usual spark.

♡ Yandere! Wanderer who doesn’t say anything, just sits beside you until the silence becomes comfortable. Eventually, you speak again. “Do you ever feel like… no matter what you do, you’re just waiting for the other shoe to drop?”

The question surprises him, and for a moment, he doesn’t know how to respond. “All the time,” he admits, his voice quieter than usual.

You glance at him, your eyes searching his for something you can’t quite name. Then, with a small sigh, you rest your head on his shoulder. “Guess that makes two of us.”

♡ Yandere! Wanderer when the gesture catches him completely off guard, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he shifts slightly to make you more comfortable, his hand twitching at his side as though debating whether to touch you.

“You’re warm,” you murmur, your voice tinged with amusement.

“And you’re annoying,” he replies, but there’s no bite in his tone.

For the first time, there’s a genuine warmth in your smile, and he can’t help but feel like he’s finally starting to understand you.

———

♡ Yandere! Kazuha who notices the change in you during a quiet evening by the campfire. You’re holding the journal he gave you, flipping through its pages with a soft expression.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, his voice low and gentle.

You glance up, startled, and then shrug. “Just… how far we’ve come, I guess.”

♡ Yandere! Kazuha who smiles, sitting beside you. “It’s been quite the journey, hasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” you reply, your voice unusually quiet. Then, after a pause, you add, “You’ve been… really patient with me. I don’t think I ever said thanks.”

“You don’t need to,” he replies, his eyes searching yours.

“No, I do,” you insist, looking at him with an intensity that takes him by surprise. “I’m not… easy to deal with. But you stayed anyway. That means something.”

♡ Yandere! Kazuha when the vulnerability in your tone is something he’s never heard before, and he feels his chest tighten.

Without thinking, he reaches for your hand, his fingers brushing against yours. “You mean more to me than you realize,” he says softly.

You stare at him for a long moment before lacing your fingers with his. “Maybe I’m starting to get that,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

For the first time, your smile is free of sarcasm or deflection. It’s warm, genuine, and utterly disarming.

“I’ll take that as a victory,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

“Don’t get used to it,” you tease, but there’s no bite in your words.

♡ Yandere! Kazuha, when the firelight dances in your eyes, and he looks at you, he knows he’d follow you anywhere.

────────────

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia who surprises you one evening with a quiet dinner set up near a cliff overlooking the ocean. When you see the setup, complete with lanterns and freshly caught seafood, you raise an eyebrow.

“This is new,” you say, smirking. “What’s the occasion? Did someone die?”

He laughs, shaking his head. “Can’t I just do something nice for you?”

“You? Nice?” you tease, plopping down onto the blanket. “You’re setting a dangerous precedent, Childe.”

As the evening wears on, the atmosphere becomes more intimate. The way he looks at you, with a rare softness in his expression, makes your usual bravado falter.

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia, at one point, he leans closer, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “You’re beautiful, you know that?”

You snort, your cheeks warming. “You need to work on your pickup lines.”

But when he cups your face and kisses you, slow and deliberate, your witty comeback dies on your lips. His touch is both tender and possessive, a silent reminder that he’s already decided you’re his.

———

♡ Yandere! Wanderer drags you out of bed one morning, much to your annoyance. “I promise, if this isn’t life-threatening, I’m going back to sleep,” you grumble, rubbing your eyes.

He rolls his eyes but doesn’t let go of your wrist. “Just shut up and follow me.”

♡ Yandere! Wanderer where he leads you to a secluded hilltop just as the sun begins to rise. The view is breathtaking, but you’re still half-asleep and unimpressed.

“You woke me up for this?” you ask, stifling a yawn.

“Ungrateful as always,” he mutters, crossing his arms. “I thought you’d appreciate the effort.”

Despite your sarcasm, you sit down beside him, the warmth of his shoulder brushing against yours. After a moment, you glance at him and say, “Thanks. For this, I mean.”

♡ Yandere! Wanderer smirks, but there’s a faint blush on his cheeks. “Don’t get used to it.”

Later, when you’re lying back in the grass, the silence between you is surprisingly comfortable. He leans over, his fingers brushing against your jaw as he tilts your face toward his.

“You drive me crazy, you know that?” he murmurs, his lips hovering just above yours.

“Good,” you reply, grinning. And then he closes the distance, his kiss as intense and consuming as his feelings for you.

———

♡ Yandere! Kazuha invites you on a late-night stroll, the two of you wandering through a quiet forest illuminated by moonlight. He stops at a clearing where fireflies dance in the air, their glow reflecting in his crimson eyes.

“You sure know how to set a mood,” you say, half-joking.

He chuckles, stepping closer. “It’s not the fireflies setting the mood.”

You raise an eyebrow, your trademark smirk in place. “Kazuha, are you flirting with me?”

“Maybe,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

♡ Yandere! Kazuha, when he takes your hand and pulls you closer, the teasing remark you were about to make dies in your throat. His hands rest on your waist, his touch featherlight yet grounding.

“You’re the most captivating person I’ve ever met,” he says, his voice filled with sincerity.

For once, you’re at a loss for words. Instead of replying, you pull him down into a kiss, slow and deep, the world around you fading away.

────────────

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia when It’s been a year since he first confessed, and while you’ve spent most of it poking fun at his intensity, tonight feels… different. He’s pacing around your shared campsite after a mission, looking oddly nervous.

“Spit it out already,” you say, lounging on a log and stretching like you don’t have a care in the world. “You’re giving me secondhand anxiety.”

He stops, runs a hand through his hair, and takes a deep breath. “I’ve been thinking… maybe it’s time we made this official.”

You blink, sitting up. “Official?”

“You know,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. “Us. Together. Permanently.”

“Oh, that kind of official,” you reply, your smirk widening. “You really know how to charm a person, Ajax.”

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia, before he can get defensive, you saunter over, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Relax,” you murmur, your voice dropping an octave. “I’d be stupid to say no, wouldn’t I?”

The relief in his eyes is quickly replaced by something darker, more possessive. “You really mean that?”

Your grin is wicked. “Why don’t you make me prove it?”

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia who doesn’t need to be told twice. Before you know it, you’re backed against a tree, his hands roaming your body with an urgency that sends shivers down your spine.

“You’re mine now,” he growls against your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin. “Completely, utterly mine.”

“Bold of you to assume I wasn’t already,” you quip, though your voice trembles as his hands slip under your shirt.

His laugh is low, almost dangerous. “Oh, I’m going to make sure there’s no doubt left.”

The next thing you know, you’re stripped bare, pinned between him and the rough bark of the tree. His mouth is everywhere—your neck, your collarbone, the curve of your hip—leaving marks that scream possession.

“You look so perfect like this,” he mutters, his voice thick with need. “Completely at my mercy.”

“Is that what we’re calling it?” you manage to say, though the tremor in your voice betrays your bravado.

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia when he finally slides into you, slow and deliberate, your sharp intake of breath is all the encouragement he needs. His pace is relentless, each thrust driving you closer to the edge as he whispers possessive promises against your skin.

“You’re mine,” he repeats, over and over, his grip on your hips bruising. “No one else will ever have you.”

And as your nails rake down his back, pulling him impossibly closer, you realize you wouldn’t have it any other way.

———

♡ Yandere! Wanderer, when It’s late, and you’re lying together in his makeshift tent. The air between you feels heavy, charged with something unsaid. Finally, he sighs and sits up.

“You know,” he says, his tone uncharacteristically soft, “it’s been a year.”

You hum, not bothering to open your eyes. “And?”

“And I think… maybe it’s time we stop pretending this is casual,” he says, his voice tinged with vulnerability.

Your eyes snap open, and you prop yourself up on your elbows. “Wanderer, are you seriously confessing again?”

He glares, but there’s no real bite to it. “I’m being serious.”

“So am I,” you reply, sitting up fully. “I didn’t think you were the type to get sentimental.”

“Only for you,” he mutters, his cheeks flushing.

You laugh, leaning in to kiss him. “Fine, fine. I’ll stop teasing—for tonight.”

♡ Yandere! Wanderer when he pulls you onto his lap, his hands gripping your waist as his lips crash against yours. There’s nothing gentle about the way he kisses you—it’s desperate, hungry, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

“You’re infuriating,” he growls, his hands sliding under your shirt to explore your bare skin.

“Good,” you breathe, grinding against him. “Wouldn’t want to make things too easy for you.”

His response is a low groan as he flips you onto your back, his body pressing you into the soft fabric of the bedroll. His eyes are dark, his expression utterly unguarded as he looks down at you.

“You’re not getting away tonight,” he murmurs, his voice low and dangerous.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” you reply, smirking.

♡ Yandere! Wanderer when he enters you, it’s with a roughness that steals your breath, his movements erratic as he chases both your pleasure and his. His hands pin your wrists above your head, his lips tracing a heated path down your neck.

“You belong to me,” he whispers, his voice trembling with intensity. “No one else.”

And as your moans fill the air, his grip on you tightening, you realize there’s no point in denying it.

———

♡ Yandere! Kazuha, where he's sitting beside you by the fire, the two of you wrapped in a comfortable silence. Kazuha leans toward you, his gaze soft yet intense.

“You’ve stayed with me for a year,” he says quietly. “I never thought I’d be lucky enough to have someone like you by my side.”

You roll your eyes, though your smile is genuine. “Are you trying to propose or something?”

His expression doesn’t change. “Maybe I am.”

The teasing remark dies on your lips as he reaches for your hand, his touch featherlight. “I want this. Us. Forever.”

You stare at him for a moment before breaking into a grin. “Well, I’m not exactly in the habit of saying no to you, am I?”

♡ Yandere! Kazuha who kisses you then, slow and deliberate, his hands cradling your face like you’re something precious.

When he lays you down by the fire, his movements are unhurried, each touch a silent declaration of his devotion. His hands roam your body, mapping every curve as his lips press heated kisses along your skin.

“You’re everything to me,” he whispers, his voice trembling with emotion.

“Show me,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

And he does.

♡ Yandere! Kazuha when he finally joins with you, it’s slow, almost reverent, his movements guided by the need to make you feel every ounce of his love. His hands never leave your body, his lips pressing soft kisses against your neck, your shoulder, your lips.

“I love you,” he murmurs, his voice raw with sincerity.

And as the firelight dances across your intertwined bodies, you realize you’ve never felt more adored—or more his.

────────────

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia, as he stands on the edge of the cliff, overlooking the vast expanse of the ocean, his mind races. He’s been with you for over a year, and it’s been nothing short of perfect, even if you’re still your usual teasing self. But he knows, deep down, that he can’t wait any longer. He’s made up his mind.

Marry me, he thinks, the words swirling in his mind. It’s not a question, not really. It’s an inevitable conclusion. You’re his. You’ll always be his. The only thing left is to make sure you understand that—completely.

“You’d be the perfect wife,” he mutters to himself, a small smile tugging at his lips. He envisions you, sitting next to him by the fire, laughing, living, thriving beside him. He imagines it all, and it feels… right. It’s what he deserves.

But the question is: How?

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia, as his eyes scan the horizon, searching for inspiration. The right setting, he thinks. It has to be memorable. Something personal, something only the two of you can share. Not just some grand spectacle that’ll make you feel overwhelmed—something that’ll make you want to say yes without hesitation.

Or maybe I should take you by surprise, he contemplates, a mischievous glint flashing in his eyes. A more intimate, private moment. No distractions. Just the two of you, alone, with nothing but his love wrapping around you.

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia, where his mind races through countless scenarios—by the water, under the moonlight, with nothing but the sound of the waves crashing at your feet. Or maybe in the heat of the moment, when you’re both caught up in your passion, when the connection between you two is raw and undeniable.

But one thing is clear: Tartaglia knows you’ll say yes. You’ll have to. You’re already his.

He just has to make sure you see it, too. That you realize how deep his love goes. That you understand the intensity of what he’s offering. This isn’t just a ring. It’s a lifetime of devotion and passion.

After a long silence, his eyes harden with resolve. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make you mine forever.”

The plan is set. Now all he has to do is wait for the right moment to make you his wife.

———

♡ Yandere! Wanderer, where two months have passed since that night in the tent, and Wanderer can’t stop thinking about how perfect it is between you two. It’s a strange thing, this feeling in his chest that grows stronger with each passing day.

You’re mine, he thinks, but now, it’s not enough to just claim you. He wants more. He wants you by his side forever. He wants you to carry his name, to have no other but him in your life.

There’s something about you, the way you challenge him, the way you fight him. It stirs something inside him, something primal, something that says, this is the person you’ve been waiting for.

“Marriage,” he mutters to himself. The thought comes to him like a sudden revelation, like the answer to a question he didn’t know he was asking. He doesn’t even blink. It just feels right.

But how? How can he make sure you understand that this isn’t just a casual decision? That he’s serious?

♡ Yandere! Wanderer rolls over in bed, staring at the ceiling. A ring? A symbol of ownership, of course. Something that marks you as his. But how does he make it clear to you that he wants this—wants you—forever?

His thoughts are a whirlwind. He knows that he can’t just come out and ask you. Not like that. You’re too clever, too observant for something so simple. No, he’ll have to make it special.

Perhaps somewhere secluded, just the two of you, far from anyone who could interrupt. He’ll show you his commitment, and then, in the silence of your shared space, he’ll make his declaration. A vow, a promise.

The problem is, he doesn’t trust himself not to just take you right then and there. The idea of you in a white dress, standing beside him, gives him a rush of desire so intense it nearly overwhelms him. But he knows that’s not what he wants.

♡ Yandere! Wanderer wants you to want this, too. Not out of obligation, but because you feel it, because you understand the gravity of what he’s offering.

But how can he make you feel that way? How can he show you that, even though he’s never been one for sentimentality, with you… he’s willing to change?

Wanderer sits up, his eyes narrowed as he thinks it over. He’ll need to be patient, let the moment come naturally, and then when it does…

He’ll claim you forever.

———

♡ Yandere! Kazuha, where it's been two months after that night by the fire, his feelings for you have only deepened. He’s spent hours thinking about how to make the moment special, wondering how best to express his love. The idea of forever with you fills him with a warmth he can’t quite put into words.

You’ve been his muse for so long, and now, he wants to make you his in the most meaningful way he can think of.

The problem is… he’s never been good at this. How does one ask for someone’s hand in marriage without sounding cliché or desperate? How can he ask you to be with him forever when everything about him feels so transient?

♡ Yandere! Kazuha watches the wind rustle through the trees, lost in thought. The answer isn’t obvious, but it’s there, in the quiet moments he shares with you. He needs it to be personal, a reflection of the time you’ve spent together, of the bond you’ve created.

A small, intimate setting—a secluded beach at sunset, perhaps. The two of you alone, just like the first night you truly opened up to each other. He’ll ask you when the moment feels right, when the connection between you is so palpable it fills the air.

A simple question, but with everything he is.

♡ Yandere! Kazuha chuckles to himself softly. It doesn’t need to be grand. What matters is that you’ll be his, and he’ll be yours, forever.

────────────

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia when the world slows, and his heart stops for just a moment, realizing that the blow meant for him has fallen upon you instead. You stand between him and the Abyss, your eyes wide in pain as the deadly weapon pierces your body. His breath catches in his throat.

"No..." he whispers, his voice broken as he crawls toward you, blood seeping from your wound.

Your lips curve into a sad, knowing smile, but it’s sharp. "Go," you command, every ounce of strength focused on keeping him safe, even as the life begins to drain from you. "Get out of here. I’ll hold them off. You have to survive. It’s not your time yet."

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia where his entire world crumbles. He can’t think. He can’t breathe. "I won’t leave you," he growls, trying to rise, but the weight of his own failure pulls him back down.

"You will," you say, your voice steady, but you can feel the darkness creeping in. "You will, Ajax. I love you... I always have." Your eyes lock, your gaze filled with such quiet resolve that it nearly breaks him. "I’m yours... but you have to keep fighting... For us."

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia before he can protest, before he can beg, you make your move. With every ounce of your strength, you grab the closest enemy and pull them down with you into the depths of the Abyss, dragging their weapons into the chasm alongside you. You force them all to fall, ensuring they can’t escape with you, ensuring that Tartaglia gets the chance to survive.

"Go!" you scream one last time. "Now!"

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia, with every fiber of his being, refuses. His body trembles, his heart splintering into pieces as he watches you disappear into the darkness. He screams your name, his voice thick with despair and rage.

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia, when you’re gone, when you’ve been consumed by the Abyss and he’s left behind, alone with the silence, he’s never felt more hollow. He doesn’t know how long it’s been since you vanished—days, weeks, or mere minutes. Time has no meaning when you’ve lost the only thing that has ever mattered to you.

But he will find you.

His eyes darken with madness as he stands, his entire body burning with fury. He will never stop searching for you. You think you can escape him? He will tear apart the world, the Abyss, and everything between him and you. If it takes years, if it takes an eternity, he will find you.

The ring in his pocket feels like a weight he can’t carry without you, but he will find a way to make the promise real. The promise he made to you. To love you, forever.

He stands, his fists clenched. The hunt begins.

———

♡ Yandere! Wanderer, as his eyes narrow. "Stay close," he commands. The two of you fight side by side, effortlessly synchronizing your movements as you’ve done countless times before. You’re unstoppable—until today.

Suddenly, the world tilts. A strange force pulls at the very air around you. The weapons they wield are like nothing you’ve seen before. A barrage of magical projectiles rains down from every direction, each one more powerful than the last, each one seemingly tailored to exploit your weaknesses.

You’re fast, but not fast enough. Your energy wanes. Wanderer's face flickers with concern as he fights to protect you, but the odds are overwhelming. Then, one of them moves too quickly, too precisely. They strike at Wanderer with a vicious blow that sends him flying back. His body crashes to the ground, and you’re the first to rush to him to take the killing blow.

♡ Yandere! Wanderer, where you’ve fallen, your body slipping into the darkness to protect him—Wanderer watches in disbelief, his heart pounding in his chest as you’re consumed by the Abyss. His voice is raw, lost. “No… no, this can’t be happening.”

He rushes toward you, but the wave of enemies, their weapons tearing at the air, blocks him. His hands are shaking as he tries to reach you, but the moment is slipping away, too fast, too cruel. His mind is screaming for him to do something, anything, but the power of the Abyss pulls you further from him.

As the last of the darkness claims you, you look back. Your eyes are filled with pain, but also love, and the last words you whisper are enough to break him.

"Live, Wanderer," you say. "Live for us…"

♡ Yandere! Wanderer where his knees buckle, his world imploding in on itself as he screams your name. There’s no escaping the agony that claws at his heart. His mind turns dark, fueled by rage and desperation. How dare they? How dare they take you from him?

He grits his teeth, his hands shaking as he rises to his feet. “I’ll kill them all,” he growls, his voice hoarse with rage. “You won’t be forgotten. I swear on everything… I will make them pay.”

♡ Yandere! Wanderer stands, a man possessed, and the hunt for vengeance begins.

———

♡ Yandere! Kazuha, where, just as he’s about to finally put his plans into motion, to ask you the question that’s been burning in his mind for months, everything shatters. The campfire crackles behind him as he watches you, your eyes catching the last light of the setting sun. He’s so sure, so certain. The ring hidden in his pocket, the words ready to spill from his lips—but then the ground shakes.

A flash of darkness tears through the sky, and Kazuha's instincts scream that something’s wrong. He turns to find you, standing beside him, your hand brushing against his as if fate has already decided. But the moment is shattered, ripped away by the sound of swords clashing, the sudden pressure of cold, calculated death.

A figure in the shadows, their weapon gleaming with deadly precision, lunges at Kazuha. A dozen more emerge, surrounding you both, their weapons crackling with malicious energy. Their presence feels wrong. Their faces are hidden behind cold metal masks, and their movements are unnatural, almost mechanical.

Everything goes wrong too fast, too quickly. You don't hesitate to protect him with your very life, shielding him from a fatal blow, from an injury that could've killed him.

♡ Yandere! Kazuha, where the moment he sees you fall—your body consumed by the Abyss—he’s frozen, unable to move. He’s never felt fear like this before, the way it twists his insides, cold and sharp. You, the one who’s been his light in the darkness, the one who’s made him believe in something worth fighting for, are now gone.

His eyes are wide as he reaches for you, his heart breaking in his chest. “No… No, this can’t be real. You… you promised…”

But the Abyss has claimed you, and he’s left standing in the dark, the world crumbling around him. His hands tremble as he drops to his knees, his voice barely a whisper.

“I’ll find you,” he vows. “I swear I will. I will bring you back. I will make them pay for this.”

♡ Yandere! Kazuha stands, a storm brewing within him, his resolve hardening into something unbreakable. He will find you. And when he does, there will be no place that will ever be able to hide you from him again.

The hunt has begun.

────────────

The world feels like it’s crumbling around him. His heart pounds in his chest, and his hands tremble as he moves through the shadows, eyes searching desperately for any trace of you. He’s been hunting for days—no, weeks—losing himself in the search for the only person who’s ever truly mattered to him. The Abyss took you. They took his light, his love.

He’s driven, possessed by the desire to find you, to bring you back to him, to make everything right again. No obstacle is too great. No danger too perilous. Every step, every breath, every heartbeat is a reminder that he’ll stop at nothing to have you back.

And then, there he is. The Abyss Prince.

His blood runs cold, as he sees Aether standing there, his icy gaze locked onto the battlefield. And in the distance, he sees you—slumped, bloodied, barely conscious. His heart skips a beat.

“No,” He growls, his voice low and dangerous. His every instinct screams to run to you, to hold you, to protect you, but there’s a force that stops him. Something deeper, darker, something unnatural. He knows who’s responsible. It’s him. The Abyss Prince.

His hands curl into fists. His fury surges, but before he can make a move, a chilling, unbearable presence stops him. The world seems to slow.

Suddenly, a blade pierces his chest from behind.

He gasps, his breath catching in his throat as pain explodes through him. His hands shake as he tries to reach for the hilt, but his vision blurs. He looks over his shoulder and sees a familiar face—a face he never thought he’d see in this moment.

It’s you.

A mad gleam in your eyes, a cruel twist to your lips. Your posture, your expression, everything about you has changed. You’re no longer the playful, teasing soul he once knew. You’re cold, calculating, your emotions absent, as though the person he fell in love with is gone. All that remains is someone dangerous.

His heart shatters. His voice trembles as he gasps, “No… No, you—”

But before he can finish, the Abyss Prince steps forward, his cold gaze locking onto him. “You’re not allowed to kill him,” Aether says softly, the command in his voice undeniable. “Not yet.”

────────────

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia, where his confusion swirls into a storm. He stumbles back, watching as you step away from him, the blade still lodged in his chest, before the Abyss Prince gestures for something to happen. You don’t just leave him wounded—you restrain him, binding him with chains, powerful and unyielding, until he can’t move, can’t even see. His head is tilted back, his vision completely restrained completely by the thick, suffocating darkness of the chains.

He struggles, his breaths shallow, his heart racing. He can feel the cold weight of his situation—the desperation, the helplessness that’s taken root inside him.

“You…” Tartaglia’s voice is raw with fury, with disbelief, and with pain. “What did you do to her? What have you done to my wife?”

But you say nothing. You only scoff, as though the situation is beneath you, as though the man you once knew no longer matters. There’s no playfulness, no warmth, just a chilling, vacant emptiness where your love once was.

Tartaglia’s mind races. This can’t be happening. His wife—his wife—has been manipulated. He knows it. This is all the Abyss’ doing. You’re not like this. They’ve broken you, twisted you, made you into something else. They’ve taken you from him.

His frustration boils over, but he’s helpless. “I’ll kill him,” he growls through clenched teeth. “I’ll kill the Abyss Prince for what he’s done to you.”

But even as the words leave his mouth, he can’t shake the feeling that something’s wrong—everything is wrong. He can’t focus. His mind is too clouded, too confused. All he wants is you back. And he’ll stop at nothing to have you again. Even if it means destroying everything in his path.

———

♡ Yandere! Wanderer, where the madness is overwhelming. It’s all so much—the pain, the frustration, the confusion—as he watches you in front of him, cold and emotionless, blade in hand, ready to kill. His thoughts spiral in a frenzy. This can’t be real. He refuses to believe it. You… you’re supposed to be his. You’re supposed to be with him. Yet here you are, ready to snuff his life out.

The Abyss did this to you, he knows it. They’ve taken his love and turned her into something else—something cruel, something empty. Something unrecognizable.

His hand shakes as he tries to reach for you, but the chains binding him keep him stuck. His vision is obscured. Every move he tries to make is futile, a cruel reminder of how powerless he is in this moment.

“Why?” he chokes, his voice thick with emotion. “Why are you doing this? I know they’ve manipulated you. I know you’re not like this.”

But you don’t speak. You just look at him, your eyes cold, devoid of any warmth. He can’t reach you, can’t get through to you.

The Abyss Prince stands by, silent, his eyes as cold as ice. He’s watching this—he’s letting this happen. The rage within Wanderer swells to a point where he can hardly breathe.

“No,” he snarls, pulling against the chains. “I will kill you. You will answer for this.”

But you just smile at him, that same cold, emotionless smile. And all Wanderer can do is watch as his love slips further from his grasp, bound by the chains of the Abyss.

———

♡ Yandere! Kazuha, where the world shatters around him as he watches you fall, as he watches you change into something that he no longer recognizes. The blade that once threatened his enemies is now raised to him, your eyes cold, indifferent to the pain he’s in. He’s unable to stop you, even as he feels the weight of the chains binding him, constricting him. You’re too far gone.

“Kazuha…” you murmur, but the words don’t feel right. They sound empty, distant. His heart cracks as he watches you, the woman he loves, standing before him, her emotions stripped away. You are a stranger now.

He gasps, trying to break free, trying to make sense of the situation. “What happened to you?” he whispers hoarsely. “Please, just… just come back. This isn’t you. This isn’t who I fell in love with.”

But you don’t answer. You only watch him, the gleam in your eyes nothing like the playful light he once knew. It’s cold, calculating, and it freezes him to his core.

And then Aether steps forward, his voice a soft command that stills Kazuha’s frantic mind. “You’re not allowed to kill him, not yet,” Aether reminds once more, his presence suffocating.

Kazuha’s breath catches, and his thoughts spin wildly. This can’t be real. You—you—you’ve been twisted. But Aether has the control here. The chains bind Kazuha tighter, his vision clouded by darkness, and all he can do is sit in silence, trapped, powerless.

“Why?” Kazuha chokes, frustration and fear flooding him. “Why are you doing this?”

Still, you don’t answer. You only step back, leaving him to face the Abyss alone, the chains around him tightening with every heartbeat.

────────────

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia — The Fool's Heart

The battlefield is chaos, Tartaglia’s vision locked onto you. Aether stands at your side, the Abyss Prince exuding an otherworldly menace. Yet, Tartaglia doesn’t care. He’ll cut through anything and anyone to save you, his beloved, from the darkness that has ensnared you.

“Let her go!” Tartaglia snarls, voice cracking with desperation. His body screams from the injuries sustained in his relentless pursuit, but his heart burns hotter. His eyes flick to you—the source of his pain and salvation. “You don’t belong here! Come back to me!”

For a moment, his words seem to falter against your icy gaze. He knows you hear him, knows that somewhere in your heart, the person he loves still exists. But instead of the warmth he longs for, a cruel, mocking smile spreads across your lips.

“Come back?” you repeat, your tone dripping with false innocence. “Oh, Tartaglia, you poor, stupid fool.”

His breath hitches, confusion flashing across his face. Aether glances at you, silent but visibly amused, as though he’s watching a particularly entertaining performance. You turn to the Abyss Prince, patting his shoulder with an air of camaraderie that shatters Tartaglia’s world.

“He’s SO dumb,” you say with a cackle, tilting your head back to laugh. “Did he really think he was that special? That I cared? Oh, this is too good.”

Tartaglia stumbles back as if struck. “What… what are you saying?” he whispers, voice trembling.

“Everything, from the very beginning…” you start, pacing in front of him like a predator toying with its prey. “The teasing, the affection, the nights we spent together, the ‘sacrifices’ I made to protect you. All of it. A lie.”

He shakes his head violently, refusing to believe it. “No! You… you almost died for me! You saved me!”

You roll your eyes, brandishing the very blade you once used to fight by his side. “Please, Childe. That was just part of the plan. You were so much fun to manipulate, though. I’ll give you credit for that. Getting through your walls wasn’t easy.”

Tartaglia’s hands clench into trembling fists. His heart feels as if it’s being ripped apart. “You’re lying. This isn’t you. This is the Abyss! They’ve done something to you!”

“Oh, darling,” you croon, stepping closer to him. Your blade tilts his chin up, forcing him to look into your eyes. “I’ve always been like this. You were just too blind to see it.”

Aether’s voice cuts through the tension. “Enough.” The Prince’s command is calm, almost bored. “He’s served his purpose.”

You sigh, turning back to Aether. “Fine, fine. But can we please kill him now? This melodrama is getting tedious.”

Tartaglia’s vision blurs as the weight of betrayal crashes over him. He can’t reconcile the love he felt with the monster before him. Even as his body fails, his heart stubbornly clings to the hope that this is some cruel illusion.

———

♡ Yandere! Wanderer — Shackles of Betrayal

Wanderer’s indigo eyes are wide with disbelief, fixed on you as you stand beside Aether. The Abyss Prince’s presence is oppressive, but it’s your cold smirk that steals the breath from his lungs.

“Why are you doing this?” Wanderer’s voice cracks, his usual sharp wit replaced by a trembling vulnerability. “I trusted you. I… loved you.”

You tilt your head, feigning surprise. “Loved me? That’s sweet. But did you really think someone like me could love someone like you?”

The words hit him like a blow, but you’re not finished. You twirl a dagger in your hand, your movements lazy and confident. “Let me guess. You thought we were kindred spirits, two broken souls finding solace in each other? How… adorable.”

Wanderer’s rage flares, his chains rattling as he strains against them. “You liar! I’ll kill him! I’ll kill the Abyss Prince and get you back, no matter what it takes!”

Aether chuckles softly, and you laugh along with him, the sound grating against Wanderer’s raw nerves. “Kill him?” you echo. “Oh, darling, you couldn’t even touch him. And you think I want to be ‘saved’ by you? Don’t make me laugh.”

Wanderer freezes, the weight of your words sinking in. He studies your face, searching for any trace of the person he thought he knew, but all he finds is a stranger wearing your skin.

“Why?” he whispers, his voice barely audible. “Why would you do this?”

You shrug, tossing the dagger into the air and catching it effortlessly. “Because it’s fun. And because Aether needed a little help with a certain someone.” Your gaze sharpens, and for a moment, Wanderer sees the madness in your eyes. “You were just a pawn, dear. A very entertaining pawn, but a pawn nonetheless.”

———

♡ Yandere! Kazuha — The Storm’s Deceit

Kazuha kneels, his hands bound by unyielding chains, his soft crimson eyes filled with betrayal as he looks up at you. The gentle breeze that usually follows him is eerily still, as though the world itself mourns his heartbreak.

“I don’t understand,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. “How could you… why would you do this?”

You sigh, as if exasperated by his naivety. “Oh, Kazuha. Always so poetic, so trusting. It’s almost endearing how much faith you put in people. Almost.”

He flinches at the derision in your tone. “You saved me. You risked your life for me. Was all of that a lie?”

You kneel before him, cupping his face with a mocking tenderness. “Not all of it,” you admit. “Some of it was necessary. After all, how else was I supposed to gain your trust?”

Kazuha’s breath hitches, his heart shattering into pieces he can hardly comprehend. “You used me,” he says, more to himself than to you. “You’ve been using me this whole time.”

“Bingo!” you chirp, pulling back and spinning on your heel. “Took you long enough to figure it out. Honestly, I was starting to think you’d never catch on.”

Aether steps forward, his presence a cold shadow that looms over Kazuha. “Are we done here?” he asks, his tone bored.

You glance at him with a pout. “Almost. Just let me have this moment. Watching him break is the best part.”

Kazuha’s head hangs low, his spirit crushed beneath the weight of your betrayal. Yet, even as despair overtakes him, a small ember of hope remains. He vows, silently and fiercely, to free you from the Abyss’ clutches—no matter what it takes.

You, however, have other plans. As you turn away, a cruel smile graces your lips. The game has only just begun, and you’re already thinking of your next move.

────────────

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia — The Fool's Heart

The battlefield reeks of blood and fire, the aftermath of Tartaglia’s relentless pursuit of you. His breaths come ragged, his body battered, yet his gaze remains locked on you. Aether stands beside you, radiating the chilling authority of the Abyss Prince.

“You think this is over?” Tartaglia spits, his voice raw with determination. “I’ll tear apart this entire Abyss if I have to—just to bring you back.”

You laugh—a sound that is anything but warm. It’s a sharp, maniacal cackle, filled with scornful glee. “Back? To what, exactly? Your pathetic little life of lies and delusions?”

He flinches, but you’re already closing the distance between you. Your hand shoots out, grabbing him by the throat and lifting him off the ground with unnatural strength. His vision swims, yet he refuses to look away from you.

“You’re nothing without me,” you hiss, your grip tightening as his struggles grow weaker. “Do you honestly believe your love could save anyone, Childe? That I needed saving? How quaint.”

He gurgles something incoherent, but you only tighten your hold, leaning in close enough for him to feel your breath against his ear. “The only thing you’re good for is bleeding. Look at you, all this power, all this loyalty, and for what? For me to spit in your face?”

You release him suddenly, letting him collapse in a heap at your feet. He clutches at his throat, gasping for air, but you’re not done. Your boot presses against his chest, pinning him down.

“Don’t look so shocked,” you sneer, tilting your head like a predator savoring the kill. “Did you think I was some damsel in need of rescuing? No, darling. I’m the monster your nightmares warned you about.”

Tartaglia’s eyes blaze with despair and determination as he chokes out, “I’ll… I’ll kill him… take you back…”

Your laughter erupts again, wild and unhinged. “Kill him? Oh, sweetheart, you can’t even stand. You’re nothing but a pitiful fool—a fool who thought love could conquer someone like me.”

———

♡ Yandere! Wanderer — Shackles of Betrayal

Wanderer thrashes against the chains binding him, his indigo eyes burning with fury and disbelief. His usual sharp tongue fails him as he stares at you, standing beside Aether, a wicked grin plastered across your face.

“You’re insane,” Wanderer growls, venom dripping from every word. “Let me go, and I’ll make you regret this.”

You clap your hands mockingly, the sound echoing in the cavernous Abyss chamber. “Regret? Oh, sweetheart, regret is for people who make mistakes. I’m having too much fun watching you squirm.”

He lunges against the chains, his strength formidable but useless against the Abyssal restraints. “You lied to me!” he snarls. “Everything—you lied about everything!”

“Of course I did,” you say with a sing-song lilt, stepping closer. Your hands trail lazily over his face, your nails scraping just enough to hurt. “Did you really think someone like me could ever care about someone like you? A discarded puppet, a useless little doll?”

His expression twists with rage, but the vulnerability behind it is unmistakable. “You’re wrong,” he bites out. “You cared. I saw it. I felt it.”

“Oh, you poor thing,” you coo mockingly, before your voice drops, sharp as a blade. “Feel this.”

Your knee slams into his gut, forcing a pained gasp from his lips. You grab his hair, yanking his head back so he’s forced to look at you. “I never cared about you. You were just a stepping stone, a toy for me to break when I got bored. And guess what? I’m bored now.”

Aether chuckles behind you, his voice cold and amused. “You’re cruel,” he observes.

You flash him a wicked grin. “Why, thank you, my prince. I do aim to please.”

Wanderer’s voice is hoarse, filled with hatred and anguish. “I’ll kill him. I’ll kill you. You’ll regret this.”

Your laughter is pure insanity, ringing out like a bell of doom. “Try, little puppet. Try and fail, again and again. It’s the only thing you’re good for.”

———

♡ Yandere! Kazuha — The Storm’s Deceit

Kazuha kneels in chains, his crimson eyes filled with sorrow as he gazes up at you. The stillness of the air is suffocating, the calm before a storm that will never come.

“You…” he begins, his voice a broken whisper. “You were my compass. My home. How could you betray me like this?”

You crouch in front of him, your eyes alight with malevolent joy. “Betray you?” you echo, your tone mockingly sweet. “Oh, Kazuha, don’t flatter yourself. You were never that important to me.”

His breath hitches, but you don’t stop. You lean in, your lips brushing his ear as you murmur, “You were just a convenient tool, a way to pass the time. A pretty little plaything for me to use and discard.”

Kazuha flinches as if struck, his spirit cracking under the weight of your words. “You don’t mean that,” he says, but the tremor in his voice betrays his doubt.

You laugh, the sound a haunting melody of madness. “Oh, but I do. Every word. And do you know the best part? Watching you break, piece by piece.”

Your hand grips his chin, forcing him to meet your gaze. “You thought you could save me, didn’t you? That your love could heal whatever darkness you saw in me. How utterly pathetic.”

He trembles under your touch, his chains rattling as his hands ball into fists. “I’ll find a way,” he vows, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll free you from this darkness.”

You burst into laughter, throwing your head back in pure delight. “Free me? Oh, Kazuha, I am the darkness. There’s nothing to free me from.”

Aether steps forward, his presence a cold shadow beside you. “He’s done,” the Abyss Prince says. “Let him wallow in his failure.”

You stand, casting one last mocking glance at Kazuha. “Goodbye, my little storm. Try not to drown in your tears.”

As you walk away, Kazuha’s head hangs low, his heart shattered—but the fire of his resolve burns on.

────────────

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia — The Fool's Heart

The kiss you share with Aether is cruelly deliberate, a deep, searing display of mockery meant for the man crumpled at your feet. Tartaglia’s battered body trembles, his fists digging into the scorched ground as he watches, his chest heaving with a suffocating cocktail of pain and rage.

“Don’t look away,” you taunt, your lips still wet with the evidence of your betrayal. “This is the truth, Childe. This is all you ever were to me—something to laugh at.”

Aether scoffs, shoving you away, irritation flashing in his Abyssal gaze. But you only laugh, twirling back to face Tartaglia, your grin stretching wider as your gaze locks with his. Gone is the warmth he clung to, the person he thought he loved. In its place is a madness so stark, so twisted, it shatters whatever hope remained in his heart.

The realization crashes into him like a tidal wave—you never cared for him. Not once. Not even in the smallest, fleeting moment. His breath hitches, a dry, humorless laugh escaping his lips.

“I see it now,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse but laced with a dangerous calm. “You don’t deserve kindness. And I’ve been far too kind to you.”

Your grin falters, if only for a second, as he rises to his knees, his gaze blazing with something new—something unhinged.

“It’s too late to turn back,” he says, his tone eerily even. “I don’t need your love, or your lies, anymore. You’ll be mine, no matter what I have to destroy to make it happen.”

As Abyss subordinates drag him away, his eyes never leave yours, his smirk dark and foreboding. “Run, hide, laugh while you can. I’ll be coming for you. And when I do, you’ll regret every breath you ever stole from me.”

———

♡ Yandere! Wanderer — Shackles of Betrayal

Your lips crash against Aether’s, an act of derision that sends a violent shudder through Wanderer’s restrained form. His chains rattle as his whole body tenses, the burning in his eyes consuming what little humanity he’d clung to.

“You’re a fool,” you whisper against Aether’s lips before pulling away, your laughter slicing through the silence. The Abyss Prince wipes his mouth with a look of disdain, but your amusement only grows. You whirl around to face Wanderer, your grin a feral slash across your face.

“You never saw it, did you?” you sneer, your voice dripping with venom. “All that time, all those stolen moments—and you never noticed the madness in my eyes. You’re not a victim, Wanderer. You’re just another broken thing for me to play with.”

For a moment, he’s silent. Then, the corners of his lips twitch upward, forming a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Is that so?” he murmurs, his tone soft yet laced with something chilling. “You think this is over, don’t you?”

You tilt your head, intrigued by the shift in his demeanor.

“Go ahead,” he continues, his voice gaining strength. “Laugh, mock me, pretend you’ve won. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

The Abyss soldiers begin to drag him away, but his eyes stay fixed on yours, unyielding and terrifying.

“You’ve taken everything from me,” he says, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper. “So now, I’ll do the same to you. Love? Hate? It doesn’t matter anymore. I’ll strip you bare, piece by piece, until there’s nothing left but me.”

And as he’s pulled into the shadows, his final words echo like a curse: “You’ll never escape me, not even in death.”

———

♡ Yandere! Kazuha — The Storm’s Deceit

Your kiss with Aether is theatrical, exaggerated, designed to carve deeper into Kazuha’s shattered heart. The Abyss Prince shoves you away, muttering something under his breath, but you laugh, spinning to meet Kazuha’s gaze.

“Did you think you were special?” you ask, your voice lilting with mockery. “That your poetry and promises could bind me to you? Oh, Kazuha, you were always chasing a storm you could never tame.”

Kazuha doesn’t respond, his crimson eyes fixed on yours with a quiet intensity. But the light in them has changed, twisted into something unrecognizable.

“You’ve lost,” you declare, turning away, but his voice stops you cold.

“Not yet,” he murmurs, his tone so calm it sends a chill down your spine.

You glance back, and the sight of him—the once-gentle warrior now smirking with a darkness that rivals your own—sends your pulse skittering.

“You think you’ve won,” he continues, his voice soft but deadly. “But this isn’t the end. It’s only the beginning.”

The Abyss guards move to haul him away, yet he doesn’t resist. His gaze remains locked on you, his smile growing as he speaks his final words.

“I’ll break you,” he says, his voice like a whispered promise carried on the wind. “Not with anger, not with hatred—but with love twisted into something you can’t escape. And when you’re mine, when you’re begging for the freedom you so carelessly destroyed, I’ll remind you of this moment. I’ll remind you who truly holds the chains.”

And as the shadows swallow him, his presence lingers, a storm on the horizon waiting to strike.

────────────

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General TAG LIST of “Whispers In The Dark”: @keisocool , @elvabeth , @elloredef

❤︎ Fang Dokja's Books.

♡ Book 1. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology ♡ Book 2. 🔞Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires. ♡ Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I'd Burn the World. ♡ Book 4. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

[ginnsbaker]

All Of Your Pieces (12 - Red)

Chapter Summary: Unable to accept that she is now part of the team, you try to avoid Wanda Maximoff at all cost.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader Chapter word count: 4k+ | Chapter Tags: Age of Ultron!Wanda, Enemies to Lovers (sort of)

A/N: I got some interesting asks about Y/N's background. There are backstories about Y/N that will come up since Part 2 is purely a flashback. However, things such as how she became an Avenger is not covered, but you're welcome to ask me for headcanons (or give your own!). P.S. Someone asked how old Y/N is in the flashbacks, and she's actually younger than Wanda P.P.S get ready for some action too! it's my first time writing such a scene *_*// More author's notes here.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Pretending Wanda Maximoff didn’t exist was easier than you initially thought.

You got good at avoiding her. It became part of your routine—timing your movements through the compound to miss her by minutes, memorizing her schedule so you could always be somewhere else. Sometimes you’d see a hint of her around a corner, a flash of the crimson jacket she usually wore or the dark fall of her hair, but you'd steer in the opposite direction without a second thought.

She seemed to reciprocate—or maybe she simply picked up on the hint. Either way, you both managed to coexist without the need to acknowledge the other. You, a lifelong night owl, suddenly found yourself becoming a morning person the moment you realized Wanda preferred the training room in the evenings. Working out before dawn felt like the safest plan. You told yourself it was working.

Meals, however, were trickier. The kitchen and dining area were unavoidable shared spaces, and schedules didn’t always align as neatly as you’d hoped. Some mornings, you’d find her already there, her hands wrapped around a steaming mug of tea, or she’d walk in just as you were finishing up. 

The team had a tradition—dinners together, a semblance of family in a life that lacked roots. You started to skip these, opting for protein bars or quick microwaves alone. It was easier than facing her across the table, being reminded of what she forced you to see back in Johannesburg. 

But then you noticed Wanda stopped showing up, too. On the nights you did show up, her seat was empty. The others didn’t seem bothered, but you couldn’t shake the feeling it was your fault. 

Despite having won the territory, you couldn’t shake the guilt that came with it.

—

Steve and Tony were at each other’s throats again.

Their arguments had become more frequent in recent weeks, and although you usually stayed out of it, they were beginning to take its toll on the team. You could tell lines were being drawn; team members quietly taking sides, aligning themselves according to whoever had a mission lined up. 

You walked into the meeting room, late as usual, pretending you hadn't heard them from halfway across the building. Steve stood rigid, arms crossed over his chest, jaw set like granite. Tony reclined with that maddeningly casual air that mostly irked Steve, one hand tucked in his pocket while the other animatedly waved as he spoke. 

Wanda was tucked away in the corner farthest from the door, partially shielded by Vision. Trying to avoid Wanda only made you seek her out involuntarily, as much as you wished not to.

“I'm telling you, Tony, allowing the government to dictate our actions undermines everything we stand for,” Steve said.

Oh. This again? The politics of it all was your least favorite thing about being an Avenger.

“Accountability,” Tony replied. “We can't keep making unilateral decisions without considering the global implications.”

Steve shook his head. “We've operated just fine without bureaucratic red tape slowing us down. Every second counts when lives are at stake.”

Tony snorted in a way that’s supposed to rile up Steve even more. “Operating 'just fine'? You call the messes we've left behind 'just fine'?”

You cleared your throat. “Sounds like a party in here.”

Neither of them acknowledged you. Your gaze unintentionally drifted toward Wanda, and you caught her eyes just as she quickly looked away.

“Since when did you become a fan of bureaucracy?” Steve asked.

“Since the paperwork started piling up from our little international incidents,” Tony said, pouring himself another shot of whiskey. 

You grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl, leaning against the counter as their words volleyed back and forth. 

“Paperwork? Is that what this is about? You’re tired of paperwork?”

“I’m tired of taking the blame for all of us,” Tony said. 

“Well, you did create Ultron, didn’t you?”

Tony's eyes narrowed. If he weren't clad in his robe, he'd be suiting up right now. “Low blow, Rogers.”

“Truth hurts,” Steve replied.

You took a bite of your apple. “You two need a time-out or something?”

Tony turned to you, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. “Ah, look who finally joined us. Got anything to say?”

“Nope,” you replied, chewing deliberately. “But could you tone it down? Your arguing is scaring the children.”

“You are the ‘children’,” Clint said with a smirk and you gave him a dirty look. 

Natasha hid a smile behind her glass. 

“I meant Vision,” you said, pointedly not looking at the synthezoid lest your gaze accidentally land on Wanda again.

Steve exhaled sharply. “This isn't a joke.”

Natasha set her glass down carefully. “Does this really need to be settled now?” she asked, her tone of voice indicating she’s taking charge now. “We gathered the team for a briefing, remember?”

“You're right,” Steve conceded. “We can discuss this later.”

Tony shrugged. “Fine by me.”

Clint leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “So, what's on the agenda?”

Vision, to your surprise, got up from his seat. You recalled that before becoming whatever he was now, he had been Stark's AI, which gave him direct access to global networks. He would be among the first to hear any distress calls.

“We've received intelligence about a potential threat escalating in Southeastern Europe,” Vision said.

You took another bite of your apple, listening but keeping your expression neutral.

Steve picked up a remote and clicked it, causing a holographic map to appear in the center of the room. Red markers dotted a specific region. “A rogue faction has been intercepting shipments of advanced weaponry.”

Tony arched an eyebrow. “Let me guess—Stark tech?”

“Sort of,” Steve allowed. “But they're not just shopping for tech. They're also headhunting for the enhanced.”

At that, Wanda shifted slightly in her seat at the back, her attention fixed intently on the map. You noticed but quickly averted your eyes, focusing instead on the holographic display.

“Any idea who’s leading this faction?” Natasha asked.

“Not yet,” Steve said. “But Intel suggests they're planning something big, and soon.”

“So what’s the plan?” you tossed out.

Steve's eyes swept the room. “We intercept them before they can mobilize. It’s in the rural mountains of Cilo,” he pointed to a spot on the map of Turkey. “Barely any civilians, but we still play it clean—minimal casualties.”

“I'll prep the suits and run some satellite sweeps. Maybe we can get a clearer picture of their operations,” Tony declared, and without waiting for a dismissal, he headed for the door. Steve watched him leave, shaking his head with a mix of irritation and resignation.

“Roles, then,” Steve started, raising his voice just enough to reach the corners of the room—a small gathering today; Rhodes was with the U.S. president on a diplomatic trip in Asia, and Sam was aiding Sokovian refugees settling into their new homes.

“Natasha and Clint, you'll handle reconnaissance. Vision, you will join Tony for air support. I'll lead the ground team.”

“Who’s on the ground team?” you asked.

Steve held your look. “You, me, and Wanda.”

The pit of your stomach clenched. “Fantastic,” you muttered.

“Problem?” Steve challenged.

You quickly schooled your expression. “Nope.”

“Good,” he said firmly. “We roll out at dawn. Meeting’s over.”

As you headed toward the door, Natasha fell into step beside you. “You okay with this?” she asked quietly.

“Why wouldn't I be?” you replied, not meeting her eyes.

She gave you a knowing look. “I know what you’ve been doing. Pretending Wanda doesn't exist isn't going to work on a mission.”

You sighed. “I'll be professional.”

“See that you are,” she said. “For everyone's sake.”

—

The mission was set for the next day, and you were mentally running through strategies, trying to anticipate every possible outcome. What you hadn't expected was a knock on your door late in the evening, well after Steve's usual bedtime of 9 PM. 

Normally, you'd peer through the peephole to check who it was, but your mind was elsewhere—fixated on a particular restaurant in Istanbul you hoped to visit if there was any downtime after the raid. You'd never confess this to anyone, but you were a bit of a foodie. Sampling the best cuisine in each country your Avenger duties took you to had become a personal quest. 

Without thinking, you stood and walked over, opening the door to find Wanda standing there, her hands nervously clasped in front of her. You looked down at your feet, waiting. 

“I need your help,” she said. These were the first words she had ever spoken to you, and you didn’t know why you'd taken note of it.

You didn't glance up. “Don't recall offering it.”

She slipped inside without asking, the soft soles of her boots silent on the floor—a detail that annoyed you. “Steve said he wants minimal casualties, and my powers aren't exactly…gentle. I need to learn how to fight without relying on it too much.”

“So go ask someone else.”

“There's no one else available right now,” she murmured. “Natasha is out, and Steve thought it would be good if we—”

You cut her off, finally raising your head to look at her. “I'm not interested.”

Wanda scoffed. “Don’t flatter yourself. I wouldn’t be coming to you if there’s—”

“Then maybe Vision can help you,” you suggested coldly. “He seems to have taken a liking to you. I'm sure he can dig up some martial arts videos for you.”

She bristled. “Why are you being like this?”

“Like what?”

“Like being civil is something that could actually make you sick.”

You met her gaze, unflinching. “I don't have time for this.”

Wanda inhaled sharply, and a strange energy coursed through your veins, the furniture in your bedroom shuddering as though caught in a miniature earthquake. But you held your position, unafraid.

“If you refuse to cooperate, I'll have to report back to Steve,” she warned. 

The threat was so feeble it almost made you laugh.  But you aimed to be more cruel than that.

“Go ahead,” you replied coolly. “Tell him I won't hold your hand.”

Wanda looked on the verge of an outburst. Good.

“Why are you being so difficult?”

You crossed your arms. “Why are you still standing at my door?”

Without another word, she closed her eyes briefly. Suddenly, you felt a subtle push against your thoughts—a whisper not your own. “Why do you hate me so much? We have to work together—”

You recoiled, anger flaring. “Get out of my head.”

“I was just trying to—”

“I don't care what you were trying to do,” you spat, getting in her face. “Don't ever do that again.”

She reeled back slightly. If it weren’t for the fact that she was a hundred times more powerful than you, you might have thought she was intimidated. But as you drew near, you saw it wasn't anger in her eyes, but hurt—a wounded response to your harsh dismissal.

After a few seconds, Wanda nodded. “I’m sorry. I won’t bother you again,” she said softly.

Just then, Clint appeared around the corner. You gave him a questioning look. He might have seemed like he was just passing by, but you weren’t deceived. Clint had no reason to be in this hallway at this hour. It seemed more likely he had been eavesdropping on the last part of your conversation and chose this moment to step in.

“Am I interrupting something?” he asked lightly.

“I was just looking for someone to help me with hand-to-hand training,” Wanda explained, already backing away from your doorway.

“I’m the guy for that,” he replied. “Head to the training room, I'll join you shortly.”

“Thanks,” she said, casting a final glance your way before turning on her heel and striding away.

Clint turned to you the moment you two were alone. “Got a minute?”

“Not really,” you replied, though you stayed rooted in your spot.

He leaned against the wall beside your door. “What's going on with you?”

“Nothing.”

“Doesn't look like nothing,” he countered. “You're being pretty rude.”

You folded your arms. “She never apologized to the team.”

“And you think giving her the cold shoulder is going to fix that?” he asked. “Grow the fuck up, kid. Bullying the new recruit isn't doing any of us any favors.”

“She did some really awful things, Clint,” you reasoned. “She hasn't taken responsibility for that.”

He sighed. “And you've never screwed up? Never done something you regretted?”

“That's different.”

“Is it?” he challenged. “Because from where I'm standing, we all have our demons. You don't see the rest of us acting like we're better than anyone.”

You looked away. “You wouldn't understand.”

“Try me.”

“Wanda showed me more than just a bad dream,” you whispered. “I—” You started to spill the details of your nightmare but stopped, the fear of appearing vulnerable, of seeming weak and worthless like your mother always made you feel, silencing you. When it became apparent you wouldn't continue, Clint added, “Ever thought that maybe she's dealing with her own nightmares too?”

You glanced back at him. “Why do you care so much?”

“Because we're a team,” he said simply. “And teams look out for each other. Even when it's hard.”

“I don’t know if I can—”

“No one's asking you to be her best friend,” he said. “But at least be civil. Professional. The mission depends on it.”

You nodded, standing straighter. “I'll do my job.”

“Good,” he said, pushing off the wall. “That's all I'm asking.”

“Good night, Clint,” you muttered, heading back to your room.

“One more thing,” Clint called out just before you could close the door completely. “You’re right—she never apologized to the team. But she sure as hell apologized to you earlier.”

—

The Quinjet touched down just beyond the rocky outskirts of the small Turkish village, three miles from the fortified base the team was about to infiltrate. The rogue faction had been using it as a stronghold to store advanced weaponry and conduct illicit operations. You unbuckled your harness and stood, adjusting your gear as the rear hatch lowered to reveal the arid landscape bathed in the golden hues of early morning. 

Natasha caught your eye as she secured her gear. “Play nice,” she said, her voice low enough that only you could hear. 

You gave a noncommittal shrug in response.

She arched an eyebrow but didn't press the point. Instead, she adjusted the strap of her Widow's Bite and headed down the ramp.

Clint was perched near a cluster of boulders, bow ready. He didn't speak; he just shot you a pointed look and nodded slightly. You'd never felt more babysat than you did at that moment. Trying to make an effort to improve your working relationship with Wanda (at their behest), you headed toward her without a clear plan for the conversation. A pep talk maybe? You weren’t great at those, but you had absorbed enough from Steve to last several lifetimes.

But just as you were mere steps away from her, she breezed past without a glance in your direction, heading straight toward where Steve was waiting for Tony and Vision's signal to advance. It was as if you didn't exist.

Fair enough, you thought. Two could play at that game.

You tapped the side of your headgear, bringing up the HUD that F.R.I.D.A.Y had uploaded with the mission parameters. A translucent map overlaid your vision, highlighting your designated route through the village's eastern perimeter. Your task was to secure the potential exit points and ensure no targets slipped through once the operation commenced.

“All right, everyone, we’ve got clearance from the air team,” Steve's voice trembled over the comms. There was an unusual distortion in the signal, and you silently hoped it wouldn’t cause problems later. “Check in.”

“In position,” came the succinct reply from Natasha

“Ready on the western ridge,” Clint reported.

“Copy that,” Steve said. “Wanda and I will approach the main entrance from the south. Y/N, you take the north side. Secure any escape routes and watch for patrols.”

You pressed a finger to your earpiece. “Understood.”

“Keep comms open and stay sharp,” Steve added, and with that, everyone moved into position.

You moved into position, the rugged terrain providing ample cover. The north exit was a chokepoint—a narrow path bordered by steep cliffs. Perfect for an ambush, but also a potential death trap.

“All clear on my end,” you whispered into the comm.

“Strange,” Clint remarked.

“Same here,” Natasha agreed. “It's too quiet. I don’t like it.”

Your instincts prickled. 

Then, a faint vibration underfoot. You frowned, kneeling to touch the ground. The tremor grew stronger, rhythmic.

“Do you feel that?” you asked softly.

“Feel what?” Steve's voice came through.

Before you could respond, the ground shook violently. From hidden crevices and camouflaged tunnels, a swarm of hostiles erupted, pouring into the pass like a flood. Dozens—no, hundreds—armed to the teeth and moving with eerie coordination.

“Ambush!” you yelled, scrambling for cover.

“Hold your position—we're coming for you!” Steve roared. 

It should have assured you, but for the next few minutes, you were on your own. You took stock of your surroundings. The pass was narrow—a choke point. It was clear now that it’s a trap, and the enemy got lucky that a superpowered didn’t end up scouting this area.

You opened fire with your dual silencers, taking down several men with precise shots. But for every one you dropped, two more seemed to appear in his place. They weren’t just attacking—they were herding you, forcing you deeper into the pass where the escape routes grew fewer and fewer.

Sweat trickled down your temple as you struggled to hold them off. Your muscles ached, and your breaths came in ragged gasps. An unexpected blow struck your side, slamming you against the rocky wall.

Gritting your teeth, you pressed against the cliffside, muscles taut. Outnumbered and isolated, and not to mention trapped on a dangerous corner, survival seemed impossible.

“Come on,” you muttered to yourself. “Think.”

Just as the closest attacker lunged, a surge of energy hurled him backwards. Wind seemed to come in every direction as Wanda landed on her feet beside you, her eyes glowing red.

Relief washed over you. “Your timing is impeccable.” You hadn't expected that seeing Wanda would make you feel so incredibly safe, but it did. It really did.

She gave a faint smile, eyes scanning the swarm of hostiles regrouping ahead. “We need to find a way out of this trap,” she urged.

“Agreed,” you replied, reloading your weapon. 

The narrow pass had become a funnel, channeling them straight toward you. Rocks jutted out from the cliffside, creating pockets of shadow.

“We're pinned down,” you noted, pressing your back against the cold stone beside hers. The space was tight, forcing you closer together. You could feel the warmth radiating from her despite the cool mountain air. 

Wanda glanced upward. “We might be able to climb to that ledge,” she suggested, her breath brushing against your ear.

“Worth a shot. I'll boost you up.”

Wanda gave a small, amused smile. “You don't have to do that. I can get up there myself.”

It took a moment for the realization to hit you. Of course—her psionic abilities allowed her to levitate. That's how she'd reached you so quickly earlier; she'd flown. Heat rushed to your face as embarrassment set in. “Right,” you mumbled, feeling a bit foolish. “I forgot you could... you know...”

If Wanda picked up on your discomfort, she kept it to herself. “I can give you a lift if you want,” she offered.

You looked up at the ledge, then back at her. Swallowing your pride, you gave a curt nod. “Sure.”

“Okay,” she said softly. “Just relax.”

That was easier said than done, considering the enemies that surrounded you both. But even harder than that was the idea of letting Wanda use her powers on you, even if it was just to help you reach that damned ledge.

“Ready?” Her eyes combed yours, fishing for consent.

“Ready.”

Her hands came up, almost invisible in their movement. A warm fuzzy feeling wrapped around you, and the ground fell away as she floated you up, effortless as breathing.

“Almost there,” she murmured.

She steered you onto the ledge, and when your feet hit solid ground, you exhaled a breath you didn't know you were holding. “Thanks,” you tossed over your shoulder.

She smiled up at you. “Don’t mention it.”

She joined you shortly afterwards, landing gracefully beside you. The proximity was unavoidable on the narrow ledge, and you were acutely aware of how close you stood.

“Now what?”

Wanda leaned against the wall beside you, her shoulder brushing yours. “We need to find a way to contact the team.”

You checked your equipment. “Comms are jammed.”

She frowned. “They must have a dampening field.”

An explosion rocked the ground nearby, showering you with debris. “We can't stay like this here forever,” you muttered.

Wanda took a deep breath. “There is... something I can try.”

You glanced at her. “What is it?”

She swallowed hard. “I can get inside their heads—like I did before—to make them stand down.”

Like she did before in Johannesburg—to you, to the entire team in this mission sans Vision. You saw the fear in her eyes—the fear of your judgment, of repeating past mistakes. It struck you then how much she regretted what had happened between you.

Another burst of gunfire erupted, making you both flinch. There was no time.

You looked her in the eye and nodded. “Do it.”

Wanda wasted no time further. She got to work, her hands moving like a spider’s legs weaving its web. Looking down, you saw the men freeze mid-step. One by one, they dropped their weapons, eyes wide with unseen terror.

Unable to help yourself, you asked, “What are they seeing?” 

Wanda kept her eyes on her work, pointedly avoiding your gaze. “Their worst fears and deepest guilts. They’re confronting the nightmares that haunt them most.”

For a split-second, you felt sorry for these people.

“Let's move,” you said, placing a reassuring hand on Wanda’s shoulder.

—

Reaching higher ground, you and Wanda were finally able to reestablish communication with the rest of the team. From his position, Steve was quick to inform the local authorities about the perpetrators that Wanda had incapacitated with her powers, ensuring they remained trapped within their own mental constructs until help arrived. Meanwhile, Natasha and Clint were busy collecting crucial evidence from the scene, items they believed would be vital in piecing together a solid case against the previously concealed masterminds of the operation. As for Vision and Tony, they razed the base to the ground. 

Back at the Quinjet, you and Wanda took up positions to oversee and secure the extraction route.

“Thank you,” you said quietly.

She looked up, slightly surprised. “Y-You’re welcome.”

You shifted your weight, grimacing slightly at a bruise forming on your side. “Thought being a veteran would make this mission easier,” you mused, going over the jet’s controls to give yourself something to do while you both waited for the others. “Overestimated myself this time.”

Wanda nodded thoughtfully. 

Another period of silence stretched out, taut but not entirely uncomfortable. She seemed to wrestle with something before speaking again. “May I ask you a question?”

You hesitated, wary of where this might lead. “Sure.”

She took a slow breath. “Do you think... you might ever forgive me for what happened in Johannesburg?”

You exhaled slowly, eyes fixed on the distant peaks. “Deep down, I know it wasn't entirely your fault,” you began, “but sometimes it's easier to face your fears when you have someone else to blame for them.”

She absorbed your words quietly. “I understand,” she said softly. She thought about Tony. For the longest time, she blamed him for everything.

“Wanda, I—”

Before the conversation could continue, footsteps crunched on gravel behind you. The rest of the team was coming down the trail, and Natasha was the first to pick up on the fact that you and Wanda had been left alone together without any fireworks.

She walked up to you with a sly grin barely lifting the corners of her mouth. “Good work out there,” she said.

You rolled your eyes and drifted to a quieter corner, away from the team.

Wanda had saved you. That much was clear, and it meant you owed her your life—a debt that sat uneasily with you. You were grateful, of course, but the last thing you wanted was to owe anything to anyone.

Especially not to someone who terrified you to your core.

[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

P*rn ☆  Chapter 9, Guess who's back

Masterlist Word count: 2 k Sylus x Fem!Reader

Summary: You have been following a spicy content creator by the name of Red Crow for some time now. Nothing could’ve prepared you for what would happen when he moves into the apartment next door.

Author's note: Now that you've all had a nice portion of smut, here's some more angst <3

Warning! This story is meant for mature audiences. It contains sex, swear words, porn, smoking, intimate piercings, mentions of drugs, alcohol, mentions of domestic abuse, and other mature themes. Do not engage if you are under 18.

Mature content under the cut.

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

It's early in the morning but you feel like heaven is being bestowed upon you by God's favorite angel. You try to squeeze your thighs together as you stretch your body in your sleepy state, but they are held down.  

When you look down, you see your angel. A perfect picture of worship, pleasure, and sex. Just as he had promised when he offered you a free trial. His eyes are almost screwed shut, completely lost in the sweet nectar between your thighs. 

A rumbling feeling of pleasure builds up in you stomach as he splays his hand over top and pressed you down a little. You hadn't even noticed you started grinding against his face. His eyes are open now, wide awake, taking in every little detail of your body, your face, your movements. 

You untangle underneath him, thighs squeezing together but it does not matter. Sylus is far too strong to let himself be crushed by your thighs. Though he has tried to get you to do so in the past few weeks. 

The waves of pleasure subside, and he lays down next to you, pulling your body against him to cuddle. His thick cock is half hard, but you can feel his release against your skin. For some reason, that never wore off. He's always excited to eat you out. So much so that he comes himself nearly every time. 

When he does not wake you like this, you wake him the same way. Only difference is that he doesn't let himself finish until he's inside you. Or at least, he tries to. 

'Morning sweetie,' he grumbles against your neck, leaving adoring kisses littered over you skin. A smile spreads across your face as you press a kiss to his forehead. 

'Morning love.' 

'Do we have any plans today?' 

'I have to get packing for my trip with Zayne.' He groans in disagreement. 'Don't be like that. I told you you could join.' 

'Too many memories,' he says, his voice barely audible. You grab his chin and lift his face so that he's looking at you. 

'I know you don't want to talk about it and I know that you are healing, but we are going to have to talk about it one of these days,' you tell him in the gentlest voice you can manage. He nods and presses a kiss on you lips. 

'Then let me take this weekend to collect my thoughts. I'll be ready to talk to you after your trip.' 

'No,' you reply sternly, 'if this thing is as bad as I feel it is, you are not going to ponder over it all on your own for a whole weekend. Just tell me when you're ready.' 

'Okay.' 

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

Your annual trip with Zayne once started just a few months after he moved in on complete accident. The trip was supposed to be with Tara, but she got terrible food poisoning the day before you two were supposed to leave. At that point, everything you two booked was nonrefundable. In a moment of despair, you went to Zayne and asked him if he'd like to go with you. This was just a few days after he started dropping off leftovers at your door. You figured it wouldn't be a terrible idea. 

If only you had known back then that it would lead to the most valuable friendship you have, you would've done it even sooner. 

The annual trip is always a weekend. A few things you two decided at the start is that it should be doable by car so that you two could leave Friday morning and return Sunday evening, only having to take one day of annual leave.  

Friday evening is always Zayne's turn to pick the restaurant because he likes to plan ahead. You pick on Saturday after strolling through the city all day. Surprisingly, both choices have never turned out all that terrible. 

When getting to the hotel on Friday, there is a mandatory one-hour nap. After that, it's time to explore the city. Then it's dinner, drinks at the hotel bar, reading together in the same room, going to sleep in separate rooms. 

On Saturday, Zayne has usually chosen a short nature hike in some nice scenery nearby. Then it's showering, going out to have lunch at some mom-and-pop shop, a little shopping, museum visits, and then dinner. After the whole Saturday you two usually retire to your own rooms right away, but sometimes there's some cuddling while one reads to the other. 

Then Sunday morning is "free time." Each does whatever and you meet up for lunch. After that is the drive home. 

It's truly not all that thrilling but you enjoy it majorly. You just love being around Zayne. 

Despite all that, you do have a strange iffy feeling about leaving Sylus behind. Maybe one day, when Zayne also has a partner, you could all go together. But right now, something just doesn't feel right. You have no clue what it is. Sylus was fine when you left, the house was fine, you checked your luggage three times. Still, it keeps nagging at the back of your head. 

'Are you alright?' Zayne's voice snaps you out of it. 

'Oh, yeah,' you hum in response, 'just a little worried about Sylus. I have this weird underbelly feeling I can't shake.' 

'Why don't you call him when we get to the hotel?' 

'I will,' you say with a smile, 'thank you for understanding.' You notice that strangely empathetic look in Zayne's face again. He knows something you don't and you know it's not his place to tell you, but you feel like you're out of the loop and it stings. 

'Did you two talk already?' You shake your head and cross your arms, leaning back in the passenger seat of his car. 

'He isn't ready to tell me yet. I get it, but it stings sometimes.' Zayne nods. 

'He'll tell you soon. I'm sure.' 

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

Being alone in his apartment shouldn't be strange to Sylus, but without your laughter it suddenly feels empty. He put on some music, but without you dancing around his living room it's not quite what he's used to.  

It's so strange. It has only been a few weeks, two months maybe, but he can't shake this feeling that he cannot go without you. You had given him your house key a few days back. Back than you explained that he would come over anyway, so what would it matter if he let himself in? Would that offer still stand now, when you're not there? 

He turns off his music and goes out into the hallway. It's just a few steps to your apartment but he gets interrupted. 

'Would you look at that. Long time no see, Sylus.' That voice. It scrapes it his head like nails on a chalkboard. His whole body tenses up as he looks down the hallway. It's her. She looks smug, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed as she looks Sylus up and down. Every inch of hair he has is standing straight up. 

'What are you doing here?' She pushes off the wall and saunters a few steps closer. Sylus doesn't want to take a step back, he doesn't want to be under her thumb again. It seems she's considering what to tell him, as if she hasn't quite thought of what she's doing here yet. 

'Visiting a friend,' she decides, 'you?' 

'Same,' he chooses to answer. After all, she was the first to leak his address. Better to be safe than sorry. She looks him up and down again and he realizes he's still wearing his house slippers and clearly coming from the last apartment with a key in his hand. She's always been very observant, so he doesn't doubt she knows exactly what he's doing here. 

'Hm,' she huffs, running her tongue across her lower teeth, 'doesn't look like it.' She takes another step closer, clearly liking how nervous he looks. 

'I don't have to explain myself to you.' 

'No, of course not,' her lips pull into an evil grin, 'but I can tell you want to.' The hallway feels ice cold, Sylus can feel himself shiver. With a slight quirk of her lips, she relaxes her body. 'Okay, don't tell me. I know you're probably hooking up with some girl for your little porn videos.' Her tone is so demeaning, it feels like a punch to the gut. Sylus has to keep himself from physically doubling over. 'I guess I'll see you around.' 

'I'd rather not,' he manages to say, his voice luckily keeping a steady tone. She pushes out her bottom lip, trying so hard to look hurt but her eyes are dead. There's no soul behind them, just a shell of a human with evil intent. 

'Ouch, I'm hurt darling. We had some fun.' She tries to reach out for him, but he flinches back. Her grin reappears. She got exactly what she wanted. 'See you soon, Sylus.' 

He watches her turn on her heel and walk down the hallway to the other end. Near the end of the hallway, she pulls out a key and sticks it in the lock. She turns her head to Sylus and sends him a wink. 

When she disappears into the apartment, Sylus feels physically sick. He runs into your apartment and bents over the toilet but nothing comes out. There he sits, a weak, pathetic man still under the thumb of his ex. A million questions run through his mind. 

"Why is she here?" 

"Did she know I live here?" 

"Is she really living here or is she visiting?" 

"Why does this have to happen now? Things were so good." 

"What do I do now?" 

The sound of his phone ringing pulls him out of it. He leans against the cold tile wall of your bathroom as he takes his phone out of his pocket, still feeling queasy. It's you. For a second he considers not picking up, but he knows he can't. He takes a second to breathe before picking up. 

'Hey sweetie, how was the ride?' It stays silent for a little bit. The nerves from just now have not yet subsided and a whole new wave washes over him when you don't talk. 'Sweetie?' 

"Are you okay?" Shit, his voice has betrayed him. 

'Of course. Why do you ask?' 

"You sound weird, and I've been having this weird feeling that something happened." Thank fuck for your superstition. He can get out of this without making you want to return from your trip early. 

'I just worked out and-' 

"You didn't," you say, cutting him off, "you never work out on Fridays. I know you better than that." It's his turn to fall silent. He wipes his cheek with the back of his hand to wipe off something itchy. When he pulls his hand back, he sees a wet spot. He's crying. 

'I'm fine.' 

"You're not. Please don't lie to me." He hates how you know him so well already, hates that you can tell he's not alright, hate that you care so much for him. At this moment he just wants you to take his words for truth. "Alright, I'm going back." 

'No, please don't,' his voice trembles. 'I want you to enjoy your time. Please.' 

"Fine, but then you're driving up here. Something clearly happened and I don't want you to be alone." 

'No, this is your time with Doctor Zayne. I wouldn't want to-' 

"Zayne! Can Sylus join us tomorrow?" "Of course." Doctor Zayne speaks without hesitation. Sylus can't quite wrap his head around why he would be so kind to him. It doesn't matter though. You've made up your mind, so: "You're coming." 

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

After dinner, you and Zayne sit down with your books but neither of you is in a mood to read. He places his book on his lap and turns to you. 'So what happened with Sylus?' 

'I don't know. He wouldn't tell me, but he sounded terrified.' 

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

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[webslingingslasher]

j! its been so long but omg hi

i was super obsessed with ur frat!peter hows he doing?

i just saw a tiktok that was about a frat boy yelling at a party “if youre not a brother or fucking a brother, then get the fuck out!” has this been brought up in the frat!peter circle?

i have so many scenarios in my mind like at the different stages! when they first started and trouble isnt super stable in the relationship and she goes to head out but peter (or ethan omg) grabs her arm and hes like ur part of that demographic trouble. im melting 🫠

or when theyre like broken up/taking a break and she goes to leave and peter goes all sad puppy dog eyes :((

omg yes queen::

*a little something ya'll can wake up to. <3

---

'if you're not a brother or fucking a brother, then get the fuck out!'

you hold in a sigh, the party's over. ally won't make it home with you tonight, she ditched you thirty minutes ago to 'go with matty,' aka, you won't see her again until tomorrow.

you glance down at your drink and debate chugging it, if you do you know you'll leave with a woozy stomach. you take two sips and dump the cup in the kitchen trash, it sends two empty beer cans falling, you shrug at the mess and keep walking.

a girl stumbles into your shoulder and profusely apologizes with tears in her eyes, you keep telling her it's okay but she doesn't let it go until her boyfriend nudges her out of the house.

the house music cuts, any stragglers were just seriously kicked out. you follow the crowd and prepare for the cold walk home, a hand loops around your upper arm before you can get through the threshold.

'where do you think you're going?' you turn around and grin at your friend. 'home? where are you going?'

'also home. i'm just waiting for everyone to clear out first.' ethan pulls you away from the dwindling party. 'you know, brother duties.' he sends a wink your way, you nod along like you understand.

'yeah, but i'm not a brother so i don't think i should help with that.'

ethan stops you again. 'parker is a brother, yes?' he is. he's also not there tonight. something about going to queens being more important than the typical friday night party. 'he is.'

'and you're fucking him, right?' you love when ethan has a little liquor in him. 'i am.'

'okay, so then you fit the requirements. hang back with me and we can go to my place together.' it's not a hard sell but you'll act like it is. 'are you sure? peter's not even here, do those rules still apply?'

'i'm a god damn chapter officer, i get to make the rules and it's everyone else's job to follow them. how about that?' you pat ethan's shoulder, you're not arguing one bit.

'can't fight you on that, can i? you twisted my arm good enough, lorax. i'm yours until peter gets home.' ethan holds out his hand, you shake it like it's a business deal.

'good. he told me to make sure you stayed.' he says it with a wink, a gentle suggestion he wasn't supposed to tell you that but you're glad he did. it makes you warm thinking peter didn't want you to feel excluded, especially because he was missing in action tonight.

'well... i am fucking a brother, right?'

'you are. and you know what that means? you have to stay here after every party.' he says it like it's a bad thing but you can get used to being on an exclusive guest list.

it feels nice. so, ‘hell yeah.’

-- vs. after the breakup--

'if you're not a brother or fucking a brother, then get the fuck out!'

hearing it makes you sad. no one's going to make you stay or tell you that those exceptions still apply to you. ally gets to stay here and you have to tuck your tail between your legs and scoot out the door.

'i can leave with you.' your best friend is kind for offering, you're an even better friend for saying no. 'that's okay, stay with matt.'

'are you sure? you shouldn't have to walk out of here alone, that kinda blows.' it does and you don't like the reminder. you'd prefer if ally stays, actually. you don't want her pity.

'it's fine. beats the alternative, right?' she looks at you to say what the alternative is, you do it with a sigh. 'fucking peter. that's my other option.'

'who said it had to be peter? there's like forty guys in the frat and you're buddies with at least five, take your pick.' you've thought about it but frat boys, especially the ones from sig nu, make you queasy.

'it's fine, ally-cat. i'll walk back with one of the other girls in our dorm.' the same faces you see in the hallway at your dorm are gathering their stuff to leave, they'll have no issue with you tagging along. 'boo. i miss when we would have frat house sleepovers.'

'good. blame peter.'

'and i do. he hates to see me coming his way, he really does.'

another brother screams out the same line, you frown and decide to leave while you still have friends in eye-distance. when you reach the door you look behind one last time to send a wave to your best friend. ally sends one back and blows a kiss with it. you catch it and slam it to your cheek, she giggles, you grin. your eyes flit up to the stairs, someone's already watching you.

peter sends you a sorry smile, he hates that you don't get to stick around anymore either. you match his melancholy and give him a shrug, more like a 'whatcha gonna do?' vibe. rules are rules and you're no longer a fitting member for the requirements they need.

'you can stay.' peter mouths it, you pretend not to know what he just said. 'wait.' you're still pretending, you turn around and walk a little faster down the steps- peter catches you on the bottom step.

'i said you can stay.' you have no reason to stay behind. you're not a brother and you're no longer involved with one. you point to an imaginary watch on your wrist, 'i'm about to turn into a pumpkin.'

'yeah, you almost left a shoe running out of here so fast, cinderella.'

you grin, 'i'm just following the rules.'

peter wavers his stance, he doesn't care who said what- he wants you to hang around a little bit more. he likes seeing you around. 'you're still included. i mean, we're involved, aren't we?'

you look at him like he's crazy, you swear you see him blush before he starts fumbling over his words. 'i just meant that i'm not moving on and you're not moving on and i'm trying to get things back to how they were- no, wait, i'm trying to get things better than they were before. not that they were bad! well, i mean they were bad but not... trouble, help me out here, you know what i mean.'

you do. you just like ignoring it. 'you're cute when you grovel for me.'

'i'll get on my knees right fucking now.' he's not even drunk and he's willing to beg for you in front of his party goers. you have to hold in a smirk of pride. 'to ask me to stay or to convince me with your mouth?'

peter's eyebrows raise, 'if you're asking me to go down on you the answer is yes. it's very much a yes, my place or yours? fuck it, let's go to the bathroom.' you're halfway back inside before you realize what you started.

you rip your hand away from peter, you refuse to go back to what it was. you need more than a few apologies to make you crawl back into his bed, you need a real confession. 'nuh uh, not happening. not in a damn bathroom.'

'okay, that's fine, my place is closer.'

you have to stop yourself from following him a second time. 'no, wait! i meant no, it's not happening. period.'

'i don't care if you're on your period, i'll still do it. that's how committed i am to you.' you manage to keep from gagging at the visual, instead you shove peter's shoulder. 'ew! you're so gross! i'm not on my period, you dolt. i'm just not having sex with you.'

'cool, don't have sex with me, let me just show you i can still make you come in under five minutes.' he has no idea how tempting it is. you're being braver saying no than he is for asking, post-breakup included.

'go find another girl, i'm sure there's a whole line-up waiting to get picked on.' peter's nose wrinkles, he doesn't even think of it as a cheap shot. 'gross, other girls are icky.'

you shut it down. 'peter, i'm not a brother and i haven't touched you in two months. there's no reason for me to still be here, goodnight.' you try to leave, a whine follows behind you.

'but you're still-'

but you're not, no matter how much he says it.

'if you changed the rule to 'if you're not a brother, fucking a brother, or used to fuck a brother, then get the fuck out!' how many girls would stand around and wait on you?' peter looks at you, he doesn't say anything and silence always screams that you're right.

'mhm. rules are rules, goodnight.'

there's a sense of succeeding when all you get is a wistful goodbye behind you. it lasts until the next week when the routine friday night party comes to an end with the normal call.

'if you're not a brother, fucking a brother, or go by trouble, then get the fuck out!'

ally squeals and tells you 'that's you!' but you're too busy glaring at peter's smug face to celebrate. it's his turn to shrug, his mouth forms four words that fuck you over.

'rules are rules, trouble.' 

[szariahwroteit]

Doll House: A Jude Bellingham + Orginal Character Erotic Series.

18+ Minors DNI

Chapter 11

Although Tori was thankful for the life she was currently making for herself in Madrid, as optimistic as she tried to be, sometimes she felt a little lonely. She had friends in Spain, shoulders to cry on if need be, but it was in moments like these where the loneliness she felt was a void too big to patch over.

Despite the undeniable chemistry she shared with Jude, she couldn’t sit and talk with him about problems that revolved around him.

The weather outside seemed to reflect Tori’s inner turmoil, the rain had been non-stop since the early hours of the morning and based on the forecast showed no signs of slowing down.

Tori watched a particular raindrop as it meandered down the glass of Jude’s bedroom window overlooking his sprawling backyard.

A soft knock sounded against Jude’s open bedroom door, causing Tori to startle slightly, breaking her focus from the rhythmic dance of the raindrop. She turned to see Jude standing there, a quizzical look on his face, flooded with concern. The dim light from the overcast sky illuminated the sharp lines of his jaw, making him appear even more ruggedly handsome.

“Hey, you okay?” he asked, his voice low and soothing, as he stepped further into the room. The way he cared, yet remained distant, left Tori feeling both comforted and conflicted. She took a deep breath, quickly brushing aside her swirling emotions.

“Yeah, just watching the rain,” she replied, forcing a lightness into her voice. “It’s so peaceful out there.”

Jude followed her gaze to the window, his brow furrowing slightly. “It is. But it’s also a bit gloomy. How about we find something to cheer you up?” He stepped closer, leaving just enough space for her to feel at ease while also making her heart race.

Tori smiled, trying to mask the heaviness inside. “I’m fine, really. Just a little nostalgic, I suppose. It happens.”

His piercing eyes searched hers, a mix of understanding and concern glistening in their depths. “You know you can talk to me, right? Even if it’s about… what happened with Eliza at dinner last night.” He gestured between them, the unspoken tension radiating like electricity across the room.

“I’m okay,” Tori smiled, hoping the gesture was enough to convince him.

Deep down, she was far from okay. A storm of emotions swirled within her, each one more tumultuous than the last. She felt as if she were walking on a tightrope, teetering on the edge of despair. The idea of allowing herself to truly open up filled her with dread; it was as if unleashing her thoughts and feelings would cause her to shatter like fragile glass. The tension coiled tightly within her, a constant reminder that one misstep could lead to a complete collapse.

Jude stood there for a moment, the silence stretching between them like an unbroken cord. The rain tapped relentlessly on the windowpane, almost in sync with the rapid heartbeat in Tori's chest. She could feel him weighing his next words carefully, an unspoken understanding lingering in the air.

Finally, he stepped closer, the warmth of his body radiating into the cool space between them. “Tori, come here.”

With an internal battle raging in her mind, Tori felt the pull of Jude’s invitation wash over her like a warm tide. She hesitated, torn between the urge to retreat into her shell and the simple longing to be near him. The very idea of letting him in was terrifying; on the other hand, the comfort of his presence offered a reprieve from the solitude that had clung to her heart.

As she crossed the room, each step felt both exhilarating and terrifying, a delicate dance of anticipation and fear. When she finally stood before him, the heat radiating from his body was undeniable.

“Tori,” he murmured, gently placing her hands on her hips, drawing her body against his so he could wrap his arms around her, pulling her into a comforting hug.

She melted into Jude’s embrace, the world outside fading into a distant murmur. His warmth enveloped her, and for a moment, the heavy weight of her loneliness dissipated. She could feel the steady beat of his heart against her cheek, a reassuring rhythm that grounded her amidst the chaos swirling in her mind.

“It’s okay to not be okay,” Jude whispered, his voice soft and steady. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

Tori closed her eyes, a single tear escaping down her cheek. It surprised her, the sudden release of pent-up emotions, but she couldn’t hold back the floodgates any longer. “I just… I feel so lost sometimes,” she admitted, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. “I thought coming to Madrid would be this amazing adventure, but it’s not always like that. I miss home, I miss my friends, and I miss feeling like I belong somewhere.”

Jude tightened his grip as if he could shield her from the weight of her worries. “You belong here, Tori. You’re not alone in this. You have me, and I… I care about you. A lot.”

His confession hung in the air, charged with meaning. Tori’s heart raced a mix of hope and fear swirling within her. Could she let herself believe that? Could she allow someone in when she had built up so many walls to protect herself from hurt?

“What if I can’t be what you need?” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “What if I’m just a mess?”

Jude pulled back slightly to look into her eyes, his gaze unwavering. “Then we’ll figure it out together. You don’t have to have everything sorted right now. Just take it one day at a time.”

Tori nodded, her heart swelling with an overwhelming mix of gratitude and fear. She realized how desperately she wanted to trust him, to believe that she could lean on him without the weight of expectation. But the scars of past disappointments whispered doubts in her mind.

“Come downstairs,” Jude suggested, breaking the heavy silence. “Come and watch a movie with me.”

“Okay,” she finally replied, managing a small smile that still felt laced with apprehension.

As they made their way to the cozy living room, the atmosphere shifted away from introspection and into something lighter. Jude dimmed the lights and handed Tori a neatly folded blanket, instructing her to get comfortable on the sofa.

Tori wrapped the soft blanket around herself, feeling its warmth envelop her like a gentle hug. She sank into the cushions of the couch, her body relaxing as she settled into the space.

Jude took a seat beside her, his hands immediately finding her waist as he pulled her body on top of his wanting to be closer to her.

Despite Tori’s lack of clothes as she lounged on top of him, sex or anything of that nature was the furthest thing from his mind. Her legs rested on either side of his as she straddled his lap, her face pushed into the warm curve of his neck as she allowed herself to be held.

The feeling of Jude's body beneath her was both comforting and electric, a mix of intimacy and safety that left Tori's heart racing in a way it never had before. She felt enveloped in his warmth, like a blanket that shielded her from the chill of the outside world—all the loneliness, the hesitation, the fear. For a brief moment, her concerns faded into the background as she savored this closeness.

Jude's hands rested gently on the small of her back, his fingers tracing patterns that sent shivers coursing through her. As she nestled further into him, Tori inhaled deeply, breathing in his scent—a rich, earthy aroma that felt like home.

"It's nice to have this moment," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Just us, away from everything else.”

Tori nodded against his shoulder, a quiet acknowledgment of the sanctuary they had created together at that moment. She could feel the tension within her begin to unravel, each heartbeat synchronizing with Jude’s soothing presence. Yet, a flicker of worry crept in—was it too good to be true?

“What are you thinking?” Jude asked, his tone gentle but curious as he tilted her chin up so their eyes locked. The intensity of his gaze sent her pulse racing.

“I don’t know,” Tori admitted, battling the mix of emotions swirling inside her. "I just feel… overwhelmed, I guess. It’s like I want to open up to you but I’m scared.”

Jude’s expression softened, his eyes searching hers with a depth that made her feel seen. “You don’t have to share everything at once. We can take our time, and I’m not going anywhere,” he assured her, brushing a strand of hair back from her face.

Tori felt the familiar ache of longing deep inside her, the gnawing desire to let him in. But letting him see her vulnerabilities felt like standing on the edge of a cliff, ready to plunge into waters unknown.

“Sometimes I think that if I open up too much, I’ll just drown in my own mess,” she confessed, her voice quivering slightly. “And I don’t want to burden you with all of that.”

“You are not a burden to me,” Jude replied firmly, his hands sliding to her waist, thumbs gently rubbing circles that calmed her racing heart. “It’s okay to be messy. Life is messy. But you don’t have to go through it alone. You’ve got me.”

His words wrapped around her, comforting yet intimidating. The sincerity in Jude's eyes and the warmth of his embrace made Tori feel fragile yet strong all at once. In that moment, she could almost see herself in a different light, not just as the girl struggling with her loneliness, but as someone deserving of connection and understanding.

Tori swallowed hard, taking a breath that felt deeper than the ones she’d taken before. “What if I end up drowning you too?” she whispered, the vulnerability of her words hanging between them like a delicate thread.

“Then I’ll learn to swim,” he replied, his voice steady and unwavering.

Tori felt something shift within her, that weight of doubt giving way to a glimmer of hope. Maybe Jude was right; maybe she didn’t have to navigate this storm alone. Just the thought was enough to coax a small smile out of her, and she leaned into him a little more, grateful for the strength of his resolve.

“Okay, just… be patient with me, okay?” she asked, her voice softer now, almost shy.

“Always,” he promised, his thumbs now brushing lightly over her hips in a soothing rhythm that sent sparks dancing beneath her skin. “Let’s just enjoy each other’s company for now. No expectations.”

Tori nodded, feeling lighter as she took in that promise. The tension that had held her captive began to dissolve, and for the first time in a long while, an unguarded smile broke across her face. She could let herself be in this moment, to let Jude’s presence seep into her layers of worry.

As he leaned back against the couch, Tori settled against him fully, her head resting on his shoulder. She could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath her, grounding her in the present. The faint sounds of rain pattering against the window melded with the rhythm of their breathing, creating a serene soundtrack that enveloped them.

Jude reached for the remote, flicking on the television to find a movie that would serve as a backdrop to their emerging intimacy. But the film was less significant than the arrangement of bodies—her small silhouette resting snugly on top of him, feeling both helpless and enveloped in his strength.

Tori let out a deep breath as she felt Jude's hand come to caress her bare thigh, the pad of his thumb gently tracing circles that ignited warmth beneath her skin. The touch was innocent, yet it held an unmistakable tension, a teasing promise of something more that lingered in the air around them.

The movie flickered to life, but Tori found it hard to focus on the screen. All of her senses were heightened; the way Jude’s fingers brushed against her thigh sent shivers along her spine, making her heart race in a symphony of exhilaration and uncertainty.

"What's on your mind now?" he asked, his voice soft and smooth like silk, drawing her attention back to him. His eyes were warm and inviting, and she could see the underlying desire swirling just below the surface.

"I'm just… thinking how nice this is," Tori admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "Being here with you."

“Just here, no pressure. Just us,” Jude repeated, his fingers still dancing across her skin, each stroke igniting something deep within her that she had kept suppressed for far too long. The touch was light, almost feather-like, and she wished he would press a little harder.

She swallowed the knot of uncertainty in her throat, allowing herself to lose herself in the moment—to indulge in the feeling of being desired, understood, and safe all at once.

As if sensing her thoughts, Jude’s hand slipped beneath the blanket, his fingers moving higher, brushing against the curve of her hip. Tori gasped softly, a thrill running through her as his hand explored her body with a delicate yet possessive approach.

"What if you could let go of everything outside this moment?" Jude murmured, his voice thick with tantalizing urgency. “What if just for now, you focused only on us?”

Tori’s breath quickened at the suggestion, her heart pounding against her ribcage as the reality of his words began to seep in. The noise of the outside world—the rain, the chaos, the loneliness—faded further into the background as she considered his offer.

She shifted slightly on his lap, a flush creeping up her cheeks as she tested the waters of intimacy that surrounded them—so foreign, yet alluring. There was a potent mix of excitement and fear, a sweet tension that had both of them teetering on the edge of something new.

“I want that,” she confessed softly, her voice trembling with honesty. “I want to forget everything else.”

Jude’s eyes darkened, filled with an intense warmth that made her heart flutter in her chest. “May I?” he asked as he reached for the hem of the T-shirt she wore.

Tori’s breath hitched in her throat as she felt the gentle tug of his fingers. It was both thrilling and terrifying, the weight of the moment grounding her as she considered his request. “Yes,” she whispered, barely able to meet his gaze, her heart racing with a mix of eagerness and fear.

With a carefulness that felt intimate in itself, Jude lifted the shirt, baring her skin to the cool air. The contrast sent goosebumps rippling across her body as her nipples stiffened, each touch igniting a fire that pumped through her veins. He took his time, his hands gliding over her bare waist, exploring her curves with reverence as though she were a fragile piece of art.

“Beautiful,” he whispered, his voice steady, as his eyes lingered on her breasts for a few ticks before finding hers again.

As beautiful as her body was and as much pleasure as he took in it, in this moment Jude wasn't looking for sex. All he wanted was to be close to Tori, to have her understand that she was wanted.

The intensity of his gaze sent her heart racing, and Tori felt a warmth envelope her that had little to do with the blanket. The weight of his admiration made her feel vulnerable—exposed to the very core, yet wrapped in layers of tenderness.

Each brush of Jude's fingers aainst her skin felt like a promise, a gentle exploration that ignited the building desire within her. Tori's breaths quickened, the air thick with anticipation as she let herself succumb to the moment. She wanted to memorize the way he looked at her—like he could see into her soul like every inch of her was beautiful.

“While your with me the last thing I want is for you to feel alone, I know our situation is the furthest thing from normal as is my life, but I am here for you if you let me be.” Jude leaned closer, his breath warm against her skin, a soft caress that sent tremors through Tori’s entire being. Each word he spoke felt like an invitation to unravel the walls she had meticulously erected around her heart.

Tori shivered as she gazed into his eyes, trying to decipher the sincerity that lay within. There was a magnetic pull between them, one that threatened to ignite the spark of something deeper, more profound. Yet the ghost of her insecurities whispered doubts, urging her to stay guarded, to retreat into the familiar shadows of solitude that had become her refuge.

Tori’s arms instinctively went to cross over her chest in an attempt to cover herself only for Jude to gently catch her wrists, pressing them down to her sides. “Don’t hide from me,” he encouraged softly, the warmth that radiated from his touch sending trembles along her skin. “You’re breathtaking.”

She met his gaze—a mingling of intensity and tenderness, an invitation wrapped in a promise. The vulnerability washed over her in waves, and she fought against the instinct to shield herself. Instead, she pushed back against her insecurities, allowing herself to revel in his admiration.

“Look into my eyes,” Jude whispered, his voice deep and resonant. Tori swallowed, her heart pounding in her chest as she obliged, gazing into the depths of his eyes.

“Trust me,” he murmured, his gaze unwavering, the sincerity in his expression inviting her to step further into the unknown. “You’re safe here with me.”

With each heartbeat, she felt the barriers she had so carefully constructed begin to crumble, loosened by the unwavering strength of his presence. She couldn’t deny the way her body responded to him—how every brush of his fingers, every whisper of his voice sent her senses spiraling.

“I want to trust you,” Tori admitted, her voice filled with a mix of longing and vulnerability. “But it’s hard for me.”

“Then let yourself feel,” Jude encouraged gently. “Let this moment be about you and me. No past, no expectations—just two people finding their way.”

The intimacy of his words wrapped around her like a soft embrace, and she allowed herself to breathe in the moment. Tori’s heart raced as she leaned in closer, feeling the heat radiate from both their bodies.

Tori clung to Jude as his body relaxed into the plush sofa, his fingertips gently tracing invisible patterns along her bare skin. Each stroke sent shivers down her spine, a reminder of the fragile line they were treading between trepidation and desire. His touch was tender, yet ignited a fire within her, a longing for something deeper than mere connection.

Her eyelids fluttered closed as she surrendered to the sensations pooling within her, the warmth of Jude's body cradling her own. It wasn't until she had to fight against tiredness to keep her eyes open that she realized how drained she truly was.

She'd spent the previous night in Jude's bed struggling to put her racing mind at ease. Now in his arms, chest to chest it was as if her body was finally exhaling the tension that had been bottled up inside her since the night before.

When Tori's eyes fluttered open a while later, she was in Jude’s living room alone, her body snuggled beneath the blanket he had given her earlier.

The warmth of the blanket engulfed her, a stark contrast to the chill of the rain still tapping against the window. The soft glow of the television flickered in the dim light, a reminder of the movie she’d half-watched before sinking into an unexpected slumber. Tori blinked groggily, the remnants of sleep drifting away as she registered her surroundings.

Sitting up, Tori held the blanket against her chest as she looked around for the T-shirt she previously wore before being disrobed by Jude.

She noticed Jude lounging in an armchair across the room, his attention captivated by the flickering screen. He had a pair of sweatpants on, the fabric clinging well to his toned legs, and despite the casual attire, he exuded an effortless charm that made her heart race.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” he said, a hint of a smile dancing on his lips as he caught her gaze. “You gave in and fell asleep on me. I didn’t want to wake you.”

His voice was warm and inviting, a soothing balm against the remnants of her earlier anxieties. Tori stretched, trying to shake off the drowsiness, but as she did, she became acutely aware of how the blanket slipped to her waist, leaving her exposed.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep,” she stammered, blushing slightly as she tugged the blanket back up to her chest, suddenly feeling self-conscious about her half-clothed state. “I guess I was more tired than I thought.”

Jude chuckled softly, the sound melting away her embarrassment. “No need to apologize. You looked peaceful. I could tell you needed the rest.”

As she settled back into a more comfortable position, a peaceful silence enveloped the room. Tori’s heart fluttered with a mix of vulnerability and warmth as she took in the sight of him—the way the dim light accentuated the contours of his face, the way he watched her with a glimmer of something deeper in his eyes.

“What are you watching?” Tori asked, her curiosity piqued.

“A classic,” Jude replied, shrugging slightly, seemingly engrossed by a young Denzel Washington on the screen.

“Enlighten me,” Tori said with a playful grin, eager to distract herself from the flutter of nerves in her stomach as she leaned forward slightly, making her way to the edge of the couch so she could grab her top from the floor and slip it back over her head.

Jude chuckled, his gaze shifting back to the film briefly before landing on her once more. “It’s Man on fire. He’s pretty phenomenal in this role.”

With a shy smile, Tori settled back down, her curiosity piqued as they both turned to watch the movie together.

As the film played on, the distance between them seemed to evaporate. Jude moved from the seat he sat on back over to the sofa Tori occupied, settling in next to her.

His presence was magnetic, and she couldn't help but lean into him, seeking the warmth and safety that filled the air between them. As he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, Tori felt a rush of comfort wash over her. The tension from earlier had faded, leaving behind just the two of them and the flickering screen.

“If you're willing to brave the rain, we could go to dinner later?” Jude suggested as he nuzzled closer to her, his breath warm against her hair. The invitation hung in the air, both enticing and daunting, like stepping out from under the protective cover of their shared moment into the chaotic world outside.

“Or we could stay in?” Tori suggested, hoping he'd be okay with the latter.

Jude's eyes sparkled with a playful glint as he turned his head slightly to look at her. “You’d rather stay in, huh? Just the two of us?”

Tori bit her lip, feeling the warmth of his gaze. “I mean… it’s cozy here, and we still have the movie. Plus, the rain is relentless outside. I wouldn’t mind staying in and making dinner for ourselves, unless I'm ruining any plans you made.”

Jude's smile broadened, a hint of mischief lighting up his eyes. "No plans ruined at all," he said, his voice low and inviting. "I like the sound of that. Just us, cooking together ...a bottle of wine?"

Tori's heart fluttered at the thought. The idea of being in the kitchen with him felt warm and intimate, a natural progression from the cozy moment they were sharing. “That sounds perfect,” she replied, a smile spreading across her lips as she settled deeper into the embrace of the blanket and his arm.

Jude's fingers lightly skimmed her back, a gentle touch that made her skin tingle. “Do you have anything in mind, we can make a grocery list.”

“A few nights ago I was in bed salivating over a homemade pizza recipe I saw on tiktok,” Tori grinned, feeling a spark of excitement.

Jude chuckled, his eyes brightening at her enthusiasm. “Pizza it is, I’ll even let you pick the toppings. Just promise not to go too wild,” he teased, waggling his eyebrows playfully.

Tori giggled, her earlier worries beginning to fade as the warmth of the moment enveloped her. “I can’t make any promises! Although I am not a Pineapple on pizza girl.”

“It's not that bad,” Jude retorted with mock seriousness, prompting a laugh from Tori.

“Debatable,” she replied, playfully grimacing.

“We should probably go and grab what we need now before the sun begins to set,” Jude said with a hint of practicality.

Tori nodded with an eager grin. “Let’s do it! I’ll just throw on some clothes and be ready in a flash.��

As she stood, the blanket slipped off her shoulders, reminding her of the carefree intimacy they had shared moments ago. She hurriedly went upstairs to Jude's bedroom and rummaged through her things, locating her leggings and a cozy sweater. After quickly changing, she felt more grounded, thougha rush from earlier still lingered in her chest.

“Ready?” she asked as she joined Jude in the living room, feeling a rush of excitement at the prospect of spending the evening with him.

“If you are,” he replied, his eyes sparkling with warmth as they headed towards the door.

Before stepping out into the cold, damp air, Jude stopped Tori in her tracks, gently taking her hand in his, grabbing her attention.

“Kiss me,” he murmured as he bowed his head to her lips, his breath just a whisper away. The invitation hung in the air, electric and charged with possibility.

Tori felt herself blushing furiously as she looked into his eyes, searching for hesitance after their earlier conversation, but all she found was a deep desire that mirrored her own.

“Now,” Jude urged softly, closing the distance between them, his eyes holding hers captive.

Tori's heart raced, anticipation pooling in her stomach as she felt a magnetic pull towards him. “Okay,” she breathed, her voice nearly a whisper. She leaned in, feeling his warmth envelop her as their lips finally met.

The kiss was soft and hesitant at first, a gentle exploration that sent a spark racing through her. Tori felt herself melting against him, utterly consumed by the moment. Jude’s lips were warm, and as he deepened the kiss, she felt a rush of emotions flooding over her—an intoxicating mix of exhilaration, relief, and a sense of belonging that she had been longing for.

Tori wrapped her arms around his neck, feeling his hands slide to her waist, pulling her closer. Time felt suspended as they lost themselves in each other, the outside world fading away until all that existed was the warmth of their connection.

After what felt like an eternity, they finally pulled away, foreheads resting against one another, panting slightly. The intensity of his gaze held her captive, and she could see the tenderness reflected back at her—a promise that they were in this moment together.

Tori laughed quietly, feeling giddy from their shared moment. She had been nervous about letting him in, but with each passing moment, she felt her walls melt away.

Taking her hand so he could lead her towards his car, Jude grinned at her, his eyes sparkling with an energy that ignited her own excitement. “Let’s go make some pizza,” he said, his voice buoyant.

As they stepped outside, the cool, fresh air brushed against their skin, invigorating and alive. Tori could hear the rain gently tapping against pavement, a steady rhythm that felt comforting, almost like a promise of a cozy evening ahead. She glanced at Jude, who was shaking off an umbrella from a quick jog from the car, and couldn’t help but smile.

The car ride was filled with laughter, the rain blurring past the windows in a hazy dance. The tension of their earlier conversation slipped away, replaced by the familiar banter that had pulled them together in the first place.

“Okay, what toppings do we need?” Jude asked as they navigated through the aisles of the grocery store. He was pleasantly charming, his hair slightly damp from the rain, while the low lights of the store highlighted the attractive angles of his face.

“Definitely cheese dnd maybe some mushrooms?” Tori replied, her voice bright as they browsed the selections.

“Mushrooms?” Jude teased with a playful grimace. “What else?”

She giggled, feeling light-hearted. “I feel like I’ll just grab stuff as we go, but I am definitely having mushrooms on my pizza.”

As they continued down the aisle, the mundane task of grocery shopping grew into an intimate experience, each shared laugh and playful argument over toppings deepening the bond between them. Jude would sometimes reach out to brush against her arm or lightly bump her hip with his, and each touch sent delightful jolts through her.

“We need a bottle of wine, right?” he asked as they neared the wine section, his eyebrows raised suggestively.

“Absolutely,” she replied, her heart racing at the idea of sharing a bottle with him while they cooked. “I’ll choose it, but if we’re cooking, it has to be something light.”

“You choose, I trust you,” Jude said with a grin, stepping aside as Tori searched the shelves for a suitable bottle.

After a few moments of perusing, she grabbed a crisp white, satisfied with her choice. “This should pair nicely with our culinary masterpiece,” she said, holding up the bottle triumph.

“I’ll take your word for it, wine is never my first choice.” Jude smirked but accepted the bottle from her, giving her a playful wink.

Continuing on through the store, they gathered ingredients: a mix of colorful bell peppers, spicy salami, and two types of cheese—mozzarella and a sharp cheddar that Tori claimed would elevate their pizza to gourmet status. The excitement bubbled between them, an undercurrent of flirtation and shared joy that was impossible to ignore.

As they approached the checkout line, Tori glanced at Jude, her heart flickering with a mix of affection and vulnerability. “Thanks for doing this with me. I really appreciate it,” she said, her voice sincere.

“Of course,” Jude replied, his expression softening. “I wouldn’t have it any other way. I like seeing you happy.”

A warmth blossomed in Tori’s chest at his words. She was starting to believe that he genuinely enjoyed her company—more than just a diversion from his own life.

After they paid for their groceries, they loaded the bags into the car, the rain pattering steadily on the roof. Tori couldn’t help but smile as Jude turned the key in the ignition and the car roared to life, a backdrop to the comfort that was beginning to feel like second nature between them.

As they drove back to his place, the rain created a serene ambiance, the world outside a blur of colors and sounds. Tori felt a lightness in her chest, the growing familiarity between her and Jude felt like something she had been craving for but hadn’t known it.

When they returned to the house, Jude and Tori rolled up their sleeves, washing their hands so they could begin to prepare their dinner.

What started out as what was supposed to be a simple relatively fun task had quickly taken a flirtatious turn.

Jude paid more attention to his lips on the crease of Tori's neck and the skin behind her ear as his pizza base lay half done on the counter. Each kiss ignited a spark within her that sent a wave of heat flushing through her body.

“Are you sure this is how you make pizza?” Tori teased, trying to keep her voice light despite the butterflies swirling in her stomach.

“Absolutely,” Jude replied with a playful smirk, leaning in closer, his warm breath brushing against her skin as he placed gentle kisses along her neck.

“Your pizza is not going to make itself,” Tori pointed out as she continued sprinkling toppings onto her pizza base.

“You can make it for me,” Jude said hotly against her ear as his hands reached down to caress her waist, tilting her body just ever so slightly towards his.

Tori felt the breath hitch in her throat as his hands roamed playfully, teasingly, exploring the curves that lay bare under her sweater. The warmth radiating from him was intoxicating, and she found it hard to focus on anything other than the delicious tension simmering between them.

“Was this your plan all along?” Tori asked, her tone playfulas she looked over her shoulder at him.

“Maybe," Jude replied with a smirk, his gaze locking onto hers with a teasing intensity that sent shivers down her spine. "I thought if I got you into the kitchen, I might get a bit more than just pizza."

Tori felt her cheeks flush with warmth, the air between them thickening with a pleasurable tension. She turned back to the counter, trying to concentrate on the task at hand, but Jude's presence was all-consuming. His hands continued to roam, trailing along her sides, sending waves of warmth cascading through her.

"You're distracting me,” Tori playfully protested, her voice slightly breathless as she tried to focus on the pizza dough now spread out on the counter before her.

Jude chuckled, the sound deep and inviting, and she could feel him moving closer behind her, his warmth radiating against her back, before he stepped away from her allowing Tori to making his pizza for him before he helped out them into the oven and set the timer.

Dinner went by in a blur of laughter and good, hearty food. When they were done, Jude offered to clean the kitchen while sending Tori upstairs so she could begin to unwind for the evening.

Tori took a deep breath, feeling a mix of satisfaction and warmth as she leaned against the kitchen counter, watching Jude work. He moved with a casual confidence, wiping down the counters and washing the dishes with ease. It was an everyday scene, but to her, it felt special—a glimpse into a life she never knew she wanted.

As she made her way upstairs, Tori felt a flutter of excitement in her stomach. She had enjoyed their time together, the intimacy they shared over cooking, but the night was still young, and she wondered what else lay ahead.

In Jude's bedroom, sheremoved her clothes before making her way into the bathroom, stopping in her tracks as her mind went back to the warmth of Jude's embrace, the way he had kissed her so softly that it felt like time itself had paused. She could still feel the heat radiating from her skin where his fingers had danced, igniting a fire within her that was hard to ignore.

As she stood there, the steam from the shower began to curl around her, creating a soft fog in the mirror. Tori looked at herself, the reflection showing a girl who was both scared and exhilarated. Never had she allowed herself to feel so vulnerable with someone else. The thought of being naked—both physically and emotionally—made her heart race.

She knew she could easily slip into the shower and wash away the day, but something tugged at her, urging her to reach out to Jude. A wave of spontaneity washed over her, and she couldn’t shake the idea of inviting him to join her. The thought sent a thrill through her; the intimacy of sharing such a private moment felt like a natural progression of their connection.

With a determined breath, Tori stepped out of the bathroom, her heart pounding as she made her way back to the bedroom. Jude was still in the kitchen, his back to her as he wiped down the kitchen counter.

“Jude?” she called softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

He turned at the sound of her voice, his expression shifting from concentration to surprise as he took in her appearance.

“Shower with me,” Tori murmured softly, her gaze intensely fixed on Jude's. She stood before him in his kitchen, completely bare, the warmth of her skin glowing under the soft lighting. The hint of vulnerability that once flickered in her eyes had vanished, completely replaced by a palpable, electric desire that filled the air between them. Her confidence radiated, inviting him closer.

“Baby,” Jude breathed out as his hands found her hips, his brow slightly furrowed as his eyes drank in Tori's figure as she stood before him, her caramel skin glowing under the soft lighting of his kitchen as she offered herself to him.

The words hung in the air, charged with an undeniable chemistry that made every nerve in Tori's body hum with anticipation. She could feel the heat radiating from Jude’s body as he stepped closer, their proximity intensifying the moment.

“Come on,” she coaxed, tilting her head slightly, a teasing glint lighting up her eyes. Tori turned on her heel, a playful sway to her hips as she led the way to the bathroom, glancing over her shoulder to catch Jude’s gaze filled with both desire and awe as she led him upstairs.

Jude followed behind her, his eyes glued to the soft jiggle of her ass with each step she took, the curve of her hips that gave way to her petite waistline. He was simply in awe.

Unable to stop himself, Jude raised his hand and sent a rough, stinging slap against the curve of her backside. The sound echoed in the stillness of the house, a sharp contrast to the soft whisper of the water running in the bathroom.

Tori gasped, her eyes widening in surprise, but the flush of excitement that spread across her skin was unmistakable. She turned to him, her breath hitching at the mix of pleasure and pain at that moment.

Her lips curved into a smirk, a challenge glinting in her eyes as she stepped closer, her body itching for contact.

Before she could form another lust-filled sound from her mouth, Jude lifted Tori into his arms carrying her the rest of the up the stairs and into his bedroom, using the door to kick the door shut behind them.

Using one hand to hold Tori’s body, Jude used the other to rip his t-shirt off, carelessly throwing it to the floor as they made a rather messy beeline towards his en-suite bathroom, a clash of lips and teeth as they indulged in one another.

After spending most of the day with such heightened emotions, all Tori wanted to do was forget. She wanted to allow herself to get lost in Jude as he took her to heights unknown.

Placing Tori down on the bathroom counter, Jude sunk down onto his knees as he pushed her legs open, coming face to face with her warm, slick pussy.

Tori's breath hitched as the cool marble of the countertop kissed her heated skin, her heart pounding in anticipation. Jude's rough hands gripped her thighs, parting them wide to reveal her most intimate place. His hungry gaze raked over her, and she could feel his eyes drinking in every inch of her exposed flesh.

"Fuck, you're so wet for me already," Jude growled, his voice low and rough with desire. His thumbs parted her slick folds, exposing her swollen clit to his heated stare.

Tori whimpered, her hips canting forward seeking more of his touch. "Please, Jude," she breathed, her voice heavy with need. "I want your mouth on me."

With a groan, Jude leaned in, his breath hot against her aching core. Tori's head fell back, her eyes squeezing shut as his tongue delved between her slick folds, lapping at her essence.

"Oh fuck, yes," she cried out, her fingers tangling in his hair. Jude's tongue was sinful, his mouth hot and gluttonous as he devoured her.

His talented mouth was relentless, his tongue delving deep to stroke along her fluttering walls, drawing out more of her sweet nectar. Tori's hips bucked against his face, desperate for more of that delicious friction.

"Just like that," she panted, her thighs clenching around his head. "Don't stop, please don't stop."

Jude hummed against her, the vibrations sending sparks of pleasure shooting up her spine as he roughly pushed her thighs apart, his head thrashing as he feasted on her.

Their eyes met as Jude lifted his gaze to hers, his eyes dark with lust and his lips glistening with her juices. Tori's pulse jumped at the intensity of that look, her body burning under his heated stare.

She watched, awestricken as Jude puckered his lips allowing a bead of spit to fall from between them onto her pulsing clit.

“Play with it,” he instructed hotly.

Tori's eyes flickered with a mix of surprise and arousal at Jude's command. She swallowed thickly, her pulse jumping as she reached down to circle her clit with the pad of her finger, her slick essence mixing with his spit.

"Good girl," Jude groaned, his voice low and gravelly. His praise sent a fresh gush of wetness to coat her fingers, her touch sending sparks of pleasure shooting up her spine.

Tori's breath came in shallow pants as she worked herself, her hips rolling in time with the movement of her fingers. The obscene sounds of her arousal filled the bathroom, mixing with the sound of the shower running in the background.

"Show me," Jude demanded, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Fuck yourself for me."

A whimper fell from Tori's lips as she complied, sinking two fingers knuckle-deep into her aching core. She fucked herself hard and fast, her fingers pumping in and out of her slick heat as she chased her release, unable to keep her eyes from rolling shut.

"That's it, baby," Jude encouraged, his fingers tangling in the back of her hair as he raised her head a little, making sure she was also audience to the show she was putting on for him between her thighs.

Tori's breath came in shallow pants as she worked herself, her fingers pumping in and out of her slick heat as she chased her release. The obscene sounds of her arousal filled the bathroom, mixing with the sound of the shower running in the background.

"Look at you," Jude groaned, his voice low and rough with desire. "Fucking yourself for me. You love this, don't you?"

Tori's eyes clenched shut, her hips bucking wildly against her hand as Jude's nasty words pushed her closer to the edge. "Yes," she whimpered, her voice broken and needy.

"Fuck, baby, you're so perfect," Jude growled, his praise sending a fresh gush of wetness to coat her fingers. "Come for me. Come all over those pretty fingers."

Tori's back arched, her body tensing as her orgasm crashed over her. "Jude!" she cried out, her inner walls clenching around her fingers as she came undone. Her vision went, stars exploding behind her eyelids as wave after wave of pleasure washed over her.

Before Tori had the chance to come back to reality, she was under the showers spray, clinging to Jude as he pinned her overstimulated body against the shower wall, rolling a condon down his thick cock.

He had no intention of rushing anything beyond this point, his eyes drinking Tori in as he towered above her, taking his length into his hand.

Tori's body trembled, her skin flushed and tingling with postorgasmic bliss as Jude pinned her against the shower wall. The hot spray of water cascaded over them, steam rising around their entwined forms. She gazed up at him through hooded eyes, her chest heaving with shallow breaths.

Jude's eyes raked over her, taking in every inch of her glistening skin, his own chest rising and falling rapidly with desire. His large hands gripped her hips possessively, his thumbs digging into the soft flesh.

"Are you ready for me, baby?" Jude murmured, his voice low and rough with need. He positioned himself at her entrance, the head of his cock nudging against her slick folds.

Tori whimpered, her hips canting forward seeking more of that delicious friction. "Yes," she breathed, her voice heavy with want. "I need you inside me."

With a deep, guttural groan, Jude thrust forward, burying himself to the hilt inside Tori's tight heat. "Fuck," he hissed through clenched teeth, his eyes squeezing shut at the exquisite sensation of her walls gripping him like a vice.

Tori cried out, her nails digging into his shoulders as she was stretched and filled by his impressive length. Her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, drawing him even deeper.

For a moment, they remained still, savoring the feeling of being so intimately connected. Jude's forehead rested against hers, their ragged breaths mingling in the steamy air between them.

Slowly, he began to move, withdrawing until just the tip remained before slamming back in, setting a deep, powerful rhythm. The wet slap of skin against skin echoed obscenely in the shower, mixing with their moans and gasps.

"Baby, look at me," he grunted as his eyes bore into hers, his hips snapping forward to meet hers. Each powerful thrust sent sparks of pleasure shooting up Tori's spine, her inner walls clenching around his thick length.

Jude's hands gripped her hips hard enough to leave bruises, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as he pounded into her. The water cascaded over them, steam rising around their entwined forms.

"Fuck, you feel so good," Jude groaned, his voice low and gravelly. "Tori, you’re so fucking tight around my cock."

Tori whimpered, her head falling back against the shower wall as she lost herself to the sensation of Jude's merciless strokes. "Harder, baby," she panted, her nails raking down his back. "Fuck me harder."

With a feral growl, Jude obliged, his hips snapping forward with a boundless force. The wet, nasty sounds of their coupling filled the bathroom, mixing with the patter of the shower spray.

Tori's body trembled, her skin flushed and tingling with building pleasure as Jude pounded into her. She could feel her climax building, coiling tighter and tighter in her core.

Tori's body trembled, her skin flushed and tingling with building pleasure as Jude pounded into her. She could feel her climax building, coiling tighter and tighter in her core.

"Jude," she whimpered, her voice broken and needy. "I'm gonna cum."

"Cum for me, baby," Jude growled, his hips snapping forward with a boundless force. "Fucking soak my cock."

Tori's inner walls clenched around him, her body tensing as her orgasm crashed over her. "Fuck, Jude!" she cried out, her vision going white as wave after wave of pleasure washed over her.

Jude groaned, his thrusts becoming erratic as he chased his own release. "Fuck, I'm cumming," he grunted, his hips stuttering as he buried himself deep inside her. Tori could feel him throbbing inside her, his hot seed spilling into the condom that sheathed his length in thick ropes.

They remained like that for a long moment, clinging to each other as they rode out the aftershocks of their release. Slowly, Jude lowered her legs, holding her up as he pressed soft kisses along her neck and shoulder. “I want to cum inside you so fucking bad,” he breathed, the revelation surprising him as much as it did Tori.

[solarsturniolo]

𖥔‧₊˚ ⊹ Frat Boy!Chris...who isn't supposed to be on his phone during chapter meetings, but he just can't get enough of you.

𖥔‧₊˚ ⊹ Frat Boy!Chris...who will only let you drink from a cup that he hands to you. If you somehow end up with a drink he didn't make, rest assured that you will not be hearing the end of it.

𖥔‧₊˚ ⊹ Frat Boy!Chris...who lives off of pepsi, cold pizza, and coors light.

𖥔‧₊˚ ⊹ Frat Boy!Chris...who keeps a close eye on you when you attend one of his parties. If anyone gets too close or does something he doesn't like, he's ready to jump in and intervene.

𖥔‧₊˚ ⊹ Frat Boy!Chris...who convinces you to work the bar with him when it's his turn. "So I won't be as bored."

𖥔‧₊˚ ⊹ Frat Boy!Chris...who never makes you pay for the drugs he supplies you with.

𖥔‧₊˚ ⊹ Frat Boy!Chris...who is always in charge of selecting the DJ for the frat events.

𖥔‧₊˚ ⊹ Frat Boy!Chris...who you only ever see at night. Maybe you'd see him in passing while walking from class to class on campus, but even that was a rare sight.

𖥔‧₊˚ ⊹ Frat Boy!Chris...who drives an Audi A6. It always smells like black ice car fresheners, weed, and clean leather. Chris is very selective about who he lets in his car, but it didn't take long for you to claim the passenger princess title.

𖥔‧₊˚ ⊹ Frat Boy!Chris...who loves going all out for party and event themes. That being said, he easily gets frustrated when other people don't put in as much effort as he does. All he wants is for everyone to have a good time, and for his parties to be talked about for the next decade.

𖥔‧₊˚ ⊹ Frat Boy!Chris...who insists on making the jungle juice for the parties. He may be a fuckboy, but he makes it clear that he wants the girls to be safe.

𖥔‧₊˚ ⊹ Frat Boy!Chris...who always has a pack of Marlboros on him.

𖥔‧₊˚ ⊹ Frat Boy!Chris...who is a monster at poker and beer pong. Not the best with a dart board, though.

𖥔‧₊˚ ⊹ Frat Boy!Chris...who is absolutely horrible at responding to texts. He always feels bad once he realizes that he's left you on delivered for 20 hours, but his schedule is packed pretty tight.

𖥔‧₊˚ ⊹ Frat Boy!Chris...who 100% has a piece hidden in his room.

𖥔‧₊˚ ⊹ Frat Boy!Chris...who couldn't find any papers to roll another joint, so he takes a $50 from his wallet and wraps it in that. "I'm too fucked up to go out and get more, it's this or a weak ass high."

𖥔‧₊˚ ⊹ Frat Boy!Chris...who lets you stand behind the DJ booth and queue a few songs up that you think the girls will enjoy. If anyone tries to say anything to you, Chris gives them one look and they take off in the other direction.

𖥔‧₊˚ ⊹ Frat Boy!Chris...who pretty much only uses snapchat for communication. "So I can see your pretty lil face, mama."

𖥔‧₊˚ ⊹ Tags 𖥔‧₊˚ ⊹

@flowerxbunnie @megamett44-lover @xtravrgnoliveoil @mattsturnswife @sturniolofan4lifee @soursturniolo @sturnioz @luverboychris @meerkatzthings @soupuurr @gemofthenight @hi-7-hi @blahbel668 @mattspleasure @sturnybabes @jjmaybankswifes-blog @sturniolosreads @bernardsleftbootycheek @egirlshit @nonamegirlxsturniolo @chrizz333 @sturniolopowers @mattsleftnipple03 @worldlxvlys @hearts4chriss @janiellasblog @creamoncreamoncream2 @meg-sturniolo @ellie-luvsfics @lustfulslxt @braindead4l @ghostlythinggoingaround @taekwite @querenciasturniolo @m4ttslvr @mqttittude @bewtyschooldropout @lovesturni0l0s @zebonos @h3arts4harry @riowritesitall @freshloveforthefit @esioleren @colorthecosmos444 @mbbsgf @kitkatbar1275 @fratbrochrisgf @sturnslutz @favsdti @sturnsmia

[sprinklesoncake]

While I sip on my apple tea and eat my apple pie, let me tell you another my opinion of Calebs storyline.

Warning: Spoilers!

First of all, I was always a Caleb stan the moment I saw him and chapter 4 broke me back then. My worry was, how the devs will handle him in the story. It is hard writing a character who is suppose to be dead in MCs eyes.

His introduction was🥵 him in uniform and then using his evol against an assassin had me feel things and then the scene where the fleet landed and him in his sunglasses AHHHHHH!

The interrogation was also hot af! But that’s not my point, I could go on for days talking about how sexy Caleb is lol When they hugged you could actually feel the relief on both sides. Let me say this but MC in this story was better than before in my opinion.

And I know a lot are creep out by his possessiveness but knowing that he also lost his parents as a young child he probably was already traumatised and then MC came into his life, someone who gave him warmth, that little boy wanted to start protecting his sun so bad. In his anecdotes there is a hint that Caleb was already possessive like he is now. He almost lost his life too during his training as an aerospace pilot but the only thing that kept him fighting was the thought of MC. And now after the explosion he took the sacrifice to be an experiment so that MC won’t have to go through that. In his mind it’s better to be alive than letting MC fight on her own.

And that chip??? Every soldier seems to have in the fleet where they basically become cold and emotionless soldiers? Or when that kid was crying for his sister’s death and the chip realised an error? MC in his myth was implementing one into herself (Might be wrong but I think it is heavily implied) and the chip made her go crazy. She thought there is no tomorrow! Maybe that chip also makes Calebs fear even bigger and that’s why he’s like that now. And possessiveness might not be count as a “weak feeling” by the system.

His possessiveness throughout the main story makes more sense now if you keep that in mind. Am I still mad that he drugged us? Absolutely! But it shows me how easy it is for love turning into possession, the fear he feels makes him do things he normally wouldn’t act out. He wants to protect his sun so bad.

MC however wants to go back in time where everything was still alright. She sees that Caleb is in pain, that someone who had no secrets with her suddenly is not telling her everything. Unlike Zayne, who MC met again as basically “a stranger”, Caleb was constantly in her life and both of them didn’t want to be separated ever. It is understandable that she can’t grasp the “new Caleb” yet.

Both of them yearn for each other so badly and want whats best for the other one but they need to understand that none of them is the same as before. MC is not a child, she knows things about herself which she can’t ignore anymore and Caleb needs to accept that. MC on the other hand needs to accept that after the explosion, Caleb due to circumstances is not the Caleb she knew before.

I was so happy when the start of his myth told us that they found a way to coexist but you could feel that they don’t fully accept it 100%. Yet both of them are ready to die for each other.

And let’s not forget that MC is possessive herself. In his 4* where MC kisses his cheek, the story was about how MC thought he got a love letter and knowing how Caleb never accepted one before, she got curious. She vaguely asked Caleb in 3rd person and he thought she had a crush on someone. Both of them were restless and who tf gets restless not knowing your best friend crush?? UNLESS you yourself are possessive for that person. And the promise they both made at the end? “You promise to not ever get a girlfriend!” That is one cruel promise to make UNLESS again, you are possessive if each other and deep down you know you’ll end up together😂Crazy finds crazy😂

I really like how the devs wrote this story. It is exactly how I thought the vibe would be between those two and I can’t wait for the next story cards and main story.

What is your thought, dear reader?