#anyways the next chapter is where it really gets going

[pazziescapism]

Break Our Ice - Chapter 4

pairing: paige x azzi

wc: 12.1k

au fic what??, figureskater!Azzi x icehockeyplayer!Paige

fake dating, just like playful banter teasing relationship to lovers, basically paige and azzi dancing around each other

a/n: HI GUYS!! i am truly sorry for the wait i have no idea why this chapter took me so long, honestly this is definitely my least favourite chapter and sorry if it seems choppy i took out and rearranged heaps of scenes i don't watch ice skating or ice hockey so i didn't really think about how i would write about it... AHAH anyway i guess this is kinda the last chapter?? i think id be down to do some bonus ones but i am working on something new so we will see, again thank you for reading! ps, did u see that wc?? 12k, yes im very proud

Someone is pulling Azzi to the side, a hand digging into the meat of her upper arm, hard enough to bruise. She’s having a hard time registering anything over the noise and lights. It feels like there’s a hundred people surrounding her, pushing her off to the side, crushing her by the borders.

Then the crowd falls away, and Paige’s in front of her looking harried. The press continues to shout from the side, the noise a little quieter now that they’ve moved, a crowd of people in front of them like a barricade.

“Ah, man,” Ice says, next to the two of them. “Bad luck.”

“I’ve got to go back out and do press,” Paige says, and she looks upset, running a hand jerkily through her hair. “Can you get someone to take Azzi out the back way?”

“It’s only the tabloids,” Azzi says and stays where she is. The situation is mixing badly with the insecurity in her chest, her head. Something selfish and angry has taken up residency in her, curling and twisting unpleasantly. 

“That’s the problem,” Paige says, not even looking at her, her face scanning the crowd, like she’s already searching for a way to get Azzi away. 

Like a picture of them together would be something so dreadful. 

“They’re already here,” Azzi points out, not moving. “Who cares if they get a picture or two?”

Paige frowns. She’s gotten fully ready to act within seconds, Azzi’s coat clutched in her hands. “They’ll come to the wrong conclusions,” she says, and Azzi’s heart sinks. 

The unpleasant feelings in her stomach give a sharp twist, and Azzi feels herself smile and knows it must look off.

“As long as they’re here,” she whispers, leaning in closer to Paige. “Let’s give them a show.” 

Paige’s eyes drop to her lips, like Azzi knew they would; for an instant, their faces are inches apart. She hears someone yell, and the camera’s go off again, too many bright lights to see, photographers moving around the crowd in front of them to get a picture. Paige steps fully away from her, panicked expression twisting into something sharper.

“For fuck’s sake, Azzi,” Paige says, viciously angry, and Azzi steps back too, taken aback by the reaction.

“I didn’t mean to,” she starts, and she isn’t sure what she didn’t mean to do so she lets that sentence trail off and starts again. “I didn’t mean it.” 

This doesn’t seem to make Paige feel much better, judging by the volume of her retort, her eyes angrier than Azzi’s ever seen them, as she shoves Azzi’s jacket into her arms. “You can’t just fuck around with my life when you get bored. Those pictures are going to be everywhere by tomorrow.”

“Don’t yell at me,” Azzi says back, her face burning hot with what might be anger, or might be shame. She’s off-balance, tilting too far one way and then the next. I don’t understand, she wants to yell. She wants, selfish as it seems, for Paige to understand her, without Azzi having to explain. 

Is it that awful to be seen with me? Azzi thinks, her head buzzing miserably.

Ice’s got her by the arm, then and they’re both heading down a dark little hallway, leading out to the parking lot. 

“I practice here too,” Azzi snaps, and yanks her arm away. Her jacket is gripped in her arms, and the jersey suddenly feels tight and humiliating on her skin. “I know the way.”

Ice doesn’t seem to take offense, which makes Azzi feel worse, just nods good-naturedly, her head ducked to avoid stray cameras. “That makes sense.”

Azzi swallows, hard. “I’m sorry,” she says, and that at least, is sincere. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Ice tells her, and then hesitates as they exit out into the employee’s only section of the parking lot. Someone must have told Caroline, because Azzi can see her car heading towards them. “Hey, and- um, Paige just kind of hates cameras more than the rest of us, so, I mean, try not to-”

“Whatever,” Azzi says, cutting her off. She doesn’t really need the reminder. 

It’s freezing outside, thick dark clouds rolling over the sky, threatening snow at any minute. Azzi shivers, and then steps away from Ice as Caroline pulls up, nodding goodbye stiffly. 

To Caroline’s credit, she doesn’t ask any questions as Azzi angrily peels the jersey off the second they get onto the road, leaving her in only the thin sweater she had been wearing underneath. For good measure, she throws it on the floor and stomps on it, her dirty sneakers creating a bizarre black mark over the fabric, before throwing it to the back of the car. 

She considers slipping on the jacket, which at least doesn’t have Paige’s name written on it, but the image of Paige’s white knuckles around it as she tried to usher Azzi out as quickly as possible rises to mind and she chucks it to the back too. 

“So,” Caroline says casually, reaching over to turn the heating up in the car. “After game jitters?”

“Fuck you,” Azzi says bitterly. “Actually, fuck her. Let’s turn around so I can go slash her tires.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Caroline says, like a hint. 

“No,” Azzi says. “I already told you what I wanted to do, but you missed the turn.”

White flurries are starting to drift down outside the window, the wind picking up speed. Some of the flakes drift against the glass, individual specks so that Azzi can get a brief glimpse of the small symmetrical patterns making up each snowflake before they melt away against the window. 

“I’ve been trying so hard to make her like me,” Azzi says suddenly, into the quiet of the car, “and she doesn’t.”

“I’m sure she does,” Caroline says, accepting this too, without question. 

“She was such an asshole, just now,” Azzi seethes. “It’s one picture, will the world end? Will the sky fall?”

“I’m sure you already know this,” Caroline says, “but it was probably a bigger deal to her than it was to you.”

“I piss her off all the time,” Azzi points out. The anger is separating into hurt, a needle digging under the skin of her ribs. “She’s never reacted like that.”

Caroline doesn’t respond to this, as they pull into their neighbourhood. “You want to come over?” She offers. “Kaitlyn’s away for the day.”

Azzi is still considering this when her phone rings in her pocket, making her jump. She keeps meaning to set it to vibrate. She looks at the caller ID and considers hanging up. It would make her feel good, she reasons, give her a little vindictive pleasure. She’s aware of Caroline’s eyes still on her.

“Yes?” She says tersely, answering the phone. 

“Hey,” Paige’s voice sounds a little hoarse on the other end. “I ditched the press conference. I’m on my way home. I thought, maybe we could talk?”

Azzi stares out the window. The temperature’s dropped fast, and the wind has picked up, white snow starting to cover the sidewalks, clinging to the window and the windshield. 

 “Talk about what?” She asks, forcing herself to lean back against the seat. 

“Um,” Paige says. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like- I wanted to apologize.”

“I don’t want an apology, Paige,” Azzi says coldly. “I want to finally lay this humiliating chapter of my life to rest.”

“Azzi,” Paige says. “We won’t get anywhere if you refuse to talk about it.”

“There’s nowhere to go,” Azzi snaps. Her split lip stings as she speaks, newly scabbed over skin starting to split again. “We were never going anywhere to begin with.”

There’s a silence over the phone, only Paige’s breath filling the space, still so fucking steady. “You don’t mean that,” she says finally, voice charged with a bone-deep tiredness.

“This was always temporary,” Azzi says, always clawing her nails into wounds that are already bleeding, both her own and other people’s. “Sorry that you thought otherwise.”

“Fine,” Paige says into the phone, frustration jagged in her voice. “The dating part is fake, yeah, but- Christ, Azzi- I thought we were at least friends.”

Azzi is breathing too fast, too heavy. She wants to cry. She wants to scream some more. She wants to put her head on Paige’s shoulder and just breathe in the familiar smell of her, until they’re in sync again, inhaling and exhaling in the same rhythm. She doesn’t want to be friends.

“Go home, Paige,” she says, and feels the cavity in her chest split open a little further. There’s a sharp intake of breath on the other end, so vulnerable it nearly rips her determination into shreds. The next thing she hears is the dial tone. 

The car is horribly silent. Azzi doesn’t look, but the sound of Caroline’s disapproval is nearly audible.

“Don’t start,” Azzi moans. “I just- fuck, do you think I fucked up?”

Caroline is quiet for a moment, long enough for Azzi to turn and see hesitation lining her face. 

“I think you would feel better if you were honest about your feelings,” she says finally. “Even if it doesn’t end up getting you what you want.”

Azzi lets her fingers fall, tracing over the material of her sweatpants. “It was going so well too,” she says, trying not to sound like she’s whining, and not quite succeeding.

“It’s not a real relationship, though,” Caroline says, and Azzi’s head snaps up in irritation.

“Thank you for that,” she says, curt. “Exactly what I needed to hear.”

“What I mean is,” Caroline sighs and then starts over. “It’s not real. It’s easy to have a great relationship if you don’t have as much to lose. You’ve been living in fantasyland.” 

“This is like, the most unhelpful you have ever been,” Azzi tells her. “And that is saying something.”

“All I’m saying is, if you want to have a relationship with her after this whole thing is over-”

“I don’t,” Azzi interrupts, and Caroline closes her eyes like this whole thing is horrible for her, personally.

“Sure. But if you do, you need to figure out whether this is all it’s going to take before you give up.

“Ugh,” Azzi says. She glares out the window again. The snow is starting to blow in heavy gusts outside, and when Caroline parks, she can see that it’s piling up on the staircase leading up to their building. The snowfall is starting to pick up speed, thick, soft heaps of white beginning to form, deep enough to get in your shoes, sink into your socks. 

The cab driver stops before turning into the long, narrow street leading to Paige’s building, and tells Azzi that with the current road conditions, she’ll either have to pay extra or walk the rest of the way. Azzi looks at the storm starting to rage outside, the snow swirling on strong winds, until she can barely see anything other than white through the window. She looks at the still-running meter. She decides to walk. 

About thirty seconds in, she’s regretting it. She didn’t bring a jacket with her, so the snow is flying everywhere, landing in any available gaps in her clothes and melting into ice cold water on contact with skin. Her feet are suffering the worst, the snow piling up inside her shoes, melting and then piling up again until she can’t feel her toes anymore. 

“Paige,” she says when she reaches the building, hitting the buzzer for Paige’s apartment. “Paige, if you don’t let me in, I’ll die. I’ll die, seriously.”

“Azzi?” Paige says over the intercom, static blurring her voice, and she says something that sounds like a question, but the locked door clicks and unlocks, and Azzi misses the words as she shuffles eagerly into the heated building. 

It’s only once she’s in the elevator, a minute away from Paige’s door that she realizes that she has no plan, she’s forgotten her speech, and the snow collected in her hair and clothing has melted, leaving her sopping wet and creating a puddle of dirty water where she’s standing. 

It’s all she can do to keep herself standing when Paige opens the door, her eyes widening as she takes in Azzi, sniffling only a little pathetically in her doorway, soaked to the bone in a thin sweater and sweatpants. 

“I’m sorry,” Azzi says, before Paige has the chance to say anything. “I didn’t mean to say- I just- we are friends and I want to keep being friends and I don’t want to fake break-up, and I’m a really terrible fake-girlfriend, but I want to keep being your terrible fake-girlfriend.”

Paige’s mouth opens. Closes again. She seems, for the first time since Azzi’s met her, to be at a total and complete loss for words. 

“And I’m sorry for pushing it about the picture thing,” Azzi continues nervously. A patch of melting snow is sliding down her back. “I didn’t want to- You hurt my feelings, a little, so I wanted to hurt your feelings and now I feel bad about that-”

“You are the dumbest person alive,” Paige says, and she grabs Azzi’s wrist and yanks her inside. 

She closes the door behind them, almost as an afterthought, her hands fluttering over Azzi’s body, her fingers, her neck, her cheek, bringing a moment of blissful warmth wherever they land. “You’re shaking, Jesus Christ. How far did you walk like this? There’s a blizzard warning out, are you stupid?”

Azzi peels her shoes off and then stands in the entranceway, unsure of where to go or what to say, her hair dripping water onto her already wet socks. 

“Unbelievable,” Paige is saying, already halfway across the living room before she realizes Azzi isn’t following. “Go, sit,” she says, and gestures at the stools across the kitchen counter. 

Azzi obediently takes a seat. 

It isn’t long before Paige returns to stand in front of her with a towel in her hands, and chucks it over Azzi’s wet hair, her hands scrubbing at it like she’s planning on taking Azzi’s whole head off. 

“What is wrong with you?” Paige is asking her, though it seems to be rhetorical, her hands still busy drying Azzi’s hair, none too gently. “No jacket, no scarf, not even any decent shoes. Did you look outside before you decided to come running to apologize? You know how long it takes to get frostbite?-”

“Paige,” Azzi interrupts and Paige stops, both the lecture and the scrubbing, tilting Azzi’s face up so their eyes meet. Azzi’s tongue flattens at the expectant look in her eyes, and it’s with considerable effort that she manages to start again. “Paige, you forgive me, right?”

For the second time in as many minutes, Paige looks absolutely floored by the words out of Azzi’s mouth. Azzi can’t explain it to herself, any more than she can explain it to Paige, but she needs to hear the words, needs to see the shape of them in Paige’s mouth. 

“Yes,” Paige says finally. “I forgive you. And I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

“I know,” Azzi says, a shaky smile lifting the edges of her mouth. 

Paige doesn’t move for a second, just watches Azzi, her green eyes contemplative. Then she starts drying Azzi’s hair again, a gentler set to her mouth, if not to her technique. 

“You have qualifiers in a couple days,” she continues, as if nothing had happened, Azzi’s neck aching from the directions it’s being pushed and pulled in. “What would you have done if you’d gotten sick? Would you have sat out? Idiot.”

  “I would have won anyway,” Azzi mumbles, a little guiltily, and then screeches at a particularly rough yank on her head. “But I won’t if I go bald! Paige!” 

“Oops,” Paige says, not sounding very regretful. “Was that one too much?”

“Obviously, you fucking-” Azzi wails as Paige does it again. “Paige, my hair!” 

Paige snickers, and pulls the towel away completely, tossing it into Azzi’s lap. “Drop this off in the laundry. And find some clean clothes and take a warm shower. I’ll get you some hot water with lemon and honey, so you don’t catch a cold. Silly girl.”

Azzi doesn’t answer, busy trying to feel her aching scalp for possible bald patches. 

“Don’t worry,” Paige tells her, pushing her off the stool. “I promise you’re still pretty.”

Azzi whips around, beaming, ignoring Paige’s increasingly forceful attempts to shove her in the direction of the laundry room. “You think I’m pretty, Paige?” 

She says it as half a joke, mostly expecting Paige to roll her eyes and push her away. It catches her by surprise when Paige’s expression softens instead, as she reaches up to push a strand of damp hair behind Azzi’s ear, the pad of her fingertip brushing softly over the shell of Azzi’s ear. 

“You’re very pretty,” she says indulgently, her hand falling back to her side, Azzi staring at her wide-eyed. “Even when you’re at my door looking like a drowned puppy.”

Azzi goes to take a shower without further comment. 

When she pads out, significantly calmer, in barefeet and a soft bathrobe, Paige is squeezing some lemon into a glass, the hot water creating condensation along the sides of the glass, fogging it up. It tastes honey-sweet going down Azzi’s throat, warming her up where the heat of the shower didn’t reach. 

She feels warmer still when Paige presses her up against the kitchen counter, rough hands slipping inside the bathrobe, spreading across her back, as she licks into Azzi’s mouth like she can taste the remnants of honey and lemon lingering on Azzi’s tongue.

“Your lip is bleeding,” she murmurs, pulling away from Azzi, kissing the corner of her mouth in apology. “Sorry.”

Azzi licks over her lower lip, tastes metal in her mouth and grimaces. “Oops.”

Paige is already grabbing a tissue, and running it under the tap. She squeezes water out into the drain and presses the damp tissue to Azzi’s mouth, wiping away where the blood has smeared. Azzi winces at the contact, and Paige holds her chin between a finger and a thumb, keeping her in place. “Stay still, baby.”

Baby, Azzi thinks delightedly, lets the sound echo inside her brain. She’s still thinking about the word choice when she realizes Paige’s stepped away. 

“Does it hurt?”

Azzi blinks. “Huh?” 

Paige stares at her. Azzi stares back.

“Your lip?” Paige prompts, after it becomes clear that Azzi won’t be answering, a small smile playing at her own mouth. “It’s bleeding.”

“Oh,” Azzi says. She’s lost it. “Yes. The lip. It was bleeding. Still bleeding?”

Paige just looks at her, her eyes blinking slowly, like Azzi is the most fascinating person in the world. If this was anyone else, Azzi thinks, she would probably be embarrassed. But Paige just smiles at her, and Azzi can only muster up the smallest hint of sheepishness at being caught out so directly.

“Yes,” she amends, and wraps her arms around Paige’s neck. “It hurts lots. Kiss it better.”

Paige groans, her hands landing on Azzi’s shoulders, resisting her attempts to pull them back together. “You are insufferable. Did you know that?”

“Yes,” Azzi says again, honestly, and she nudges her cold nose into the space between Paige’s shoulder and collarbone, drinks in the smell of Paige’s perfume (which she thinks is actually a cologne) “But here you are. Suffering.”

Paige’s eyes meet Azzi’s and hold eye contact, her face unreadable. Then she sighs. “You have no idea.”

Azzi doesn’t know what to make of this insult that doesn’t sound like an insult. She doesn’t respond, she presses cold feet against Paige’s shin in retaliation, grinning at her put-out expression.

“I can’t believe your toes didn’t fall off,” she says, and tugs Azzi over to her fireplace using the belt on her borrowed robe.

Azzi settles cross-legged in front of the blazing heat, lets it sweep over her back, feeling thrillingly, deliriously happy, sparks running up her still damp skin, making her heart beat faster in her chest. 

“What do you look so happy about?” Paige asks, when Azzi grabs her and tugs her closer. She goes willingly, her head settling in Azzi’s lap, wincing as Azzi’s cold hands come around to pull at her cheeks. 

“I’ve accepted my fate,” Azzi tells her.

“Your fate as what, exactly?” Paige says, the words mumbled as Azzi tugs on her face.

Azzi doesn’t answer, just leans forward and plants a kiss on her forehead, right above the bridge of her nose. 

Has Paige’s New Relationship Gone Cold? Hockey Player ‘Iced Out’ by Figure Skating Fling!

Azzi’s Out On Her Ass! ‘Hit the Slopes!’ Says Paige! “On Thin Ice” Says Exclusive Source.

Azzi, Cold on the Ice, Colder in Bed?! Insider Sources Speak Out About Skating Couple’s Frigid Romance!

“Kaitlyn,” Azzi says, interrupting Kaitlyn’s dramatic reading. “You could read these in your head.”

“Good literature deserves to be shared,” Kaitlyn tells her, and holds up a new one. “A source close to the couple reveals the relationship has been on the rocks for months. Did you know that?”

“Where are they getting all these sources from?” Azzi wonders out loud. 

“Beats me,” Kaitlyn says mournfully. “I’ve been calling offices all day to tell them you’ve got mad cow disease. Nobody even cares.”

Azzi pauses, looking up from the suitcase she’s packing at Kaitlyn, who’s draped over her bed. “You know humans can’t get mad cow disease, right?”

Kaitlyn, who is ostensibly meant to be helping Azzi pack, stops flipping through tabloids to look at Azzi, horrified. “Are you serious? I’ve wasted so many phone calls, man.”

“It’s literally called cow disease,” Azzi says, and Kaitlyn is still complaining when the door swings open, creaky hinges announcing Caroline’s arrival. 

“There was a whole section about you guys on my way home. Like a whole section of a newsstand with just your faces on it,” she calls, already halfway into Azzi’s apartment. Azzi does not remember giving her a key.

“Did you bring any back?” Kaitlyn asks, already bounding up in excitement.

“Breaking!” Caroline reads, walking into the bedroom. She hasn’t changed out of the branded shirt she wears to work, a cartoonish smiling skull peering down at Azzi from under her own face, pressed against Paige’s on a magazine cover, bold lettering over their bodies.  “Azzi, Withholding Her ‘Icicle’ From New Girlfriend?! ‘Not Until Marriage’ New Sources Report.”

“Who is writing these?” Azzi asks in amazement. 

“And who is doing their fact-checking?” Kaitlyn says, peering down at the page over Caroline’s shoulder. “They should be fired.”

“Are you guys breaking up?” Caroline asks, and both her and Kaitlyn are staring at Azzi, expressions nauseatingly similar. “I need to know where to place my bets.”

“How’s the casual sex going for you?” Kaitlyn adds, looking irritatingly knowing. “Still no feelings?”

Azzi looks back down at her suitcase. It’s too full. If she adds anything else to it, she won’t be able to get it closed, but she hasn’t even packed any clothes yet. “No,” she says to the peanut gallery, an answer to both questions. She adds her folded clothes and takes the performance makeup out. She can probably put that in the carry-on.

 “I’m starting a six-year plan to make her fall in love with me,” she says casually. “Can one of you come help me close this?”

“I love being friends with you,” Kaitlyn says, neither of them moving. “Every decision you make is worse than the last. Like a slow-motion car crash. Thrilling.”

“Why is it taking her six years to fall in love with you?” Caroline asks.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Azzi says. “At the end of the six years we get married. The suitcase?”

“Thrilling,” Kaitlyn repeats, and comes over to plant her full body weight on top of the suitcase so that Azzi can zip it closed. 

Azzi is staggeringly drunk. Mind-bendingly drunk. Everything is swirling into pieces around her and then swirling back together, the noise pounding in her eardrums reverberating through her entire body. It’s loud, sweaty, hot, crowded. The smell of alcohol is stinging her nose, a too-expensive bottle of champagne still staining her clothes, sticky where it touches her skin. 

Every now and then, the realization comes back to her and then she’s smiling again, her cheeks aching with the force of it, her throat raw from screaming. 

“I made it!” She yells to Caroline. The two of them are so close together but her voice is carried off in the noise regardless, and she can see Caroline blink as she tries to process. 

Then Caroline is grinning back at her, just as wide. “We made it!” She yells back, and Azzi throws her head back to laugh, giddy. 

Someone pulls her away and Azzi goes willingly, out of her mind with joy and nearly deaf from the music.

The quiet of the evening, when she stumbles outside, is an ice-cold shock. The sudden stillness surrounding her, the indiscernible noise of screaming teenagers in the background. It had been a struggle to extricate herself, a tugging push and pull until she made it out into the night air. She’s pressing the call button before she can talk herself out of it. 

“Azzi?” She hears Paige say, only a dark blurry shape on the small screen of her phone. There’s rustling movement, the click of a lamp, and then Paige’s face is peering blearily at her, illuminated by soft yellow light. “Are you wearing bunny ears?”

“I think I got them from a fetish store!” Azzi tells her, and it’s only when Paige flinches away from the phone screen that she realizes she had been yelling. She lowers her voice abashedly. “They wouldn’t let you in without a costume,” she whispers, like she’s letting Paige in on a secret. “But I didn’t have one.”

Paige falls back and Azzi can hear her laugh tiredly, voice still gravelly with sleep. She must have set the phone down, because all Azzi can see now is the ceiling of the hotel Paige must be staying at. Her team had left for a series of away games, both of them now far from home. 

“Paige,” she says to the ceiling. “I can’t see your face anymore.” Her words are starting to blur together, but she can’t concentrate enough to pull them back apart.

“Sorry, sorry,” Paige mutters, and there’s another rustle before her face returns, now with headphones. “Are you out celebrating?”

The word celebrating reminds Azzi why she called to begin with and she beams back at the camera, exhilarated once again. “I made it! I’m going to the Olympics!”

Paige is laughing again, though Azzi isn’t sure why. “I know,” she says. “You texted me.”

“Oh,” Azzi says. Then, “What did I say?”

“Um,” Paige says, and then her video is paused. “Hang on. You said ‘i made it’ and then ‘Olympics baby’ and then ‘can alcohol absorb through your skin?’ and then there were a bunch of letters.”

“Oh,” Azzi says again. “What did you say?”

Paige’s face returns to the camera once more, her smile fonder than usual, the planes of her face carved out soft in the mellow light. “I knew you’d make it.”

Azzi thinks that if it’s possible to be crushed by sheer affection, she’s feeling it now, a building pressure in her chest that pulls her accelerating heartbeat back to ground level.

“Thank you.” Now that she’s calmer, she notices for the first time how Paige’s eyes are fluttering closed, how her voice is sleep-rough, and she feels a pang of guilt. “Sorry, did I wake you?”

“Nah,” Paige says, clearly lying. “I couldn't sleep anyway.”

“Liar.” There’s that soft, tired laugh again, and the phone shifts to a view of the ceiling again, like Paige has set it down beside her. Azzi can hear the sound of her breathing, each breath slipping slowly into a steady rhythm.

“S’Okay,” Paige mumbles. “I like the sound of your voice.” 

This is enough to stun Azzi back into silence. Her brain feels slippery from how much she’s had to drink, the hot pink lighting of the club she had been in still dancing across her feet, a glimmering haze over her field of vision. She’s so aware, all of a sudden, of how cold the night air is, biting into exposed skin, how tightly the headband of the bunny ears is pressing into her scalp, of the hair falling over her forehead-  of how much love is piling up inside her, scrubbing her raw and threatening to drown her under its weight. 

If Paige liked the sound of her voice, Azzi would read her a novel, would read her a dictionary, would write her a new love letter every morning and recite it to her every night. 

As it is, she whispers into the phone, “Goodnight, Paige,” and lets herself wait five full seconds before hanging it back up.  

That night Azzi crashes on the sofa of a hotel suite she could have never afforded by herself, legs too wobbly to make it to a bed. She doesn’t sleep, she just lies there, the bright glow of her phone across her face the only light in the dark room, and she drafts drunken texts and deletes them, writing out confessions she’ll never send. 

Are you still awake? She writes to Paige, and deletes it.

Good luck tomorrow.

Recently, you’ve been in all of my dreams. Do you think that means something? 

I wish you had been here today. 

In a hazy space of her brain, it starts to register to Azzi that this is possibly a little bit embarrassing. She doesn’t feel embarrassed- she feels giddy in a way she hasn’t for years, caught up in the middle-school thrill of having a crush, something that reminds her of drafts of love letters on pink stationary, of leaving gifts in lockers and roses on desks. It’s the indulgent happiness of allowing herself to get caught up in the push and pull before a relationship, both of them on edge, neither willing to slip first. 

It’s enough, she tells herself. For now, it’s enough. They’ll have time. 

The sun is just beginning to set when Azzi walks back to her apartment days later, a plastic bag of groceries crinkling in one hand, the other holding Paige’s hand. The heat is starting to return after a long winter, and there’s sweat collecting between their hands, but neither one moves to disentangle their fingers. 

“You don’t have a fucking clue,” Paige is saying heatedly, and Azzi scoffs but doesn’t interrupt. “You have no idea how much I’ve suffered because of this. It’s the worst possible-”

“Not the worst,” Azzi interjects. “I’ll take a lot but I won’t let you lie to me right now-” 

“It is the worst, it’s the laziest way out, it never makes sense, it creates so many plot holes-”

“I think it’s fun and creative,” Azzi says, and passes the bag of groceries to Paige, who takes them unquestioningly, as Azzi fumbles one-handed with the lock. “And the plot holes wouldn’t exist if you didn’t think about them.”

“That’s the target audience,” Paige says grimly, as Azzi pulls her into her apartment via their connected hands. “People who don’t think. Like you.”

“Time travel is an old, respected, trope,” Azzi says. “Just because you don’t understand it-”

“Boo!” Paige says, setting the bag of groceries onto the counter. She starts unloading them without Azzi asking her to, taking out the eggs to place them into the fridge, not even pausing in the flow of conversation. “There’s nothing to understand, because it sucks.”

“Not enough things getting blown up for you?” Azzi asks snidely, and pulls out a cardboard pink box, wrapped with matching pink ribbon before Paige can respond. “Are you ready for your present?”

Paige comes to stand beside her, reaching out a hand to pull at the strings of ribbon and pouting when Azzi slaps it away. “I don’t know why you had to make me stand outside the bakery. It’s not like I can’t guess it’s a cake.”

“Hush,” Azzi says. “As long as it’s not open, it could be anything.”

They had only had Valentine’s Day cakes available at the bakery, so when Paige opens the box, it’s to a mess of pink and red frosting over a small heart-shaped cake. In cursive script over the top, white lettering reads ‘C U @ O.V.’

“They were charging per letter,” Azzi says. “O.V.  stands for-”

“Olympic Village,” Paige says, grinning. “I get it. I love it.” 

Azzi beams at her. Paige had cleared the team selections for the national team yesterday, when she had still been away for a game. She had made it back last night, the pair of them reuniting for a private celebration that left bruises that ached pleasantly along Azzi’s hips, her chest, her thighs. 

“Here,” Paige says, in a suspiciously innocuous tone. “Taste.”

Azzi narrows her eyes. “What-”

Paige runs her finger through the icing as Azzi starts talking and then sticks her finger into Azzi’s open mouth. 

Azzi clamps her teeth down around the finger immediately, glaring at Paige. She’s hoping the look in her eyes communicates something like a threat, like I could bite through your finger like a carrot right now and not holy shit, I want to eat you out. It’s always so hard to figure out the line between the two with Paige.

Paige tries to pull her finger away, teasingly, and her eyes widen as Azzi bites down a little harder. 

“Hang on,” she says, her wrist falling a little limp. “I’m trying to figure out if this is turning me on or not.”

Giving in is against Azzi’s principles but this is beginning to seem torturous, so she lets her mouth close, keeping her teeth back to let her lips close gently over the first knuckle. Paige makes a strangled noise and it feels like victory. 

“Yeah. Definitely turned on,” she says decisively. 

Azzi can’t speak, just swirls her tongue around the pad of her finger, tastes sugar and strawberries, lets it dissolve in her mouth, relishes in the way Paige’s lips tug up in exasperated acceptance.

She’s thinking of abandoning the cake entirely and starting up those celebrations over again, or maybe just dropping to her knees in the kitchen, when the doorbell rings. 

“Ugh,” Azzi says, pulling away reluctantly, turning toward the door. 

She’s stopped by the firm grasp of Paige’s hand around her jaw, bringing Azzi’s face back to her own. Azzi thinks about complaining about the hand Paige’s using to do it, feeling her own spit touching her cheek, sticky and off-putting and gripping hard enough to bruise.

But Paige’s lips are already on her, tongue slipping into Azzi’s mouth with a proprietary confidence that makes Azzi’s hands clench tight around the edge of the countertop, keeping her on her feet. 

The doorbell rings again, and Paige pulls away with a sigh and a wet parting of mouths, Azzi’s eyes fluttering back open in slight shock. 

Paige is watching her lips, looking all too pleased with herself. “Yum,” she says, letting go of Azzi’s jaw with a pat on the cheek and a wink. “Strawberry.”

The doorbell rings for a third time, aggressive in how long it lasts, like the person outside is leaning on it, impatient.

Paige’s eyebrow twitches slightly at the noise but she steps fully away from Azzi, looking entirely regretful at her own actions. “Tell them to go away” her eyes flicking down to Azzi’s lips meaningfully. 

“Stop saying words,” Azzi says, flustered beyond measure, and tries not to rush to the door in order to do exactly as told.

She opens the door, flushed and still half-laughing, the remnants of a smile on her face fading away as she sees Jayden outside her apartment, still in that ugly fucking coat, the human personification of a cockblock.

“Yes?” Azzi asks, leaning against the door. She doesn’t want Jayden taking a step inside. She doesn’t want Jayden here at all, encroaching on a moment Azzi was enjoying, his presence a reminder of a truth Azzi would rather forget. She very selfishly hopes Paige doesn’t see him. She wants Paige to forget about Jayden all together, forget that two of them had ever been together for a reason that wasn’t so they could watch old science fiction and argue about director’s cuts. 

“Just thought I’d drop by,” Jayden says. “You’re not going to let me in?”

“I’m a little busy,” Azzi says coolly. “You should really text first.” 

“Busy?” He’s smiling a condescending little smile that makes Azzi’s eyebrow twitch. “You aren’t at practice?”

“I’m hanging out with my girlfriend.” If she places more emphasis than is strictly necessary on the last word- well. 

If Jayden is surprised to hear this, he covers for it well, only a slight blotchy red flush to his cheeks giving away a reaction. “I thought- I heard that you’d broken up?”

“Been reading a lot of tabloids recently?” Azzi drawls, letting her head fall to rest on her door frame. 

“You haven’t brought her around for dinner,” Jayden counters, still mostly placid. “I didn’t think it was that serious.”

“We’ve both been busy,” Azzi says, eyes narrowed. “It’s the season for it.”

Jayden smiles a little wider and it feels like an accusation. “I’m sure my dad would love to meet her.”

They will never find your body, Azzi says with her eyes. 

With her mouth she says, “We’ll see you guys Wednesday.”

Once the articles had come out, it had become impossible to ignore Geno’s hints about meeting her new girlfriend. Azzi hadn’t expected to be able to avoid it for long but she had gotten away with it for longer than she expected.

She didn’t know how she felt about the dinner now that it had arrived. Somewhere inside her, something was screaming that this was too serious, too much, too fast. That the unsteady foundation of their little show couldn’t hold up under any more serious inspection. Another part was screaming that Azzi hadn’t been acting for a long time. 

A month and a half had passed easily under the guise of their fake relationship. A month and a half, so much time and almost none at all. 

At no point during those forty-five days had she prepared herself for seeing Paige waiting in her apartment for her to finish getting ready, complaining on Azzi’s terrible couch, wearing a white sweater, the thick knitted pattern against the pale of her skin. 

She’s used to seeing Paige in sharp angles and hard muscles. Like this she looks almost soft. Huggable.

“I bet you’re just a natural-born parent pleaser, aren’t you?” Azzi says, eyeing the gentle cling of the fabric to her shoulders. 

“What are you ever talking about?” Paige responds. “Come on, I brought some flowers and they’re going to wilt if we don’t hurry.”

“Flowers,” Azzi says, to herself, as Paige takes her hand and drags her along. “Of course she brought flowers.” 

“Listen,” Azzi says, once the two of them are in the elevator heading down to the main floor. “We need to bring our best game tonight.”

Paige does not seem to be listening, her eyebrows a little furrowed as she responds to a text on her phone. Azzi can feel her blood pressure spike. 

“Paige,” she says, and Paige’s head lifts immediately, the look she sends Azzi endearingly nervous. “As far as I’m concerned, this is a competition,” Azzi continues, very seriously. “And if I lose to Jayden of all people, I’m killing you and then myself.”

Paige slides her phone into her back pocket as the elevator doors open, and takes Azzi’s hand again instead, pulling them both towards where her car is parked. Her thumb is tracing small circles over the back of Azzi’s palm, a motion that she assumes is meant to be calming. Insultingly, it works, the tense slope of Azzi’s shoulders relaxing into a less rigid line. 

“It’s fine,” Paige says. “I’m sure we’ll nail it.”

“That’s a lot of baseless confidence,” Azzi says. “Especially for someone who can’t lie.”

Paige only sends her that familiar exasperated look as she starts the car, like she can see right through Azzi’s bullshit but likes her anyway. Azzi smiles back, a little helpless in the face of that familiar affection.

By the time they arrive at Geno's house, the effect has worn off, and Azzi is a stretched out ball of nerves all over again, her leg bouncing against the floor of the car so fast it’s nearly vibrating. 

“Seriously,” Azzi says again, grabbing onto Paige’s sleeve as she moves to open the car door, the two of them still parked in Geno’s driveway. “If they ask any serious questions, I’ll take it. You just- tell the truth unless absolutely necessary.”

“I’m not that bad at lying,” Paige complains, but Azzi isn’t amused, her hand still tightly gripping Paige’s sleeve.

“Hey,” Paige says, a little softer, and extricates her sleeve from Azzi’s grip, just to replace it with her own hand. She lifts Azzi’s hand up, and presses her lips to the knobby bone at Azzi’s wrist, looking back up at Azzi with a smile. “Relax. It’ll be fine.”

Azzi tries to maintain a scowl, but her hand untenses in Paige’s grip, against her will and she gives in.

“Fine,” she says, ungracious but accepting. “But if this all goes wrong, the murder-suicide is still in the plans.”

“Like you could kill me,” Paige snorts, and Azzi makes a sharp dissatisfied noise as they both finally exit the car, a large wrapped bouquet of orchids in Paige’s arms.

“I so could.”

“Maybe if I let you,” Paige says.

“Paige, please you would let me do anything to you.”

“Oh my god Azzi! We are just about to go inside, and you insist I’m the vulgar one” Paige complains as she rests her head on the wheel before they get interrupted.

“I thought I heard yelling,” the old man says, the sharp clean lines of her white haircut unforgiving against the bright light shining from behind her, the doorway lit up against the darkness of the night sky. “Azzi, is the impression you want to make on your guest?”

“Sorry,” Paige says instantly as Azzi scowls, her head bowed.

Geno’s expression changes so fast it’s almost comical, a beaming smile overtaking the thin, wrinkled face as she turns to Paige.

“No, no,” she says dismissively. “Don’t apologize. I know an Azzi antic when I see one. It’s good to meet you. Please, come inside.”

“She started it,” Azzi mutters, only a little sullen as the two of them enter the large house, the foyer illuminated in white by bright lights set into the high ceiling. Her breath leaves her with an ‘oof’ as Paige elbows her gut in silent response, smirking at the betrayed look Azzi sends her.

“Nonsense,” says Geno, who has apparently decided to miss that entire interaction. “Here, let me take your jackets.”

“It’s alright,” Paige says quickly, and smiles that white smile again and Azzi is suddenly struck by the image of a newspaper ad, ‘Perfect Girlfriend’ scrawled in large expansive lettering over the top. $9.99 a month. 

“I brought flowers,” Paige says, doing nothing to dispel the image, and holds out the bouquet. “Thank you for inviting me.”

“Oh,” Geno says, and takes the offered flowers. “These are lovely, thank you.”

Azzi is expecting Geno to return to the kitchen to put away the flowers, leaving her some time with Paige in the hall before the trial begins, but the man just lingers, watching Paige hang up first her jacket, and then turn to Azzi for her. 

“You’re so polite,” Geno croons in a voice that Azzi considers unseemly for a man of his age. “Not at all like the last girl Azzi brought home.”

Both Azzi and Paige freeze, Azzi in the middle of handing her jacket off to Paige. 

“I was fifteen,” Azzi splutters, blood rushing to her face. She feels hotter now than she ever did with the jacket on.

Paige places the hanger with Azzi’s jacket into the closet, her voice seemingly casual, but Azzi can hear the glimmer of laughter underneath her words. “Oh, really? What happened?”

“What didn’t?” Geno sighs dramatically, leading them into the kitchen where Jayden is seated at the stools lining the kitchen island, slicing up cucumbers for the salad. “Never said thank you or please, stared at the wall the entire night. She wouldn’t have brought flowers. Actually, I think she stole my vase.”

“She did not,” Azzi says, and then pauses. “She probably didn't.” She amends.

“Do you see?” Geno says, and Paige nods. Azzi takes the opportunity the instant the older man turns her back to elbow Paige, returning the favour from earlier with a bright smile on her face as she drives her elbow into Paige’s stomach. 

Paige wheezes and manages to disguise it as a cough when Geno turns back around. The wide table is already set, and the four of them start to settle around it, Jayden bringing over the salad, surprisingly quiet. 

They manage to make it to the end of dessert without incident.

“It’s alright,” Geno is saying graciously, now empty bowls sitting in front of them. “Now is the time to make mistakes. Around your age, I got engaged to this lovely young woman. Turned out, she was already married.”

  Paige gasps and Azzi thinks about banging her head on the table. 

“Not this story again,” Jayden says glumly. “Please.”

“She was married,” Geno says, and pauses for dramatic effect. “To an Earl. In England.”

Jayden and Azzi groan in unison. Paige, damn her, seems genuinely interested, her mouth dropping.

“No,” she says, hushed. “And you had no idea?”

“None,” Geno says, puffed up with the pleasure of a willing listener. Both Jayden and Azzi exchange long-suffering looks over the dinner table, and for a moment it feels normal, for the two of them to be complaining light-heartedly as the old man relays a story both have already heard too many times. Then Jayden’s eyes cut to the side, where Azzi’s hand is resting next to Paige’s on the dinner table, their pinkies interlocked. His expression hardens, leaving Azzi blinking. 

“So, how did you two meet?” He asks loudly, cutting off a question Paige had been asking. Geno frowns at the interruption, but also turns to the two of them, looking between expectantly. 

“We skate at the same rink,” Azzi says, taking a careful sip of water. “We ran into each other all the time. Practice times overlapped sometimes.”

“Ah, go on,” Geno says, looking unfortunately engrossed. “Tell us the details.”

Azzi forces a little laugh, her hand on the glass tightening. She’s talking to Geno but she can feel Jayden’s eyes on her, stinging wherever they reach.

“It’s nothing interesting,” she says. “We got along, I asked her out, we went to dinner.” 

“Ah,” Geno says, lying back in his chair a little. “How unromantic.”

“It’s still pretty new,” Azzi says. She thinks she might be starting to sweat.

As if on cue, Paige’s hand wraps around her fully, squeezing a little before letting go. 

“Azzi is answering all the questions,” Jayden says, a sharp smile directed at the two of them. “We could at least let the paige talk a little.”

Azzi thinks about propelling herself over the table, and slamming her fist into that smug little face. It’s a comforting image, if nothing else.

“Hm?” Geno says, looking between them. “How did you meet Azzi, Paige? What did you think?”

“I don’t-” Azzi starts, her voice a little high with nerves, but Paige just squeezes her wrist again, gently. 

“I thought she was beautiful,” Paige says, before Azzi can start to panic. She smiles at Azzi and adds, “And very talented, of course. Maybe a little sharp around the edges, but it was part of the appeal. And I knew I had to talk to her that day, or I’d regret it forever.”

Azzi’s face feels burning hot. She thinks it’s probably a good thing Paige isn’t holding her hand anymore, because her palms feel clammy.

“What?” She asks and her voice sounds shaky in her ears. 

“That’s romantic,” Geno says, nodding. She says something else and Azzi can hear Jayden’s voice, but it’s all faded a little to background noise, as she stares full-on at Paige’s profile, turned away from to address a comment Geno made, and Azzi feels like her heart is going burst entirely out of her chest.

“I’m going to go take a breath,” she says abruptly, standing up. “Outside. Be right back.”

She can feel everyone staring at her, but at this point, she’s pretty sure her face can’t get any more red than it already is. 

She steps out into the night, the glow of the porch light dancing across the wooden slats at her feet. It’s happening again, she thinks, where just as soon as she’s starting to feel like she’s got everything under control, scheduled neatly into her calendar, Paige comes along with that honest little smile and her dimples flashing and Azzi starts to feel like she’s swirling apart again. 

Footsteps sound behind her, and Azzi turns, mostly expecting to see Paige or maybe Geno, come out to fetch her again.

“Hey,” Jayden says, shifting his weight from one foot to another. He looks uncomfortable, standing just outside the door, shorter than Azzi remembers him being. 

He doesn’t say anything at all, just raises an eyebrow, leaning back to brace his elbows on the porch fence behind him. 

“You guys make a good couple,” Jayden says finally. 

Something flutters in Azzi’s chest. “What?”

“You look right together,” she says, and motions with hi hands. “You fit.”

Azzi can’t think of anything to say. Oh God, it’s over, she thinks, with a burst of relief. And then again, with an overwhelming panic. It’s over. 

“I-” Jayden rubs at the back of his neck, and Azzi just stares. “I’ve been a little overbearing, I guess.”

“Overbearing?” Azzi repeats scathingly. “You mean the blackmailing me into hanging out with you?”

Jayden seems like he’s trying to put on a good show of repentance. “I just, I didn’t want to lose, so I kept pushing.” 

Azzi tilts her head back and stares at the sky. A month and a half of effort, gone in two minutes. What, her mind whispers to her, do we do now? A bright star twinkles down at her unhelpfully.

“Whatever,” she mumbles out loud and pushes her way past Jayden back into the house. 

Azzi returns to the dining room and starts clearing the table without being asked. She stands in the kitchen and doesn’t wash a single plate, just stares at the delicate china Geno had brought out specially for meeting Azzi’s girlfriend and thinks about how unfair and awful life is. Bitterness is creeping up her throat, long tendrils threatening to choke her out entirely.

Paige comes to meet her in the kitchen after a few minutes, her arms wrapping around Azzi, enfolding her entirely as her chin comes to rest over Azzi’s shoulder. 

“Hi,” she says.

It’s always been in Azzi’s nature to poke at barely formed scabs, ripping her cuts open before they’ve had a chance to heal. She doesn’t pull away from Paige’s arms. 

“Hi,” Azzi whispers, turning her head to plant a small, clumsy kiss to her forehead. 

Paige pulls away, and stands beside Azzi instead, her back leaning against the edge of the counter. “You good?”

Azzi grins, and swallows down the acrid taste at the back of her tongue. “Are you? I thought you were a bad liar, what was all of that back there?”

Paige flushes slightly, red creeping up her neck. Her eyes leave Azzi’s to look at the plate in her hands instead. “All that hanging out with you has made me a worse person, probably.”

Azzi sets the plate down and pretends to swoon dramatically into Paige’s chest, who rolls her eyes, but grabs her arms anyway, steadying her.

“Oh no,” she warbles piteously, fluttering her eyelashes. “What will your teammates think of me, now that I’ve tarnished their precious golden girl?”

Paige reaches up and pinches Azzi’s nose. “Gold doesn’t tarnish,” she says, ignoring Azzi’s nasally protests.

Azzi pulls away and pouts, rubbing at her nose. “I’m just a special influence, Paige.”

“You’re a special something, for sure,” Paige says dryly.

Azzi makes a face at her, and turns back to the dirty dishes, still waiting for her.

“Are you alright?” Paige’s voice asks again from behind her. “I saw Jayden follow you out. I didn’t want to step in. What did he say?”

“Oh, you know,” Azzi says feebly. She gives up, and turns on the warm water, starts scrubbing the dishes. “I’ll tell you later,” she says to Paige. 

She wonders, not for the first time, if Paige’s got a superpower that lets her know how far Azzi can be pushed at any particular moment, because she doesn’t say anything else. She just nudges Azzi a little to the side with one heavy hip, until both of them are standing side by side, washing dishes in the silent kitchen. 

A clock in Azzi’s head is keeping time in the car ride home, tick-tick-ticking away the moments before they’re back and Azzi has to confess. It’s over, she thinks again. It was always going to be over, she reminds herself, but it doesn’t help. Even if she keeps this quiet, the two months will pass.

Azzi’s dreams have always been so huge but recently they’ve started to seem so small. Not the far away pressure of a medal around her neck, only the image of a kitchen in the early afternoon, warm hands around her waist, gentle lips on her. A breakfast set out for two. She isn’t sure what she’ll do if that slips away again.

“Paige,” she says when the car finally stops in front of her apartment. “Guess what?”

There’s a terrible sort of lingering stillness in the car, like Paige can sense that something is wrong.

“Jayden said we were a cute couple,” Azzi says, as casually as she can manage. She’s watching Paige’s face carefully, searching for a reaction, but she can’t tell if her expression really changes or if Azzi’s just seeing what she wants to see. “I think she’s going to back off. So we’re good now.” 

“Oh.” Paige says. And that’s that. 

She expects, despite herself, for Paige to follow her out of the car, maybe just to talk, maybe to say a goodbye. 

She hasn’t even made it into the building before she hears the car start to move, driving off. 

Sure enough, when she turns around, the street is empty.

Because the world is conspiring against her, the elevator is out of service.

 Azzi climbs up five flights of stairs slowly, thinking about what she’s going to do now. The stairwell is abandoned this late at night, everybody else in the building already asleep. 

She had known this was going to happen. She had planned for this happening. Their relationship had come with a deadline and she had known it was eventually going to run out. She had made a plan, and the plan was fucked now because Paige had said not a single thing when Azzi had told her they could end their fake relationship, hadn’t even stuck around to watch her leave.

“If she doesn’t even want to be friends,” she says to a bleary-eyed Kaitlyn, standing on her doormat. “What am I supposed to do then?” 

Kaitlyn isn’t wearing any pants, and her eyes are halfway to closing before Azzi’s even finished her sentence.

“Hang on,” she says, and turns her head to the side to yawn wide, jaw cracking. “Okay, come on.” Ushering Azzi back into her own apartment.

Inside her apartment, Kaitlyn hears her out, splayed out on Azzi’s floor, nodding sleepily as Azzi explains.

“This problem is stupid,” Kaitlyn says, like she always does. Azzi is lying on her couch, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling again. It really is such an ugly ceiling. 

“Tomorrow,” Kaitlyn is saying. “Just talk to her.”

“But-” Azzi starts and Kaitlyn cuts her off. 

“If she really doesn’t want to be friends at all, I’ll call all the magazines I can think of and tell them she’s really bad in bed or something.”

Azzi pauses and contemplates this. “Promise?” She asks eventually, and Kaitlyn groans where her face is half-mashed into the floor. 

“We can do it together,” she promises. 

“Ugh,” Azzi says, and rolls over on her couch and gives in to sleep. If she’s going to cry, she tells herself, might as well do it tomorrow.

When she wakes up, it’s not to the shrill piercing noise of her alarm, but to the equally shrill and piercing sound of her phone ringing. She’s still on her couch, and the apartment is still dark, the sun not yet risen. It could only have been a few hours since she got home. The ringing cuts off, and then starts up again.

“Azzi,” Kaitlyn says warningly, her eyes still closed, her face still buried in Azzi’s carpet. “Either you pick up that fucking phone, or I’m going to shove it so far up your ass, you’ll feel it ringing in your throat.”

Azzi leans off the couch to pick up the phone, rubbing the sleep crust out of her eyes.

“Hello?” she says into the phone, not bothering to check the caller ID, more irritable than normal.

“Azzi?” Paige’s voice says over the phone, and it’s so unexpected that Azzi almost misses that she’d said her first name.

“Paige?” She asks, wide-awake now.

“Can you let me in?” Paige asks. “To the apartment building, I need to-”

“Yeah,” Azzi says, stumbling over to where the buzzer sits. She presses. “What are you- Paige?” The line’s gone dead. 

“Oh my God,” Azzi says, staring at the phone in her hands. Her phone log is open in front of her, confirming that it hadn’t been some kind of longing-induced dream. “Oh my God,” she repeats.

“What’s happening?” Kaitlyn asks from behind her. She hasn’t moved at all, as far as Azzi can tell. If she wasn’t speaking, Azzi would worry that she was dead.

“You need to get out,” Azzi says, still staring at her phone in disbelief. She looks over and Kaitlyn is still unmoving. “You have to get out,” she says again, running over to pull Kaitlyn up and out of her carpet.

“You are-” Kaitlyn scowls as Azzi tries to push her out the door with both hands at her back. “You are ungrateful, that’s what.”

“I’ll buy you dinner,” Azzi says desperately. “Anything, seriously, but you have to get out.”

“Hm,” Kaitlyn says, ignoring Azzi’s attempts to throw her bodily at the door. “Alright. If you insist.”

Just before the door closes behind Kaitlyn, Azzi hears her whistle. “Hey Paige,” she hears Kaitlyn call cheerfully, just outside her door and before Azzi’s had the time to process what that means, someone is knocking at her door. 

When she opens it to see Paige, she starts to wish that she had spent her time brushing her hair instead of kicking Kaitlyn out. Or maybe her teeth. 

Her only consolation is that Paige looks equally haggard, hair even messier than usual, her eyes looking wild as she takes Azzi in, her chest heaving with exertion.

“One more date,” Paige says. She’s breathing hard. “Rule number four. You still- We still have one more.”

Azzi’s eyes couldn’t open any wider if they tried. A painful hope is springing up in her chest, pushing against her ribcage until it aches. “Did you run all the way up here?” She manages to ask, her head still in a daze.

“Your- fuck-” Paige is still panting, bracing her hand against the doorframe, but she laughs, breathless and a little nervous. “Your elevator was broken.”

Azzi can’t tell if she wants to laugh with her or cry. “I live on the fifth floor,” she says, instead of doing either.

“I just needed to tell you,” Paige says, straightening up fully and Azzi thinks that she looks dazed too. “I had to tell you-”

It’s all Azzi can take, all she needs to hear, her heart hammering in her chest. “Wait, stop!”

Paige is staring at her, and it’s an awful expression on her face, one that Azzi’s never wanted to see, like something is falling apart in front of her. 

Azzi doesn’t bother trying to explain any further. Azzi grabs Paige’s face and brings their lips together, so hard it hurts. 

Paige makes a sound against Azzi’s lips as their teeth knock together, her pointy canines digging into Azzi’s lower lip.

“Okay,” she says, pulling back. She’s laughing again, the soft puff of air hitting Azzi’s skin. “Okay.”

She cups Azzi’s face in one hand, hardened calluses meeting soft skin and gently, so gently, tugs her back in, smiling against Azzi’s mouth. 

This kiss is easier, in that it tastes less like blood. Paige’s lips are sweet, soft and plump and red, and she’s hesitant in a way Azzi’s never known her to be before, as she licks over her bottom lip, pulls Azzi even closer with a hand on her waist. Until they’re pressed up tight together, one of Azzi’s hands bruising her shoulder, the other tight on the back of her neck. Until Azzi’s tongue is in her mouth, tasting coffee and mint, feeling Paige’s body shudder against her, her hand opening and then closing tight around Azzi’s waist.

When they pull away, Azzi keeps one hand on her sleeve.

“I like you,” she says defensively, and Paige looks like the breath in her lungs has left her all at once. “I like your face. I like your arms. I like it when you wake up before me and you get ready without turning the lights on so you don’t wake me up. I like it when you carry my bags without me asking even though I’m a professional athlete and carrying heavy things is like, 45% of my life. I like the way you put your hand on my thigh when you’re driving. I like that you have piles of tickets in your car and I like that you call your mom every Sunday-”

“I get it.” Paige says, looking mortified. 

“Do you?” Azzi says. “Because, just so you know, you are completely ruining my six year plan.” 

“Okay,” Paige says, her voice muffled from where she’s covered her face with her hands. “Maybe I don’t get it.” 

“My six year plan,” Azzi wails. “You aren’t supposed to confess until the second year.”

Paige’s hands lower as she considers this. It’s a testament to how well Paige knows her, maybe, that she manages to piece together what’s happening, regardless of how objectively batshit it is.

“Do you want me to wait a year?” She asks, grinning again. Her ears are bright red.

“Don’t make fun of me,” Azzi says, “You are ruining my life. Just- hang on. I need to show you something.”

Azzi’s got one hand on Paige’s wrist, leading her into her apartment, and Paige comes easily, like she has nowhere else to be. Azzi swallows down the lump in her throat, and takes them both to her bedroom, opening up drawers until she finds the notebook she’s looking for, passing it over to Paige who takes it, confused.

Those furrowed lines between her eyebrows only deepen as she opens the book, scanning down a long page covered in Azzi’s handwriting.

“Every time you did something that made me think I loved you, I wrote it down,” Azzi says, her eyes burning holes in her stupid worn out carpet. “So I wouldn’t say it out loud.”

Silence settles over the two of them like a heavy blanket, stifling and hot. Azzi lets it sit, doesn’t dare to move, holds her breath, until she can’t take it anymore and looks up. 

“Are you crying? ” She asks, her eyes widening. 

“I’m going to kill you,” Paige snaps, not even bothering to wipe away the tears resting in the corners of her eyes, poised to fall. She’s still looking through the second page. “Why would you- why wouldn’t you say any of this before?”

“I don’t know!” Azzi says, slightly alarmed by the tears that are now fully rolling down Paige’s cheekbones. “Please don’t cry. It makes me feel icky.”

“You stupid- God, I don’t even have a word for you right now,” Paige tells her. “There are- you’ve written pages in here.”

“I only started writing in it about a few weeks ago,” Azzi says helpfully. “Otherwise I would have more.”

“At no point,” Paige asks incredulously, “did it occur to you that maybe it would be easier if you just said these things to me?”

Azzi frowns. “I didn’t know if you- you know. Are you?”

“Obviously I’m in love with you,” Paige says, and Azzi feels like all the strings holding her up have been cut at once. “Who would agree to this whole fake-dating thing if they weren’t?”

Azzi thinks that that is almost insulting, but she doesn’t have it in her to feel offended, just feels a bone-melting relief, sagging against her bedroom wall. “You said you couldn’t think of a better solution.”

“There is always a better solution,” Paige tells her, and she’s laughing as she says it, finally wiping her wet eyes, which makes Azzi laugh with her. 

“Sorry,” Azzi says, and because she’s pretty sure she’s allowed to, she presses her hands to Paige’s cheeks, and kisses the divot right between her eyebrows. “Sorry,” she repeats. 

Paige puts her hands up to Azzi’s face, and they must look ridiculous, both of them holding the other’s face between their palms, grinning like children.

“Azzi,” Paige says, very seriously. “Do you want to be my-”

“Agh!” Azzi cries, and tackles Paige onto her bed. Paige groans as she falls heavily onto Azzi’s covers, her hands flying up to Azzi’s wrists, Azzi’s hands on her chest, Azzi’s knees digging into the mattress on either side of her thighs. 

“You already ruined my six-year plan,” Azzi says, pressing down on Paige’s chest. She pretends that she is not effectively groping Paige’s tits right now, but she’s not sure if she’s fooling anyone. “Just let me do the asking.”

 Paige’s hands move from Azzi’s wrists to her shoulders, and she pulls Azzi down towards her, rolling them both over, a hand cradling the back of Azzi’s head. She looks down at Azzi from where she’s straddling her thighs and grins at the flustered expression on Azzi’s face.

“You asked for the fake relationship,” she reminds Azzi. “It’s my turn.”

“It’s not a competition,” Azzi lies. “And fake isn’t equal to real. That was more like a business pitch.” 

Paige only smiles at her, sharp and knowing, and that wasn’t what Azzi had wanted at all because she can feel her slick stir at the sight. 

“It was all business to you?” Paige asks, bending over Azzi, a mocking tilt to her lips, to the arch of her eyebrow. “Really?”

Azzi opens her mouth to respond, but Paige’s already got her mouth on Azzi’s skin, her tongue darting out at the sensitive spot under Azzi’s ear until she’s got Azzi arching up underneath her with a strangled cry, grinding against Paige’s thigh to try to get some friction. Paige’s hands are pushing her shirt up, fingers rough against her abdomen, a sharp contrast to the soft kisses she’s leaving down Azzi’s neck.

Azzi has the sudden, vivid thought that if she comes just from this, she’ll never forgive herself. 

Then Paige’s mouth is at the creases of her thighs, teeth digging in just a little into where the flesh is softest, and Azzi stops thinking all together. 

Once the sweat and cum are drying on their stomachs, Paige looks up at her, and Azzi thinks that she’s lost the battle and the war. 

She moves in for a kiss, but Azzi pushes her face away with one hand, the other draped over her eyes, too jittery for her own good. 

“I’m not going to lick my own cum out of your mouth.”

She can feel Paige twitch against Azzi’s thigh at that and Azzi lifts her arm to squint at her, levels her with the best unimpressed glare that she can manage with her body still feeling so jelly-like and her heart still beating so fast. “Really?”

Paige just laughs, and pulls Azzi’s hands away and to the side, so she can look her straight in the face, can see her own expression reflected back in Azzi’s eyes- a little nervous, but grinning so wide her cheeks hurt. She places a gentle kiss on the soft skin of Azzi’s cheek.

“Go on, then,” Azzi says, the glumness in her voice offset by the brightness of her eyes as she looks up at Paige. “I know when I’m beaten.”

“Azzi,” Paige starts. She stops, and tries again. “Azzi.”

The Azzi in question groans at the sound of her name, and Paige keeps her hands around her wrists.

“Azzi, I love you,” she says, and Azzi huffs, the warm air hitting Paige’s chin. “I’ve loved you for a while now, I think.”

She lets go of Azzi’s wrists, moves her hands to cradle Azzi’s face instead. Azzi knows how she must be feeling, because she’s feeling it too. Her throat feels scratchy, the culmination of so much longing suddenly real and staring her dead in the eyes, her eyelashes casting a shadow over her cheeks. It’s almost overwhelming. 

“Be my real girlfriend, okay?” Paige finishes lamely, sweeping Azzi’s hair out of her face, the tips of her ears burning hot.

“That was terrible,” Azzi says, but her voice sounds suspiciously wet. “Go brush your teeth so we can kiss properly.”

Azzi makes them both breakfast, and burns the toast when Paige distracts her halfway through. She doesn’t mind, the blackened bits can be scraped off, and the eggs still taste good. 

She’s expecting the doorbell, when it comes. Honestly, she’s impressed they managed to hold off so long. 

“How’s it going?” Kaitlyn says in Azzi’s doorway, attempting to sound casual, while leaning around Azzi’s body to get a glimpse inside. 

“Kind of early for a visit,” Azzi says, but Caroline is already pressing her way inside, curiosity blatantly etched on her features. 

“It’s fine,” Kaitlyn says, also stepping inside. Azzi sighs and moves to the side. 

“So, why don’t you want to real-date Azzi, huh?” Caroline is asking, clearly trying to loom intimidatingly over Paige. The effect is damaged by the flowery embroidered shirt she’s wearing, short at the ruffled cuffs, cropped to her midriff.

“Stop-” Azzi starts to say, trying to pull Paige away from the two of them. 

“She has good bone structure,” Kaitlyn interrupts, her hands reaching up from behind Azzi to grab her face, smushing it between her palms. “Have you seen her bone structure?”

“You guysh are th’ worsht,” Azzi says, her face still clutched in Kaitlyn’s iron grip. She pulls, until Kaitlyn releases her, and rubs her now sore cheeks, scowling. “We already- we fixed it. Jesus.”

“We could try a shovel talk,” Kaitlyn mutters to Caroline, both of them looking slightly disappointed, and Azzi scowls harder. 

“Get out already!”

“I have actual shovels,” Caroline tells Paige as a parting statement.

“Okay?” Paige says, bewildered. She turns to Azzi once the two of them have left. “Why was she telling me about her shovels?” 

“It was probably meant to be ominous,” Azzi sighs. “Caroline is terrible at ominous.” 

“It came across a little more like she was bragging about her shovels,” Paige says.

Azzi watches Paige- her girlfriend, her mind supplies, thrilled- get her stuff together, searching for keys in the pockets of pants that had been discarded. They’ve still got practice, Azzi thinks, a little loopy. After all that, and they’ve still got practice. Azzi will show up to the rink in the evening, and see a crowd of hockey players taking up space on the rink- always too slow to clean up- and one of them will be Paige. It seems too much to process. The sun has risen outside, painting Azzi’s apartment in golden light, her ugly ceiling and her cheap carpet, and the girl in the center of it. Azzi wonders if she should tell her her shirt is inside out. 

Paige looks up to see her staring, her eyes even more blue under this lighting, and that animated flash when she smiles- bright and bold, like she's just seen something good.  

[uniquethingtastemaker]

I give sporadic updates so here’s one for you, and as always I clump all my latest stuff together.

The Rook x Reader fanfic is already 17k words and I’m not even fully to Chapter 6 now. There’s a lot of question marks on how far and detailed I should go for a few scenes, specifically Vil’s speech and subsequent introduction of the VDC crew to the audience. It’s important to the plot, but idk how much I should add. I have to add a questionable Vil moment in the part that has “Mira Mira” too. Now I have to move on to Chapter 6 which hopefully this section isn’t too too long. It’s hard to keep up the motivation but I’m spurred by my desire to give this fic to u guys. It’s amazing so far!! I have a fun time reading it lol and some of my friends too!

It will be fantastic when it’s out. It’s my baby.

I had another idea Rook x Reader fic! I can also make a Vil x Reader using the same concept and take it a different direction. I’m referring to it as “Role Reversal”

I’m recycling something that I created for the Rook x Observant Reader. I had to make a whole ass outline for a movie plot that Vil would star in. I thought it would be fun if there’s a director who comes to NRC and wants to use the students to film a movie or whatever. As always, Vil gets cast as the villain. However, he accepts it because he cares about the director, production, and storyline or whatever. No one else can play the villain as well as he can, so he’ll do it.

The director sees Reader and goes “you! Let me see how you fair in this character.” The character is the protagonist and you nail it multiple times. You become the director’s favorite low key. However, you read the script and go “bro, the villain is way cooler. I wanna play the villain.” You glance up at Vil, who doesn’t want to play that role and go, “I think I can make this work.”

Then you proceed to absolutely obliterate everyone’s expectations by being the perfect villain. Like, it’s better than Vil’s, which is saying something. However, you insist that Vil should be in the protagonist instead.

He’s confused but doesn’t questions it. You help him be the main character and help him as a person along the way.

Regardless of if it’s Vil or Rook, it works. I’ll adjust the romance as needed lol.

I’ve also been working on Silver’s “Dreaming of You” fanfic, which is fun. I definitely have to cut some of the original dialogue down and alter it. Usually when I do this, it isn’t as straightforward as it has been with this. The Reader is just very encouraging and empathetic. They’re strong in an emotional sense and always stand up for themselves or others, including Silver. There’s a lot of compliments that our knight has to get used to.

There’s also a great moment where you show and tell Malleus you’re scared of him which is so good and low key angsty, but in the best way. I like telling people off when they’re hurting people lol.

Also I’ve had an idea for Rook’s “Dreaming of You.” Can you tell who my favorite character is? Anyway, I have an idea for him that I’m working on. However, it’s not fully fleshed out. I’m trying to decide how Rook acts in this. I won’t spoil anything though lol

I just started tampering and working on Azul’s “Dreaming of You,” which is great so far. I really like it. However, I want to make sure that it’s longer since I like longer fanfics. It’ll probably have to continue into the Savanaclaw section, fleshing out their relationship. I love Azul so I want to make sure he has more screen time lol.

I have to go back and watch some moments toward the end of his dream. I remember how to tweel’s act really callous, but I don’t remember what happens before then. I’ll have to do that.

That’s all for the update now. I’ll probably post the segment I have for the Rook x Reader — Role Reversal just because I like it lol. I’ll probably post it in the next few minutes lol

[sunnie-angel]

Part 16: The Diner

part 15 | series masterlist | ao3 link

jason todd x f!reader

summary: you get asked out on a date. it's not by jason.

tags: angst, reference to off screen violence, reference to serial killer, jealousy, piv sex, biting, rough sex, swearing

rated explicit (mdni) | wc: 6.5k

a/n: this part was where the whole idea for this series started and so consequently i struggled to write it. huge thanks to @janybabyy for beta reading this! it took me longer to get this out than i wanted but this is the longest chapter so far by 2.5k and you get some smut to so please don't be too mad with me.

Jason doesn’t bring up the diner. Neither do you. You can’t say anything because if you do, your jaw will unhinge and every moment, every accounting of each small hurt will come spilling out between your teeth. It will lace through your heaving retches of pitiful emotion, that part that still cries out why not me, why aren’t I good enough, and it will harden him against you. Permanently. So no, you do not speak of it. Can’t form the words. But oh do you think of it.

You think of how he took you there first. A little thing that you had pretended could be a date, in another universe. A silvery grain of hope. Now you see it for what it really was. A trial. A test run before the big day. Jason had not quite shouted and you had not quite pretended that it hadn’t hurt. It had. The memory of it still smarts when you think of how his voice had cut, freezing to the bone.

Jason doesn’t speak of it and you do not speak of Jason. To Jason. You make plans with Danika under the condition that his name won’t be spoken. You accept more and more invitations from your coworkers to hang out outside of work so long as their plans don’t fall on a Friday. It’s infuriating how despite the lengths you go to to fill your time, you still cannot get enough of him. No matter how you swallow down your pride and your pain through the days that keep passing torturously by, you cannot find it in yourself to turn him away from your door. That for every new plan you make, you can’t stop the small part of you that still sits up and wags its tail when Jason’s lumbering shadow comes to walk you home. You need him so badly it’s nauseating, eating too much candy and feeling sugar-sick while you pop the next sweet into your greedy mouth. You need him in a way that scares you if you think on it too hard. The white hot burn of atmospheric re-entry, poison seeping into groundwater. He’s— fuck. There’d been a lesson once, in long ago failed crushes and high school romances where you’d sworn to never be this girl, the one that reduces herself down to who she is loved by, yet here you are. It cannot continue.

For the very first time you refuse the food Jason offers you. This will be the beginning of the long, slow extrication of him from your life, until you can see him and not breathe in around the sucking wet wound of your heart.

“Let me make you somethin’,” he had mumbled into the bare shoulder of your still sleep warmed skin. “Breakfast before I go.”

“Don’t,” you tell him, rolling away and out of the warm cocoon of your bed. Your pyjamas are scattered on the floor, a ratty old t-shirt and sweats, but you pull them on anyway for the short walk to the shower. “Got brunch planned later and I don’t want to spoil my appetite.”

“Somethin’ for your freezer then,” he suggests, still staring up at you from the bed. “With everythin’ going on I know you aren’t makin’ it to the grocery store regularly.”

“You don’t owe me anything Jason,” you call over your shoulder, the sibilance of the n a weight on the tip of your tongue. Always Jason. Never your Jay. Not once the sun is up and the world’s awake. You shut the bathroom door firmly behind you, turn the shower knob so that the spray of the water drowns out anything else he might say. He’s gone when you get out, hair dripping as you towel it off. There’s a bunch of meal prepped ingredients arranged in your fridge, whatever had been left over from your last long forgotten grocery run. The seal makes a funny noise as you shut the fridge door.

Four days after your fridge is emptied and refilled with groceries that cost more than you were comfortable with, you make the next incision.

“I’ll see you at 9:00 after your trivia thing to walk you home, yeah?” Jason asks, slinging his backpack over one shoulder.

“Oh what trivia thing?” Danika chimes in, gently nudging you with her elbow. Her question is real but her smile is vaguely hurt at your lack of forthcoming.

You swallow before adjusting the weight of your bag on your own shoulder, shifting to avoid the stream of people leaving the classroom. “A few of the other research assistants have a trivia team they do for fun. Sometimes I join them.”

“And Jason?” she prompts.

“I walk her home so no psychos get any ideas,” he says shortly, interrupting you before you can do more than open your mouth.

“Actually,” you start, “I was thinking of getting one of them to walk me home tonight instead. I know that you’re busy.” You turn to him, eyes wide and only a touch pleading.

He stares, body dangerously still. You can feel Danika’s eyes prying, the movement of bodies eddying around you. Soon a new crowd of students will come crushing in, a new lecture block will start. All of you will go your separate ways.

“It’s never any trouble to make sure you’re safe,” he says slowly. Stupidly. Like you don’t understand all the false meanings and doubled language dripping from his lips. The image of Barbie, the blonde, sears itself into your mind again.

“No, but I don’t like putting you out of your way when me walking you home won’t have nearly the same effect,” you reply with forced gaiety. Your grip on the strap of your bag pulls the skin tight across your knuckles. Awkwardly you force yourself not to shift from foot to foot. “Besides, you know that none of them could possibly be the killer, don’t you?” It’s a challenge as much as a confirmation. If it was one of them, surely Jason would have found out or at least voiced his suspicions to you by now.

Tightly Jason nods, one hand coming to run through his curls in distraction.

“If that’s what you want,” he says finally.

You nod. “It is.”

Ian is kind enough to volunteer to walk you home. His presence does not banish the shadows or soothe your nerves but the alternative of being alone is worse. Jason would have made the street seem brighter. Jason would have made you feel safe. But Jason won’t be here forever and there’s more types of damage that can be done to your heart than a frightening walk in the dark. Your hand is still wrapped around the can of pepper spray in your bag and you startle easily at the sounds of the city, sounds that you’ve heard all your life. Movement on the skyline catches at your periphery and you stifle a groan. Red Hood is not so subtly keeping pace with the two of you. Distractedly you say your goodbyes to Ian at the door to your building, a bright ball of something burning in your chest. 

Without your conscious input, your fingers are already dialling his number, the phone wedged between your shoulder and ear as you do up the bolts on your door. 

“Hello?” Jason says uncharacteristically cautious. His voice is tinny, what must be the effect of picking up through his helmet. 

“And what,” you ask tightly, “do you think the definition of ‘don’t walk me home’ means exactly?"

“I wasn’t following you,” he says defensively. “I was checking out something in that part of town."

With a huff you set your bag down and start flicking on the lights. It’s not quite cold enough for you to justify switching the heating on, but there’s still a chill to the air. With a shiver you shed your jacket and go hunting for a sweater. 

“Did I say that you were following me?” you ask to dead silence on the other end of the line. “I wanted to know why you say one thing, then do another when it comes to trusting my decisions."

“It’s not– it’s not like that,” he insists stubbornly. “It wasn’t safe.”

“So then either you don’t trust my judgement about the safety measures I take, or you weren’t telling the full truth when you said that my coworkers weren’t a threat.” With a flick of the tap, you fill up your hot water kettle, the rush of the running water filling the silence. Another flick with the kettle in its dock sets it to boiling.

“I trust you!” He protests. Another flicker of movement on the rooftop opposite yours has you rolling your eyes. He never gives up or gets the hint, does he? You huff and go back to preparing your tea.  “I trust you, I don’t trust him, even if he might not be the murderer.”

“Are you lying to me Jason?” Not just about this moment, about anything, everything. About the girl in the diner, about his feelings for you, if he thinks that you will truly survive this madman. The question is more vulnerable, more cutting, than you had intended but you cannot regret it. If only he would tell you the truth, explain all the dogged silences and secrets, perhaps this could be something still capable of mending. Perhaps entangling him from you won’t be necessary. His tinny voice is the nail in the coffin of all your hopes.

“M not lyin’ about this.” But I am about other things goes unsaid. It rings clear as day anyway.

You strain and set aside your teabag. It’s steeped a little stronger than you’d like, but then Jason has a way of distracting you, of making all the little details fade into the background. The tea is bitter but you drink it down anyway.

“Fine then,” you tell him, voice oddly detached from your body. You barely register it when you hang up.

Work is work. Despite your newfound closeness with your coworkers, the monotony of endless research and endless grant applications gets to you. The office walls seem to close in, stuffy air suffocating. You pinch the bridge of your nose, eyes screwed tight against the brewing headache of sleepless nights and the constant high pitched adrenaline hum that never seems to leave your limbs these days.

“–offee?” a voice asks over your shoulder. The back of your head almost collides with the speaker’s nose in your surprise.

“Sorry?” you mumble.

Ian simply smiles from outside of the collision zone and repeats his question. 

“Do you want coffee? I’m going to do a drink run for the office and you look like you could use one."

Taken aback, you can only stare, the stifling heat of the room getting to you. You shouldn’t have worn such a thick sweater. But then today’s been all about bad choices hasn’t it?

“I’ll come help you,” you decide spontaneously. "You’ll need help carrying them back if you’re bringing back orders for this lot.” The fresh air should do you good. Waken you up a bit, clear away the cobwebs Jason’s left behind. 

“That would be great,” he says with that same easy grin as you shuck on your coat. 

The walk isn’t long to the nearest campus coffee kiosk and while the department budget will stretch to the occasional caffeine injection for its bright stars of tomorrow, it most certainly won’t stretch to the trendier chain that’s popping up across Gotham. Ian’s an easy companion, seeming to sense when to break the silence and when to let it settle. The melting slush is turning greyish on the pavement and the air does quite a good job of wiping away the last of the night. Ian winces at the length of the line for the till and you laugh at his unusually sour expression. 

“Already regretting your good deed of the day?” you tease him.

“Oh the day’s still young, there’s plenty more good to do and plenty more to regret,” he says wryly. “No, what I’m more worried about is the absolute beast Duvall is going to turn into if he doesn’t get his coffee in a timely manner.” The line slowly trudges forward and the two of you move up the scant few steps.  

“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” you reassure him, squinting up at the menu boards. “Everyone likes you, even crochety old Duvall."

“And do you like me?” he asks, catching you off guard. You start to stutter through a response but he interrupts. “Sorry, that was rather rude of me."

“No, I was just– surprised by the question is all,” you deflect. 

“I should have started with ‘are you single’,” he confesses, an apologetic grin on his face. “I really didn’t mean to put you on the spot, I know the timing’s awful with that maniac on the loose.” 

“It’s not that I’m not flattered,” you start slowly, completely uncertain where you’re going with this. It’s not a lie to say that you are single – Jason had made the terms of your arrangement very clear even if he hadn’t ended things yet – but it feels like one. “And I’m not dating anyone but things are a little...complicated at the moment.” There. A compromise. 

“Oh I had thought for a moment that, well, your friend...but then I was also never sure,” he says embarrassedly ruffling his hand through his hair. On Jason the action looks melancholic. Romantic even. On Ian it looks rather like youthful insecurity. 

“We aren’t,” you tell him, a little more brusquely than you had intended. 

“Look I don’t want to make things awkward,” he says, that slight air of embarrassed vulnerability still hanging over him. “I respect you as a colleague and as trivia team mate, but I would like to take you out on a date. You don’t have to give me an answer now,” he hurries to add before you can shut him down. “It’s an open ended offer and I won’t expect anything until you decide to give me the green light or tell me to piss off.” 

“I’ll think about it,” you tell him finally as the two of you approach the cashier. “I’m not saying no, but I do need to think about it."

It's an idea you return to. An easy enough distraction from the thorny sandstorm that is your relationship with Jason. Ian is nice. He's straightforward, surprisingly respectful, and unlikely to be salivating over the idea of your prolonged death. But there's no spark. No sunkissed heat in your belly calling you home to his arms or putting stars in your eyes. Maybe that's a good thing. After all, chasing that animal high is what got you into this mess in the first place. Ian’s a logical, sound option for a girl like you with the future you've got planned. 

“What do you know about Ian in your thesis seminar?” you interrupt Danika’s half desperate attempt to prepare for her presentation. Idly you realize that you’ve been gnawing on the back end of your pen for the last few minutes.

“Uhhhhh you’re gonna need to be more specific because there’s more than one,” she says, eyes suddenly zeroing in on you and the welcome break from studying. “The one with the hard on for Yukio Mishima or the one doing interesting stuff with Sam Selvon’s adapted works?”

“Pretty sure it’s interesting stuff Ian?” you mutter.

“Oh well in that case,” she says, popping her gum, “he’s generally pretty great, or at least that’s the impression I get. Bit of a teacher’s pet but then word is he’s trying to get a couple of the tenured profs to go to bat for him for a European grant. Why?”

You stare at the table, fiddling with the pen between your fingers. Biting the inside of your cheek, you sigh. It was inevitable that you’d give in to her prodding, it just takes a little more courage. Then again, it seems like everything takes a little courage these days.

“He uh.....he may have asked me out?” you tell her, voice rising as if it was in question.

“Okay and how do you feel about that?” she asks, voice surprisingly gentle.

Concerned, you look back up at her. She should be squealing or cheering you on for this. Not— being all soft and understanding. It feels weird and unexpected. If you weren’t already feeling off balance before, you most certainly are now.

“What, no ‘good for you’ or advice on what to do?” you tease her gently.

Twisting her long hair around her index finger, she sighs. “Look ordinarily I’d be all over this. We’d be scrolling through his insta like yesterday, gushing over whether or not you should wear something sexy or not, figuring out where to do the first date. But honestly? With everything going on, you haven’t been doing so well – don’t think I haven’t noticed you pulling away from everybody – and I’m worried you’ll throw yourself into a relationship just so you don’t have to focus on being scared all the time.” You stare at her in shock. “Not to mention whatever is clearly going on between you and Jason.”

“I’m sorry— I didn’t mean to make you worry,” you manage to stumble out.

“Girl, you didn’t make me do anything. If anything, I was hoping that with enough space you’d eventually talk to me when you were ready but I think that kinda backfired,” she says wryly. “You’re under the kind of stress that would send most people screaming into the street. So, if you’re happy about it, then we’ll do girl talk and get excited. If you aren’t, we’ll figure out how to get Jason to beat him up.”

“Who am I beating up?” Both of you jump at the sound of Jason’s voice coming from over your shoulder.

Danika stares at you, waiting for your permission. You huff through your nose, then give a miniscule nod.

“Ian. He’s asked her out,” she says carefully.

Jason moves further into your line of sight, brow furrowed. “He’s been harassing you?” He ignores Danika entirely, totally focused on you.

“No, he’s been very nice and he asked me out. Jumping him is a last resort in case he stops being nice,” you tell him. Something coiled in your gut begs you to egg him on. To dangle a new contender in his face just to see what he’ll do, if he’ll get jealous, if he’ll actually make up his mind about where the two of you stand.

“Oh,” he says dumbly and you want to scream. Oh? Is that all?

“And I was thinking about taking him up on the offer,” you insist, digging your nails into the meat of your palm. It’s vicious, this urge to make him react, to make him do something when the entirety of your relationship has existed on the margins. Purposefully undefined and liminal.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea right now?” he asks tightly, eyes sliding to Danika as he tries not to overplay his hand for an audience still kept purposefully in the dark. “What with everythin’ else goin’ on.”

“Oh I don’t know,” you play coy. “Ian’s done nothing at all to make me feel like I’m in danger. It could be good for me, to go out with someone that’s clearly into me. Besides, it’s not like there’s any reason I can’t go on a date, is there? It’s not like I’m dating anyone else or something.”

Danika’s head tracks back and forth between you and Jason, confusion clear. She can tell that something is going on, and undercurrent of what’s being unsaid, but the shape of it escapes her. Neither of you budge to tell her. You stare at Jason instead, willing him to make a decision. He’s already broken your heart a hundred times over, all that’s necessary is the death knell. If he won’t love you, then the least he can do is tell you. Make the wound clean instead of all this festering that has turned you into someone you cannot be any longer.

“No,” he says at last. “There’s nothing stopping you there.”

Jason doesn’t speak of Ian, or your date, or apparently your short term singlehood. He does nothing more than hum his understanding when you warn him that you won’t need an escort home on Tuesday. He does not speak of it and so achingly you do not either. The point of no return has been passed and the words stall in your mouth. He acts no differently towards you as a friend and you hate it. You want him to rage, to cry. To come begging for your forgiveness or demand another chance to try. Anything but this affectation of indifference, like all those moments, tender little scraps of affection you had begged for until your throat bled, meant nothing. Less than nothing if his reaction is anything to go by.

He doesn’t enter your apartment anymore. Sees you to the door and says his goodbyes stiffly. He occupies his usual places – the seat to your left on Wednesday get togethers, leaning against the wall outside the lecture hall door – but his mind is clearly elsewhere. On other things, with other people. He’s already a fading ghost in your life even if he doesn’t know it yet.

The date goes fine. Ian is surprised but happy when you ask him if the offer is still open. He suggests an early weeknight dinner as a concession to your very real safety concerns about the killer’s weekend routine. He meets you on time, holds the door and pulls out your chair for you without being prompted. Ian pays you exactly two compliments on your appearance and one about the work you’re doing. He asks as many questions of you as he answers. The food is perfectly fine. He is the perfect gentleman but he isn’t Jason. Lukewarm would be a generous description of your feelings towards Ian, a sentiment he seems to have caught on to by the way he smiles sadly at you in front of your door.

“There’s not going to be a second date is there?” he asks ruefully.

You shuffle, hands clenched tightly around the strap of your purse. “I’m sorry,” you tell him earnestly. “I thought— I thought I was ready.”

“I just wanted to give things a go, who knows where we’ll all end up after graduation.” He sighs and you flutter indecisively between wanting to pat him on the shoulder awkwardly or simply averting your eyes. “But if I’m not going to be your first choice then I’d prefer to leave things here, before I really get my heart broken.”

“I’m sorry,” you repeat again. It hadn’t exactly been kind of you to use him like this, even if a part of you had really hoped things would work out with him. “I don’t mean to hurt you.”

“Oh I think I’ll recover after nursing my bruised ego for a few days,” he says with his trademarked grin. “And after that, perhaps we could become better friends.”

“Friends,” you agree, still a little off balance.

Awkwardly you stick your hand out to shake, as though closing a business deal. With a half laugh, Ian shakes it, the two of you commiserating on an end to that unfortunate chapter in your relationship. Ian takes his leave and with a relieved sigh you close the door, resting your forehead on the hard surface to cool the burning in your face. With a sigh, you push away from the door turning to put away your bag and keys. The bag hits the floor a half second after you shriek at the dark figure sitting in your apartment. 

“Fuck you Jason,” you pant, hand clutching at your chest as if you could gentle the rabbit pace of your heart. “Are you trying to kill me out of fright?”

The shadowy figure of the Red Hood only leans forward on the couch, head tilting to the side inquisitively. Silence broken only by your sharp rasping pants fills the small corners of the room.

“You didn’t invite him in,” comes the modulated voice of one of Gotham’s most feared vigilantes. Annoyed, you push up to your full height and enter the room proper, strewing your things behind you in your wake.

“Take it off,” you tell him, consciously not looking at his form. “Take it off, I’m not talking to you like this.”

A moment, and then the metallic click off to your left signals that he’s at least listened to this one request of yours. Your stomach sours, corners of your mouth turning down, as you think about all the requests he hasn’t.

“You didn’t invite him in,” Jason repeats stubbornly and you struggle not to pull at your hair in frustration.

“No I did not, otherwise I’d have to explain how I – a Gotham U English Major – have close, personal contact with the Red Hood, which is not the way I wanted to end my night.” Your shoes go flying somewhere, but you can’t be bothered to go searching for them. It can wait while you sigh in sweet relief at getting out of your heels for the first time that night. “Besides, it’s none of your business if I did.”

 The couch cushions rustle as Jason pushes up from them, his tall form casting a shadow over you. Steadfastly you ignore him as you get yourself a glass of water, the cool water sliding down your throat, washing away all the words getting stuck there. 

“You’re plannin’ on seein' him again,” Jason says in a flat voice.

Your shoulders rise at the accusation. Very deliberately you place the glass down next to the sink, a soft clink of glass on metal. 

“Of course I’m going to see him again,” you tell him matter of factly. “We work together."

Jason takes a step towards you, weight making the floorboards protest, and you skip out of the way before he can cage you in with the countertop. You find one shoe, then the other, holding them by the ankle straps as you pretend Jason isn’t trailing behind you like a lost puppy. Soon the room is tidy, the glass washed and draining on the rack. His eyes track your every movement making the hairs on the back of your neck stand on edge. You stand in the middle of the room, hands on your hips, unable to delay the confrontation any longer. The two of you stand there, in the middle of your shabby little apartment that had seen better days even in the 1970s, both caught swaying in the invisible currents of your emotions. Jason breaks the détente first.

“You’re goin' to go on another date with him, aren’t you?” he asks, fist clenching. 

You scoff. How dare he break into your home and judge you after giving you the explicit go ahead.   There’s been so many chances, time enough before you’d actually gone through with it, for him to say something. Times that you’d hoped he would. And now here he is, waiting for you in the dark, waiting to shame you for the choices you’ve made. 

"Not that it’s any of your business, but no, I’m not going to date him. And even if I was, it’s a little late for you to have an opinion on my love life, don’t you think?” You taunt him, mirroring his pose, shoulders stiff and hands balled along the seams of your dress. 

His jaw works, eyes twitching away from you. “I’m– we’re friends. I was worried about you."

“Right, we’re friends,” you mock. “That’s all this is about. Being a good friend, being worried about my safety. Nothing else.” 

“Yes,” he insists. “As your friend, I’m sayin’ he wasn’t right for you.”

“Oh and you are?” you retort. Anger is bubbling up in your chest, red hot and poisonous.

“I didn’t say that,” he cautions.

You step forward, unwilling to let him hide behind carefully placed words and deflections. Flashing emergency lights shine through your window, coating everything in sparks of red. 

“Friends,” you say, voice dripping with disdain, “don’t do whatever the fuck it is we’ve been doing for months. Friends don’t get to be jealous and then hide the excuse of wanting me to be safe. We’re not friends, Jason. Not if you’re doing–“ you gesture at all of him sharply, “–whatever this is."

“I am,” he insists and you repress the urge to shriek. He moves towards you, crowding you in. “And I’m worried about your safety, just like Danika and Lina and–"

“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT WITH ME, JASON?” you scream, voice cracking. “HUH? WHAT DO YOU WANT?” you shove at him, desperate to put space between you. “What, you’re just– just gonna expect me to wait around for you forever to make up your goddamn mind? Because I waited I waited, Jay. I waited, and I bargained with myself every fucking time I let you in that maybe, maybe this time would be different.” 

Jason raises his hands between you, lets you see his empty palms as he tries to step closer. You shy away. 

“I didn’t– I’m sorry just can we just–“ he starts but you cut him off.

“Can we what. Because I’m tired of second guessing of every fucking moment while you spin me another pretty lie to cover for the fact that you don’t know what you want.”

“I do!” he protests. “I want you outta harm’s way and happy–"

“Happy? Do you think I’m happy?” you ask incredulously. “Is this what you think happiness is? Chasing after what little you’ll give me, looking for the rest in other guys only to come home to you accusing me of two timing? Is this what we’re gonna do Jay?  Are you gonna wait at my window, whine and scratch to be let in every time I fuck another guy?” In your taunting, you’ve drawn closer and closer to Jason, itching to see every blow land across his stony face. Maybe this will be the thing that finally gets him to crack, to admit to something, anything. 

Jason’s mouth crashes into yours, copper whispering in from where he nicks his lip on your teeth. All the air gets sucked out of the room with the taste of him, time stretching out in an elastic band, ready for the recoil. Suddenly everything slots into place. His hands are twisting in your hair and you are just as greedy, ripping at his jacket, his shirt. Jason’s mouth finds your jaw, your pulse and you convulsively clutch him closer, the wet hot heat of his mouth weakening your joints. Mine, you think you hear him murmur into the tender space where your throat meets your clavicle. You pinch his hipbone, dig your nails into the small of his back until the point of pain. He doesn’t get to make this sweet. A hint of teeth in the meat of your shoulder twists your mouth into a bitter grin, his hold on the back of your neck growing claw-like.

He tries to walk you back towards the bedroom but you refuse to make this easy for him. You plant your feet, push at him until the two of you are rolling to the floor limbs entwined. He has to work for this, you have to make him work for this or else neither of you can have this. Seams rip audibly, your dress getting stuck around your shoulders before giving up under Jason’s strength. It lands somewhere behind the couch but you don’t care, already focused on undoing his belt buckle. Heat trickles down from your belly to your cunt, ravenous and corrosive. All your good sense got left at the door the minute you had recognized him. The gusset of your panties tear under his rough fingers and that, that does piss you off. You are not gentle pulling his dick out of his pants and Jason grunts in your ear, sending a vicious curl of pleasure through you.

He lines the head of his cock up with your cunt and you goad him on, heels digging into his ass. There’s nothing between you, just his searing hot skin against your vulnerable cunt – and fuck, you’re going to have to deal with this tomorrow – but you’re so lost in your angry, drunken desire for him that instead you claw him closer, desperate to sink under his skin the way he’s lived in yours since the day you met. Taking the full stretch of him unprepared compliments the blunt pain that has lived in your chest for weeks. Waiting for him to work you open on a few fingers would have been the smart thing to do, but then you haven’t been very smart when it comes to him have you? He fucks you full, tearing you apart as you give as good as you get, hissing and clawing like a wild thing. The head of his cock keeps catching on that soft part of your gut that has you seeing stars and you fight for air to fill your lungs. Jason reaches for your hand and you slap him away, instead twining your hands through his curls and pulling him back down for another biting kiss.

He matches your ferocity with his own, grabs at your hips with a bruising grip and you moan at the thought of the evidence he will leave behind. That this isn’t only happening in your head but it’s real, that somewhere at some point at least his desire for you existed. Jason finds a new angle, on that has your clit grinding against him as he fucks you with all that he’s worth and you dig your nails into the nape of his neck, cunt clenching around him. Pleasure is secondary to hurting him as much as he’s hurt you and yet he helps you find it anyway. All that anger and poison burning up your veins is just fuel for the fire, lust turning everything upside down. You try to memorize the slick drag of his cock against your folds, the weight of him inside you, as you tip over that final precipice, muscles seizing up under the force of your orgasm. Jason fucks you through the aftershocks, cunt fluttering around him and heart pounding in your ears. His face is too raw for you to look at directly and so you let your head loll to side as he works himself to completion.

Coming around his cock seems to have been cathartic. A careful bloodletting that purged all the festering vices and clamouring emotions in your head. Everything inside you has gone quite, strangely numb and hollow now that you have finished throwing yourself at him until you break. The little broken moans leaving your throat aren’t just the aftermath of desire but a reaction to the little shattered pieces of your finally broken heart. Under your shoulder blades the edge of the rug lights up your skin with every thrust, the smooth linoleum under your lower back a cooling counterpoint. The scraps of your underwear have made it half under the couch, still close enough that you could reach out and grab it now if Jason wasn’t still jolting you across the floor. Tendons tensing, he pulls out with a grunt and paints your lower belly white.

To his credit, when Jason collapses, he is careful to avoid crushing you. Thanks seems unnecessary. All of the energy has drained from you along with the vinegar and battery acid that had bathed your nerves for weeks. There is nothing left for him to destroy. You grab your torn panties – and deeming them un-reparable – start to clean his cum off of you with a resigned sign. They’ll have to be thrown out, maybe tonight’s whole outfit. Even if you could repair the ripped dress, you won’t wear it again. In the afterglow, the whole affair feels seedy. Trite. The streetlight flickers casting shadows across Jason’s face. Fuck, you’d forgotten to draw the blinds.

“Get out.” The words are quiet but sure.

“What?” he asks incredulously. He reaches out but you avoid his touch. If he attempts to comfort you, you are not sure that your resolve will hold.

“I said get out. We’re over. I don’t want to see you anymore.” You struggle to sit up, still sore from the recent fuck and trying not to let your still cum-wet panties touch the floor. It’s already going to be a bitch to make sure no fluids got on the carpet.

“But I thought—” he starts softly.

“I don’t care what you thought. Get out. I’m done with letting you break my heart.” Your voice is flat, as hollow as you feel. The breakdown will come later when this bubble of numbness pops, but it’s keeping you afloat now.

“I won’t,” he pleads. “I’ll fix this, I’ll—”

Crazy how only yesterday those words would have made all the difference. You would have bought it, hook line and sinker if he had looked at you the way he is now, promising to do better. But he won’t because you can’t let yourself risk what’s left yourself on words said in passion. There’s a life, a love, out there that you deserve. He’s never been willing to give it to you.

“I don’t care. Your promises don’t mean anything to me anymore. Get out of my home.”

He needs— he needs to go. Now. So you can air out the room to get rid of that combination of sex and him that has always had you caving before. So you can try to move on with your life.

Jason changes tactics. “There’s still a killer out there.”

You hum disinterestedly. “So? With or without me you would have gone after them anyway. I don’t need to see your face for you to do what you would have done all along.”

His mouth opens and shuts as he mulls over a response, arms crossed defensively across his chest. At some point during your distraction, he had managed to do up his pants. You don’t want to remember him like this, lost and defeated at having his favourite toy taken away. You want to keep that perfect image of him from the early days of your friendship, the vision of Jason that hadn’t hurt you yet and where there was only potential for good things stretching out into the future.

“I’m asking you one last time to leave Jay,” you tell him, an air of finality to your voice. Then, you get up and walk away from him.

By the time you get out of the shower, all trace of him is gone from the apartment. The last tie has been severed.

part 17

[darkfictionjude]

I just read EC and it was quite interesting!

Very happy that my "natural choice" indeed leads to the path where Luce doesn't get kidnapped, since it means I can play fully organically (really wanted to avoid that specific path like I mentionned in a previous ask)! Funnily enough though, I struggled with the choice to respond to Dante or not, and in the end I went with the option to do so. I'm curious how it'll affect the beginning on the next chapter, with Luce having fainted due to the injury but still not kidnapped.

Very happy about the ability to have a "fully artsy" Luce, with the option to study art and to be into rock and roll. Sort of makes it an even more inadequate person for everything that will happen, except maybe to have a good visual memory and be able to draw maps or portraits for stuff and what not.

That aside, I'm so SO happy with the fact we can decide if Luce is in love with Sam or not. Considering if it isn't the case it was all because of dad dearest, it makes it even more delicious to have Lazlo as the chosen RO, with what Antonio thinks of THAT. Extra points for my Luce being a cis man - make it one more layer of messy.

By the way, was it always planned for us to be able to decide if our Luce is in love with Sam or not? I was under the impression them being in love with Sam at the start was canon, and now I'm wondering if I dreamed it up (especially considering Sam is always the opposite gender of Luce's agab) or if it's indeed a change from prior plans that you could have mentionned.

And finally... damn it was hate at first sight for Dante haha! Not saying this as a bad thing since I think he's interesting, and the kind of character I "love to hate" - as in, he makes a compelling villain to me. I think it's quite interesting that I was given the option to chose if my Luce regretted not kissing him. Considering my playthrough I obviously picked "no", though part of me is curious as to why an amab Luce would feel regret over not kissing Dante if they didn't do so, since Dante didn't want to kiss them to begin with (I assume with afab Luces, Dante wants to kiss THEM, right?).

Anyway, all in all I'm very intrigued, though upset at the cliffhanger! Really excited for the next chapter!

Yeah it was always the plan for Luce’s relationship to Sam to include optional feelings. Especially given what Sam ends up doing. I also thought since unless I make an MC bisexual, I can’t very well have a gay Luce love Sam who’s the opposite gender

Honestly I have to go back and look at that code for amab Luce haha it shouldn’t say that specifically or as I am prone to do I might’ve accidentally deleted what it was supposed to say, ugh thanks for telling me tho

Glad you liked it!

[kaurwreck]

oh, i figured out aya's skill.

[rowenabean]

.

[crystalkitty1220]

Man I wonder where the leader of the fear realm could've gone, it's alMOST LIKE NEVIN HAS AN

[orcelito]

Just finished rereading ITNL chapter 2 again

Yknow, it's long felt like a weaker chapter to me, especially compared to chapter 1. It's a Necessary chapter, but it's basically an entire chapter of introspection. Add in the fact that I wrote it in a single day and was half falling asleep by the end of editing it, but pressing onwards anyways bc I wanted So Badly to get it out that night...

The Legato part was the weakest for that. I remember staring at it and breaking my brain just trying to make it sound better before just giving up and posting. But when I worked on my full-fic re-edits about.. a year ago now? A year and a bit. I think it was October ish of 2023. But I focused on that part again, trying to get it up to my standards to be satisfied with it.

Coming back to it after some number of months, my brain relatively fresh, I think I actually did a pretty decent job. Despite being an introspective chapter, it really drives home how Wrecked vash is about it all. I like to say that chapter 1 is like a thesis to the fic, where you get vash's goals laid out pretty clearly (him picturing the things he wants to fix + him picturing his dream of having all the people he loves around a table with him, including Knives. It serves as motivation for him jumping back in time in the first place and it remains his driving force throughout the fic). In contrast, chapter 2 is... almost a secondary thesis. We see his doubt, his fears, his panic. We see the things that he's going to be struggling with throughout the whole fic. His wish to handle it all on his own, as well as how overwhelming it all is to him. Chapter 2 is the necessary second side to chapter 1's thesis, showing the weakness in his own strength and drive.

The cracks in his own unstoppable force.

Idk it's just interesting to me. Having been away from it long enough, I think I really do appreciate chapter 2 after all.

[killjoy-prince]

Surprise manga haul!

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 40: Where Do We Go From Here?

Summary: Things aren't going as smoothly as anyone would like. Maybe they can fix it. Maybe they can't.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 6,723 words

Warnings: Angst, discussion of nightmares, PTSD, discussion of death and killing people, emotions, so many emotions, angst, a little sliver of comfort

A/N: And it is back!! not super proud of this one but I'm starting out on a filler so...yeah. Really just setting up for the next part where some action starts again. You'll see. Anyway, glad to be back at it and I hope you enjoy!

11/30/24: **This chapter has been edited and rewritten from its original version**

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

John stands at the door, gazing out at the yard. It’s pouring rain, dumping buckets on the roof. The water has pooled on the planks of the deck, splattering with every big drop that pours from the sky. The weather once again mirrors your mood, your sobs audible from your room over the pounding on the roof. 

John holds his mug in his hands, staring at the reflection in the window. Kyle and Johnny are sitting on the couch, both looking like kicked puppies. They’re itching to enter your room and go comfort you, but they’ve been kicked out for now. You’re not in the state of mind to be around any of them right now, no matter how badly your sobs tear at their heartstrings. 

You haven’t been in that state of mind for a few hours now. 

Whatever nightmare had plagued your mind last night, it was particularly awful. You’ve been up since the early hours, waking from a nightmare with a terrified scream that had continued until Kyle finally got you to stop and breathe. His ears are still ringing with it, his mind still pulsing with that fear. Something happened. Someone got in. Someone hurt you. 

Nothing happened. No one got in.  

The only threat was still just in your mind. 

Graves. 

He knows that’s at least part of your nightmares. Christine had disclosed that to him quietly on the side. Even she doesn’t know everything that plagues your dreams, but Graves seems to be a common specter in the darkness of your mind. 

It makes his blood boil, and not just out of anger for what Graves did to you. 

It boils with anger at himself too. 

It’s his fault you’re in this state in the first place. He should have known, he should have seen, he should have suspected. He should have never left you there. You should have been his priority over anything else. 

How badly he’s failed you. 

He lets out a sigh, turning away from the window to move over to the couches. He sinks down with a sigh, resting his elbows on his knees. The little progress you’ve made has regressed with this new string of nightmares, the fear pushing you further and further back into your mind. He’s resolved himself to only get worried when Christine is worried, and right now she’s beginning to look worried. If you regress back again, the chances of bringing you out of that are slim. Sure, there are plenty of options to help, but you have to want them to help. 

He knows exactly what will help, you just don’t want it. 

He runs a hand through his hair as your sobs begin to quiet. It’s longer than he’s let it get for a long time. They’re all a bit scraggly and ragged looking, worn down and lazy now that there’s no strict rules guiding their lives. None of them quite know what to do outside of the regulations they’ve spent the better parts of their lives living under. He’s been in the military longer now than he hasn’t, and he’s been finding himself itching for that structure again. He can never bring himself to relax and put the job aside even on leave. He only takes it when he has to and usually spends it training and keeping his skills sharp. 

Now...now things have changed. 

They have no return now. There’s no clear, set time that they have to return to base. They can’t return to base. It would leave them too open to a possible retaliation from Shepherd. They were betrayed by one of their own already, who's to say someone else wouldn’t be just as eager to become a traitor for a chunk of cash? They’re not even truly safe here. 

How are they going to go back to base after this? Can he bring himself to take you back there, a place you never felt comfortable in the first place? 

Where do they go from here? 

He’s been trying not to think too much about it. That’s a dilemma for a different day. That’s thinking too far ahead. Day by day is as far as he dares to take it now. 

The door closes quietly, John’s head lifting to watch Christine as she approaches the couch. There’s a slump to her shoulders, something that’s been getting lower and lower as the days have progressed. She’s struggling with this just as much as they all are. 

She sinks down on the couch, letting out a long breath. Your sobs have quieted, no sound coming from the room now. The silence is almost eerie after days of constant sounds, good and bad, from your room. You were doing better. You were looking more alive and well. 

Then this happened. 

“She’s asleep.” Christine says, her voice strained. “Finally calmed down enough to nap.” She covers her eyes with a hand, sitting there still for a moment. 

“The nightmares?” John asks, glancing at Christine out of the corner of his eye. 

“Worse.” She says, her gaze far away. “She's remembering what happened.” 

John stares at Kyle and Johnny for a moment, the betas returning his worried gaze.

“Those shadows she killed...” Johnny says.

Christine nods. “She's, uh, not taking it well.” 

John runs a hand over his face. He knew it was possible you'd start to remember what happened during the time your omega took control. It wouldn't remain a dark spot forever, though he hoped it would. The things you were forced to do are coming to light now, the things you did to survive because they failed you. Taking the life of someone who deserves it is nothing to them. Taking the life of someone who would take yours just as quickly isn't so much as a second thought. 

You're not like them. 

You've never had to face that reality before, and you shouldn't have had to. 

“One of us should talk to her.” Kyle says.

“I don't think that's the best idea right now.” Christine shakes her head. “She's...regressed a bit. Pushing that on her, while well intentioned, might do more harm than good...” she trails off, her gaze still far away. 

The three of them sit there, waiting for what she’s going to say next. He’s not even sure Johnny or Kyle are breathing as they wait patiently for whatever solution Christine might be able to come up with, whatever move she thinks is the best one to take next. 

“I want to take her out.” Christine says. 

“What?” John asks in surprise. 

“She needs to get out of the house. It’s not doing any of us any good sitting in here all day.” She rubs her eyes. “She expressed interest in going for a walk a couple days ago. She needs to get up and moving, start regaining some of her strength.” 

John lets out a breath leaning back against the couch. He’s tempted to say no. His knee jerk reaction is to refuse. The world outside isn’t safe. If anyone is watching, if anyone sees them...

There’s always going to be that risk though, and Christine is right. Sitting in the house all day isn’t doing any of them any good. They’re at the mercy of the rain, but even then, he doubts it will keep any of them trapped inside for long. 

“When the rain clears up.” He finally says. “We'll discuss it more. But, I think that might be a good idea.” 

“What can we do?” Kyle asks, staring at Christine. 

She lets out a sigh, covering her eyes with her hand. “I don’t know. I’ve helped hundreds of omegas in crisis and yet I don’t know why this case is so hard.” 

“This has become more personal than those cases.” John says. 

Christine’s shoulders slump even more. “I know. I try so hard but she’s just so...different from other omegas.” 

“This entire situation is different from what you’ve done before.” Kyle says. 

“You’re right.” Christine sighs. “The best we can do is let her lead. Do what she needs, give her what she wants. The worst thing that can happen right now is regression. If she regresses too far, we might never get her back.” 

“What is it? Tell me what ye need.” 

“Can you make me forget?” 

“I wish I could.” 

“Hit me hard enough on the head I might forget everything. Then we can all just start over.” 

“That’s not funny.” 

“It wasn’t supposed to be.” 

“Kitten,” Johnny sighs, leaning his elbows on his knees. “I wish I could make those thoughts go away. I wish I could make them mine.” 

“I killed people.” 

“I know.” He reaches out, touching your hand. “I wish ye didnae have to. Ye were just defending yerself. Those Shadows would have done worse to ye if ye hadn’t.” 

You curl up in your chair, turning away from him. “That’s not helpful.” 

“Sorry.” He says, letting out another sigh. “We just want to help ye.” 

You’re silent for a moment, sitting there listening to the waves. It’s cold this morning, not even the thick blanket draped over you offering much respite. It’s the first morning it hasn’t poured rain in days and you were determined to take full advantage of it despite the objections of your pack. 

“I know.” You finally say, staring out at the grey clouds looming on the horizon. The rain will return, just like the dark thoughts constantly swirling in your mind. They make you sick, nausea constantly churning in your stomach and threatening to rise. 

Johnny wraps his hand around yours, his palm warm against your cold skin. “Should head inside. Gonnae catch a cold.” 

“You know that’s a myth right?” You say, tilting your head to stare at him. 

“No it’s not.” He says, pulling your hand between his. “It’s not good for ye being out in the cold.” 

“I’ll live.” You say, trying to pull your hand from his, but he holds you firm. He’s stubborn, but so are you. 

“Kitten...” He says, almost whining at you. “Go inside please.” 

You let out a sigh, staring out at the horizon again. The clouds promise more rain soon, another downpour on its way. You hate it, how much it’s been raining. You just want to be outside, down at the beach, going on walks. Your pack won’t let you though, not while it’s raining, even though they often leave no matter the weather. 

It’s not fair. 

You’re not a fragile flower and you’re tired of being treated that way. Even though your brain feels like it’s in a blender constantly. Even though the pain of what happened still drives into you like a knife, you just want to be treated like a normal human being again. 

“Fine.” You sigh, pushing yourself up to stand. “I’ll go inside.” 

Johnny grabs your arm before you can head back in the door. “Ye know we just want the best for you.” 

You stare at him for a long moment, emotions swirling in your mind. They are trying. You’ll give them that credit. They’re trying, but not hard enough. “What you think is best and what’s actually best isn’t always the same.” 

He looks like a kicked puppy as he lets you go. You turn away before you can feel guilty, heading back inside the cottage. 

You pull the blanket tighter around you as you stare at the flickering flames in the hearth. The heat is intense so close, but it’s warming the chill under your skin. It’s getting colder at night, foretelling the upcoming winter. All the blankets in the world couldn’t fight off the chill that’s settled in you at night. You know what might help, but you’re not brave enough to approach that solution. 

The footsteps on the stairs don’t startle you in the otherwise silent house, the creak of them audible over the crackle of the logs in the fire. 

“I’d add another one.” A voice says from behind you. 

“I’m going to.” You say, reaching for the stack next to the fireplace. 

“Careful. Put it on the side.” 

“I know how to make a fire, thank you.” You snap, shoving the log in before moving it into place with the poker. “I’m not useless.” 

“Didn’t mean to imply you were.” It’s silent for a moment as you settle back into place. “What are you doing out here?” 

“I’m cold.” You answer simply, not feeling up to giving an entire expose on your current state of mind to the person you want to speak to the least right now. 

“We can turn the heat up more.” John says. “Whatever you want to be more comfortable.” 

I want you to leave. You bite your lip, suddenly not brave enough to say it out loud. 

They are trying. 

“Why are you down here?” You ask instead. 

“Couldn’t sleep so I came to get a snack.” He says. “You want anything?” 

“No.” You say quickly, wrapping the blanket tighter around you. “I’m alright.” 

“You sure?” He presses, standing off to your right. 

You hesitate for a moment, curling your toes under the blanket as one of the logs snaps. It’s not food you need from him. Your appetite has decreased again with this new wave of horrible things plaguing your mind. You want answers. 

“I want to know why you decided to leave, why you went on that mission and left me when you knew things were not right.” 

John shifts on his feet behind you, the wood floor creaking just slightly. He’s silent for a long moment, so long you almost think he’s walked away. 

“I was too trusting. I got caught up in the mindset of a soldier and chose to trust my superiors when I knew I shouldn’t have. I wanted to send you somewhere else, to stay with Kate, but things didn’t work fast enough to make that possible. I shouldn’t have just left you there, even with Johnny and Simon. It’s the worst mistake I’ve ever made.” 

Tears burn your eyes as you stare into the fire. At least he knows he made a mistake. At least he thought up other plans, but that doesn’t excuse the fact he did nothing and just left you there so easily. 

Another question burns at the forefront of your mind. You think back to that conversation with Dr. Keller just a few days ago. You want to trust her, you know you can trust her. She’s given you no reason not to. She wouldn’t lie, even if the rest of your pack did. 

“You really didn’t leave me with Graves?” The words slip out before you can stop them, spilling forth from your lips, revealing part of those inner thoughts that have plagued you for the last few hours. 

“I would never have left you with him.” John says, the floorboards creaking as he takes a couple steps forward. “As soon as we found out we turned around and went to Kate’s safehouse. She was already looking for you. We did everything in our power to find you as quickly as we possibly could.” 

The tears start sliding down your cheeks as you sit there, taking in his words. They’re spoken with such conviction and match what Dr. Keller had told you. Some deep, dark part of your brain wants to think it’s all a lie that they’ve conjured to try and make you feel better about everything, to try and jumpstart the healing process. Yet, at the same time you want to believe they are telling the truth. 

Your other option is to trust Phil and what he said to you. For all you know, everything he said was a lie. Some sick justification to torture you as some kind of revenge towards your pack. Maybe it was all about revenge. 

Who can you trust more? Phil, or your alpha. 

Maybe if you had just held on a little bit longer. Maybe if you hadn’t believed Phil’s lie, you could have saved yourself the terror of letting your omega take over. Maybe you wouldn’t have had to take that risk and corrupt yourself with blood-stained hands. From what you can remember and have managed to weasel out of Dr. Keller, they were right behind you. A few more minutes and maybe none of it would have had to happen. 

Maybe you did do the right thing in the end. Phil might have ordered his men to kill you as soon as they arrived. Maybe they would have done it as soon as Simon and Johnny entered the room. Saving yourself might have been your only option. 

Those men would have killed you or worse. You did what you had to do. 

You’re shaking. The tears are cascading down your cheeks, warmed by the heat of the fire. You’re crying, your breaths nearly hyperventilating as you sob quietly. 

“Talk to me.” John says as he kneels down beside you. 

“I can’t do this.” You whisper, your knuckles white where they’re gripping the edges of the blanket. The words are coming out and you can’t stop them. Maybe it’s because deep down you remember the better times, when he was a comfort. Someone you could trust to catch you when you fall. “I keep seeing them, seeing what I did, what happened. I killed people.” 

“People that would have killed you without a second thought.” He says. “You were defending yourself in a situation where that was unavoidable. It’s not your fault. None of it is.” 

“She scares me, my omega.” Your inhale stutters. “She’s angry. She won’t settle. I’m scared I’m going to lose control and she’ll come out again.” 

“You’re not going to lose control.” John says. Despite the heat of the fire you’re not much warmer, a cold chill shooting through your veins. “If it were to happen, we’re right here. We’ll get you through it.” 

You stare into the flickering flames, your breaths slowly coming back down to normal. John sits there, as still as a tree. You don’t want him so close to you, yet you can’t deny how comforting his presence is. For the first time in a while you don’t feel quite so out of control.

“Can we ever move past this?” You ask, your voice quiet and broken.  

“I like to think we can.” John says. “It won’t be easy, but if that’s what you want, we sure as hell will work to make it happen. Things won’t go back to the way they were, and they shouldn’t. You deserve better than what we gave you.” 

You don’t respond because you can’t. His words float around in your mind, replaying over and over. You want to believe him. You desperately want to believe him, but a deep part of you can’t. He’s made promises before and then broke them. How can you trust this time will be different? 

The creak of the stairs wakes you. It’s jarring, pulling you out of a sleep you didn’t know you were in. You’re on the couch in the living room, bundled under a blanket with a decorative pillow under your head. You don’t remember moving to the couch. The fire is nothing more than embers now, but it feels warmer in the house. It’s dawn, the grey light streaming in through the window, chasing away the shadows of night. 

“What are you doing out here?” A gruff voice asks you. 

You groan, rubbing your eyes. “Fell asleep.” 

“On the couch?” 

“Think I was on the floor first.” You yawn, pressing your face back into the pillow. “Don’t remember getting to the couch.” 

“Why?” 

“Got cold.” Your voice is slightly muffled as you pull the blanket up higher. 

Simon lets out a sigh before moving around the couch to the fireplace. He adds a couple logs in before lighting it again, the fire crackling back to life. You’re half asleep already as another blanket is draped over you, tucked up around your neck. There’s a feeling of a hand brushing over your head, but that may have just been your imagination as you drift off back to sleep. 

You don’t get to sleep long, more footsteps coming down the stairs waking you. A hand does brush over your head this time, the scent of the beach filling your nose. You let out a groan, trying to snuggle deeper into the blankets. 

“Sleeping out here this morning?” Kyle’s soft voice reaches your ears. 

You grunt, chasing the quickly fading edges of sleep in your brain. 

“Breakfast is ready, if you want to get up.” 

You are hungry. There’s a quiet rumble of your stomach as you begin to register the smells coming from the kitchen: bacon and eggs and coffee. Johnny is making the coffee most likely. Maybe you’ll have some this morning. You might need it with how groggy you feel. 

You stretch out on the couch, trying to breathe some life into your limbs. It’s not the most comfortable couch, definitely not for sleeping, but it’s better than the floor. It was likely John that moved you. You’re not quite sure how that makes you feel. 

You don’t remember falling asleep after your little talk last night. You’re not sure how that moment of vulnerability makes you feel either. There was a time when you wouldn’t have thought twice about going to your alpha with such concerns and tumultuous feelings. There was a time when you would have sought him out for the comfort and stability you need right now. 

Things are different, though. Things have changed. 

You run a hand over your face, thinking back to the groggy conversation with Simon this morning. You’re not quite sure it even happened, or if you dreamed it. There’s two blankets on you, however, and you distinctly remember feeling the second one being draped over you. 

It’s a touching gesture from the specter in your life. Once again he’s been reduced to a shadow, a figure lingering only because he has to. The distance that had once been so close to closing has widened into an impossibly wide canyon. You’re not sure it’ll ever fully close again. Too much has transpired in such a short amount of time between the two of you. He’ll never forgive himself, and you’ll never be brave enough to force it again. 

You push yourself up to sit, joints cracking from being stuck in one position for so long. You blink slowly as you sit there for a moment. It’s warm in the house, almost too warm now with your body warmed from sleep. Dr. Keller is sitting at the table, a steaming mug in front of her. Tea, most likely. Maybe coffee. You’re not quite sure. She gives you a soft smile as you rub a hand across your face again. 

You feel groggy as you push yourself up to stand, letting your stomach and feet guide you towards the smells coming from the kitchen. Kyle guides you to the table with a promise of making you a plate and you take your usual seat at the end of the table facing the kitchen. Dr. Keller is to your left this time, coffee in her mug judging by the smell. 

“How did you sleep?” She asks, her hands wrapped around the mug. 

“Fine. Got cold.” You say, resting your head in your hand.

“John turned the heat up a bit. We can get you more blankets if you need them.” Dr. Keller says. 

You hum, letting your eyes close for a moment. You won’t complain about more blankets, more soft things to lay with. There is one thing you wish you had, though. You’re not quite sure how to ask for it, or that it would even be possible to get. 

You jump when a hand touches your back, not realizing you had even dozed off sitting there. 

“Sorry.” Kyle says, setting a plate on the table in front of you. “Food’s hot. You want coffee or tea.” 

“Coffee.” You say instantly, earning a wide grin from Johnny as he takes his own seat at the table. 

“Even split this morning.” He says cheekily, setting his own mug down. “Three against three.” 

“Tea is still the superior choice.” Kyle says from the kitchen. “Better for you anyway.” 

“Coffee has a lot of health benefits as well.” Dr. Keller says. “So long as you don’t add too much sugar into it.” 

“See.” Johnny says, giving them a victorious grin. 

“She said so long as you don’t put too much sugar in it.” Kyle says, carrying over your mug of coffee. “You’ll get diabetes from how much you add in.” 

“Two spoonfuls isnae too much.” He turns to look at Dr. Keller. “Is it?” 

Dr. Keller gives him a worried look. “You might be pushing it there.” 

Johnny’s grin turns into a pout. “What do ye mean?” 

A ghost of a smile tugs at your lips as you quickly shovel a forkful of eggs into your mouth. As much as the deep pain of trauma and their decisions ache in your chest, you have to admit you missed this. It’s the least tense you’ve seen all of them in the last few weeks. Even Dr. Keller’s shoulders don’t seem quite so squared as they have been. 

A part of you feels guilty about it. It is your fault deep down. You’re the one keeping them all on edge, driving that wedge between them over and over again. Deep down you’re the one causing the heavy weight that’s settled over the house. You wish you could just go back to normal, you wish you could just wave a wand and make yourself okay again. You wish you could ease their pain just a little bit. 

The eggs suddenly don’t taste quite so good anymore. 

You force them down regardless in favor of causing another scene, in favor of dragging the mood down. They deserve a little lighthearted moment after everything. They don’t need to know the inner turmoil plaguing your mind. 

Simon shifts next to you, his eyes darting to glance at your face. You can feel them, the intensity of his gaze just as sharp as it had been back in the beginning, back before he looked at you with fondness. He’s stiff as he sits there, almost as if he can sense the storm raging inside of you as you force yourself to pretend that you’re fine in favor of keeping the bright mood that’s settled over the table. 

Maybe he can sense it. He is an alpha after all. It’s his job to know, to understand. You glance across the table at John, his eyes on his phone as he sips his tea. 

Your gaze drops down to your plate as you pick up a piece of bacon, your heart shattering just a little bit more. 

“‘S too early.” You whine as hands pull the blanket off of you. Cold air nips at your skin, making you curl up in a ball. 

“It’s noon. Come on.” A hand closes around your arm, gently shaking you. “You want to get up.” 

You let out a whine, pinching your face up. “No.” 

“Trust me. It’ll be worth it.” Kyle says, brushing the hair back from your face. 

“Why.” You say, letting out a huff. 

“We’re going on a little trip.” Kyle pulls you up, forcing you into a seated position. “Dress warm.” 

You’re alone in the room again, the door left open. Light streams in, making you squint against the harsh intrusion. A quick glance at the clock reveals it is, in fact, a little past noon. You took a nap to make up for a night of tumultuous sleep, one of the few things you have to do here in this prison. Nap and read. It’s a lot like your life before the cottage, before everything that happened, except now you’re stuck with your pack around you at all times. 

You almost miss the times they were away. 

You’re half tempted to go back to sleep, but you’re too awake now, and the light streaming in the doorway is making it hard. It was done on purpose, left that way to prevent you from falling asleep again. 

You let out a huff as you maneuver yourself so your legs dangle over the edge of the bed. You try to blink the drowsiness away, no matter how much your brain is trying to chase the last lingering threads of sleep quickly receding. The nap hadn’t been nearly long enough, but judging by Kyle’s eagerness, they let you sleep a bit longer than they wanted. 

You let out a sigh before pushing yourself off the bed, moving to the dresser. You pull out warm clothes, quickly changing. You have no idea what they have planned, what’s going on. There was no frantic rush, Kyle’s energy more excited than anything. It makes you a bit worried as you step out of the room into the living area. 

They’re all waiting by the door, watching you as you approach them, rubbing your eyes. 

“Come on,” John says, setting a pair of shoes on the floor. “Boots on.” 

“What are we doing?” You ask, moving forward automatically. 

“We’re taking a little trip.” Kyle answers, repeating what he told you in the room. 

You look at him cautiously as you step into the boots, pulling them on. You haven’t been away from the cottage since you arrived two weeks ago. You’ve barely been let outside, weather permitting. It’s an overcast day today, the world grey outside, but grey is better than rain. 

“Ready?” John asks as you stare at him. 

“I guess.” You say, still a bit hesitant. 

They make no effort to ease your discomfort and nerves. 

You’re led out the door and towards the cars by Dr. Keller. Her face is brighter than it has been lately which doesn’t help your nervous energy. She’s excited too, just like the rest of them. You’re not sure why you’re so nervous. Maybe it’s the anxiety of leaving after being trapped inside for so long. You just want to know where you’re going, what it is you’re going to be doing. 

Dr. Keller ushers you into the back seat of one of the cars, getting in the other side. Kyle and John climb into the front while Johnny and Simon get into the other car. 

You watch the green pass by as they drive, taking in the new landscape. You don’t remember arriving at the cottage. You don’t remember most of the trip at all. It’s all a blur in your memory, much like the events that transpired after your omega took over had been. You wish you could remember the trip over those events. You’d take green rolling hills over your own hands taking lives. 

It had been jarring waking in the cottage for the first time. A new place, the lack of memories getting there. You’re beginning to get tired of the pattern. You half expect to fall asleep and wake up somewhere new again most nights. You wouldn’t know any better. A slip of a pill into some food and you’d wake up somewhere halfway across the world. 

You like to think they’d at least warn you beforehand. 

John pulls the car into a parking lot, parking near a line of trees. Johnny pulls into the parking lot behind John, parking near the entrance. It’s on purpose, you know that much. Everything is about safety and making things look as inconspicuous as possible. Anyone could be a rat. Anyone could be watching. 

It’s windier here as you step out of the car, even though you haven't gone far from the cottage. Walking distance, if you were up for a hike. You’re not. 

“Come on, kitten.” Johnny says, guiding you through the parking lot and towards a path. 

You still don’t know what’s happening as you follow them, Johnny holding your hand as you step onto the rocky path. He leads the way, the others following. John is behind you, hovering in case you slip in the gravel. You do your best not to, despite how quickly Johnny is leading you. He’s more eager than Kyle had been, and you’re sure he’d be running if you could keep up. 

You begin to figure out what’s happening as the sound of waves crashing on the shore gets louder and louder. Your chest starts to constrict with emotion as the trees start to get sparser and sparser, a cliff edge visible over Johnny’s shoulder. You want to run now, you want to break ahead and race your way to the edge of the cliff. Johnny, even in his excited state, would catch you before you could take off and potentially hurt yourself. 

You might hurt yourself just trying to run. 

You hate it. 

The land opens before you as you reach the edge of the cliff. The expanse of the sea seems daunting so close, grey and choppy from the wind. Salty air blasts you in the face, rustling your jacket as you stand there above a small beach. It’s empty, but that’s expected for late fall. All the tourists have gone home, those with vacation homes back in better weather for the winter. 

You’re glad you’re alone. You wouldn’t want anyone else ruining this moment. 

Kyle’s fingers wrap around yours as you stand there, staring down at the beach below. “Come on.” 

The gravel turns to dirt as it winds down the side of the cliff, getting steeper as you near the beach. You do nearly slip as you follow Johnny and Kyle down to the sand, your boots quickly getting muddy. You’re glad for them, understanding why John chose boots over more comfortable shoes. 

You pause as your feet sink into sand. You stare out at the water, at the white crests of waves crashing onto the shore. It’s real. It’s not just some mirage, some painting in the background of your life. It’s really here. You’re really here. 

No one says anything as you take a few steps forward before squatting down. You scoop up a handful of sand, letting it slip through your fingers. It’s coarse against your cold skin, thicker and rockier than the sand you’re used to, but it’s still sand. It’s still a beach. 

You’re at the beach. 

You scoop up another handful of sand, letting it run through your fingers again. You want to put some of it in a jar and set it on the nightstand at the cottage. You want to stare at it and remind yourself you’re really at the coast, you’re really just a short drive away from the sea. You want the sand to sink into your skin and flow through your veins and fill every crack that’s formed in your mind.  

You’re really here. 

You stand up straight, staring out at the water again. Your pack is still behind you, silently watching you. You shuffle forward a couple steps, waiting for one of them to stop you, to grab you and keep you from getting closer, but none of them move. You widen your steps, treading through the soft sand until you reach the edge of the wetter sand where the water was earlier. It’s easier to walk on as you continue to approach the water, the sound of your pack treading through the soft sand disappearing behind you as you get closer and closer to the water. The waves flow up the beach, your feet getting closer and closer to where that water stops. 

You half expect them to stop you as you step forward, letting the waves hit your feet. The salty water washes away the mud and sand clinging to your rubber boots, rushing up over the tops of your feet. You stare down at the water, watching it surge upward and around your ankles. You’d keep walking if you were brave enough, let it get higher and higher until it soaked your clothes, but you know they’d stop you. It’s far too cold to risk getting wet. You can feel the chill of the water through your boots as it flows over your feet. 

You’re not sure how long you stand there, watching the water rush back and forth, feeling the pressure of it against your boots as you stand in the waves. You’re really here. You’re really standing in the sea. 

You finally turn after what seems like an eternity, making your way back up to the softer sand. All of them are standing in a line, watching you. You wonder what’s going through their heads, what they feel standing here. Relief? Happiness? Guilt? Shame? The wind whips at your back, coming right off the water, blowing their scents away from you. What you wouldn’t give to be able to smell them right now. 

Tears burn your eyes as you make your way up towards John, trudging through the sand. His cheeks and nose are pink from the cold wind, his beard longer than you’ve ever seen it. You don’t remember the last time you’ve really looked at him up close. His gaze is uncertain as he stares down at you, trying to gauge your next move. He can’t. You know he can’t and it makes you feel powerful. 

It shouldn’t, but it does. 

“Thank you.” You say finally, a tear sliding down your cheek. “Thank you.” 

You can hear them. They don’t know it, but you can. They think they’re speaking quietly, but in the silence of the morning, you can hear almost every word. Dr. Keller’s protests, John's quiet insistence. 

Leaving. 

That’s the word that caught your attention. Leaving. Someone is leaving. Someone is separating themselves from the pack again, and not just for a trip to town to go to the store. This meaning is different, it hangs differently in the air. 

“I don’t think this is a good idea right now.” Dr. Keller says, her voice just barely audible through the open sliding glass door. It’s open just a crack, just enough to hear what’s transpiring inside. 

“We won’t have another chance.” John says, his voice insistent. “We have to do this. She deserves it.” 

She. You. Whatever it is, it involves you. It always does. You can’t remember a time over the last few weeks when it hasn’t been about you. It’s always about you and you hate it. You almost wish things would go back to the way they were before, when you were a second thought, the one left behind.

You’re going to be left behind again. 

“John-” 

“I know.” John’s voice is louder again. “We have to do what’s best for our pack, and right now this is it.” 

The sliding door opens, the conversation over. Your stomach is churning, nausea eating its way up your esophagus as John crosses the deck towards where you’re seated. His steps are slow and quiet, almost like he’s approaching a wild animal. He might be, depending on how this conversation is going to go. 

How are you going to react? You expected it eventually. They’ll always leave, they’ll always put you last and think about themselves first. Are you upset? Are you angry? Is it a relief? 

You wish you could feel something right now. Instead you feel numb. Another promise broken, another lie told. 

“You’re leaving again.” You say, staring out at the horizon as John takes a seat next to you. You need to get it out first, say what you know before he can say it and break your heart again. 

He lets out a quiet sigh, leaning back in the chair. “We are, but you’re coming with us.” 

You turn to glance at him, taken aback by his words. You’re leaving too? You hadn’t considered this. The cottage is your prison. You are Rapunzel trapped by the Mother Gothel that is your pack, stuck in the tower for the rest of time. 

Leaving? 

“There’s something we need to take care of back in the states.” John explains. “You’re coming with us.” 

Back in the states? What could possibly be there that is left for you, for your pack? 

You don’t like the sound of that. You don’t like the sound of that one bit. 

NEXT ->

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[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 4

in which spencer reid and inexperienced fem!reader are interrupted at the most inopportune of times. he calls you on the first night of his case. dirty talk turns into a hard conversation. we get a glimpse into spencer's past, and we finally learn why he's so hesitant to sleep with you.

series masterlist

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: dirty talk, phone sex/mutual masturbation, softdom!spence, obligatory he talks u through it, lots of graphic discussions of sex, established relationship, angst (sorrryyy!) a/n: so remember how i said you'd need the bonus chapter to fully appreciate/understand this part? i was wrong!! it will come in handy probably in the next part tho:) also idk how these parts keep getting so long im sorry! anyway, i love you all so bad. thank you for bearing w/ my craziness. PLEASE let me know your thoughts on this part!! i adore hearing from you!! kisses

(also special thank you to @fliesforeyes who convinced me phone sex w/ spence could be done!! i will link his phone sex blurb here :)) thank u binx!!

“Three million six hundred eighty four thousand three hundred thirty two times fourteen million seven hundred sixty one thousand nine hundred seventy one.”

You’ve lost count of how many stupid math questions you’ve asked your human calculator boyfriend, just to see if he can actually do them. Spencer is silent for a second, and you think you’ve finally stumped him. 

“That one is complicated.”

You sit bolt upright in his bed, looking down at him and pointing an accusatory finger. His brows raise at the manic look in your eye. 

“You don’t know.”

“I do know. I meant it would be hard to explain if you aren’t a math person.”

“Bullshit!” You scoff, “you don’t know!”

“It would display on a calculator as five-point-three-eight-eight-E-thirteen. It’s a really big number.”

“Oh, really big, huh?” you mumble, searching for your phone blindly in the sheets and scrambling to open the calculator app. “Um… what numbers did I say?”

Spencer repeats them back to you and you press the equals sign. 

You look at it. 

And then you set your phone down. 

“I was right, huh?” he smiles up at you, probably reveling in your pouty wrongness. 

Too proud to admit it, you collapse on top of him, burying your face in his shoulder. 

“I don’t like this game anymore. What the fuck even is an e? Why are we doing algebra?”

Spencer laughs, brushing your hair aside. 

“The e stands for exponent. It’s to the power of ten.”

“Ever heard of a rhetorical question?”

“Yes, I have.”

It’s hard not to snort even at his dumbest jokes. 

“You’re annoying. Let’s do something else.”

You roll over onto your back again, letting your head flop over to look at Spencer, whose hair is exactly the right amount of messy after a long day, falling in impossibly soft waves over the perfect lines and contours of his face. Despite lounging, he’s still in his suit from work—he’d left Quantico and immediately picked you up. There were no solid plans for the evening, so after both of you pretended that you wanted to go out for a while, you ended up back at his apartment. 

He looks good. Almost too good. 

“Something like what?” he smiles lazily, reaching over and tracing his fingers over your cheek. 

“Something… naked?”

His grin widens and he shakes his head. 

“Me naked or you naked?”

Pretending to think about it, you roll your bottom lip between your teeth. 

“Mm… why not both?”

“Hm. Why do I feel like I know where this is going?”

The mattress sinks underneath your elbow as you prop yourself up, dropping your head over Spencer’s to kiss him. 

“Because you’re so smart, and you think it’s a great idea.”

He entertains your kiss for a moment. Just a moment.

“You sound sure of yourself.”

“Because I am!” You finally give in to your impulses, tangling your fingers in his hair and looking at him meaningfully. “It doesn’t make any sense for us to have not had sex. I don’t care about any of your weird, cryptic moral reasoning.”

He grabs your wrist carefully. 

“It is not moral,” he scoffs. “We haven’t even talked about it yet.”

“Really? Because I feel like we’ve talked about it a lot.” 

He begins to reply, but you realize you don’t want to get into a debate over whether you’ve technically talked about it yet. “I don’t even care! If that’s all that’s standing in your way, then let’s talk about it. Right now.”

Spencer sighs, his eyes darting between yours as he reaches up to cradle your cheek. 

“Fine. But I have things to say you’re not going to like.”

“So business as usual?”

He rolls his eyes. You allow yourself a tiny self-satisfied smirk, forever relishing in his poorly-hidden soft spot for your constant teasing. Spencer ignores this. Which is probably for the best. 

“I know you probably won’t see it this way, but—sex is different than everything else we’ve done so far. It can be really fun, obviously it feels good, it facilitates deeper feelings of connection—that’s all true. Which is why, in my opinion, it’s incredibly important that you be selective with who you sleep with. Because it’s so easy to do something you regret, and sex is vulnerable. It should always be with someone you trust and—and… care about.”

A pink flush stains his cheeks like watercolor as he stumbles over the last few words. It makes your heart flutter against the confines of your chest.

Maybe best not to think about the absence versus presence of certain four-letter words and what they may or may not mean. You’ll move on to more pressing matters and pretend like it doesn’t ache just a little in your whole body. 

You cover his hand with your own. 

“Are you going to break up with me anytime soon?”

Spencer’s eyes widen, filling with genuine horror and confusion. 

“What? No!”

“Are you going to cheat on me?”

“Absolutely not, I—”

“Then I’m not going to regret it. Issue resolved. Moving on.”

“Honey, I just want you to be 100% sure that I’m what you want.”

“Oh my god,” you groan, flopping onto your back once more. “I have begged you to sleep with me on multiple occasions. We have been dating for months and I liked you even longer before that. I think about it literally every time I see you. I don’t know how to be any surer.”

It’s quiet for a moment as you study the imaginary pattern on the ceiling. The rebuttal you’d been anticipating doesn’t come—instead, the mattress shifts next to you. Spencer enters your field of vision, now leaning over you with a little smile on his face that gives you butterflies. 

“Every time?”

“…yes, every time,” you agree, voice considerably thinner than it had been a moment ago. Spencer glances at your lips as he speaks. 

“Interesting. And what is it that you think about exactly?”

You groan again, attempting to roll facedown, but he pins your shoulder to the bed. The way he’s sweetly kissing down your cheek and jaw is infuriating because you know it’s a false pretense. 

“Ugh, I don’t know! Don’t make me answer that!”

“You said if talking about it was all that was standing in my way, we would talk about it. Now I want to talk about it. Come on,” he says, voice low and cloying against your throat as he attempts to tease the answer out of you. “Tell me what you think about when you think about us having sex.”

You let out a shaky breath at the feeling of his lips skimming your neck, hating how easily he can reduce you to this. 

“I… I always wonder what it will feel like. Sometimes I wonder if it will hurt.”

Spencer sighs, interrogation by way of seduction momentarily forgotten. You silently curse yourself for saying something so un-sexy. 

“It might, sweetheart. That’s one of the reasons we’ve held back. I… really don’t want to hurt you. I don’t even know if I can.”

You grab his face in both hands, forcing him to look at you with more confidence than you feel. 

“Sometimes I worry about it, too. But I like you a lot more than it scares me. I still want to.”

He kisses your palm. 

“You’ll be okay. It doesn’t hurt for everyone, and even if it does, you’re resilient.”

“Exactly. So you have to get over yourself.”

Spencer laughs like he wasn’t expecting to, eyes sparkling as he regards you.  

“Yeah. Yeah, maybe I do.”

He’s smiling again as he leans down and kisses you—a slow, lingering thing which tastes like spearmint as you part your lips for him. 

“Please?” you whisper against him after a long moment. He hums, keeps kissing you. 

“What is it that you think you want? You don’t even know what you’re asking for.”

“Tell me,” you beg, chasing his lips. “Tell me what you’re going to do with me. We can talk about it. This is talking about it.”

Spencer exhales deeply, wedging a thigh between yours. Immediately you clamp around it, trying not to grind against him too overtly. 

“You want to know what I’d do to you?”

“Yes—” you paw at his jacket. Surprisingly, he doesn’t stop you from pushing it off. Your heart pounds. 

“Well… we both know how anxious you get,” he muses, pressing his lips so delicately to your fluttering pulse-point in emphasis, and then back to your mouth. His thigh pushes harder against you to supplant the absence of his lips as he speaks, though he kisses you sporadically and between sentences. “You’re hard to get out of your head when you’re nervous, you know that? I watch it happen. One minute you’re with me, and then you start overthinking, and getting self-conscious. The only thing that seems to relax you is letting me touch you—so first I would touch you like I’ve touched you before. I’d make sure you know how pretty you are and how good you deserve to feel.” You whimper inadvertently at his words, arching into him and grinding against his leg as he pauses to kiss the sensitive soft spot below your jaw. “You’re going to need to be really ready to let me in. Do you know what I mean by that?”

As he asks, he pushes his thigh against you harder. Your body responds immediately, arching into him and seeking more friction. When you squeak, he takes it as a no. 

“I mean I need you relaxed and wet. You’ll excuse my crude language.”

You pull at his tie, breathing heavier now and so turned on it’s almost painful. 

“What are you gonna do after that?”

“What else is there to do but fuck you after that?” he breathes. “You want me to tell you how I’d fuck you?”

Something about it makes you whine salaciously. You’ve heard him curse—you’ve even heard him talk about fucking you. But it feels more real now; when it’s low in your ear and you’re covertly undressing him and he’s pushing your shirt over your stomach promisingly. 

“Yes, please.” 

He hums against your jaw, nipping and brushing his lips over the skin as he considers. Leaves you waiting. 

“I would have to take my time with you. You’ll be overwhelmed. I know you think you won’t, but you will. I’m going to have to be so, so careful with you, angel. It’s going to drive me insane. But it will feel good for you.”

“Why careful? I don’t want that.”

He chuckles. A chill runs down your spine. 

“Yeah, you do. You’re going to want me to be careful when I’m—” he pauses, pressing his thumb to your bare lower tummy and dragging up to a spot below your belly button. He presses down lightly again. “Right here. Approximately.”

The surface of the sun has nothing on the temperature of your skin in this moment, as you writhe underneath him in both arousal and embarrassment. Mostly, burning need. You feel almost sick with it. 

“Please don’t make me wait anymore. Just do it, please, Spencer. I need it to be you, I don’t want it to be anyone else. I promise I’m ready.”

It’s silent for a moment. Your heart quickens. You sense his walls wearing away, his instinct to keep you intact for god knows what reason crumbling. He’s finally going to give you what you’ve been begging for. 

Spencer opens his mouth, eyes glimmering—

And then his phone rings. 

You both freeze—he melts dejectedly before you do, more accustomed to an ill-timed phone call and realizing the finality it can present. 

He’s breathing heavily against your neck, as if maybe whoever it is will just hang up. But the phone keeps ringing. 

“I’m sorry.”

Your stomach sinks as he sits up, grabbing his phone from the side table and rubbing circles on your inner thigh as he answers.

“This is Reid,” he says, lackluster. 

If you wanted, you could hear what Penelope is saying—but you don’t bother listening. It’s going to be a case. Spencer is about to leave. The details are his problem. 

“Okay. I’ll be there in an hour.”

He hangs up, tossing the phone onto the mattress and not speaking for a moment, just continuing to rub your leg apologetically. Watching you almost mournfully—taking in your disheveled hair, your likely blown-out pupils, the shirt pushed almost over your chest. 

“I have to go right now,” he finally manages with a heavy sigh, gently pulling your shirt back into place. 

You sit up, shedding all the hopes that had been building for the evening, and try to sound chipper—though all you feel is bitter disappointment that goes deeper than you understand. 

“I know. Go ahead, I can get a cab home.”

He frowns, running his hand over the back of your hair. 

“I don’t love the idea of you standing on the sidewalk waiting for a car in this part of town so late. Do you just want to stay here for the night and go home tomorrow?”

You force a smile. Great. So you’ll be spending the night in his bed after all—just without him. 

“Sure. Thanks.”

“Yeah.”

Neither of you are feeling particularly grateful. 

Soon you’re walking him to his own door. Both of you come to a stop in front. 

“I’m sorry,” he sighs again. 

“Spencer, it’s fine. It’s your job. You don’t need to apologize. You were very clear about this part when we started dating.”

“I know, but… it’s easier in theory than in practice.”

You smile. If Spencer is a reflection of you, it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. His hair is still messy from your fingers running through it and he’s missing his tie. You hope all his coworkers see and feel bad about taking him away from you. 

But it’s not their fault. You just want someone to blame. 

Instead you mould yourself to his body, wrapping around him like you belong there. He returns your embrace, pressing his lips into the crook of your shoulder and rubbing your back in that way he always does with you. 

In that moment, your affection for him becomes so profound it’s like a chemical reaction—everywhere he touches burns and you love him so fucking much it aches in every inch of your body the way your muscles do when you have a bad fever. Love is the most terrible of afflictions, you realize. It is a fever dream. It’s every fiber of your being screaming to tell him how you feel, to beg him on your knees not to go because you love him like a child loves a parent or a bee loves honeysuckle or the ocean loves the horizon. Pared down to your most basic components, the barest version of yourself, you require him. Your soul needs his soul. 

“Spencer?”

“Hm?” 

It’s nothing more than an absentminded hum against your skin. 

“I…”

Should you be looking him in the eye when you say this? Should you say it right before he has to leave? Just because you say it doesn’t change the fact that he’s about to be gone for several long days. Maybe this is a terrible time to admit something that suddenly feels so true and so consequential. 

He senses your internal conflict, pulling back despite your resistance and holding your face between his hands. 

“You what?” He murmurs, soft eyes bouncing back and forth between your own. Fuck—you feel so observed, now. Like he can read your mind. 

“I forget.”

FUUUUUUCK. 

Spencer blinks. Processes. You watch the disbelief crystallizing over his eyes like ice freezing over a lake. 

He knows. 

He knows you didn’t forget, and he probably knows what you were going to say, and he’s going to tell himself he was wrong to spare your dignity. 

Everything hurts when he kisses you. You wonder what regret tastes like. 

“Well, let me know if you remember.”

It’s too gentle and at the same time he can’t hide the edge with all the tenderness in the world. You nod as if in a trance, already looking forward to dissociating as you lie in bed and stare at the dark ceiling.

Two small goodbyes are exchanged, slightly stifled now, as if shared between drunk strangers who have sobered up and are mutually embarrassed about how candidly they’d interacted before. 

You close the door behind him, doing up all the locks, and meticulously flick every light switch in the apartment off before climbing into his bed—though you don’t really feel like you deserve to be there anymore.

But perhaps this is all an overreaction. It’s not like you owe it to him to say I love you, or anything—it was bad timing, anyway. And why can’t he say it? In fact, why hasn’t he said it? 

Maybe you have it all wrong. 

Maybe he doesn’t feel that way about you. 

You fall asleep before you allow these questions to make you sick. 

24 hours go by. 

24 hours go by and you really had meant to leave his apartment—it was just that you woke up late, and your phone was dead so you couldn’t call a car, so you charged it while you made breakfast, and then you ate, and then you decided to take a shower and wash your clothes, and then it was two in the afternoon and you hadn’t left yet and you decided to walk to the store and replenish the groceries you’d used up. 

Maybe you got a bit distracted looking at flowers and other beautiful things at the market and by the time you got home it was 5:00, so you decided to wait until seven to skip rush hour. And then eight, just to be sure. 

Before you know it, it’s midnight, and you’re dozing off in his bed again (teeth cleaned with the brush you’d bought at the store—maybe this whole situation hadn’t been entirely unwitting on your part.)

Throughout the day, you tried to let all your anxiety about the previous night melt away. If it’s something that needs to be addressed, Spencer will address it. Everything will work out in the end. That thought is how you’re able to doze off. 

You’re almost asleep when your phone lights up and begins buzzing on the side table. You wince as your eyes open, not adjusting well to the harsh bright display and unable to discern who’s even calling you at this hour. Stupidly, probably because you’re half asleep, you answer without checking. 

“Hello?”

Your voice is groggy, quiet with sleep. 

“Shit, did I wake you?”

“Spence?” you whisper, stomach flipping at the sound of his voice on the other line. You feel caught, still sleeping in his bed. 

“… yeah,” he chuckles. “Did you not check who was calling before you picked up?”

“I was asleep,” you pout. “Kinda.”

“Okay. Go back to sleep, honey. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

You sit bolt upright, phone balanced between tense fingers and speaking directly into the microphone. 

“No! No, I’m awake. What’s up? Why did you call?”

A longer stretch of silence—you’re too sleepy to comprehend what it might mean, though never too sleepy to worry about it. With a pang of pain, you recall your strange goodbye, the words you hadn’t said. 

“I just needed to hear your voice,” he sighs. You frown, staring at nothing in particular in the pitch black room. 

“Oh. Is everything okay?”

“As much as it can be.”

“Right.”

More quiet. You chew on the inside of your cheek, stricken with a sudden feeling of awkwardness that you haven’t had with Spencer in a while. 

“I’m sorry… I don’t really know what to say.”

“That’s okay,” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice which makes you feel a bit better, “why don’t you tell me about your day? Or you can absolutely go back to sleep, if you’re too tired.”

“Don’t ask me about my day,” you whisper, flopping down on the bed once more. Shame seeps into your voice. He laughs. 

“What? Why?”

“Because if I tell you you’re going to think I’m super weird and you’re going to break up with me.”

Laughter tapers off into gentler tones. 

“I already think you’re super weird. It’s actually one of your most attractive qualities.”

Blood rushes to your cheeks. 

“But it’s like… borderline crazy.”

Immediately, he replies, “for better or worse, I also frequently find myself attracted to crazy.”

“Thank you for calling me crazy and super weird,” you grumble. 

“I also called you attractive twice. Tell me.”

When his tone takes on that easy, assertive quality, and it’s sort of raspy and low because it’s late and he’s been talking all day, and you can hear the lazy smile on his face—you imagine him laying on his hotel bed, arm slung over his eyes in the dark as he grins into the microphone—you have a very difficult time saying no. 

“Fine. Guess where I am right now.”

“Um, I would hope you’re in bed?”

You smile to yourself, basking in the victory of successfully throwing him off his game even slightly. 

“Guess whose bed.”

Silence. 

“What an interesting question.” That cocky smile, the low drawling is back, and you chew on your lip, ignoring the shiver that runs down your spine. “If it’s not mine or yours, we’re going to have issues.”

“But if it is yours? You’re not going to call the police on me?”

“Why would I call the police? To tell them there’s a pretty girl in my bed and I don’t want her there?”

“To tell them your psychopathic girlfriend broke into your apartment and might be holding hostages there.”

Spencer laughs; a brittle, drawn out thing, flat and quiet as the desert.

“If you were a psychopath, calling the cops would be a waste of time. I would handle you myself.” The idea of being handled has your thighs clenching. “But—yeah, don’t invite anyone else in.” More humor finds its way into his voice, momentarily relieving some tension that had sneakily begun to build. “Having people in my space makes me anxious.”

“But not me?” Your whisper is half flirtatious, half insecure. Spencer’s reply is soft, as if he’s picking up on this from hundreds of miles away.

“No, not you. You are always the exception.”

“Good,” you say, cheeks aching as you half-bury your warm face into his pillow. “Because I made myself really comfortable. You have a nice shower, by the way.”

Spencer groans. 

“You’re killing me.”

“What? What did I do!”

“Don’t talk to me about my bed and my shower. I might start to think you’re intentionally being a brat.”

“You asked me about my day! I’m just telling you what I did!”

But you’re also intentional teasing him for sure.  After a pause, he sighs in defeat. 

“You’re right. I did do that. Tell me what else happened.”

“Well,” you begin, all too eager, “I had to put my clothes in the dryer after I got out, so I borrowed some of yours. But then they were way comfier than mine, so after I went to the store I put them back on, and—”

“Okay.”

“Okay what?” you frown. 

“Tell me what this is.”

“I—I don’t know what you mean.”

Lying to a profiler is usually pointless. 

“I’m not stupid, sweetheart. Tell me why you keep talking about my shower and my bed and my clothes.”

Caught red-handed. Your skin heats up. 

“I don’t know. I miss you.”

He hums in a way that blurs the line between sympathetic and patronizing. Even through the phone you can feel the bass of it in your bones.  It changes the frequency you’re vibrating at. It’s hypnotic. 

“But that’s not really why you’re being intentionally provocative, is it?”

“No,” you admit quietly. “I’m still upset you had to go last night.”

“So you’re frustrated and you’re taking it out on me?”

Your brow furrows. Well, when he puts it like that…

“I’m not taking anything out on you.”

“I think you are. And I don’t appreciate that, because I’m on your side, honey. Do you think I prefer being in a hotel bed by myself or being in my bed with you?”

Somehow, he makes you feel like a scolded child. But he makes it appealing in ways you don’t understand. 

“Your bed with me,” you murmur, skin prickling with the coldness of his absence even as you curl under the blanket. 

“Right. So why don’t you tell me what I can do for you right now, instead of punishing me for things that are beyond my control?”

“I wasn’t punishing you,” you mutter. 

“No? You weren’t intentionally talking about using my shower and sleeping in my bed and putting on my clothes so that I’d have to think about what I can’t have right now?”

“I—”

“Believe me when I tell you I have been thinking about what I can’t have, all day. Your efforts are entirely redundant and you can’t say anything about yourself that is even close to as dirty as the frankly disrespectful thoughts I’ve been having about you for seventeen hours.”

The lack of air is making you so dizzy your vision goes gray at the edges. 

“What… what thoughts?”

“None that you need to concern yourself with.”

“You can’t just say something like that and then not tell me!” you insist. He’s obviously giving you a taste of your own medicine and it’s fair but it doesn’t mean you have to like it. 

“I can do whatever I want,” Spencer corrects cooly in a way that pisses you off beyond belief because he’s right. It triggers some adolescent immaturity within you—a desire to get back at him, so to speak. He wants intentionally provocative? He can have it. 

“Fine. Then so can I. And there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it even if I could.”

“Spencer,” you warn. “If you don’t tell me what you were thinking I’m gonna—” you look around the room for ammo. “I’m gonna look through your nightstand!”

“Go ahead. I’ll warn you, it’s not very interesting.”

“Sounds like what someone who has something hide would say,” you mumble, crawling across the mattress through tangled sheets and using your phone flashlight to open the drawer. 

Spencer is patient and silent as you take in its contents—a small blue leather-bound notebook (full of what looks like Russian), a fountain pen, a glasses case, various kinds of vitamins, and—

“Spencer Reid,” you say, dragging out his name and pretending nothing is fluttering in your stomach, “what are these?”

“I don’t know. I can’t see what you’re referring to.”

“Take a wild guess.”

“Oh, I have one. But I’d like to hear you say it.”

You realize you may have gotten yourself in deeper than you meant to by going through his stuff. Well—they don’t say karma is a bitch for nothing. 

“What are you doing with a box of condoms?” 

He chuckles and you feel it in your whole body, warm as you stretch across his mattress and eye the box like it might jump out at you. 

“Those are years old. I’ve used three since I bought them.”

“Don’t tell me that,” you whine. “I don’t wanna think about all the other women you’ve seduced.”

“You wanted them to be for you, huh?” 

You flush. Honestly you hadn’t even thought about that. 

“I… I don’t know. I kind of just assumed…”

It’s silent for a second and you frown, realizing you hadn’t even considered protection when you’d imagined sleeping with him before. 

“You assumed what, honey?” he asks, voice soft. 

“It’s dumb. I can’t tell you.”

“You can tell me anything. I’m not going to think it’s dumb, I promise.”

You chew on your lip, letting your eyes unfocus on the box as you muster the courage to be honest. 

“Whenever I imagined it… we didn’t… use anything.”

The words make you cringe even as you’re saying them. So does the quiet that follows. 

“When you imagine us sleeping together, we don’t use a condom?”

“Ah!” The phone drops to the mattress as you cover your ears and roll onto your side, curling into yourself once more. “You didn’t have to say it! You make me sound so weird!”

“It’s not weird,” he laughs, because he can probably imagine exactly what you just did, “I just wanted to make sure I was understanding you. That said… we would definitely use protection.”

“Do we have to?”

The quiet words take even you by surprise—and they seem to stun Spencer as well. Several false starts are punctuated by a sigh as he gathers his thoughts. 

“We really should, baby. That’s the kind of thing we need to take seriously.”

“But you’re… you’re good, right?”

Thankfully he picks up on your meaning. 

“I am. I wouldn’t touch you if I weren’t.”

“And I’m good. So...”

“Hm. And has anyone ever explained to you where babies come from?”

You groan in frustration. 

“Spencer, I’m being serious! There are ways to negate that.”

“Honey,” he murmurs, “I understand that. But it would be irresponsible of me to say yes. We can talk about it in the future, but—”

“I’m telling you it’s already dealt with. The chances of an accidental pregnancy are slim to none.”

The new information hangs in the air for a moment until Spencer speaks—to your surprise, his voice is low and humorous. 

“That is… good to know. But even so—I’m setting a dangerous precedent if I always let you get exactly what you want.”

“Is it such a bad thing that I just wanna—I wanna know what it feels like? You don’t want that?”

“That’s not what I said. I want to know exactly what you feel like. I’m just hesitant to give in so quickly because it makes me look weak.”

You laugh breathlessly, caught between being turned on by the first part of his sentence and amused by the sarcastic second half. Your thighs clench and your hand absentmindedly wanders between them. 

“You know what I was thinking about?” you ask. Spencer hums curiously. “I was thinking about when you let me, um… when you let me touch you how you touch me.” He hums again, but you can hear the amused curve of a smile in it now.

“When you had your mouth all full of me and you looked so pretty?”

“When I—yeah,” you agree, too caught up to deny his compliment as your fingers brush your most sensitive spot through clothing. “And  how you got me all messy after. And I was wondering what it would feel like… inside me.”

He sucks in a breath. Your legs brush against each other and you twist slightly as you pretend like you’re not touching yourself just a little bit. 

“You want me to come inside you?”

“Yeah,” you whisper, brain short-circuiting at the way those words sound in his voice. 

—

On the other side of the line, Spencer isn’t doing a fantastic job of thinking clearly either. His dick is half-hard already and it’s only getting worse with each little noise you make that you don’t seem to realize you’re making. 

“Really? That would be very messy, baby. I’m surprised that’s what you want.”

“But I really want it,” you breathe. He’s not even looking as he slips his hand under the waistband of his pajamas and palms himself, his other hand rubbing tiredly over his face as his phone rests on his chest. This was not how he intended for this call to go, believe it or not—but he’s here now. 

“Yeah? Is that why you’re touching yourself right now?”

You go silent—which is more or less exactly the reaction Spencer had been expecting. Patiently he waits for you to deny it, in three, two—

“’M not.”

Now, he could explain how he knows that’s a lie. How your breathing pattern changed, and your voice got softer and airier, and how you started speaking with smaller words in fragmented sentences. But he doesn’t feel like explaining any of that. 

“I know that’s not true,” he murmurs. “You know what? It wasn’t fair to get you all worked up last night and then leave. I don’t want you frustrated, honey. I want you to do whatever you need to do.”

You make a little gasping noise, and Spencer can imagine the way your back would arch when you did it. His own hips buck slightly as his dick twitches under his fingers. 

“Where are you touching?”

“Um—over my clothes.”

Cute. 

“Go under them for me. Tell me how it feels when you’re touching yourself like that.”

It takes a moment, in which all he hears is the rustling of fabric, until you’re whispering, “feels… it feels good. I wish you were here.”

He inhales, freeing his cock and squeezing the base. 

“I know. Just listen to my voice, pretty. I’m right here.”

Spencer allows himself a few slow tugs as he imagines what’s happening in his bed. You make a squeaking noise, like a held-back moan, and his eyes screw shut. 

“I need them inside,” you whine, and he knows you’re referring to his fingers—the ones currently stroking his own leaking cock. 

“You can use your own, just give yourself a minute first. Remember what I said about needing to be ready?”

“I am ready—” judging by the surprised chirp you interrupt yourself with, you’ve proven yourself right. What surprises Spencer is the weak sound of disappointment you make next. “Spence, it doesn’t feel the same.”

“We’re different sizes, honey. Your hands aren’t as big as mine. But you can still make it feel good.” 

He almost says, 90% of the nerves in the vaginal canal are located in the lower third—in other words, within approximately 2.36 inches from the opening, which you can most certainly reach—but he refrains. He’s not sure if that’s good dirty talk. 

“You have a really sensitive spot about three inches up, right in front. It’s going to feel a little different than the rest of you when you touch it. I want you to try and find it for me, okay?”

“Okay,” you breathe, ever-eager to please even from a great distance. There’s a quiet moment. “I can’t—I don’t think I can r—oh,”

The moan is so pretty Spencer can’t help speeding up the motion of his hand, hissing slightly as his fingers brush against the angry tip with every pump. 

“Did you find it?”

“Yeah,” you whine, a weak, high-pitched thing. “Oh my god.”

“Be gentle,” he warns with some effort as his own hips jump slightly. “You’re really sensitive there. If you’re not careful you’ll make yourself sore.”

“I don’t care—holy shit—” the way your voice rises and tightens to a squeak at the end has Spencer moaning as he fucks his fist. A black hole forms and warps time, turning every minute into a second and every second into an infinity until he has no idea how much time is going by. He drags his thumb over the tip, smearing precum over his cock and whining as his jaw drops at the feeling. “Oh my god, Spencer,” in that same strained, high voice. “’M gonna—ah!”

He gets the general sentiment. 

“What, baby? You’re gonna make yourself come all over your fingers? Is that what you wanted to tell me?”

“Mhm!”

“Yeah, I bet you are. It feels good, huh?”

“Yes,” you cry. 

“See? You don’t need my fingers to feel good. Mine barely fit, you know that? I have to hold your fucking hips down whenever I put my fingers in you because you can’t stop squirming. I don’t know how you think you’re going to take my cock.”

“Spencer!” 

He knows. 

“Come, baby. Let me hear you.”

The delicate sounds you make as you bring yourself to orgasm tip him over the edge of his own—grunting as he comes all over his fist. 

“Jesus,” he strains under his breath, the word dragging out into two long syllables as his hips buck involuntarily and cum drips down his knuckles. He’s lightheaded and he’s created a mess and it all happened so quickly. “Fuck,” he breathes, a rasping chuckle as he reaches for the towel he’d dropped on the bed after his shower earlier. “You conscious over there?”

“I’m conscious,” you slur, breathing heavily. “I’ve never had an orgasm by myself before.”

“Are you proud of yourself?” Spencer smiles, wiping his hand off and making sure he’s otherwise clean. “You should be. I am.”

He’s barely kidding. 

“I’ll be proud when I can do it without your help,” you tease. 

“But I’ll always want to help you with that.” His already warm face flushes further as he goes over what he’d said. “Sorry I was so vulgar.”

You laugh. He blushes even more. 

“Are you? I think you secretly love being vulgar.”

“I don’t know why! I have no idea where it comes from. I would never speak that way in any other context. I should probably work on that. Sometimes I look back on the things I say and I’m genuinely appalled.”

“Well, don’t stop on my account. Personally I enjoy it.”

“Yeah, I think I’m corrupting you. You probably shouldn’t enjoy it.”

The truth of it weighs heavy on his mind, but he’s pretty sure his voice alone doesn’t betray that and you can’t sense it through the phone. 

“Oh, my god. Do not do that falling on your sword shit. I like being corrupted by you. If you stop I’ll be very upset.”

“Well god forbid you get upset,” he teases gently. Idly he wonders if the reason he’s suddenly feeling so depressed is because his cortisol levels were already high from the case, and then he jarred his system with an orgasm, spiking his dopamine and ultimately causing it to plummet without the oxytocin release that post-coital physical contact would usually provide. 

Or if it was something else. It could also be something else. 

For the millionth time, he wishes he was with you. Part of him also wants to go to sleep. But mostly he wishes he was with you. 

—

A comfortable silence settles over the conversation. In the ditch between words, you’re mapping constellations in the texture of Spencer’s ceiling. If you squeeze your eyes almost shut, you can imagine it really is the night sky. You can imagine he’s really here. 

You think about what he said—his apparently mindless vulgarity. Did it mean anything? Or was he just rambling to get you off?

“Spencer?” you murmur. 

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you a question?”

He sounds earnest, perhaps a little tired, as he replies, “always,” through the little metal rectangle on your chest. He likes me and my questions are important to him, you repeat to yourself silently as you work up the strength. 

“If Penelope hadn’t called, last night… were you going to have sex with me?” 

Your lip tastes like his toothpaste as you chew it. Spencer sucks in a breath of air like he’s about to speak—and lets it fizzle out like foam on a carbonated drink. 

“I don’t know,” he finally admits, lamely. “That wasn’t my plan, but you can be extremely convincing when you want to be.”

“But why can’t it be your plan?” It’s an almost whine, pouty and childish—but the next words are quiet and pained. “Is it something I’m doing wrong?”

“No, no! It’s not you. You’re perfect. It’s—it’s complicated. It’s a me thing.”

Such trite words—such a ubiquitous, simple excuse sounds almost comical from his mouth when you know he’s capable of all the eloquence in the world. It’s not you, it’s me. It’s ridiculous. 

“Okay. Let me simplify this for you,” you begin with an uncharacteristic assertiveness that surprises even you. “I want to have sex with you. Either we are going to have sex or we’re not. So your future branches in two diverging paths. In one, we have sex, and then we keep having sex. In the other we never have sex ever. If you want to ever have the privilege of fucking me, then we just have to do it. Otherwise it simply will never happen. And I’m not eternally patient, Reid.”

Go me, you think, slightly breathless from your monologue. 

“Watch your mouth,” he says dryly. Something about the chastisement makes your stomach flip and your whole body tingle. “When you talk to me you call me Spencer. I will also accept Doctor Reid.” You wrestle down a smile, refusing to let him change the subject. A delayed sigh from him sobers up the conversation. “You know what I want. I’ve been very clear with you about that. But…”

“But…?”

Another sigh. A deeper, shuddering sigh, like his breath is searching for balance. Like Spencer is in a precarious position for which he was unprepared. 

“But—but to be completely honest… I worry that you’ll regret choosing me. And I know virginity is a social construct and I’m not implying that your worth will somehow be diminished if we have sex but regardless of my views on virginity as a construct, having sex for the first time can be weird and scary and it’s incredibly intimate and I don’t want you to regret your first time like I regret mine because you chose the wrong person.”

The words come at you so rapid-fire it takes you a moment to process them. And aside from all the ways you want to reassure him that you will not regret choosing him—that you could never, ever regret anything about him—one thing stands out. 

“You regret your first time?” 

Something between a scoff and a sigh travels through the line. You can tell he’s not annoyed at you for asking so much as he’s flustered himself with all his own words as he occasionally does. 

“Yeah. Yes. Sometimes I do. The person—she didn’t… like me as much as I liked her. And I was really, really in love with her, and she knew that and she knew she wasn’t in love with me—or maybe she was, I don’t know—but my point is, when one person likes the other more than the other person like them, things get complicated. And however you feel about me—that’s fine. It’s fine. I don’t want you to feel bad if we don’t feel exactly the same way about each other. I understand that this is newer for you, it’s different, I—I just don’t want us to do something we can’t undo because I don’t want to relive that. And I’m not saying it will never happen but I just don’t want you to make this choice when… when right now, I think we’re in different places emotionally. Regardless of that, I want you to choose the right person. I don’t want you to choose me and then find out that we feel differently after we sleep together and leave you feeling like you signed up for something you didn’t understand. I’m sorry. Maybe telling you this is selfish. But I’ve been thinking about it and trying to ignore it and I think I just have to be completely honest.”

Your ears ring like Spencer just fired a blank right into the microphone. Like you just got backhanded across the face and now you have the world’s worst case of whiplash. 

Every finger is numb and your blood is so cold it feels blue as it slithers thick through your veins. 

What you want to do is scream. What you want to do is go back to last night and stop yourself from almost telling him I love you, slap yourself and keep your cards a little closer to your chest. Because now he knows, and he doesn’t feel the same. 

You want to scream bloody murder. 

But when you try, when you unhinge your jaw and part your chapped lips and expect a bellow to come hurdling up the corridor of your throat with so much force it rattles your bones, all that falls out is a small, “oh.”

Maybe that’s worse. 

Spencer doesn’t reply. You hate yourself for feeling obliged to fill the silence. 

“I didn’t realize you…”

I didn’t realize that you don’t love me back. 

I didn’t realize I like you more than you like me. 

I didn’t realize you’d tell me to masturbate in your fucking bed and then drop this not even five minutes later. 

If Spencer Reid was able to talk to you over the phone with the same amount of affection and familiarity as always, like everything was still okay, knowing you love him and he doesn’t love you the whole time, he is not who you thought he was. 

“I’m sorry,” he lamely says again, like it could ever help. 

More silence. Now you can’t bring yourself to speak, so Spencer does. 

“I realize how awkward this is. I really didn’t mean to put you in this position. Especially not over the phone when I—god, I’m stupid. I’m sorry. But can we—can we talk about this in person when I get back? Please?”

Is that what grownups do? Is the proper etiquette for him to take you out to dinner and explain why he’s not in love with you? Is he going to break up with you?

What does one even wear to a breakup date?

“Okay,” you whisper. Your eyes sting, your everything stings, like you’ve been wrapped in a shroud of briar. Sheets that were soft a moment ago feel like sandpaper on open wounds. You feel like an open wound. 

Spencer sighs. It’s a sound of relief that confuses and hurts you even more. 

“Okay. I—okay. Thank you. Um—I’ll let you go back to sleep, now.”

“Okay,” you repeat—as if any of this were okay. But you can’t keep being that stupid girl who feels it all so much harder, who loves easily and begs to be loved in return, too naive to assume that someone who treats her so kindly might not reciprocate her feelings. It has to be okay, because if it’s not, you’re silly and dramatic and you’re just proving him right. 

“Goodnight,” Spencer whispers, and you can’t help but feeling that it’s the last time you’ll ever hear those words from his mouth while you’re in his bed. And he’s not even fucking here.

So you pull the blanket a little higher. You let your tears stain his pillow because they’ll be invisible by the morning. It will be like they were never here. Like you were never here. 

“Goodnight.”

-

part five

[y3sterdaysproblem]

smoke and mirrors - chris sturniolo

chapter one

summary: your best friend Matt backs out of plans you had made together, so you replace him with his brother. the only problem is the two of you can’t stand each other.

{enemies to lovers, fake dating}

includes : explicit language, fluff, smut(penetration, oral, fingering, etc.), angst if you squint, lots of bickering, slow burn

wc: 2.4k

-

a/n: first series! it won’t be super long, but I hope you enjoy. send requests for more fics!

-

“Matt, you can’t back out now!” You huff, crossing your arms over your chest as you stare at your best friend where he lays on his bed, setting his phone down to look up at you.

“I’m sorry, love, something came up and I can’t make it,” he apologizes, shrugging his shoulders. “I can’t get out of it.”

You groan, throwing your head back in frustration. You had a family wedding to attend and already RSVP’d with a plus one, which was supposed to be your best friend Matt, who had lovingly agreed to pretend to be your boyfriend for the night. Your family was super invasive about you getting a boyfriend, and you wanted to avoid all of the comments and questions by just pretending to have a boyfriend for one night at the wedding, but your plan was falling apart.

“What am I supposed to do? I already told everyone I was coming with somebody, they’re gonna know I was lying if I show up by myself,” you tell him, trying to rack your brain for any ideas.

“You could bring Nick,” Matt suggests, picking his phone back up and going back to scrolling.

You scoff. “Yeah right, like Nick could pretend to be straight for an entire night. He’d be caught in less than an hour.” You shake your head, moving to sit on the edge of the bed next to Matt. “I’m gonna have to go on, like, Bumble or something and find some random to go with me.”

Matt looks up at you over his phone, waiting for you to lock eyes with him before he starts to speak. “I mean… I know one other guy you could ask.”

You tilt your head, excited to hear the suggestion, before you realize who he’s talking about and your eyes widen, head shaking rapidly. “Absolutely not,” you put your hands up, pointer fingers crossed over in an X. “I am not asking Chris, no way.”

Matt raises his eyebrows and purses his lips. “I told you I knew someone, I didn’t say you’d like what I said.”

You roll your eyes. “He would never say yes to me anyway, even if I did want to ask him.”

Matt shrugs. “Maybe. You could always bribe him, he loves a good bribe.”

You think about it for another moment, knowing it would be easier to get Chris to do it than it would to find some random guy to go to a wedding as a first date, but the thought of spending an entire night next to Chris made your skin crawl.

The two of you had never really gotten along, even with you being around as much as you were, you guys never clicked, in fact it was the complete opposite, always insulting each other any chance you got, ignoring each other, and always avoiding being in the same room by yourself, even if only for a few moments.

“I mean… I could try but I really can’t promise I won’t kill your brother, Matt,” you half joke, but not really. “Might turn you into a twin.”

“That’s fucked,” Matt laughs, using his foot to kick you lightly. “I‘ll still be a triplet, even if you kill him. I’ll just be a triplet with severe depression and no will no live.”

“You’re so dramatic,” you tell him through a laugh. “Your life would be so much quieter, wouldn’t that be nice? You’d secretly thank me for killing him.”

Matt shakes his head at you with a smile, though his eyes tell you he thinks you’re crazy, before looking back down at his phone.

“Killing who?” A voice sounds from the doorway and you look up to see the man of the hour staring back at you, a disinterested look on his face.

“You,” you smile sweetly up at Chris.

“That’s nice,” he says, flashing you a fake, tight lipped smile before turning to his brother. “Hey, can you take me to go get food?”

Matt groans and throws his head back, closing his eyes. “But I’m so comfortable,” he whines.

You take a deep breath and consider your options. Chris, who you hate but have known for years, or a random guy who might be a serial killer? You’d definitely be safer with Chris, but the thought of having to be near him without his brothers for an entire night seemed like hell. Especially having to act like you were pleased to be in his presence.

“I’ll take you,” you speak before you can stop yourself.

Both Matt and Chris look at you with shocked expressions, Chris having a bit of disgust in his eyes.

“I’d rather starve, thanks,” Chris replies. “Matt, c’mon seriously, can you take me?” He asks again.

“Chris,” you say in a stern voice, standing up from the bed and walking towards him. “Let me take you. I need to talk to you.”

Chris watches you walk past him through the doorway and then looks back at Matt, shooting him a confused look, to which his brother just shrugs, before he leaves to follow you, finding you by the front door slipping your crocs on.

“The fuck is this about?” He asks, trotting down the stairs to meet you by the front door. “You in love with me or some shit?”

You look up at him with an unamused expression. “You wish I was in love with you.” You huff. “I told you, I gotta talk to you.”

You open the front door and head outside towards your car, opening the drivers side door. You look behind you and see Chris standing in the doorway, staring after you. “I’ll buy your food,” you tell him, and he immediately shuts the door behind him and walks up to your car. “You should’ve led with that!” He says.

You both get in your car and you start driving. “Where do you want to go?” You ask him, turning your head to see him on his phone. “Chris,” you push, reaching out to smack his phone out of his hand, causing it to land on the floor.

“What the fuck, dude. Unnecessary.” Chris huffs, reaching down to grab his phone, but he tucked it between his legs instead of going back on it. “I don’t know, McDonald’s?”

You groan. “You always get McDonald’s. Can’t we get like Popeyes or something?”

Chris looks at you, raising an eyebrow. “Well I didn’t know you were gonna eat, too, jesus. Sure, Popeyes is fine.” He goes for his phone again, but you reach out and grab his hand, stopping him.

“Wait,” you start. “I actually do need to talk to you.”

Chris sighs and puts his phone away in his pocket completely, looking over at you. “Okay, spit it out then.”

You flash a glare at him quickly before returning your eyes to the road. “So… Matt was going to be my plus one for a wedding I’m going to, but he can’t go anymore because something came up, and I can’t ask Nick because he’s gay and that just won’t work, and so that just leaves you.” You tell him nervously.

“So what if he’s gay, your family homophobic or something?” Chris asks, annoyance lacing his voice.

You sigh and pull into the Popeyes parking lot, pulling into a spot and throwing the car into park before you turn your body to face Chris. “No, they’re not homophobic. It’s just… I kind of told them I was bringing a boyfriend.”

Chris stares at you for a moment before laughing, completely unserious. “You? A boyfriend? That’s hilarious. I can’t believe you’re lying to your family about having a boyfriend.”

You don’t laugh though, you just drop your eyes down to your lap, knowing that this was exactly how the conversation would go.

“Wait a minute, that means you want me to pretend I’m your boyfriend? Fuck no, I’d rather be single for the rest of my life. Forget it, dude, you’re shit outta luck with me.” Chris shakes his head, bringing a hand up to run through his hair.

You nod and start backing out of the spot, heading towards the drive-thru. “Yeah I figured that was how you’d respond,” you murmur.

You guys order your food, and you still pay for it, staying true to your word, before heading home. It was a quick but quiet ride back, both of you getting out of the car without a word, not even a ‘thank you’ shot your way. You take your shoes off and head back up to Matt’s room, seeing him in the same position you left him in, only now he was watching a movie, and you got in his bed to join him with your food.

“How’d it go?” He asked, reaching out to steal one of your fries.

“Exactly how I expected it to go. He laughed in my face and said he’d rather be single for the rest of his life than pretend to be my boyfriend,” you tell Matt, looking down at him from where you sat.

Matt smiles up at you, reaching out to pat your leg. “Sorry, kid. You tried.”

You nod and look up at the tv screen, starting to eat your dinner.

-

The next day, you’re sitting on your couch panting your toes and watching your favorite comfort show when you hear the doorbell ring, startling you as you weren’t expecting anybody over today. You look down at your toes and swear under your breath, seeing that you smeared polish along your skin.

You set down the polish on the table and stand up, walking to your door and pulling it open, jaw dropping in shock when you come face to face with Chris, the last person you expected to show up at your door unannounced. You almost wanted to rub your eyes in case you were mistaking him for another triplet, but you knew your eyes didn’t deceive you.

“Chris?” You question. “How did you get here?”

He rolls his eyes at you. “I ubered?” He says like it’s obvious. “You gonna let me in or what?”

You take a step back and let him into your house, shutting the door behind him. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure?” You say, sitting back down on your couch. He follows and sits at the opposite end, looking over at you.

He ignores your question, watching you as you continue to do your toes, cleaning up the mess you made. “Why not just get your toes done?” He asks.

You look at him with an annoyed expression. “Costs money? Why spend money when I can sit around and do it myself?” You go back to painting your toes. “Why are you here?”

Chris shrugs. “Been thinking about what you said yesterday, about the wedding.”

You stop what you’re doing and put the polish back down, turning your attention on Chris completely. “Did you change your mind?” You ask him.

He sighs and licks his lips before speaking. “Consider it my charity for the year,” he smiles, tilting his head at you. “But I need a small favor from you.”

“A favor in return isn’t charity, Chris, it’s like… eye for an eye or whatever.” You look at him deadpan. Of course he’d want something in return, he could never do something for you out of the goodness of his heart.

“Whatever, dude, you want my help or not?” Chris asks. “If not I’ll just leave, doesn’t make a difference to me.”

You huff and give in. “Fine. What’s the favor?” You ask him.

He pulls out his phone, scooting a bit closer to you on the couch. “There’s this girl that will not stop hitting me up and she’s driving me crazy. I told her I’m not interested, I’ve ignored her messages, I even blocked her on snap to see if she’d get the hint but she still texts me every day.” He shows you all of the unanswered messages and your jaw drops.

“Holy shit, what does this girl see in you?” You laugh, reading how desperate she was for Chris.

“Funny,” Chris replies, unamused.

“What does this have to do with me?” You ask him, looking back up at his face.

“I think it’s only fair if I pretend to be your boyfriend at the wedding, you pretend to be my girlfriend on social media. Only for a few weeks or until she stops messaging me. Plus, you’re way hotter than her. ” Chris tells you, and by the tone of his voice, he’s completely serious.

You feel heat rising up your neck and you try to get it under control before your cheeks turn red. “You think I’m hot?” You ask him, a teasing lilt in your voice.

“Not the point,” he replies.

“So you tell me that you would rather be single for the rest of your life than pretend to be my boyfriend, and now you want me to pretend I’m your girlfriend?” You clarify, and he just nods, like it’s no big deal. “Pretending to be together at an event is one thing, but you want to take photos to look like a couple? That’s a little… intimate don’t you think?”

Chris shrugs his shoulders. “I’m a big boy, you’re a big girl. Don’t think you can handle a little physical touch without falling for me?” He smirks, leaning in closer to you.

You grimace and reach up to push his shoulder away. “Gross, dude. I could have sex with you and still not fall in love with you and your terrible personality.”

Chris gasps, fake shocked, throwing a hand to his chest. “I am a very good lover, why do you think this girl won’t stop texting me?”

Your eyes widen. “You had sex with her?!” You shriek. “Chris, no wonder she keeps blowing your shit up!”

Chris groans and throws his head back, leaning it on the back of the couch. “It was supposed to be a one time thing, I don’t know why she’s so hung up on me!”

You find yourself giggling a bit before you stop and clear your throat, not wanting to give Chris the satisfaction of making you laugh. You compose yourself and shake your head, clearly disappointed in the boy across from you. “Fine, I’ll pretend to be your girlfriend, but no kissing! I draw the line at kissing.”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry, I don’t want to kiss you,” Chris cringes. “So… I guess we should start planning this?”

You nod and smile towards him, placing your hands in your lap as you guys start to figure out how to execute both individual plans.

-

a/n: this chapter is SUPER short but it’s kinda just to get a feel of the fic and how it’s gonna play out. I really hope you guys like this series im so nervous about it!!

taglist

@liiixsturniolos @madelinesturn @st6niolo @mattslolita @ifwdominicfike @sophand4n4 @chris-hallelujah @sophsturns @ariana2saucyy @045696

[shinhyunjin]

── .✦ little white lies.

⟢ pairing: hwang hyunjin x female!reader

⟢ genre: fluff, non-idol au, established relationship

⟢ word count: 1.9k

⟢ summary: the one where a street interviewer asks the story of how you met.

⟢ author’s note: hello, everyone! i don’t really know what this is, but i clearly got the idea from @/meetcutesnyc on tiktok. i feel like i could maybe turn this into a short series and write one for the rest of the members if you like this one enough. anyway, this is my first fic on this blog, so if you enjoy it please do show it some love<3

“Excuse me, are you two a couple?”

You stop in your tracks at the question, staring at the stranger that was now blocking your way, as he stood in front of you and your boyfriend—a small mic in his hand and cameraman behind him recording the scene before him.

Your first instinct is to look up to Hyunjin, who is already tightening the hold of his hand on yours and pulling you closer to him.

“We are” he doesn’t hesitate to answer.

You find the confused yet protective crease between his eyebrows particularly cute right then, so you smile.

“Would you mind telling us the story of how you met?”

“Oh, you’re that guy?!” You jump in excitement.

Hyunjin’s frown only deepens for a moment, feeling like he is missing a chapter—or a whole book—when the guy in front eagerly nods his head and laughs at your sudden enthusiasm.

One look at you, however, and a glimpse of the smile lighting up your face, is enough for him to go with whatever it is happening right then.

“Baby, they make videos on TikTok asking couples how they met” you explain to him nonetheless, caressing the back of his hand with your thumb to ease the small tension he felt after seeing you interact so comfortably with another guy—a stranger one at that.

“Oh,” Hyunjin lets out, suddenly feeling embarrassed over how defensive he was until then. “We met at an art gallery” he tries to redeem himself by kindly answering the question.

“It was actually kinda funny” you add with a small giggle that has all three guys smiling at you.

“If that’s your way of saying we were one second away from committing a crime, then—”

“Oh, hush” you playfully shut him up, enjoying all too much the dramatic roll of eyes he gives you in response. “It wouldn’t have been a crime. I think”.

Your last addition earns a quiet chuckle from the cameraman, and you wonder if that’s making it into the final video.

“Long story short,” you begin. “I was admiring one of the sculptures, minding my own business, when out of nowhere someone bumped into me. I was caught off guard, of course, so I inevitably lost my balance and bumped into the base that was holding the sculpture” you can’t help but give your boyfriend an accusatory look. “I saw my life flash before my eyes when it started swaying in front of me”.

“I was fast enough to hold it in its place before it fell, though” Hyunjin chimes in before the blame is fully thrown at him. “And thankfully there were only, like, two other people in the room with us and they were too busy checking out the paintings on the walls, so after exchanging panicked looks with this cutie right here, we rushed out of there before we got scolded”.

“We laughed it off as soon as we were in the next room and we couldn’t care less about the stares we got” you explain amidst a small laugh. “It was kind of odd, in a good way, because it felt like we knew each other already”.

“Yeah, it was weird in the best of ways” Hyunjin agrees with an adoring smile. “I obviously wanted to get to know her after that, and I just happened to have an extra ticket to a paid exposition within the main one that day, so I offered it to her in order to apologise for bumping into her and she luckily said yes”.

“And then after that I invited him for coffee to thank him for the ticket”.

Hyunjin chuckles. “And then I asked her out for dinner that same night”.

“So it’s fair to say it was love at first sight?” The guy asks with a grin.

“Definitely” the two of you answer in unison, locking eyes at the realisation and smiling in a way that was hard to tell whether you were aware there were other people in the world.

“We pretty much got together that same day” you admit with a shy smile.

“How long have you guys been together?”

“Four years,” Hyunjin replies.

“Four years and two months” you specify, just for the sake of teasing him.

He smiles and bites his tongue not to add ‘and eleven days’, because that would only lead to you doing the math and figuring out the amount of hours as well, and then him having to figure out the amount of minutes if he wanted to win.

It is a battle you had gone through more than once already, and he refuses to go down that road again—not when there is a camera pointing at you and your whole interaction would be posted on the internet.

“Wow, that’s a long time” the man in front interrupts Hyunjin’s train of thought, bringing the mic closer to you. “What’s your favourite thing about him?”

“Oh, I don’t think I can choose just one” you timidly let him know, looking up to Hyunjin and feeling your cheeks burn as his chocolate eyes are already focused on you, awaiting for an answer. “I really love how sweet and attentive he is. He is always there for me and helps me get through my hardships, even before I even have to ask for his help”.

“And what is your favourite thing about her?” He now asks your boyfriend, who finds himself smiling brightly over your wholesome words and struggling to take his eyes away from you.

“Everything” Hyunjin replies truthfully once he manages to divert his eyes from you—just like you, finding it hard to choose just one thing he loves the most about you. “She’s the most caring and selfless person I’ve ever met. She’s always checking up on me and my family, making sure we’re all okay. And I also need to mention her smile, because whenever she smiles my day is immediately made”.

You give his hand a gentle squeeze and lean your head on his shoulder for a brief moment, unable to hide the emotional pout forming on your lips, as his answer managed to warm your heart.

“So what is the next step in your relationship?”

“Moving in together” Hyunjin answers in a heartbeat, and you are grateful that it doesn’t come off as a surprise, for you had talked about it before—otherwise your heart wouldn’t have been able to take the news of his upcoming plans with you. “We needed to figure a few things out before doing so, but…” he looks down at you, smiling sweetly when your eyes lock and you nod your head, encouraging him to go on. “It’s about time we finally start properly making our life together”.

“And your names are?”

“Y/N” you’re the first to answer.

“I’m Hyunjin” he says.

“Well, thank you so much for your time, Hyunjin and Y/N” the interviewer wraps it up with a smile. “I’m glad you guys are going strong and didn’t end up in jail that day”.

The two of you laugh, and you lean into your boyfriend when he lets go of your hand and gently places his arm over your shoulders instead.

Exchanging goodbyes after being informed that the video would be up the next day, you resume your walk to the all too familiar café around the corner—the one you were heading to before the impromptu street interview took place.

“So those are the kind of videos you’re watching all day…”

“Some of them,” you nod. “I’ve sent you a few here and there. Good to know you don’t actually watch them”.

“I do” he fights back, almost offended you believe he would ever disregard something you showed him. “I thought they were all staged, though. Didn’t know people actually got interviewed on the streets out of nowhere”.

“Is that why you were so defensive when they first approached us?” You laugh.

He huffs, making his bottom lip slightly stick out and having you internally fighting not to kiss him right then. “I thought he was asking if we were a couple in hopes of us not being one, so he could ask you out”.

“Asking me out out of nowhere when I’m walking hand in hand with a guy that is clearly my boyfriend, all while there is a whole cameraman recording us?” You tease with a tilt of your head.

“Hey, who knows?” he defends himself. “Can’t control what kind of weirdos are out there chasing after online views”.

“You’re so cute” you laugh breathily, pressing a soft kiss on his jawline. “We look too much like a couple, if you ask me. They would look stupid to even try”.

“Yeah… I think the hand holding and matching outfits give it away too well” he nods with a teasing smile, motioning to the colour palette you chose together that day.

“Thank God they caught us on a good outfit day” your relieved remark earns a laugh from him. “I can’t wait for the video to be up now, I love the way we met”.

“I know you do,” he softly rubs your hand with his thumb. “Which is why I was surprised you didn’t tell them the whole story”.

“What do you mean?” You frown.

Hyunjin amusedly shakes his head, remaining silent as you reach the café and he holds the door open for you to go in first.

When you’re invaded by the strong yet pleasing scent of coffee and reach the—thankfully—short line to order, he adds, “You left out the part where later on I admitted I intentionally bumped into you just so I could talk to you”.

You laugh at the memory.

It wasn’t like he wanted you to lose your balance and make you almost drop a sculpture that you would be paying until the end of your days, had it actually fallen down and smashed on the ground.

He was just going for a little shove on your shoulder with his own, just enough to make you turn around and allow him to apologise right after. But you were too pretty, and he was too nervous—that alone making him miscalculate the distance between your bodies and slam into your shoulder harder than he had intended to.

He came clean one month into your relationship—the guilt of almost getting you in trouble just because he wasn’t able to earn up the courage to go up and talk to you like any other normal person would, was becoming too much for him to keep a secret for any longer.

You were already in too deep by then to even care, though. If anything, you were flattered that he wanted to get to know you so bad that he ended up coming up with the most stupid—and risky—of ideas in order to do so.

“I thought you weren’t holding back when it came to embarrassing me” he confesses.

You chuckle, shaking your head in both amusement and embarrassment, before pulling him forward in line with you as the people in front do so as well.

“Well, if I did mention that, you would’ve told them about how I already had a ticket to the private exposition and lied about not having one just so I had a reason to stick with you, so…”

Hyunjin’s lips part into a beaming smile, pulling you to him and pressing a kiss to your temple.

Little white lies could sometimes be beneficial; especially when they led you to the best relationship you ever had—the one you were sure would last for the rest of your lives.

“You’re right” he agrees with a smirk. “The internet doesn’t need to know how desperate we both were to get to know each other”.

[thedivinetarot]

I've got a burning desire for you baby, I've a burning desire, come on tell me boy

Who desires you?

☆ How to chose your pile? Read here🤍🤍

☆ This month's offer: 🦪🪔🥀✨

Thank you💕

☆ Note:

I'm back with another post my Angels. This is a general reading. I'll do an energy check to make sure that this reading is as relatable as possible. Also, I don't do delulu check point so USE YOUR OWN discernment to figure out if this person really does think like that or not.

☆ Who is this reading for?

People who HAVE SOMEONE in mind. This is NOT for a future spouse or person.

Pile 1 - Strawberry heart 🍓

Current energy:

Hello pile 1, how are you? I hope you are doing well. Let's get into your reading. This energy check is for someone specific if you are not been described here you can directly skip to the next portion. Right off the bat I see that you guys in a situation where someone particularly a woman, female or a feminine energy spreading rumors about you. Specifically about your relationship with someone. Are sleepy pile 1? I wasn't sleepy at all and when I started your reading I got sleepy and hungry all of suden. But anyways, I see that you may be in a relationship with someone and your relationship with them is quite stagnant and is not moving. This relationship either ended and you can't move on OR this relationship is resisting change. I see that someone here is emotionally attached, the SAME energy I picked up on in the previous reading kept popping up despite rearranging the deck and clearing the space bit it is still here. Someone here is emotionally attached to someone who is detached, clear minded and doesn't give a lot of emotions into the relationship at all. This person is emotionally distant which create a deep friction in the relationship which pushes it further away and create stress and conflict. I see also that someone here is refusing to let go and move on. Weird how the SAME CARDS fell again from the previous reading. The devil and queen of cups, a feminine here is attached and dependent emotionally on a masculine who is distant and cold. There's an end to this situation but the feminine is refusing to acknowledge that and move on. Also, this person is making you restless, I feel so sleepy but I don't want to sleep. Like something wrong or destructive will happen if I sleep. Take care pile 1, don't let that burden you.

Placements for you:

Aquarius, Gemini, Aries, Virgo, Scorpio, Cancer. Pluto in Scorpio, Pluto dominant, moon in cancer, mercury in virgo, Venus in libra. 11th, 3rd, 1st, 6th, 8th house stallium or you sun or moon is there.

☆ Who?

This person is giving a feminine energy. If you are a woman or identify as female this could be a woman who likes you secretly. And if you are a man or identify as a masculine this is a female. But regardless of the gender I will describe their personality. Anyways, this person is spiritual, calm and mysterious. I see that they suffer from low self-esteem and self worth. They tend to victimized themselves often and does not see their own potential. They also suffer from overthinking and stress. They are stressed very often and have sleeping problems. This person is very prideful and aim to succeed in their life and reach their goals. I see that they are very defensive, protective and can be a little aggressive when they want to. This person faced many challenges in their life and just like a caterpillar, very transfomative. They keep changing, they might have pluto dominant? Or scorpio? Yeah, maybe I will put their placements down to make sure or give you a confirmation. This person is very smart and strategic, they might have bigger form or could be someone on the chubby side. Sometimes, they can be quite innocent and their vibe is youthful. They aim to reach stability in their life. I see that this person has just finished a very difficult chapter in their life and now they are born as someone new, someone else. Maybe they lost weight? Or changed something about their appearance? If you know someone like that it could be another confirmation.

Placements for them:

Cancer, Gemini, Leo, Scorpio. Dominant planet in Mercury, moon, Pluto, jupiter. Sun or moon in the 3rd, 5th, 4th, 8th house in their chart.

☆ How do they look like?

This person height is from average to tall. Hazel eyes, light brown hair and fluid. What does fluid mean? So, in my imagination a fluid person is someone who is chubby or curvy or someone that have fat in a specific area in their body. Like if this person is a man; they could have belly or prominent place that fat is accumulated in. And if they are a woman her bust is large or her hips, you got what I'm saying? It could be that this person have fat in a specific region in their body but looks very confident, a little cocky at times. They are very active too. They may work out even if they are fat or overweight. I see that this person always looks stressed or anxious. They have eye bag or dark circles around their eyes. That's what I'm seeing.

☆ What do they think of you?

They think you are very beautiful and graceful. I see that they are in awe of you. Literally, whenever you are around you might notice that they are staring at you. I see that they (there’s a mixed bag here) think you are a good mystery. I see that they see you as a riddle. Someone that will heal and accept them as they are, they might work in advertising? I just picked up on that. This person faced many challenges in their life and they are currently trying to recover. Now I'm not saying that you have to love and accept them or that you are a band aid for their wounds. No not like that; it is your choice at the end. Anyways, this person sees that you are a very dedicated and a hard worker, someone who is learning and moving forward with your life. They might indeed be someone in your studying field? Ig so. Because I got three cards related to studying. Perhaps this person is studying with you in the same institution? Or someone you went to a class with? Maybe. I see also that in your presence they feel happy and uplifted. They see also the potential for a long term relationship with you. They want to give things a try but right now they are at crossroads, they have to chose between to things or two options and I'm not quite sure what are those, could be people/jobs/ places etc. I see that their intuition is trying to guide them towards you but things are not moving how they hoped for them. This relationship (if it ever progressed) will be very healing and have a potential for long term commitment. Thank you for reading pile 1, take care💕.

☆ Their dirty fantasies: MDNI +18

Okay guys your person have a very stagnant energy, I guess they might struggle to move on from something and they get stuck easily on something. Anyways, they fantasize about restricting your movement, perhaps tying you to a bed using a handcuffs or rope. I see also that they fantasize about carrying you on their back and running around with you, I'm picturing this scene from Korean drama when the hero get down on one knee to carry the heroine on his back. I see also that they fantasize A LOT about kissing you, this person is so hungry for French kisses, they enjoy them too much. They also fantasize about doing it with you while the light are on, they want to SEE EVERYTHING. They want to enjoy looking at you while they take you. They also fantasize about power dynamic. Were they get to discover what makes you tick and moan and your toes curl in pleasure. They want to dominant you, they want to be the assertive one that you feel weak in front. They also fantasize about taking you from behind and by surprise. They want to come from behind you and whisper filthy stuff in your ear until you beg them to take you already. They want also to have it quick and dirty, they enjoy it quick, no foreplay, no time to get turned on just straight to the point. That's how they want you. Also, this person's brain get fog with lust when they fantasize about you two, like when they are in the mood for you, their brain stops working and they literally get brain fog with lust. They fantasize also about spicing things up with whips. They want to test the waters to see if you are open to them? Perhaps whips or a belt to either tie you with or use it on you. That's what I'm seeing pile one, thank you for reading 💕.

Pile 2 - Red roses 🥀

Current energy:

(Please take what resonates and if it doesn't skip to the next portion, thank you)

I see that you either get heartbroken or disappointed by someone in your life, I see you spying on them or stalking their social media, I see that you want to continue this relationship but at the same time you feel confused but you are weighing your options wisely and seeing what will happen if you talk and not talk to them. I see that this person left you feeling very disappointed and heartbroken, also they might be the one who indeed broke up with you. I felt frustrated and my brain went foggy so perhaps you are trying to understand what went wrong and at the same time you feel super confused. It is like you are a bundle of emotions with no brain, I keep typing and deleting so I guess you want to talk to that person BUT you don't know how to start or what to say. You are thinking of starting fresh with them OR someone else. I see that currently you might be trying to focus on your material wealth and avoid relationship drama but late at night you lay your head on your pillow and think of that person and what went wrong. You feel left out in the cold and confused and at the same time you feel like you can't open up to anyone because you don't want to be this vulnerable with anyone ever again. I see also that you get super defensive when someone mentions that person or when they ask you to talk and open up about the wound. That's what I'm seeing. Also, someone here is sick, I felt my throat hurting me all of sudden, like it is inflamed. Take care pile 2.

☆ Placements for you:

Sagittarius, Aries, Leo, Capricorn, Scorpio, Aquarius, Libra, moon, Uranus, Saturn, Venus dominant in your birth chart. Sun or moon in the 1st, 5th, 9th, 7th, 11th, 10th, 8th house in your chart.

☆ Who?

Hmmm... this person and you have a physical distance between you two. Like you are in a state/country and they are in another. I see that they appear to be a lone wolf and reflective, perhaps they always appear alone. They are giving ISTP vibe paired with enneagram 6 or 2. They are also very assertive, very handsome or they are physically attractive for both genders. They can be quite manipulative and know how to fool people and they are secretive and open at the same time. Perhaps, they know how to earn people's trust but doesn't really like to open up to anyone. They like to dress and they literally dress to impress. They are creative and emotionally mature. And intuition (paired with the cards) are telling me that they are from the past. They are loyal, straightforward and is considered a good companion or friend. They like materialistic stuff and they enjoy the stability they have right now. I'm picking up on two things for their age, they either are young with emotional maturity or old and emotionally immature lol. I see also that they entered your life when you were in a transitional period. Perhaps, moving to a different city, starting another job or going to college or even changing school. My intuition tells me that you walked away from them or the opposite happened. I see that you thought that things between you two were meant to be or they thought that but it turned out to be a karmic bond. They want to text you, I'm getting that they know you and they are so horny for you lol. Possible MBTI: ISTP, ENTP, INFP, XSFJ. Possible enneagram: 1, 3, 8, 9.

☆ Placements for them:

Virgo, Cancer, Aries, Gemini, Scorpio, Sagittarius, Venus in Aries and Scorpio. Mercury, Venus, mars, moon, 1st, 4th, 6th 3rd, 8th, 9th house sun or moon.

☆ How do they look like?

Okay so as I said before for their age, they are either old and emotionally immature or young and emotionally mature. I see that this person have a very graceful and healthy body. They have healthy skin, healthy hair and strong body. They are very hot btw, they have athletic body and they are kind of sporty or they like sport wear. Also, I see that if they are a man or a masculine, they have a very healthy manly body, they are strong and have nice muscles. They are from average to very tall depending on the country you are in. Now if they are African/Asian/ or Arab they dye their hair blonde or their hair is blonde naturally. And for Americans or Europeans they are blonde to light brown hair. They look like a model honestly. Now if you are asking about a woman, she have a very healthy weight and a little bit on the curvy side, she have a blonde straight hair and for some of you her aura is very feminine, she look very motherly and sweet. She is from average to tall. Anyways, this person's face look very serious, they have a resting a bitch face kind of expression, they look very serious but when they laugh they appear to be carefree. They smile is very beautiful or their teeth is prominent, perhaps they have a teeth gap? Or something about their teeth is very obvious. Maybe they did a Hollywood smile or whitening their teeth regularly. Their eye color is blue, bluish green, grey and finally hazel. Or they like to wear color contact lenses with these colors. They really like to wear trendy and stylish clothes. Some of them wear elegant clothes and others like sport wear.

☆ What do they think of you?

Physically they think you are sensual, hot and attractive but very cocky or mysterious. They think that you have a tight knot social circle and they are intrigued, they want to know more about your life. They want to know you better, but at the same time they feel anxious because you appear very guarded and mysterious. They also think you have all the traits that make you likeable and social but you don't know how to use them wisely. I see also that they think you can be a little bit spoiled or selfish. I see also that they think you hide who you are whether it is nasty or good. They also think you are very hard to get and they need to work harder to get you to open up to them. They see you as a lone wolf too and you don't need their validation or anyone else's. They think that you overthink a lot and have a tendency to worry and get anxious over anything. I see that they have been watching you for so long and you are almost always on their mind. They think that fate needs to interfere in order for them to get back to your life or come to your life. But honestly, I don't see them coming or trying to initiate anything, it is like they are keeping everything to themselves (literally you got a three cards in reverse, they keep everything to their chest).

☆ Their dirty fantasies MDNI +18

Right of the bat my intuition told me that this person either have two fantasies or these are two people so take what resonates. First fantasy or person want you to do a lap dance for them, they want you to slowly take off your clothes in front of them and dance on their lap, they are so wild omg. Also this person is a bit of a helplessly romantic, they want to write vulgar poems for you, they want want yo dirty talk to you, they also want you to put on a show for them, I'm getting something like strip dance where you slowly take your sexy clothes off and dance to them. They want you to entertain them, they basically want you to spice things up in their life. The other energy is a bit off and leans more towards darker/heavier fantasies. They want to use knives on you. They want to cut you with a knife? That's what I'm getting. Also, they want to have make up sex with you. They want to debate and get into a fight with you then make it up by basically having sex. I see also that this energy, have a quite high sex drive, nothing wear them out easily, they have a high libido/stamina, whoever this person is. They also, want to worship you. Body worship is something they might do, but not always (when they are in the right mood). They want you to take care of them lol, this person is younger than you. Perhaps, they see you as someone either more experienced or mature. And they are young or less experienced. They see you as someone who is more mature, smart and warm. That's their fantasies. Thank you for reading pile 2, I hope you enjoyed it 💕

Pile 3 - Statue 🦪

Current energy:

(Okay before starting I want to put a reminder here. This is a general energy check, so please use your own discernment and take what resonates and leave what doesn't. And if you read the energy check and none of it resonated then skip to the next portion, thank you pile 3 💕)

I can sense within this pile there's multiple energies. First I got a headache, then my body felt lighter, like I'm floating. It feels weird, anyways. I see that someone here is investing in self love and self care, you guys are the big girl/boy who live on their own, have their money and work their job. And if not then someone here is almost finishing their college or school. Someone here is trying to study or learn something new but it feels like your brain is foggy and you can't focus. I'm sensing a strong masculine energy, if you are a masculine or a man then I see you pursuing someone romantically and if you identify as a woman or feminine then you are being pursued by a man or a masculine. I see something serious here, like the person is either taking you seriously or you are taking them seriously. Others are praying or manifesting a future person, perhaps a future spouse or wife. Also, I see that someone will enter your life unexpectedly, this person carry a heavy water energy. The king of cups energy, someone who is creative, kind, empathetic and sweet. I see that this person will be loyal to you and it may be the same person who you are pursuing or being pursued by that's what I'm seeing. Someone here left a very difficult financial situation. Perhaps, someone rubbed you or tricked you to give them money, but I see that your money will get back to you in the most unexpected ways because the universe loves you and will never give up on you. I see that life is coming to balance after a heavy period dealing with financial issues or learning difficulties.

☆ Placements for you:

Taurus, Virgo, Sagittarius, Gemini, Venus, Saturn, Jupiter, Mercury as dominant planets in your chart. Or stallium in the 2nd, 6th, 9th, 3rd house in your chart.

☆ Who?

Okay, that's funny. This person might be your twin flame or soulmate. You get a card that you and this person feel the same things towards each other. For a group of you, you know this person and been in a short connection with them but nothing came to fruition and you went your separate ways. For others you don't know this person yet because it feel like they are manifesting you to their life. It feels very tricky here. Someone knows you but does not want to reveal themselves and for another group of you this person is within your friend group or neighborhood or school something within reach but at the same time hidden. This person is very generous and giving, they like to party, it gives off an extroverted bubbly vibes. This person is very competitive, reckless and loud. It gives off ESTP, ENTP, ESFP, ENFP vibes. This person lacks emotional maturity honestly. Also, they are very childish and unpredictable. They like to talk so much and take are of their appearance. They like to romance people up and they are kinda shallow. I'm getting, hot but broke vibes. This person is very fun-loving, reckless but at the same time they still take money from their parents. Now, if they are from 17 to 25 they are still taking money from their parents. And if they are older they still live with their parents but pay their own bills. This person is keeping an eye on you and are very loyal to you lol. I'm getting a hot ass person want them but they are like "what about the person on my mind?" Lol. They freaking want you and turning down any love confession because they are preparing themselves to come forward. Now we will see their intentions in next portion.

☆ Placements for them:

Gemini, Taurus, Aries, Leo, Sagittarius, Virgo, Cancer. Dominant planet in Venus, Uranus, Neptune, Mercury. Stallium or sun or moon in the 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 4th, 5th, 6th, 9th house in their chart. Venus in Aries and Virgo, sun in taurus or libra, Sagittarius mars.

☆ How do they look like?

This person have a very commanding presence, they look very serious and strong physically. This person is not that tall from 1.68 cm to 1.78 cm. Their body is very strong and they have strong arms or biceps. They don't look innocent or childish at all and their appearance is hot af. Now if they are a woman or feminine her hair is weavy and her body is curvy on the right places. And if they are a man or masculine their body is strong and they look very commanding and serious. They dress traditional and for some they are hijabi (in case of a female or feminine). For men or masculine they dress casually but they look hot af. Their hands are rough and the touch of them is very practical and if she is a woman or feminine her hands are super soft and sweaty. Their facial features are not cute at all. They are very serious, very commanding presence and traditional too. Some of them like to dress in black, others lile to dress in neutral colors like white, grey beige and black. Their eye color are brown, hazel and green. And their hair texture is weavy to a little bit frizzy. For hair color I don't see anything prominent, it can be any color but specifically light.

☆ What do they think of you?

There's two groups here one who know this person and one who doesn't. Let's start with who knows this person: now this person thinks you two share soul connection, like twin flame or soulmate, they feel like you are very familiar to them and they need to get their shit together in order for them to come forward and pursue something more serious, they think you are wife/spouse material and they feel very hopeful that you'll be in their life in the future, I'm also getting that they want you back if you are in separation with them. Now, if you don't know them yet or if they are within your circle but you don't know them personally then they think you are super interesting and beautiful but, BUT they think you are a big change and they doesn't want to take that step. They think you are a nice option for their future but they are not ready to pursue anything serious with you. They don't see something in the future yet but they definitely see how interesting and smart you are. (To be honest with you I'll say what I say, this person is a loser who want someone who will accept their bare minimum and all of that is in their brain, you don't have to settle with someone like that).

☆ Their fantasies:

Now dirty left the chat lol. This person's fantasies are not that dirty they are more romantic and sweet. I see that they want to cuddle with you, I felt hot and warm like I'm wrapped in a blanket. They want you to fall asleep between their arms and they want to watch your beautiful face while you are dozing off. They want you two to have an intellectual conversation. They want you to be the one who take care of them, who make them feel loved and cherished. They want to make peace with you (if you know them) and if you don't they want your relationship to be peaceful and sweet. They want to take you to the parties they go to and dance with you in front of anyone. They want you two to get drunk and they'll carry you home on their back. They want to make you coffee so the effect of alcohol will decrease or something and if you don't drink alcohol then they want to got to the mall with you and have an iced coffee and a cinema date. They want to get vulnerable with you because they trust that you won't hurt them at all. That's what I'm seeing, sorry if this wasn't what you expected pile three. I can't honestly control the card's meaning in a sexual sense but I try to get the best out of the cards. Thank you for reading my dears💕.

Pile 4 - Candles 🕯

Current energy:

(Okay this is heavy so take what resonates and leave what doesn't. If you see that this portion doesn't resonate skip to the next paragraph. Thank you💕).

Hey pile 4, let's begin your reading. I see two scenarios here so take what resonates and leave what doesn't. Now I have two groups in mind but keep reading because what I'm going to say is for the both group. My first group here is someone who's engaged but with a person you don't feel a deep emotional connection with. I see that you are busy preparing for your wedding or the engagement party but you can't do anything to stop it from happening. Maybe you felt disappointed of how things turned out with that person or you just doesn't feel like this is meant to be. I see that this marriage is kind of traditional, perhaps it is someone your family members know and approve of but you don't like. I see that you are scared of taking that step and marrying them. Now if you are single I see that you are avoiding the conversation of marriage and love at all costs with your loved ones. You have a negative subconscious fears and beliefs about marrying the wrong person, your person hates you secretly or those paranoid girls on tiktok who posts about their biggest fears regarding marriage and other stuff. Why do you allow a TOTAL stranger ONLINE to influence you? Why do you LET THEM? they have no power over you honey. You can get what YOU want because marriage is a choice and your partner IS YOUR CHOICE. So why let some strange person online tell you about THEIR FEARS and let it dedicate your WHOLE life and relationships? I see that you are very defensive of that because of many reasons, some are regarding independence and autonomy and others are because of fear. Also, some people here got severely affected by people online that they can't even find someone to love. I see that you think that marriage will be the end of your autonomy and independence which somehow is true but also there's deep rooted fears of it. Like you are scared of reaching an old age, were you settled with someone who doesn't value you and treat you with disrespect and bare minimum. That's what I'm seeing also my cheeks flushed I felt super angry and frustrated. Something here in your work environment is very unhealthy and stressful. Please pile 4 take regular breaks and eat well. Also, don't let a stranger ONLINE to tell you what you should do and what you shouldn't, especially THEIR FEARS. And repeat after me "people's fears online are NOT my business" " I GET TO DECIDE who is my partner and NOT a stranger online". Also, what makes me even more frustrated that you don't even trust yourself to marry the right one.

☆ Placements for you:

Cancer, Taurus, Capricorn, Aries, Aquarius, Scorpio, Leo, Sagittarius. Jupiter, Saturn, Venus, mars dominant in your chart. Stallium or sun or moon in the 1st, 2nd, 4th, 5th, 9th, 10th, 11th house in your chart.

☆ Who?

Okay, this person is same as you. They have the same personality. They keep their love to themselves. They are unbalanced when it comes to loving someone, because when they do they immerse themselves deeply and fall in love with them. This person's emotions feels very deep and intense. They try to balance them out and reflect in them but because they are intense and deep they fell in a period of isolation and obsession. This person is hopeful, philosophical and practical. They are protective, they know how to earn money and multiple them. They faced many difficulties to find a job but now they found one. They used to have nightmares and get anxious very easily. This person gives off an INXJ vibe and possibly ISTJ. They have a know it all attitude but they fear rejection honestly. And if you wonder about them coming forward and confess, they won't lol. This person is very attached to the fantasy world more than reality but they are grounded though, maybe their enneagram is 1, 3 and 6. Now if you know this person they are waiting for you to come and UNLOCK them lol. They want you to come forward and get to know them. They don't want to be the one who reveal themselves, they want you to notice them and come to talk to them. They want to get to know you and once they will they are very committed and loyal to their person. They are very intelligent and smart, they are sexy too lol.

☆ Placements for them:

Virgo, Scorpio, Taurus, pisces, Gemini, Libra. Mercury, Neptune, jupiter, moon, Saturn dominant in their chart, 2nd, 3rd, 6th, 7th, 8th, 12th house placements.

☆ How do they look like?

This person's hair is straight and balck af. Their hair is shiny and soft, their face is likely oval, round and for some it is heart shaped. They have a serious facial expressions, they look very serious and guarded. Their smirk is very noticeable or the way they smile turn to be a smirk not an actual smile. They are tall and thin. Also, they look mysterious, maybe they have a high contrast skin color to their hair. Their eyes are black, dark brown and brown and for a few of you they have an intense gaze. Their chin is very small and their facial features are not that harmonious honestly. But there’s sometimes very captivating about them. For some they have Roman nose. This person have a high metabolism, they brun food quickly lol. That's what I see for them. Their bottom lip is prominent, and their eyes are quite small.

☆ What do they think of you?

They think you are very hopeful and enthusiastic. They see how enticing and how much excitement you bring to their life. They also think that you get things without really working for because you are pretty. This person is very jealous and admire you at the same time. They are jealous of you because some things just happen for you or like you are te universe's favourite child. They see that you can get whatever and whoever you want. They think you shouldn't be insecure about yourself because you are very pretty or beautiful, they think you are competitive (if you are; because this is their pov). Also, they think you are a hardworking person who enjoys fine things in life. Some of you do buy expensive makeup or other stuff like Dior, Channel or even Saint Laurent. They see you being mysterious too and you don't reveal much about yourself. I see also that they see how smart and intelligent you are. Honestly I see them viewing you as an equal intellectually. I see also that they see you as a traditional person who have a strong deep rooted values. And a little bit unpredictable. That's how they see you.

☆ Their dirty fantasies MDNI +18

(This portion is for feminine reading for masculine respectively)

Hmmm.... okay this person is Vanilla lol (no disrespect to these people everyone has their own style). Anyways, I see them setting alone in the dark, studying or working on their desk and their mind drift to the fantasy world were you and them are together. They want you to be beneath them, they want to enter as deep as possible to your core. They feel so sad and they yearn to be inside you. They want you to set on their lap, kiss their cheek and comfort them, them then slowly things heat up and you both end up having an emotional deep sex. This person thinks sex is lovemaking and want to do it with you. One of their fantasies is taking you while they are standing up and you lay down on bed, your legs are wide apart and they are there entering so deep you start to moan and yell. They imagine pressing you as hard to the mattress as possible. I see also that they want to throw your legs over their shoulders and bound to you as deep as possible. This person get off of these fantasies, they start stroking themselves until their lips part and they reach their climax. I see also that after doing so they feel super shy and embarrassed. One of their other fantasies is you carrying their child. Also, I see that other fantasy is that you dressing up and being pretty for them. If you have a curly hair their freaking love it.

(Masculine reading for feminine respectively)

She want you to be inside as deep as possible. She want you to press her to the mattress and bound to her until she reach her climax. She fantasize about setting on your lap and taking you inside. I see also that she want you to spoil her with jewelries, pretty clothes and treat her like a queen. She want her body to be worshipped by you. This woman is so sensual, she want you to rub lotion on her body and take care of her. She want you to eat her out. That's what I'm seeing, sorry if this was too short. Take care💕.

Post date: 14th Mar 2025 Fri

*Feedback is appreciated

[retiredteabag]

Wishful Thinking - chapter 5

arranged marriage Nanami with a people-pleasing reader

last chapter - next chapter - series masterlist

You had gone to bed that night expecting the man by your side to inadvertently keep you awake. Only a few feet from you, you couldn't help focusing on his breathing. Consciously aware of his presence.

Memories of the first night at your shared home filled you with embarrassment as you had pulled on a comfortable fleece pajama set that evening.

Nanami changed in the bedroom whilst you were calming yourself in the bathroom; and when you came back to your bed, he was sat up on his mattress in a crewneck and a loose pair of pants. Just the sight to him brought reminders of when he had come into the master bedroom that first night after the ceremony.

You flush at the memory once more. Turning to crawl into bed, he told you about some ideas for your first day in Kuala Lumpur. You knew, of course, that he was looking for you to choose the excursion yourself. Something you were not looking forward to.

You were just able to slip out of that responsibility by feigning tiredness. He crossed his arms in a way that definitely was not supposed to catch your attention, but it most certainly did, and gave you a disbelieving look.

"I'm sure you'll be ready in the morning after a good night's sleep." He raised a brow.

"Surly." You drag out the word, though you weren't sure at all which option he would prefer you pick. And that aside, you had no intention of getting any restful sleep with him so close to you anyway.

Despite this, the subtle rattling of the train lulled you into sleep far quicker than you would've expected, and when morning came, you felt more rested than you had in months.

When you turned to sit up, you saw that Nanami was already awake, his back was against his headboard, a book in his hand. He looked over at you and smiled.

Nanami appeared so large in the twin bed. It was an interesting image to see once you've woken up. A kettle was placed on the table between your mattresses and he pulled out a saucer for you as you rubbed your eyes.

"We'll arrive at the capital in about two hours."

My God. His voice...

You cleared your throat, "Thank you." and reached for the teacup he had passed you to pour a drink into it.

As comfortable as you were beginning to grow with the man, there was still a sense of awkwardness mingling within the air. You decided not to waste any time and tiptoed to the bathroom with your tea.

Once you arrived, you almost smacked yourself with grief. The pajamas, the hair, you looked...well... you looked like you had just woken up.

Who cares? You thought for a moment. Your appearance was not really of any consequence; there wasn't a reason to feel ashamed. especially since Nanami was just a legally bonded...friend? But you couldn't help but feel frustrated at how put together he looked in the morning.

You turn on the sink and sigh.

--

What you did not see was that Nanami Kento had arisen hours before you had. He tried to go back to sleep when he noticed your form cuddled up with a pillow. He even had tried closing his eyes and matching your breathing, but it was all too much for him.

He was too aware now of the other presence by his side and knew he would not be able to dispel that knowledge from his brain. So he arose and massaged the back of his neck, busying himself with a brochure of Malaysia, averting his eyes to the curtains where peeks of sunlight occasionally lapped in through the passing trees.

He checked his watch and decided he might grab some breakfast for you both. He made his bed and wondered if you would enjoy breakfast in bed or if you were of the opinion that it was messy. After some consideration, he figured you wouldn't tell him either way.

When he arrived back at the bedroom suite door, he felt a wave of anxiety, wondering if you would be awake by his return. After some inspection, however, you had hardly moved. It was still early morning.

He settled the tray on the bedside table and went to go groom his appearance. Truth be told, he was altogether glad you had not awoken to see him before he was ready for you to.

When he came back to the bedroom, he oscillated awkwardly between pretending to be asleep again and pulling out a book he had packed. There was a small part of him that thought it might be disingenuous to pretend so he settled himself back in bed and tried to read.

And repeated the same page over and over.

When he saw you stretching beneath the sheets, he sat up, straightened his sweatshirt and slowed his breathing.

You were unbearably cute when you awoke.

How unfair.

--

The train had not arrived in Kuala Lamper for longer than a quarter of an hour before you and Nanami were dressed and ready to spend a day out in the city.

In your youth, you had not been given the opportunity to see the world. Your life before these moments had been confined to your clan estate and the Kyoto School. There was a thrilling warmth carried within you as you strode out of the station with your husband in toe. But do not be mistaken, the lead-up to this exciting moment was exactly as pleasant as you had anticipated it being the night prior.

That was to say, not at all.

The two of you had been sharing breakfast, still in the quiet of the morning, after a few moments of silence and standard eye contact you would laugh and look back to your lap.

He would grin and continue to eat, only before you would look at him once more and giggle.

Turning to you he joined along, "What? What is it?"

"This is just so ridiculous!" You laughed. "I can't believe this is happening."

He seemed confused, but smiled nonetheless, "It is strange to think...we're on our honeymoon." He shrugged a shoulder at you.

You hadn't even been thinking about that. Only that you were going to experience the world for the first time, and that waking up next to, eating breakfast alongside, and sharing silence together was so intimate. You hardly knew this man, but he was wholly yours.

Is that not a strange notion? He was your closest confidant, a gentlemanly friend. Another human legally bound to you.

And he was right, this was your honeymoon.

But you don't want to alter this moment, so you just grin a little more and try to take a sip of your tea.

After some time, you could tell by the shifting of his posture that he was subtly attempting to gain your attention. Looking your way, setting down his cup, and finally, leaning back, arms crossed.

No longer interested in identifying his body language from your periphery, you turned to look at him. Between his right thumb and forefinger was the brochure from the previous night. He was tilting it every which way between his fingers, the thin paper bending, making its way toward you.

"The scenery is... lovely!" You pointed out, turning to the window.

"A fine try." He chuckled and handed you the pamphlet.

You picked it from the space between you and used it to cover your face. "Must we do this?"

"We must." He closed his eyes dramatically as if he really were sad to say it.

"I think I would have a much better time if we just randomized our options..." You knew it was silly, but you couldn't help the all-encompassing fear that you might want to do something that perhaps he held no interest in. And thereby ruin his vacation, his honeymoon. The fear that you might waste his time.

"I'm afraid that's not one of your options." He whispered.

You only gave him an unamused look and skimmed over the leaflet.

A Tour of Batu Caves, Waterfalls, and Hot Springs Genting Highlands Day Trip with Skyway Cable Car Culinary Travel Tour Historical Sights Day Tour Private Excursion of Elephant Sanctuary

You were starting to get overwhelmed by all the options. You knew you would be visiting the beach on the last day of the trip, so perhaps he wouldn't want to go to the hot springs as well.

Or maybe he was a water-loving guy? You weren't sure, how would you know? The cable car seemed to be a nice option as well, the pictures included in the catalog depicted lush greenery and gorgeous views.

But it was a day trip... what if he became tired of the travel? Or worse, what if he was scared of heights and hated the entire thing?

It seemed that he hadn't taken his eyes from you since handing over the brochure. He would look at you over the rim of his teacup while you read over your options before he spoke up next to you, all low and quiet.

"I would love any of these options, just so you're sure." He tilted his cup to you in a greeting gesture but his words did nothing to ease the torture of your decision.

The pause continued as you mulled over the options, he seemed like the type to enjoy classic tourism, perhaps he would like to witness the historical sights.

"And if there was an option I really didn't like," He came in close, just then, almost looking over at the paper. "I would tell you. As I would hope you to do." You could feel the warmth of his skin although he never touched you.

Stumbling over the suddenness of the electric shock his nearness gave you, you pulled away and quickly spoke, "Do you like cooking?"

He didn't respond immediately, holding eye contact for quite a while before he smirked, "I would love," he emphasized, "any of these options." Running his finger up the pack of the sheet in your hands, he continued, "Didn't I just tell you as much?"

You yanked the paper back, "I was just checking."

He lifted a brow, teasing, "Would you like that? The Culinary Class? Is that something that interests you?"

You consider it a moment. You had seen Nanami in the kitchen, he enjoyed food and preparing meals. And you certainly liked the idea of a hands-on cooking class. Having been kicked from the estate kitchens any time you had wandered into them as a child. The maids would bring you treats every so often but you always wanted to help them.

"I think it's a good option." You smiled. Hoping that would be enough. Hoping he would sway himself one way or the other with words such as 'I would pick that too.' or 'I'm not so interested.'

But of course, he would never say those things. He liked making your life more challenging. So, ever the patient man, he lifted his ankle over to his other knee and shifted to face you completely. "It is. Is that the option you prefer? Or is it just a good option?"

Wasn't calling it so confirmation enough? Even just stating, 'I want this' or 'I like that' felt so unnatural to you. Making a preference known seemed almost exclusionary to your husband. But he did not seem to view it that way.

"Well?" Still smiling, he clinked his empty teacup to the saucer with a look that said 'I can wait you out all day if that's what you'd like.'

You sat up straight and steeled yourself. "It is." You nod, "The option I-I like best."

With a swiftness you had not yet seen from the man, he came close to your face, plucked the pamphlet from you, and hummed. "Very good."

He stood to his full height and reached to put on his watch. "Don't worry about anything else now." He grabbed the teapot and platter to set outside the bedroom door for the stewardess. "I'll work out all the other details."

--

And work out the other details, he did. Nanami did not lie when he told you that the hard part was over. He arranged everything, the transportation, the schedule, and of course, the payment. He even helped you put on your apron when the two of you arrived at your destination.

The kitchen structure was pristine, with a dozen stations lined up in rows. Fresh ingredients were decadently laid out for you on racks that you passed by to enter the kitchen. Gloves and pinafores were set aside at your disposal.

Several people from other groups would be joining the two of you, they included a group of friends on break together, a family of four interested in a cooking lesson, and another couple who were on their ten-year anniversary.

Each member introduced themselves to the chef and everyone began getting to know one another as you all washed your hands. Your husband had taken the liberty to grab a pair of aprons for you both and once you began drying off your hands, he grabbed the trash that the paper towels had left and started to tie the pinafore around your neck.

He could not see his hands at work but he made a conscious effort to not pull your hair, gently tucking the strands into a comfortable knot.

"This isn't too tight, is it?"

You had long since looked away from the man directly before you, his stature made for an intimidating visual and as you stared at your station's sink you swallowed and hummed out, "No, it's alright." He had stepped back and you immediately felt yourself reach up to touch at the simple tie he had left there. "Here," You came forward, "let me get yours."

Nanami laughed, "Not quite." And with the lightest of touches to your wrist, he turned you slightly to the side so he might tie your waist.

It was not an unusual sensation. In fact, you were quite accustomed to being dressed by someone other than yourself, but there was something different about this, something so tender. He patted the small of your back softly before circling to your front and asking for your assistance.

Your heart thumped and you fiddled with the strips of fabric, knotting it loosely at his back. You wondered if this was something you would do for a friend that would result in such a bodily response, and if it was, why did you feel so giddy at the action?

--

The culinary class was intended to take up several hours. You would be preparing a meal together with the instruction of a professional chef. To start, you would make ready your Roti Canai, a popular flatbread dish. And while the dough rested, you would put together your Kari Ayam, a simple chicken curry.

You had been somewhat nervous as the class was getting started, but as everyone went in a circle, introducing themselves, there began to grow a sort of camaraderie within your group. It was easy to converse as you collected your mise en place from the stocked shelves that surrounded the room.

You had just begun the process of combining the ingredients for your unleavened bread when Nanami came around the corner of an inventory shelf with some garlic, shallots, and chilis in hand for your curry. He was laughing at the joke of another man across the kitchen. The man made a pointing motion at Nanami and seemed to be asking for one of the peppers. Nanami tossed it to him with ease.

When he turned to see you, he settled his ingredients on the counter and came around behind you.

You felt so unsure in every aspect of life, even something as simple as breadmaking, but Nanami seemed so well adjusted, he was steady as his hands came around to mimic yours, kneading the dough you had been working on.

"This looks good." he was grinning, you couldn't see his face but you knew anyway. He spoke up suddenly, "Our's will be much better than that man's." He nodded to the gentleman from before and you all laughed. The chef even circled around and praised your sections of dough as they proofed on the counter.

Nanami turned to look at you, a smile on his face as he raised a brow in response to the praise. It was fun.

Nanami insisted on weighing out the ingredients for you and settling each of them in their own bowl. You had tried to tell him that he didn't have to go to the trouble but he simply waved you off.

Eventually, he even began to assemble the spice paste. With the respite between dishes, you felt as though he was pulling more weight than you were. Though it was true he was not clan-born, it was something of an embarrassment that your husband was doing what felt to you as all the work

Sheepish, you tried to pull the bowl from him, "I can do that-" but he kept a finger looped on the side, tugging it back, "there's really no need-" you tried again.

"If you keep saying that, I'll get the impression that you don't like my company very much." He whispered, turning to you now.

He steadied himself a moment before laughing and gently brushing some flour off of your cheekbone. And there was that erratic thumping again.

You laugh at his comment but it wasn't out of discomfort or a desire to change the discussion, no, this was the type of laugh that caused you to feel silly and included. Like you once had during your time in school.

While the dough rested on the counter, and the curry simmered, the chef re-entered the kitchen with a treat. Ais Kacang, or shaved ice was offered to the class in little glass bowls. He encouraged you all to sit and enjoy a break.

You all decided to pull away from the kitchen stations and opted to sit in the foyer of the building. Sitting next to you on the left was the man and wife who were on their anniversary trip. The man was the one whom Nanami had been joking with before. The man's wife bent forward to look over at you,

"So, you're here on your honeymoon?" She asked.

You set the dessert in your lap for a moment and smiled pleasantly, "That's right." Shifting the conversation to her you ask, "And you mentioned before this was your ten-year anniversary?"

The woman's husband swung his arm over her shoulders and kissed her cheek, "Yup! Can hardly believe it." It was clear that he was head over heels for the woman, and even though she huffed in annoyance, anyone could see it was pretend.

His wife pushed his chest back good-naturedly, and laughed, "That must be exciting. I remember hardly being able to wait for my honeymoon."

Your smile never wavered, but you considered how your circumstances were likely very different from her own. Before you could respond, the man reached a hand behind you to your right and tapped Nanami on his shoulder. "So, when did you know?"

Not privy to the conversation at hand, Nanami pulled the spoon from his mouth and made a questioning, "hmm?" sound, looking down at you for direction.

The woman turned to you again, rolling her eyes. "He loves to ask this question," She shifted her neck to glance at him, "I think it's because we both took so long to realize we were in love."

You wanted to ask her for more details but the man was already booping his wife's nose. "Noooo, if I remember correctly, and I always do, it was you who was completely oblivious to my pining." He turns to you and Nanami, shaking a faux-sullen face, "Very sad."

You all laugh and he squared Nanami once more, "So, when was it? When did you know she was the one?"

Your laugh falls short and suddenly you're a bit sick to your stomach. They were so romantic together, so natural. They were real. And there was nothing to even say about your proposal because it had all been manufactured. You were just about to interject something to deter the conversation, a muted, "Oh-" coming out when,

"The moment I met her."

You turn to him, befuddled by the ease with which he spoke. You expected to share a moment with him, a silent embarrassed glace but Nanami just smiled at you, not in a teasing way, he was always so very genuine.

The couple made cute little "aweeeee~~" sounds but you were focused on Nanami.

The thudding resounded evermore and you were grateful when you could stand, brushing off imaginary dust as the chef announced it was time to prepare for the plating.

--

The sun shone brightly into midday as you walked the busy city streets.

"Our first meal together..." Nanami sighed contentedly, looking your way.

You consider him, "That wasn't our first meal together?" you say, squinting up at him. He had pulled you slightly away from the bustling pavement, walking on the curbside of the street now.

"Maybe not..." He looked thoughtful, "But that was the first meal we actually made together."

You think about it, he was right, and although it seemed silly, it had been nice to enjoy something the two of you had made. The sun was bright and you turned away from him to speak, "It was delicious, and now I'll be able to make it once we're back." You had almost said 'home' but the word seemed too familiar, romantic even. What a silly notion.

A hand came up to your face, and you flinched back for a moment only to find that Nanami was simply blocking the sun from your face.

"I had a wonderful time with you. I'll have to make an effort to remember all those ingredients."

As you came closer and closer to the tracks where the station lay, Nanami checked his watch. You had some time left before dinner would be served and you were not all too hungry after such a fulfilling meal.

He suggested shopping, and although there was not a thing you could have asked for, you would never turn down the request of company. Surprisingly enough, Nanami didn't ask you where or what you would like to go, do, or buy. He simply asks, "How about here?" When you come upon a gift shop.

The truth remained, you did not want anything from the decadent stores, you know your husband well enough now to know he would insist upon paying for whatever you glanced at for too long, so you made an effort to look inconspicuous as you followed behind him.

The store had an open front so any passer-by could see within. Colorful spices, intricately crafted clothing, souvenirs and toys, a wide array of postcards, and loads of candy. Nanami was slowly walking past a glass case of jewelry, eyeing what was held inside when the sales lady came to ask what it was the two of you were looking for.

She was boisterous and bubbly. Such a vibrant energy came from her as she excitedly greeted you both.

Upon her arrival, it was as if a switch flipped on in your brain. You couldn't help yourself from straightening your posture and smiling back at her. Throughout the interaction you tried your best to match her personality, your body language became more open and you attempted to respond reactively to her sales pitch.

You felt slightly embarrassed by the volume of your own voice as you replied to her questions. Even your laugh was different, leaving artificial pauses so she could point out other items in her shop.

After having you smell her array of perfumes, you could tell she liked you. It eased any shame you felt about your sudden extroversion. You had succeeded, you might have even made her day with how well you matched her in the interaction.

Through all of this, Nanami watched. Every so often he would include an anecdote about your trip or the item in the owner's hands. But his eyes rarely strayed from you. He was analyzing you in a way you weren't aware of, too focused on pleasing the women.

Pleasure simmered in your chest at how pleased you seemed to make the woman.

--

Though you had come into the shop without the intention to purchase anything, you found yourself trailing beside Nanami as he carried a bag full of local confections.

At some point in the gift shop, Nanami had to check his watch and announce that you two would need to head back to the train for dinner soon.

Once the afternoon air hit your face, you felt yourself relax some.

The man at your side spoke up, "I can't believe I can watch you do it." He reached into the bag and handed you a candy that the lady had spent some time explaining to you both.

She had put an entire handful of the chews into your hands, the outside had a cute white rabbit on the packaging and she insisted you must eat the candy whole. Wrapper and all.

You let Nanami drop the sweet into your palm and give it a try. "Do what?" You warble over the milk candy.

Nanami chuckles at your voice, "That thing! You know, turn yourself off and on."

You stop chewing for a moment, catching his eye, your pace even halted slightly, the station was within sight. Your eyebrows stitch together, "What do you mean?" A hand comes up to cover your mouth and you try to swallow down what you had been eating.

"You completely changed yourself just now, I watched you do it." He reached into the bag and fished out a treat for himself.

"I... didn't change myself..." You mumble, shocked he had said a word about it. "She seemed happy, I don't think there's anything wrong with that." You try and think back, attempting to recall a moment when someone else had noticed your behaviors.

It had become so natural to you, you had no idea it was visible to others.

"But it's not you." And Nanami calls your name, "You morph yourself into something else in nearly every interaction with others."

You try and wave his accusation off, marching onward to the train, "There's nothing wrong with wanting her to like me."

But he stops suddenly on the pavement, "Are you doing it to me as well?" He squints at you then, and he doesn't look pleased, "Are you turning yourself into what I want? Are you making yourself into something you're not just to please me?"

You pause for a moment, you even give it some thought, but the issue was that you knew that couldn't be the case. You had tried, but you just couldn't figure him out.

"How could I? I never know what you want."

--

Nanami seemed happy to know you couldn't pinpoint what he liked to hear. Which was altogether peevish. Looking so accomplished as your misfortune.

When the two of you made it back to the train, the sun was almost beginning to set as you started on your way to the suite. Your shoulders gently rubbed against one another while walking to the room in the narrow halls.

In good humor, Nanami leaned into your side, tilting into you jovially. You looked up at him in mock offense, leaning harder into him. He seemed to find it very funny.

When you made it back into the room, you watched as he pulled out a button-up and some slacks from his duffel. You sat on the desk and plucked a candy from the bag there.

"I can change in here," He nods to you, "You're free to use the bathroom."

You straighten up, "Oh, I thought you would want to use the shower." He had mentioned cleaning up before dinner.

"Oh, please, ladies first." He draws up the chair at your side, reaching into your shared bag for a piece of gum.

"No, no, seriously, I can wait." You toss your hands in the direction of the bathroom, fawning him in that direction.

He says nothing, only grins.

"Nanami." You groan.

"Ah, I see." He rises, "I must stink." Nodding, he walks in the direction away from you, "You must think I smell bad, alright then, I'll be on my way."

That was most certainly not what you meant and he knew it. You knew he knew it. He only ever smelled pleasant but you still scampered after him, distressed, "No! No, no, no, that isn't it."

"Really?" He whips around and stops you short, tilts his head down to look at you, "good, then you go first."

Huffing, annoyed, you snatch the dress you had laid out from your bed's banister.

Just as you're about to close the door, you hear him call out to you, "And take all the time you like!"

--

After dinner that night, the two of you practically raced back to the room to dress in pajamas. Halfway through the meal, the train had departed from the Kuala Lumpur station and started its journey to the next location.

Despite the grandeur of the whole trip, you felt, now far from home, that you could relax. Nanami was nothing but a poor influence as he called for sparkling juice and more sweets. You both thought about going to the observation car, but decided to say in your room.

You tucked your feet into the blanket of your bed and laid your back against the wall.

Since early morning, you had decided you would try and get to know your husband on this trip. Though you had been thinking of him as a friend, you knew deep down, that was a bit of a shallow assumption.

Neither of you knew hardly anything about the other. At one point, you had thought him a bit of a daydreaming, irresponsible, fool. But that had been years ago now, when you both were barely adults. And despite his words about sorcery, you knew that he was anything but irresponsible.

Eventually, your late-night snacks arrived at your room and your husband set them on the nightstand between your mattresses.

You almost wanted to speak up, 'Tell me about yourself' but that seemed too informal, too odd to say to your spouse. On the other hand, you were presently dressed in your jammies, tucked into a duvet on a twin bed, a day into your honeymoon with the man. Informal was just about as accurate as it could get.

Just as you were about to suggest a game you had learned in your first year at the Kyoto school, Nanami beat you to it.

"You know, I've been thinking about it." He hands you a glass of something clearly non-alcoholic, held within an entirely too fancy glass for the occasion.

"Mmm?" You look up at him, hoping he would proceed as he lowered himself into his bed.

"I think you ought to call me by my first name." He tilts his glass at you, and continues, "It might be a little odd for my wife to be calling to me in such a way."

You hadn't even noticed, in fact, you felt a pang of sadness at the struggle it even was to recall your partner's given title. You push that aside and sip the carbonated juice. "Maybe I'm just happy to share the name." You tease.

It was clear he hadn't been expecting that as your response. His mouth twitches as he tries to concoct a reply and his ears grow a subtle pink. "Well, Mrs. Nanami, I can't help but find it strange that you don't call me Kento."

You smile, "Kento." You try it out, it feels right, it suits him.

He says your name and after a brief pause, you both laugh at the absurdity of it all. "Kento," You begin again and he gives you a soft, "hmm?" Before you continue.

"How did you feel about getting married?"

It was a question you had been wanting to ask, and also something you never thought you would. Had you married a normal man, it would have never crossed your lips. This whole arrangement was not uncommon among clan families, you had been presented with the names of many young boys for as long as you could remember, but you knew this setting was unusual, even to many other sorcerers.

This matrimony was proving to be an experience that granted you more peace and enjoyment than half the things you had been taught to enjoy. You couldn't help the awareness that Nanami was likely not feeling the same, however.

From your previous discussions, you knew that Kento had lived a more full life than you could imagine. Having even left sorcery at one point. Did he feel chained down now? Did he feel as though he lost freedom in the same way that you had gained it? Did he feel pressured, forced even? Would he even tell you if he did?

"I always wanted to be married." He took a moment to respond, almost looking ashamed at his reply. His eyes followed the corner of the room to its inevitable end at the ceiling.

"Did you?" Your interest is certainly piqued. At Kyoto, you had heard the groans of boys and men alike at the prospect of marriage, of having to settle down and continue the bloodline.

Kento did not stutter, though, looking almost surprised at your interest, "Of course..." He considers your tone, "I suppose, for you, marriage was viewed differently." He frowns now and sets his glass down to give you his full attention. "Were you frightened?"

You want to dissuade his concern and laugh it off, attempting to explain. "Oh, no, no, it was something I had been prepared for for quite some time...it was... perfectly normal for me." You smile at your hands but he doesn't join you.

In fact, he sighs, never taking his eyes from you, the train hummed along the tracks and you both watched each other from parallel sides of the car.

“Normal doesn’t mean good or moral. Normal means normal.”

Your gaze remained on your hands encircling the stem of your glass. That, you knew to be true, indeed.

You saw the look in his eye and attempted to shift the conversation,

"You didn't know anything about me or my clan when we first met, right?" You knew the higher-ups had explained the basics to him, but it was clear that much of your family tradition would come across as foreign to him. "If that is the case, how is it that you... know me so well?" The words don't come out right.

He seemed confused at your claim, it wasn't until you continued, explaining that he must 'read people' well that he mused. Thought about it for a moment, and finally looked back to you "I'm not sure." He shrugged, "But there is something about you, I can see it, you know. And I'm not sure how nobody else seems to see it either."

That was not the response you had looked for. You had thought that maybe it had to do with his technique, or maybe he had studied behavior in his past, or maybe he was innately interested in the actions of others.

Nobody before had noticed you cater yourself, and yet after only a week or so, he could spy out exactly where you frantically tried to blend yourself in.

"You tirelessly analyze people, me included. You try and... I don't know, dig up who they are, what they want," He shakes his head, "what they want from you." He grabs his glass again but you are honed in on his words, "Then, you mold yourself into something that will fit them."

He turns to face you now and the train rattles slightly, "I've barley known you a handful of days but I've seen you do it. I've seen you play half a dozen roles for different people, for different circumstances. And honestly, I don't know who you are. And you're my wife. Isn't that crazy?"

He seemed to want to make light of this deduction of the very nature of your being, so you try and allow it. "If it makes you feel better," you intone, "you're my husband and I have no idea what you want me to be."

He narrows his brows and even though you can tell that's his 'upset' face, you can't help but appreciate just how handsome the man is.

He speaks your name slowly as if troubled that was what you drew from his words.

"Not everybody wants you to be someone else."

--

You had spent the night talking amongst each other, no high-school game necessary. You asked him about his family and his childhood, and he, in turn, asked about yours. The conversation flowed smoothly and it was well into the night before the two of you realized you probably ought to be getting some sleep.

And this time, when you drifted off, you were not taken by surprise at the ease in rest's arrival.

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

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[dazevi]

CHAPTER FOUR: APOCALYPSE

heart to heart series | vi x fem!reader

synopsis: vi keeps coming back. and each time you give in, each time you let her into your apartment, it gets harder and harder to ignore the feelings between you.

content warnings: MDNI. nsfw (18+ content), more angst, fluff if you squint, rockstar!vi, bookshop owner/writer!reader, exes to lovers, friends with benefits dynamic (kinda), smut; more needy sex, pussydrunk!vi, switch!vi but top!leaning, tiniest hint of power bottom!reader, oral (vi and r rec.), face-sitting (r rec.), fingering (vi and r rec.), strap-on sex (r rec.), strap is referred to as a cock occasionally, and idk what else lmk !!!

wc: 15,642

notes: sorry for the long wait on this one! have been having a rough week! anyway this is bit of a long chapter lol. there’s two smut scenes in this btw and it’s barely proofread but i hope everyone enjoys the chapter!! feedback is always appreciated yell at me !!!!!!!!! (also the text messages are now in dark mode since light mode hurts me eyes lmao)

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Vi stirs slowly, the early morning light filtering in through the curtains. Her body feels heavy, muscles sore in that way that only comes from an exhausting night—the good kind of sore, reminding her of everything that happened just hours ago. There’s a dull throbbing at the back of her head at the spot where she’d stupidly hit it against the door last night in her rush to catch you but it barely registers, a minor inconvenience compared to everything else she’s feeling.

She groans softly, shifting onto her side, stretching lazily before sighing against the pillow. But then, its hits her.

Her arm slides over the sheets beside her, searching instinctively for warmth, for you. Her brows knit together in confusion as her hand finds only cool sheets. Vi frowns slightly, blinking away the last traces of sleep as she pushes herself up onto her elbows, glancing around the room.

Empty.

You must’ve gone to work—at the shop. You get there at nine in the morning and open shop at ten, she remembers.

But, fuck, she really wanted to wake up next to you.

She thought—hoped—that maybe she’d wake up to you still pressed against her, still warm and soft and sleepy, still hers, even if only for a few more minutes. She wanted to roll over to reach out and tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, maybe press lazy kisses to your shoulder, feel you sigh into her touch before the rest of the world even had a chance to wake up.

But instead, she’s alone.

You’re gone.

And god, she misses you.

It’s stupid, really. She spent the whole night with you. She touched you, kissed you, held you, had you in ways she’s been aching for since the moment you broke up with her all those years ago.

And yet, even after all of that, the absence of you even now still hurts the same way it did before. Probably more.

Vi drags a hand down her face, sighing heavily, trying to push away the sinking feeling in her chest. She doesn’t know what she expected—if she even had the right to expect anything at all.

You had been clear last night.

No commitment.

And yet, here she is, lying in your empty bed, feeling like a fool for wanting something more.

She turns her head slightly, staring at the spot where you had been, at the way the sheets are still slightly rumpled from where you slept. She reaches out without thinking, fingertips grazing the fabric, but the warmth is already gone.

She should be happy. Fuck, she is happy—happy that she got to have you, to hold you, even if only for a night.

But it’s not enough. It’s never going to be enough, not when she knows what it felt like to have everything with you.

She doesn’t want something casual.

She doesn’t want to wake up alone.

She doesn’t want to pretend that it doesn’t mean anything, that it isn’t everything.

She wants you.

All of you.

Vi exhales slowly, dragging a hand down her face as she forces herself to move, to shake off the heavy feeling settling deep in her chest. Lying in your empty bed, wrapped in the lingering scent of you, isn’t going to make this any easier.

If anything, it only makes it worse.

She pushes herself up, the sheets slipping from her bare skin as she swings her legs over the edge of the bed. For a moment, she just sits there, staring down at her hands, as she could still feel you on her fingers.

Fuck. Get up, Vi.

She finds her clothes scattered across the room, her jeans kicked halfway under the bed, her shirt draped over the chair in the corner, her jacket tossed near the doorway. She takes her time dressing, moving slower than necessary, not because she needs to—but because she wants to.

She smooths out the sheets, pulling the blankets back into place, running her hand over the fabric like it’ll somehow make up for the fact that she’s leaving before she even got to say good morning. It’s almost laughable—how she never used to care about things like this, how she never used to be the type to tidy up after herself after a one-night stand.

But this isn’t just anyone.

This is you.

After the bed is made, Vi takes her time slipping her shoes on, letting her gaze wander around your room.

She stands beside your bed, staring down at the neatly made sheets, her fingers absently smoothing out a wrinkle that doesn’t really need fixing. She’s already done enough to stall—already taken her time getting dressed, already let her hands linger too long on your things, already memorized every little detail.

But now she just stands there, her gaze moving toward your nightstand.

It’s simple, uncluttered. A lamp, a half-read book with a slip of paper tucked between the pages, a small dish with a few rings and hair ties, a glass of water gone untouched.

Vi exhales slowly.

She wishes she could stay—wants to crawl back into your bed and pull the blankets over her, wants to press her face into the pillow and drown in the scent of you.

Instead, she reaches into her pocket, her fingers brushing against cool metal, and pulls out her favorite lighter.

A Zippo—well-worn, the silver casing slightly scratched from years of use, a small emblem on the front that’s barely visible anymore from the way she’s fidgeted with it over time. It’s the one she always carries, the one she flips open and shut whenever she’s deep in thought, the one she’s had for years.

And she leaves it there.

She sets it down on your nightstand without hesitation, placing it next to your book, her fingers lingering against the cool surface for just asecond.

It feels desperate—leaving this here in your apartment—but she doesn’t really care. She doesn’t know if you’ll even notice it right away, if you’ll recognize it for what it is. Maybe you’ll just brush past it, thinking it’s something that was always there. Maybe you’ll pick it up and scoff, knowing exactly who left it behind.

But either way, it’s something hers. A piece of her, sitting there, waiting. A reason for you to reach out.

She pulls her hand away, staring at it for a moment longer, then sighs, running a hand through her hair.

Maybe it’s stupid, she thinks.

But she forces herself to move, to step away from the bed and into the living room.

Her fingers brush over the back of the couch as she walks through the living room, her eyes catching on the shelves filled with books, the neatly stacked notebooks on the coffee table, the soft throw blanket tossed over the armrest.

And then, as her gaze drifts, she sees tokens of your life in different parts of the room. Little trinkets. Small, seemingly insignificant things to anyone else—but to her, they are everything.

Her breath catches as she reaches out, fingers tracing over a tiny, worn keychain that she knows was once attached to her old truck keys. A small ceramic fox she remembers you winning at a carnival back in high school. A faded concert ticket stub—one of her concerts.

Her stomach twists again.

You kept these.

Vi swallows hard, her fingers curling slightly before she pulls her hand away. She doesn’t know what to do with that, doesn’t know what it means. But she lets herself believe that maybe, just maybe, she’s not the only one holding on.

With one last glance around, Vi exhales and forces herself toward the door, her heart feeling heavier with every step.

She steps out into the cool morning air, pulling her jacket tighter around her shoulders as she makes her way to her truck. The sun is barely rising, the city still quiet, save for the occasional distant hum of traffic.

She slides into the driver’s seat, the door shutting with a heavy thud. For a moment, she just sits there, gripping the steering wheel, staring at nothing in particular, her mind still back in your apartment, still in your bed, still pressed against your warm skin. She can still smell you on her clothes, still feel your touch lingering along her body like an imprint she never wants to fade.

Vi exhales sharply, leaning back against the headrest, her fingers flexing against the leather wheel as she lets it all settle in.

She thought she could, thought she could take whatever you were willing to give her and be satisfied with it, but fuck—she isn’t.

She doesn’t want this to be the last time.

Vi rubs at her face, dragging a hand through her hair, before reaching into her pocket and pulling out her keys. She turns them over, staring at them, before slipping them into the ignition and bringing the old truck to life.

She pulls out of the parking lot, glancing up briefly at your apartment building in the rearview mirror as she drives away. The thought of leaving you behind, even just for now, feels wrong.

But she knows one thing for certain—

She can’t let this be the last time she’s with you.

She’s already lost you once.

She’ll be damned if she lets it happen again.

“God, what was I thinking?”

The scent of chamomile drifts upward into your nose. You wrap your hands around the mug, letting the heat seep into your palms, but it does little to ease the frustration in your chest.

The shop is quiet today and day is slow, just a couple customers browsing the shelves of your tiny bookshop, but your mind is anywhere but here.

Your phone is pressed against your ear, Mel’s voice on the other end, half-listening, half-scolding, but you’re too wrapped up in your own spiraling thoughts to care. You sigh, tilting your head against your hand, fingers rubbing at your temple.

Mel hums knowingly on the other end.

“Well, you weren’t thinking,” she corrects, and you can practically hear the smirk in her voice. “That’s the whole problem.”

You groan, setting your tea down with a soft thud, resting your forehead in your palm.

“I know,” you mutter, closing your eyes.

The memories from last night are still so fresh—Vi’s hands on your skin, her lips against yours, the way she looked at you like she never stopped wanting you. It was overwhelming, intoxicating, and for a few blissful hours, you let yourself fall back into her arms without hesitation, without logic, without fear.

But now, you can’t help but think about how stupid this all is.

You kissed Vi.

You slept with Vi.

You let her in again.

And worse—you wanted to.

You let out a shaky laugh, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. You pressed your forehead against the cool wood of the counter, closing your eyes for a moment as you tried to gather your thoughts.

“I’m so stupid, Mel,” you muttered. “I really thought I had a handle on everything. But then I… I kissed her and the next thing I knew was that she was in my bed. And, God, I don’t know what I was thinking—I don’t know what I was doing.”

“Okay, first of all, stop right there,” she interrupted firmly. “Don’t call yourself stupid. It’s not like you planned it, right? Things happen.”

“It’s just,” you admitted. “I shouldn’t have. I know shouldn’t have. I should have known better—”

You stopped, swallowing hard.

“She said she wanted to keep seeing me and I… I remembered what it felt like before everything got messy. I got distracted and I let it happen.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line, and you could almost hear Mel’s mind working, piecing things together in a way you couldn’t.

“Listen, okay?” Mel says, her voice taking on that no-nonsense edge you know so well. “You set a boundary, and Vi agreed to it. That’s important. What happened last night is something you two will have to figure out later. But for now, stop beating yourself up over it. You made a decision and you’ve been clear about that with her. She respects it, right?”

You take a deep breath, then sigh. “Yeah, she said she would. She agreed but… fuck, I feel so stupid.”

“You’re not stupid, babe,” Mel says with a soft laugh, but it’s filled with affection, like she’s talking to a stubborn child who just won’t see reason. “Trust me when I say, the fact that you set a boundary, that you had the strength to draw one, is huge. If you think you fucked up. So what? You’ll figure it out. You always have. Focus on something else. Your bookshop, for example. Try not to think about her. Besides, I don’t think Vi would push you too much right now. She may be impulsive, but she’s always been really good with that sort of thing, hasn’t she? Respecting you, I mean. From what I remember, that girl pretty much worshipped you.”

You stop to think.

“I guess…”

You sigh to yourself, letting her words sink in.

“You’re right,” you whisper softly. “I need to stop overthinking it. It just feels like I’m always just one step behind, now.”

Mel’s voice softens in response, “You’re exactly where you need to be, babe. Just take it slow.”

You smile, a small, bittersweet thing. It’s not exactly the answer you want, but it’s enough for now. You close your eyes, breathing slowly. When you open them again, you’re looking at the books surrounding you.

You lean back against the counter, the warmth of the tea still in your hands, but the comfort of it slips away as the conversation with Mel fades. She wrapped things up quickly, a light laugh in her voice as she mentioned something about Jayce needing her attention—probably a work thing, or one of his latest projects with his lab partner, Viktor, that she always described with a fond sigh.

You knew she was right. But no matter how many times you told yourself to focus, to push it aside, your mind kept drifting back to her.

You can’t help it.

But in this quiet morning, with the books and the soft light filtering through the windows, all you can do is wonder. Wonder if she’s still there, in your apartment, still curled up under the covers where you left her—or if she’s already gone, slipping quietly out the door as if nothing happened.

A part of you hopes she’s still there, that somehow, impossibly, you haven’t pushed her away with the same intensity you’ve been pulling yourself apart. You think about the way her skin had felt beneath your fingertips, the way her lips had tasted when you kissed her last night, the feeling of her in your arms.

But the other part of you wonders if that’s too much to hope for. Maybe it was just a moment. That maybe she’s already out of your life again, just like before.

You push away from the counter, walking slowly across the room as if putting some distance between you and the thoughts might make them stop. The tea is lukewarm now, forgotten in your hands. Your fingers brush the spines of a few books, but none of them seem to hold your attention.

The silence presses back in and you wonder all over again. What is she doing? What is she thinking?

You glance at the clock on the wall. It’s late enough that it feels like she would’ve left by now, if she was going to. You wonder if she’s even still awake.

But soon, the sun is setting just past the window, and you’re sure she’s not there anymore—not that she’d have a reason to stay anyway. You were clear from the beginning.

No commitment.

The bell above the bookshop door jingles softly as you lock up for the night, the key turning in the old brass lock with a quiet click. The streets outside are painted in the dim glow of streetlights, the sky a deep indigo, city lights flickering in the distance. You pull your coat tighter around yourself as you walk, but your mind is elsewhere.

It’s been elsewhere all day.

No matter how hard you tried to busy yourself, Vi had stayed lodged in the back of your thoughts.

The evening feels slower than it should. You walk the familiar route home, your mind circling back to last night.

You push open the door to your apartment, the silence greeting you. You leave your coat by the door, slipping off your shoes, feeling tired. Honestly, you expected to come home to the disarray of an unfinished night, but when you enter your bedroom, you pause.

The bed is made. The pillows are arranged neatly at the head, the blankets smoothed over the sheets, edges tucked in. For a moment, you just stand there, staring at it. It almost feels… wrong. It’s like Vi had been here, had left, and then carefully erased every trace of herself.

A sigh slips from your lips, and you move toward the bed, you body heavy as you slump onto the mattress, your limbs sinking into the sheets. Your fingers graze the smooth surface where Vi had slept, where you had slept together.

You don’t want to admit it. You don’t want to admit that you miss her.

Your breath hitches as you turn onto your side, the cool sheets brushing against your skin, but your mind is still caught up in the thought of her.

You try to push it all away, but your heart doesn’t listen.

You sigh as you close your eyes for moment. When you open them back up again, your gaze falls on the nightstand.

There, catching the light from the bedside lamp, is something shiny.

Vi’s lighter.

Your fingers hover over it, unsure if you should even touch it. You should put it away. You should leave it alone.

But instead, you let your fingers trace the cool metal, the edges of it smooth beneath your touch.

You don’t know whether to laugh or cry. You don’t know whether to throw it away or keep it as some strange token of a night you never meant to happen.

You pick up the lighter slowly, your fingers brushing against the cold metal. And for a second, you almost don’t know what to do with it. It feels heavier in your hand than it should and you turn it over, the tiny engravings catching the light.

Stupid, you think, but the word feels hollow. Vi is so stupid.

Her lighter sits in your hand, reminding you of everything you tried to bury, the boundary you tried to set, every reason you told yourself this was a bad idea.

And yet, even as your mind runs in circles, you can’t help the small smile that tugs at the corner of your lips.

You don’t want to miss her. You really don’t.

But you can’t help it.

You set the lighter back down on the nightstand with a small clink.

And throughout the rest of the evening, you still can’t get Vi out of your head.

The room is quieter now, and the shadows stretch long against the walls, the night growing darker and darker out the window. You should be asleep, but instead, your mind keeps drifting back to her. You try not to think about her—about last night, the way she kissed you, the way everything felt like it was falling back into place, even though you know you shouldn’t let it.

And you shouldn’t text her. You shouldn’t even be thinking about it.

But you are.

Before you even realize what you’re doing, you have your phone in your hand, unlocking it without a second thought. Your fingers hover over the screen.

It’s a bad idea. You know it’s a bad idea.

But your thumbs move anyway.

You immediately regret it, because you know where this will go, what will come next. You shouldn’t be texting her. You shouldn’t have said anything at all.

The phone buzzes in your hand a second later, and you almost hesitate before you look at the message. But when you do, you can feel your pulse pick up.

It’s too casual, too quick. She’s trying to play it off, like she didn’t just feel the same pull, like she didn’t want you to text her just as badly. You can almost hear the edge of her voice, trying to sound nonchalant, like it doesn’t matter. Like it’s no big deal.

But you know her better than that.

You should stop here. You should put your phone down, pretend you never sent a message, pretend nothing ever happened.

Then, she texts you again—

You stare at the screen, your heart beating a little faster, a little harder than it should. Something tightens in your chest, the reality of what’s happening sinking in with each second that ticks by.

You told yourself you wouldn’t do this. That you wouldn’t let this happen again.

You should stop her. Tell her no. Forget it.

You know that’s what you’re supposed to do, that’s what you want to do.

But you don’t.

And the knock on your door comes sooner than you expected. You glance at the clock, feeling a little jolt of surprise as you realize it’s only been a few minutes, not ten.

You look at the nightstand. The lighter. It catches your eye and pick it up without thinking, fingers wrapping around it. For a moment, you just stand there, turning the lighter over in your hand, staring at the metal as if it could answer the questions you’ve been asking yourself. Why are you doing this? Why can’t you just stop?

You don’t know the answers. You don’t even know what you’re hoping for, or why, after all this time, it still feels so impossible to let go.

The knock comes again, a little louder this time, and you move.

Your fingers tighten around the lighter as you hesitate, standing just behind the door. You consider turning around, locking it for good, pretending you never sent that text. Pretending you don’t feel the way your heart pounds faster with every second that passes.

But your body betrays you. Before you can think twice, you exhale and pull the door open.

Vi is there, standing in the hallway. She looks like she got here too fast, like she barely gave herself a chance to think before she was knocking. Her hoodie is slouched over her frame, the sleeves pushed up just enough to reveal the ink curling around her forearms. Baggy jeans hang loose on her hips and her hair is a mess, sticking up in places like she’s been running her hands through it the whole way over, like maybe she’s just as unsettled by this as you are.

But then you look up at her eyes.

She looks at you like she’s starving. Like she’s been waiting for this moment longer than she’d ever admit.

But how could she be starving? You wonder. You were just with her last night.

Her gaze drags over you slowly, making your breath hitch. She shifts on her feet, hands stuffed into the front pocket of her hoodie, but you can tell she’s holding herself back. Like she wants to close the space between you, step inside before you change your mind. Like she’s afraid you’ll change your mind.

You swallow, suddenly hyperaware of the weight of the lighter in your palm. You glance down at it, fingers fidgeting with the cool metal, trying to focus on something other than the way Vi is looking at you.

It doesn’t help.

“Your lighter,” you murmur, lifting it slightly, as if that explains everything.

As if that’s why she’s here.

Vi’s lips twitch, like she might smirk, but it never fully forms.

She doesn’t look at the lighter. She just keeps looking at you.

“Right,” she breathes, but she doesn’t take the lighter from your hand.

She doesn’t even glance at it. She’s just looking at you.

You should probably say something. You should probably take a step back, put some kind of space between you before this becomes something you can’t take back.

But neither of you moves. Neither of you blinks. You can hear her breathing.

And then—

You don’t know who moves first, if it’s her hand brushing against yours as she finally reaches for the lighter, or if it’s you stepping just slightly closer, your body betraying you in the way it always does when it comes to her.

But suddenly, she’s inside, the door closing behind her, and you’re in each other’s space, too close. Way too close.

Her big hands find your face before you can think, rough and warm, fingers threading into your hair as her mouth crashes into yours. The lighter slips from your hand, hitting the floor with a soft thud, forgotten the moment her tongue slips past your lips and into your mouth.

Vi groans desperately, kissing you like she’s making up for lost time—even though it’s barely even been a full day since she had you—like she’s trying to carve herself back into the parts of you that have tried to forget her. And maybe that’s why you let her. Maybe that’s why you kiss her back just as hard, hands fisting in the fabric of her hoodie, pulling her closer, trying to drown in her.

You don’t stop to think.

You don’t stop at all.

Somehow, you’re moving, stumbling, your back hitting the bedroom door, then the wall, then the bed. Vi is all over you—her hands, her mouth, pushing you onto the bed she had made just this morning, stealing the breath from your lungs. Your clothes disappear in the haze of it, pulled and tugged and discarded without hesitation. She’s on top of you, her skin hot against yours, her breath shaky as she drags her lips down your throat, over your collarbone, leaving a path of hickeys as she goes.

It’s too much. It’s not enough.

“Need you,” Vi whimpers into your chest, hands kneading and groping your tits with a groan.

You moan as she takes a nipple into your mouth, your nails dragging across her bare back, leaving light scratches over her tattoos and Vi swears she’ll lose her mind if you stop doing that.

She hovers over you, her body caging you in, her hands gripping the sheets on either side of your head like she needs something to hold onto or she might fall apart. Her face is inches from yours, her breath warm against your lips, and when you look up at her, your eyes widen.

She looks wrecked. Desperate.

Her brows are drawn together, her lips parted, her eyes blown wide with something that looks dangerously close to pleading.

She needs you.

Not just your body. You.

And it’s terrifying, because you don’t know what to do with that. You don’t know how to take the way she’s looking at you. Her fingers twitch in the sheets, and she ducks her head, pressing her forehead against yours, like she needs to feel you just to convince herself you’re still here, still beneath her, still letting her have this.

But instead, you reach up, threading your fingers into her messy pink hair, tugging her down, pulling her mouth back to yours.

Vi barely has a second to react before you flip her over, pressing her into the mattress as you straddle her. Her breath catches and her hands immediately slide down to your hips, her fingers slightly slipping past the waistband of your panties. She looks up at you like she’s dazed, her eyes wide, her lips slightly parted, her chest rising and falling in uneven breaths.

You don’t give her time to think. You press your mouth to her jaw, her neck, trailing slow, open-mouthed kisses down her throat. She shudders beneath you, her grip tightening, but she doesn’t stop you. She just watches, like she’s afraid to blink, like she doesn’t want to miss a single second of this.

So you keep going. Lower.

Your lips graze the sharp lines of her collarbone, the faint taste of salt and skin lingering on your tongue. You trace the outline of her tattoos with your fingertips, feeling the way her breath stutters, the way her strong muscles tense beneath your touches. Her abs are tight, perfectly sculpted, and when you press a kiss right at the center of them, she lets out a breathy, broken sound that only makes the fabric of your panties wetter.

“Ah, fuck,” Vi mutters, barely a whisper, barely there.

Your hands skim lower, your fingertips brushing against the soft trail of pink hair that leads beneath her waistband. Vi tenses, her stomach twitching under your touch, but she doesn’t stop you. If anything, she melts further into the bed, her fingers sliding from your waist to the soft flesh of your thighs, gripping them a little too tightly, you’re sure you’re bound to see later as faint bruises.

You undo her belt slowly, your fingers working at the buckle, teasing just enough to make her squirm beneath you. God, it’s getting harder and harder to breathe, Vi thinks, her head tipped back against your pillow, her knuckles white where they grip onto your legs.

“Please, baby,” she begs.

She looks ruined already, and you haven’t even touched her properly yet.

And maybe that’s what makes you slow down, what makes you savor this.

“What is it, Violet?” you murmur lowly, teasing, and just a little cruel.

Vi shudders beneath you, her grip on your thighs tightening, her body going tense for a split second before it completely melts back into the mattress.

And then, she whimpers.

It’s soft, barely there, but you hear it, wrecked and desperate, slipping past her lips before she can stop it. Her head tips back against the pillow, her chest rising and falling in shaky breaths, her hands twitching as your legs.

“What’s wrong, Vi?” you taunt softly, fingers slipping under the waistband of her jeans, tracing just beneath the fabric of her boxers. “You can use your words, can’t you?”

“I-I…”

You hum in response, looking up to meet her gaze as you begin to tug her jeans down her legs before throwing them onto the floor somewhere. Vi swears she could faint at the sight of you down between her legs, pulling at her boxers with that knowing look in your eyes, staring down at her like prey.

“Please, touch me,” she says finally, whining softly as she watches you pull her boxers down. “I don’t care what you do, just touch me.”

You can’t help but smile softly at her words. You were never one to deny her whenever she begged so prettily for you.

So, after short second, you finally drag a finger up her wet folds, brushing against her sensitive clit, before slipping two fingers inside her needy pussy with a squelch. So wet. Vi shudders, her biceps flexing as she pulls at the sheets, whimpering your name softly at the feeling of your fingers.

God, it’s been so long since she felt you inside her. Too long. And she needs more of it. More. Please.

You litter kisses along her inner thigh, curling your fingers over and over again. Her hips buck against your hand, craving for more and more friction as her velvety walls wrap around your digits, coating them with her slick.

“Ah, ngh, p-please—” Vi whines, her back arching slightly off the bed. “Please don’t stop—”

And you didn’t plan to.

Eventually, you speed up, pumping your fingers in and out of her, your teasing mouth inching closer and closer between her legs before wrapping your lips around her sensitive clit and sucking hard. Vi tenses immediately, instinctively trying to pull away from the overwhelming pleasure, but you hold her in place as her hands thread through your hair and tugging softly.

You fuck your fingers in and out faster, her legs tensing beside you. She moaned loud, her walls clenching around your fingers as they curled inside of her more vigorously with each thrust. Beads of sweat roll down her temples, panting heavily as she looks down to see you fucking her diligently and fuck, it’s the second hottest thing she’s every seen—the first being you cumming because of her.

God, she was so close. You could feel her getting tighter.

She even swears she could cum from just the sight of you between her legs alone.

“You feel so good, Violet,” you mutter softly enough for her to hear as you press your face closer to her dripping pussy. “Are you gonna cum for me?”

Oh, fuck fuck fuck—

“Y-Yeah—Hah, yes—I’m—Fuck!”

You hum as she cums on your digits, your fingertips brushing that spongy spot deep in her cunt as her slick drips down your hand. You fuck her through her orgasm, letting her ride out her high, her legs trembling as she whines and whimpers, feeling sensitive under your touch.

Vi is sprawled out against your bed, breathing heavily, her skin flushed, her body still shivering. She feels weightless, like she’s floating, like her entire existence has been reduced to this—this hazy, breathless state of complete and utter bliss.

Her arms are slack against the sheets, fingers curling weakly into the fabric. She blinks up at the ceiling, dazed, her mind fuzzy, lips parted as she struggles to catch her breath. Every inch of her feels sensitive, like her body isn’t even her own anymore.

“Holy shit,” she breathes.

She turns her head slightly, eyes heavy-lidded as they find you looking up at her from between her legs, you fingers and your lips glistening. You’re watching her, looking entirely too pleased with yourself, and Vi thinks—yeah, she probably looks pretty fucking ruined right now.

And she is.

Completely. Utterly. Happily.

She lets out a breathless, almost disbelieving laugh, dragging a hand down her face.

Vi barely gives herself a second to recover before she reaches for you, her movements still loose and lazy, but her grip—her grip is strong.

“Fuck,” she rasps, breath still uneven. Then her hands are on your thighs, firm and possessive. “Come here.”

Before you can process it, before you can even think, Vi hoists you up with that ridiculous, unfair strength of hers, flipping you with ease like you weigh nothing at all. A startled gasp escapes your lips, but she doesn’t give you time to protest—her hands slide down to your hips, fingers digging into your skin, manhandling you into place, and practically ripping your damp panties off of you.

And then—oh.

You realize exactly what she’s doing a second too late.

Your knees settle on either side of her head, your dripping cunt hovering just above her mouth, and Vi tilts her head back against the pillow, looking up at you with that look—hungry, dazed, smug as fuck.

“Better,” she mutters, hands squeezing at your thighs, pulling you just a little closer. “Stay right there, baby.”

She doesn’t give you time to hesitate.

She just pulls you down.

Oh. Oh.

Her grip tightens on your thighs, guiding your glistening cunt into her mouth. And the second you feel her tongue, hot and wet, a sharp gasp rips from your throat, breaking into a moan. Your hands move on instinct, tangling in her hair, fingers threading through her soft, messy strands as your legs squeeze around her head. And god, Vi fucking loves it. She groans the second you grab at her, the sound vibrating against your pussy. Her fingers dig in just enough to keep you from moving, just enough to make sure you don’t go anywhere—not that you could. Not with the way she’s holding you there, devouring you like she’s starving, even though she had her mouth on you just the night before.

Your breath is coming too fast, your body trembling with every teasing of her tongue, every deep, hungry groan she lets out when you tug at her hair just a little harder.

“S-Shit, Vi—”

Your body tenses, pleasure building low and hot in your stomach, and Vi knows. She can feel it in the way your thighs tremble, in the way your hands pull harder at her hair, in the way your moans get higher, louder, breathier, more desperate.

Vi doesn’t even care if your thighs are pressing down hard against her face, your body closing in around her. She doesn’t have to breathe, if it means keeping her face pressed against your delicious sopping pussy. It doesn’t matter. She welcomes it, leans into it, even.

Her hands stay locked on your thighs as she drinks you in, loud and messily. Her breathing is ragged, but she doesn’t pull away. She doesn’t want to. The feeling of your thighs, smooth and so soft and plush, against her face, her cheeks, drives her absolutely insane. She can feel your pulse racing, your body trembling, and it only pushes her harder, makes her need you even more, makes her want to make you cum as many times as she can.

“M-Mmm—I–Fuck!”

The way you taste, the way you sound—it’s the most intoxicating thing she’s ever known. She loves it when you sound like this—dirty, loud, moaning—reminiscent of a pornstar, although she never reallyenjoyed that sort of thing when all she had was you to fantasize in about. She could never get enough of you, could never pull away, could never stop. Every part of you feels like it belongs to her, like she’s been waiting for this for so long, like it’s the only thing that matters.

She moans into you, the sound muffled under your legs, making you shudder above her. Her hands move to your thighs, pulling you even closer, urging you to keep going, to give her more. It’s all she wants.

“Mm—g-gonna cum,” you whine, pulling at her pink curls even harder, “Violet—I’m gonna cum!”

Your voice comes out broken, breathless, barely more than a whimper.

Vi only hums in response, sending another jolt of pleasure through your trembling body. She doesn’t slow down, doesn’t ease up—if anything, she doubles down, her grip tightening even more on your thighs, her tongue working you over ruthlessly.

Your fingers tighten in her hair, pulling, tugging, but it only makes her groan, only makes her hold you harder, keeping you exactly where she wants you—pressed against her hungry mouth. The tension coils impossibly tight in your stomach, every nerve set ablaze, and then—

It snaps.

“Nngh—ffffuck—”

Your body arches, a choked moan spilling from your lips as you cum all over Vi’s face.

Your thighs tremble around her, but Vi doesn’t stop. She holds you steady as your orgasm rolls through you, her mouth still working you over, her tongue dragging out every second of your orgasm until you’re shaking.

And still—she keeps going.

You whimper, overstimulated, your body jerking in her hands, but Vi doesn’t let up. She hums again and licks into you deeper, drinking in everything you have to give, like she could stay here forever. Because truthfully? She could.

“V-Vi, wait, I—”

The overstimulation feels like its too much, pleasure spilling into something overwhelming, making your thighs tremble around her head.

She hears you—of course, she does. But she doesn’t care.

Vi only groans, like she loves the feeling of your hands in her hair, loves the way you taste her tongue too much to even consider stopping. She wants this—needs this—like she can’t bring herself to pull away now that she has you exactly where she wants you.

Every flick of her tongue against your swollen clit sends another shiver rolling through you, your body twitching, oversensitive and helpless under her mouth.

The room is filled with the sounds of it—the slick, obscene noises of Vi’s mouth working against your dripping pussy. Every stroke of her tongue against your cunt is met with a sound so filthy it makes your face burn.

The wet, filthy noises fill your ears, mixing with your broken moans, with Vi’s low, satisfied groans as she pulls you closer, as she buries her face deeper, as she keeps pushing, keeps taking, keeps pulling you apart with her mouth until your body gives in again, pleasure crashing over you too fast, too hard.

It’s not long until you cum on her face again for the second time in a row.

Your thighs clamp around her head, your fingers twisting in her hair, but Vi still doesn’t stop.

You cum again just minutes later, too sensitive, an ns it gets to a point where you can’t even remember if it’s the fourth or the fifth time.

And god, she could do this forever.

Vi is completely gone.

Dazed, lost, utterly pussy drunk. She doesn’t even think about stopping, doesn’t even acknowledge the way your body shakes above her, too caught up in the taste of you, in the way you feel against her tongue. She moans softly, pressing her lips against your folds, leaving open-mouthed kisses between slow, teasing strokes of her tongue.

And then, barely above a whisper, she breathes out words meant more for you than for herself—but it doesn’t even feel like she’s talking to you. She’s talking to your pussy.

“Fuck, missed you,” she murmurs, pressing a lingering kiss against you, dragging her tongue through the slick mess she’s made. “Missed you so much.”

Her hands slide up your thighs, slow and possessive, like she’s trying to memorize the way your skin feels against her palms.

“Fuck, you’re so good to me,” she whispers against your slick cunt, pressing her lips to you again like she’s practically making out with your pussy. “So fuckin’ perfect. Can’t—”

She cuts herself off with another deep, slow drag of her tongue, her whole body shuddering.

“God, you’re so perfect.”

She sounds wrecked. Like she’s wanted this for so long that now that she has you, she never wants to come up for air. The wet, messy sounds fill the air, the lewd squelching mixing with her whispers and her low and needy groans as she buries herself in you again, licking into you like she’ll never get another chance.

She doesn’t care if she breathes. Doesn’t care if she suffocates beneath the softness of your thighs. It would be a fucking perfect way to go.

And soon, your body can’t take it anymore.

The pleasure crashes over you one last time, knocking the air from your lungs. Your legs tighten around Vi’s head again, a moan spilling from your lips as your body tenses, then shudder. Your fingers slip from her hair, your body slumping forward as the last tremors of your orgasm roll through your body.

But Vi catches you before you can collapse.

Strong arms wrap around you, carefully turning you over, her touches gentle as she lays you down on the bed, pressing you into the soft sheets. You barely register it, still floating, still reeling, your limbs loose and useless. Your eyes flutter, heavy with exhaustion, as you try breathe properly.

Vi hovers over you, arms braced on either side of your head, her face still flushed.

But she isn’t looking at your body—not anymore. She’s looking at you. And fuck, you’re beautiful.

Completely and utterly ruined beneath her, your skin still damp with sweat, your lips parted as you struggle to catch your breath. Your eyes, half-lidded, barely able to stay open, dazed and glassy with pleasure. She watches the slow rise and fall of your chest, the way your body still twitches slightly from the aftershocks, the way your fingers curl weakly against the sheets.

Vi swallows hard. Because right now, she feels like she’s falling in love with you all over again.

Like nothing has changed.

Like she never fucked up, never let you slip through her fingers, never gave you a reason to be afraid of her, of what she could do to your heart.

She wants to kiss you, wants to hold you, wants to pull you into her arms and tell you everything she never said before—how she never stopped loving you, how she never will.

But she can’t.

Because last night, you were clear.

No commitment.

And Vi knows why. She knows she hurt you. Knows you don’t trust her anymore. Knows that if she pushes, if she asks for more, you’ll pull away again—maybe for good.

“Are you okay?” she asks too softly.

Her fingers twitch where they rest beside your head, itching to touch you, to smooth back the damp strands of hair stuck to your forehead, to run her knuckles over your flushed cheek. But she doesn’t. She stays hovering over you, watching the way your lips part, your lashes fluttering as you try to keep your eyes open.

For a second, you don’t answer. Maybe you’re too far gone, still floating in the aftermath, your body too heavy to form words.

Vi waits. She just wants to hear your voice, wants to know that you’re still here, with her, even if only for a little while.

You manage a slow nod, your head barely moving against the pillow, eyes drooping.

“Yeah,” you murmur, voice soft, hazy. “I’m okay.”

Vi tells herself she should move. Should pull away, give you space, remind herself that this isn’t what it used to be. But fuck, it’s hard.

Carefully, she reaches out, brushing a strand of damp hair from your forehead, her fingers barely grazing your skin. It’s a small touch, barely anything at all, but her heart clenches.

Because this feels more dangerous than anything else.

Because it makes her want things she shouldn’t.

Vi watches as your eyes flutter shut, your body fully giving in to exhaustion, and she swallows the words she wants to say. The ones that would only ruin this.

Instead, she just stays like this for a little longer, hovering over you, letting herself pretend—just for a second—that she still gets to have you. She lets herself imagine what it would be like to have you completely, the way she used to, the way she’s always wanted to. She dreams of kissing you like this every morning, of holding you close, of being the one you run to when the world feels too heavy.

Vi’s fingers twitch again, aching with the need to touch you, to feel you even though you’re already here, already so close.

Her gaze softens, something tender in her eyes as she watches you sleep, and then, without thinking, she lowers herself, just a little, her lips brushing against your bare shoulder—once, twice, three times.

I love you. Again.

She pulls back, keeping her forehead pressed lightly against your shoulder for just a moment. She doesn’t expect you to feel it.

And when she breathes you in, pressing her face against your skin, she lets a tear slip from her eyes.

It trails down her cheek, disappearing into the sheets before anyone—not even herself—can pretend it was ever there. She doesn’t sob, doesn’t make a sound. Just breathes you in, feeling the way you breath beneath hers.

Because she knows, when you wake up, you’ll pull away.

And she’ll have to pretend that none of this ever meant anything at all.

Vi keeps coming back.

At night, always at night.

At least three times a week, sometimes more.

Sometimes so late that you’re already in bed, the city outside quiet. Sometimes earlier, when you’re still awake, still pretending you’re busy, pretending that your heart doesn’t stutter every time she knocks on your door.

And you don’t know if it’s a good thing.

It’s easy, too easy, to let her in. To watch her lean against the doorframe, waiting for you, her hands stuffed into the pockets of her hoodie, her hair messy. To pretend like you don’t already know how this night is going to end before she even steps inside.

She never stays past sunrise.

That’s the new rule, even though you haven’t really talked about it. No strings, no expectations, no commitment. Just hands on skin, lips crashing together, your bodies tangled in the sheets until you’re both too tired to think about anything else.

But in the morning, the bed is always empty.

She never asks for more, and you never offer it. She doesn’t press, doesn’t push. She gives you space, respects the boundaries you set, even though you can see the way it kills her sometimes.

Even though, you know it. Vi wants more.

So much more.

But she doesn’t ask.

And you don’t really do anything to stop her from coming back.

You tell yourself it’s fine. That you’re fine. That this arrangement, this thing you have, isn’t hurting anyone. But sometimes, when the door closes behind her and you’re left alone in your apartment, you wonder if you’re lying to yourself.

There’s not much talking either. As much as Vi wants there to be.

She wants to talk. She wants to ask things—how your day was, what book you were reading when she knocked on your door, what you had breakfast, if you were feeling tired, if you ever think about her when she’s not here. If you miss her.

But every time she tries, the words never make it out. Because the moment the door closes behind her, the moment her hands find your waist, your fingers slip beneath her shirt, or your mouth brushes against her jaw, she forgets how to speak. Each and every time.

And then there’s nothing but the heat and her hands and the sound of you falling apart beneath her.

She swallows her words and listens to your moans instead.

She listens to the way your breath catches when she drags her teeth down your throat. The way you gasp when her fingers press into your hips, when she pulls you closer, when she spreads you open and takes her time. She memorizes the sounds you make, the way they stutter when she moves just right, when she makes you come undone for her, again and again.

She wonders if you feel the same way as she does. She wants to know. She wants to ask you what you’re thinking, if you’re feeling the same ache in your chest when the door clicks shut behind her.

Does you miss her when she’s gone?

But Vi knows. She knows.

She knows by the way you kiss her, by the way you melt into her touch every time she pulls you closer. She knows by the way you whisper her name when she’s inside you, when she’s pressed up against you, moving in time with every breath you take, every kiss, every mark she leaves on your skin. You might not say it, but she can feel it in the way your hands never seem to want to leave her. In the way your body curves into hers, like it was meant to.

And Vi can’t lie to herself.

She’s addicted to it. To the sex. To you. To this.

And god, she missed it. She missed everything about you, every second, every touch, every kiss. She missed being inside you.bIt’s a selfish thing, she knows that. But she can’t help it. The way you fit around her, the way every inch of her sinks into you like she’s home—there’s nothing else like it. The way you pull her in deeper, the way your body trembles when you’re close, when you need her. The sound of your name on her lips, the feel of you under her, surrounding her. It’s addictive.

Vi doesn’t even stay in the mornings anymore.

On the first morning when you left her in your bed, the silence was unbearable. The way the bed was already cold when she woke up, the space beside her where you should have been. She hated it. She’d wake up, the daylight creeping through the blinds, and there you’d already be gone. She hated that. She hated the feeling of waking up alone.

But now, she leaves before you wake up.

She doesn’t want to.

But she does it anyway. She’s careful not to wake you, her hands sliding quietly over the sheets as she pushes herself up, slipping into her clothes in the half-light.

Even as she pulls on her boots, ties her laces, gathers the last of her things, she watches you for just a little longer. She watches you breathe, the soft curve of your back, the way your hair falls across your face, so peaceful, so unaware of her standing there. She watches your soft lips, the ones she loves kissing over and over, slightly parted, how the faint hint of a smile still playing at the edges, like you’re dreaming of something good. Something warm. Hopefully, it’s about her.

And she hates that she’s leaving. She hates that she’s not staying. She hates that this isn’t enough to keep her here, to keep her wrapped up in you.

But she knows if she stays any longer, if she lets herself sink back into the comfort of your body, she won’t be able to walk away.

So, she leaves.

And as the weeks pass, the more nights Vi spends with you, the more it begins to wear her down. It gets harder and harder every night.

At first, she told herself she wouldn’t ask for more. That she’d respect the boundaries you set, the ones that kept you both from falling into the mess of old habits, old wounds, old mistakes. She told herself that this was fine—that to have you like this, is better than not having you at all.

But the more she lies next to you, the more she holds you, the more it becomes clear that it isn’t enough. Not for herself. Not for you.

There are moments when she wakes up next to you, your body still pressed against hers, your breath soft and steady against her skin, and she feels like she’s drowning.

She wants to say it, needs to say it, but she swallows it every time. I want you back.

Instead, she keeps slipping in and out of your life like it’s all she’s allowed, like this is the way it has to be. And every time she walks away, it feels like a part of her is left behind—with you.

Vi wants more. She wants more of your laughter, the soft smiles you give when you think she’s not watching, the way your fingers curl into hers, the way you let her hold you when the night gets too quiet. She wants to feel your body against hers all the time, not just for short moments when she’s in your bed, not just when the lights are low and the world is far away. She wants to ask for more—wants to beg you to let her be a part of your life again, to let her fix the things you left her for.

She wants to fight for this.

But she doesn’t know how.

Vi knows she can’t keep pretending that this is all she wants.

She’s never stopped loving you. The part of her that’s still so in love with you, the part that never quite stopped hoping for the chance to make things right, even though she knows how much damage was done.

She just wants you back.

And one night, it slips.

It’s nearly 2AM when your phone buzzes on the nightstand, pulling you from the haze of half-sleep. The glow of the screen illuminates your room, and for a moment, you lie there, staring at it in the silence. You blink, your mind still foggy, but the text is there, staring back at you.

You hesitate.

But tonight feels different. You’re not sure if this is a night you want to invite her in.

Still, your thumb hovers over the screen, heart pounding just a little faster than it should.

You hear a knock at your door barely a minute later.

Like she was waiting for you to respond, like Vi had been standing there, holding herself just outside your door, waiting for the green light.

She knocks again, louder this time.

You swing your legs out of bed, your pulse rushing in your ears as you step toward the door. You hesitate for just a second before wrapping your fingers around the doorknob. You sigh, then pull the door open softly.

Vi is standing there, her hands shoved into the pockets of her jacket, shoulders slightly hunched. Her hair is messy, strands falling over her forehead and then—when she sees you—she lets out a breath, like she wasn’t sure you’d actually open the door.

And then she smiles, just barely before it disappears a second later.

“It’s late, you know,” you murmur tiredly.

“I know,” she says, “Couldn’t sleep.”

You step aside, just enough for her to slip past you, and she does—wordlessly, like she already knew you’d let her in.

The door clicks shut behind her.

You don’t look at her right away. Instead, you turn, your feet carrying you toward the kitchen, as if you need something to do with your hands.

“I’m gonna make some tea,” you whisper, more to yourself than to her.

Vi doesn’t answer.

You hear the faint scuff of her boots against the floor as she follows you, but she stays quiet, leaning against the frame of the kitchen. You don’t have to turn around to know she’s watching you.

You move through the small space, reaching for the electronic kettle, filling it and heating up the water. Your hands work methodically, pulling out two mugs, grabbing the tea bags from the cabinet.

Anything to keep yourself from looking at her.

But Vi doesn’t need distractions. She doesn’t need something to busy her hands.

She just stares. Leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed loosely over her chest, she watches you move around the kitchen like you’re something fragile, something to be memorized.

She’s dazed, lovestruck.

You don’t even notice the way her lips part slightly, the way her fingers twitch like she wants to reach out, to pull you into her, to press her face into your neck and just breathe you in.

But Vi can tell something’s wrong. She can feel it in the way your shoulders tense as you stand by the counter, the way your fingers tremble slightly as you reach for the mugs.

You want to talk.

Vi’s chest tightens. She knows that look. She knows you, knows how your mind works, how you retreat when you’re about to say something you don’t want to say. And she knows what’s coming. You’re going to tell her this needs to stop. That whatever this is—these nights together—it can’t keep happening. That it doesn’t mean anything, even though you both know that’s a lie.

Vi doesn’t let you say it.

Before you can turn around, before you can even open your mouth, she steps closer, wrapping her arms around you from behind. You tense at first, caught off guard, but Vi doesn’t let go. She presses her face into your hair, inhaling softly, her grip tightening around your waist.

She holds you like she’s afraid. Like if she lets go, you’ll slip through her fingers for good.

She doesn’t want to lose this, to lose you—again. Even if it’s selfish, even if she knows she has no right to ask for more, even if she knows she’s the reason you don’t trust her enough to ask for more.

And for the first time in a long time, Vi is scared.

“Don’t,” she mutters, barely a whisper against your skin. “Just… not yet.”

You go still in her arms.

Vi shuts her eyes, breathing you in, feeling the way your body fits against hers, the way you’re warm, real. She needs this. Needs you.

And as her hands slide down to your hips, pressing you slightly into the counter, you freeze the moment you feel it—something hard, pressing right against the curve of your ass.

For a second, you think you’re imagining it. That maybe your exhausted mind is playing tricks on you, reading too much into the way Vi stepped closer, the way it suddenly feels like she’s swallowing up the small space of your kitchen.

You inhale slowly, setting a teaspoon down with more care than necessary, your fingers tightening around the counter’s edge.

“Violet.” You warn her.

Vi doesn’t move.

Doesn’t back off. Doesn’t even flinch at the sharp edge in your tone. If anything, she shifts just slightly, like she knows exactly what she’s doing. Like she planned it. The warmth of her body radiates against your back, close enough to feel, close enough to make your pulse stutter—because of course she’d do this. Of course she’d try to derail whatever conversation she knows is coming before you can even begin.

“What?”

She’s playing dumb. Acting innocent, like she isn’t pressing up against you with a strap bulging in her jeans.

“Violet.” Your voice is sharper this time, firmer, but not as steady as before.

Vi doesn’t care.

She sighs slowly, pressing forward, letting you feel her. The firm, deliberate push of her strap against your ass makes your breath hitch, your fingers gripping the counter a little tighter. She’s testing you, pushing her luck, trying to slip past the walls you’ve been so careful to rebuild.

She sighs again—low, deep—before dropping her head against your shoulder, her breath warm against your skin. Her eyes flutter shut, and for a moment, she just stays there, pressed against you, holding onto something she knows she’s about to lose. She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t push any further.

She clenches her jaw, inhaling deeply, breathing you in like she’s trying to commit this moment to memory. Because she knows—fuck, she knows—that once you turn around, once you open your mouth, you’re going to say something that’s going to break her.

“I could take you right here,” Vi whispers, rough, almost pleading.

Her hands twitch at your hips, wanting to pull you back against her properly, to make you forget whatever you were about to say.

She presses against you harder, her strap firm against your ass, her breath hot against your neck. She knows what she’s doing. Knows how easy it would be to have you like this—to push the fabric of your sleep shorts down, to lift you onto the counter, to make you fall apart for her before you can even think about saying anything.

She swallows hard. “Please.”

You sigh, your resolve already slipping. You shouldn’t. You know you shouldn’t. But when you finally turn around, ready to face her, Vi doesn’t give you the chance to think.

She kisses you. Hard, desperate, like she’s been holding back for too long and can’t stand it anymore. Her hands move instantly, one gripping the counter beside you, the other finding your waist, fingers pressing in just enough to make you feel the heat of her palm through the thin fabric of your shirt. She’s close, too close, her body pressing into yours, her strap still firm between you.

The moment your lips part beneath hers, the second she hears the soft, breathy sound that slips from your throat, she loses it.

Her hands move like they have a mind of their own, sliding down your waist, over the curve of your hips, until her fingers slip beneath the waistband of your thin shorts. She palms your ass, squeezing, pulling you flush against her, making sure you feel every inch of her, making sure you know exactly what she wants.

And then her mouth is on your neck. She trails kisses down the column of your throat, slow at first, like she’s savoring the way your body reacts to her. But the second you moan—soft, breathless, completely unfiltered—Vi needs more. Her lips press harder, open-mouthed and eager, her teeth grazing over your sensitive skin before she soothes it with her tongue. She groans against your neck, her breath warm, her grip tightening on you like she’s starving for this, for you. Like she could spend the rest of the night right here, buried in your skin, listening to the sounds you make just for her.

“Fuck,” she mutters against your throat. “Please.”

Her fingers flex against your ass, squeezing, kneading, owning. She pulls you closer, hips rolling against yours, letting you feel how hard her strap is, how badly she needs you.

“Please, let me,” she begs, her words barely more than a whisper.

Her breath is shallow, warm against your skin as her lips trail over your neck again, kissing, nipping, barely in control. Vi’s fingers tremble, just slightly, where they grip the soft fabric of your shorts, and she’s trying to be patient, trying to hold back—but you can feel the way her body betrays her, the way she’s aching, the way she’s needing you in a way it almost hurts.

“Please,” she repeats, her voice strained, pleading. “Let me… make you feel good. Let me show you.”

And slowly, you move your hands to gently cradle Vi’s face, and her breath hitches. She freezes, her eyes meeting yours, those soft, blue eyes full of everything she’s been trying to hide. Vi lets out a breath, shaky and soft, as you move a strand of hair from her face, your fingers brushing against her skin. It’s almost too much, the way you’re looking at her, the way you’re holding her face like she’s the most important thing in the world.

She melts into your touch. Completely.

She could say it right now. She could.

The words are there, right on the tip of her tongue, fighting to escape. She wants to say them, more than anything, wants to let you know exactly how she feels, how much she’s always felt for you.

But she’s scared—scared that you’ll pull away, scared that you’ll look at her and say you don’t want her.

Vi’s breath is shallow as she watches you, her heart pounding in her chest as she waits, her hands resting gently on your waist. She doesn’t need to say anything, though, because you feel it—the way your breath catches as your eyes search hers, the way your lips are so close to hers now, the tension so tight it feels like it’s about to snap.

And then, finally, you kiss her again. It’s hungry—ravenous, the kind of kiss that makes your head spin, that makes your body surge forward before either of you can think, your lips crashing together desperately. Vi groans into your mouth, like she’s been starving for it.

Without missing a beat, she lifts you up, her hands sliding down to grip your ass, holding you up as your legs instinctively wrap around her waist. You gasp against her mouth, the feeling of being held so tightly, so securely, Vi doesn’t break the kiss. She doesn’t let go, her hands strong, the muscles in her arm flexing under her hoodie, as she carries you toward the living room, only a few steps away. The room is dark, the soft glow of the hallway light along the walls, but none of that matters.

When she reaches the couch, she gently sets you down onto the cushions, her lips trailing down your neck, nipping at your skin. Her hands are everywhere—gripping, caressing, exploring like she can’t get enough of you. And all you can do is pull her closer, with everything fading away as she continues to kiss you, touch you, take you in.

“You’re so pretty, baby,” she whispers against your skin, her hands trembling just slightly as she pulls at your shorts, eager to see more of you, to feel more of you.

Her hands finally slip under your shorts, fingers tracing the outline of your panties, and her breath hitches as she feels you, the softness of your skin, the dampness of the fabric. She can’t stop herself—can’t stop the way her body reacts to the sight of you, the taste of you, the way you move against her.

Vi’s breath catches all over again when she slips past your underwear, the wetness against her fingers telling her everything she needs to know. You were so fucking wet already—she hadn’t even touched you yet. A groan escaped her lips as she shifts closer, her hand moving slowly, to rub her fingers through your slick folds.

“Fuck,” she breathes.

Her fingertips press more firmly against you, finding your sensitive clit, feeling the wetness beneath her.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” she whispers, barely keeping herself together, as she presses another soft kiss to your neck. “Wanna be good for you…”

Vi lifts her gaze, just enough to catch the look on your face—your eyes half-lidded, lips slightly parted. Her breath shudders as she draws her face closer, the heat of her skin brushing against yours, but her lips don’t quite touch yours. Her parted lips hover above yours, warm and so close you can feel her breath against your skin, a whisper of a kiss—just a breath away.

Vi’s gaze flickers to your lips and back to your eyes, her body so close that it feels impossible to think straight. She could kiss you right now, could close the distance and let the hunger between you take over completely, but she doesn’t.

Not yet.

Not until her fingers, down between your legs, playing with the softness of your skin, slide into you.

Her jaw slacks as you open your mouth to gasp against her lips, you eyes fluttering closed as you feel your walls wrap around two of her fingers. She goes in too smoothly, your cunt so fucking wet against her hand, and fuck, she thought she had to prepare you for her strap for a little bit, but with you so fucking wet like this—she’s sure she can slide the toy right in without any trouble.

You moan against her, your arms wrapping around her neck as she curls her fingers, the pads of her fingertips pressing against that spongy spot in your pussy repeatedly. A lazy smirk plays at her lips when you buck your hips against her palm, pushing your clit slightly against her skin.

She pumps her fingers in and out of your cunt, drinking your moans into her ears as she rolls her eyes back at the feeling of you, so warm against her.

It’s not long when she pulls her fingers out—just as your about to cum.

“V-Vi,” you whine, shaking your head in an attempt to ask her to keep her fingers inside. “M-More—”

She smiles and sits back on her knees, not giving into to your pleas too easily, although it was always hard for her to turn you down.

It only takes her a second to unbuttton her pants and pushing it downwards slightly along with her boxers, her strap springing out the lower she goes. She uses her hands to push your knees apart even further, her strap, long and black, resting against your lower stomach. You look up at her with pleading eyes, eyes begging her to keep going, with your pussy wet and glistening between your legs as she pulls you even closer, hands at the back of your thighs, pushing up your legs.

Vi swears she could pass out from the sight alone.

“You look so fucking beautiful right now,” she whispers.

You whine again and she only smirks.

“You want me inside, baby?” She asks, taking a hand to wrap around strap, moving the tip of it up and down against your wet heat. “Tell me.”

“Y-Yes, please—I-Inside—”

“Yeah?” She says, growing more arrogant by the second, slipping only a few teasing centimeters into your hole.

“Fuck—Violet, please!”

Vi rolls her eyes back again, lolling her head back and closing her eyes, reimagining the way you whine her name over and over.

She sighs and opens her eyes again to look down between your legs, watching the strap disappear into your cunt with a squelch as she slowly, slowly slides it in further and further, groaning at how tight you are around the dildo. One corner of her lips quirk up in a smirk only briefly, a breathy scoff falling from her lips as she buries it inside your pussy, down to the hilt, your skin pressing against her.

You feel your jaw drop at the stretch of her strap filling you, your hands gripping the cushions beneath your body as you gasp at the feeling of being so, so full. Your breath grows quick when Vi takes a few long seconds to pull back only slightly, the tip still inside of you, before slams her hips back into you, using your thighs as leverage to pull you closer, her strap hitting you deep inside your pussy.

She groans as you moan, watching you closely as you arch your back off of the couch in pleasure.

“Fuuuuck, yes,” Vi breathes, slamming her hips into you over and over. “You take me so well, baby.”

She gets high off of the sight of you, the sound of you. Using your hips to balance herself, she starts speeding up her thrusts, smiling lightly to herself. God, she loves watching your tits bounce as she fucks her strap into you.

“Shit—Uhngh, fuck, that’s it—”

Every time she thrusts her hips into you, the strap hits her just right, pressing against her clit—fuck. Her pace speeds up just at the thought of it, the feeling of it. Her hand pulls at the flesh of your thigh, watching the way her cock sinks into your pussy, the length of it glistening every time she pulled out, drunk off of the sound of your cunt squelching, the sound of your moans, showing her how good she’s making you feel.

More. More. More. Vi goes faster. She’s close, you can tell by the way her breath hitches, her mouth panting and whining, and her eyebrows furrowing and scrunching up. She feels it on her swollen sensitive clit. It feels so good, it’s so—

“I-I’m gonna cum, baby, I—” Vi whimpers.

You shift, pushing yourself up onto your elbows until you meet Vi with your chest, before pushing her down to sit on the cushions. With a groan, Vi leans back against the couch, watching in awe as you climb into her lap, straddling her hips and when you sink back onto her strap—fuck, she could’ve came right then.

“Keep going, Violet,” you whisper into her ear, before threading your fingers into her hair and pulling it hard so that she’s looking up at you.

Sweat rolls down Vi’s forehead as she shakes beneath you, trying to hold off her own orgasm to get more out of the way you ride her. Her hands rest at your hips, occasionally sliding down to grip your soft, plush thighs. You clit brushes against her happy trail as she bucks her hips up into you, her strap hitting deep, deep inside of you making you squirm above her.

Vi moans pathetically as you tug on her hair, her soft whimpers filling her ears. God, she was so fucking close!

“P-Please, fuck, I-I—” she whimpers into your mouth as you pull her in for a sloppy kiss.

“Gonna cum, Vi,” you moan against her lips.

“M-Me too—”

She looks up at you, eyes dazed and half lidded as she gasps, panting and trembling beneath you, her hands gripping your hips as you bounce on her strap. Bucking her hips up into you, Vi guides you into a quick rhythm, watching her strap disappear into your soaking cunt and each time you grind your hips down, she feels the end of it pressing against her sensitive clit, over and over and over and over… Fuck, fuck, fuck.

She doesn’t even realize how hard she’s gripping your hips, fingers dipping slightly into your skin as you ride her. She does know, however, that you’re probably just as close as her—so, so close—knows that it’s getting harder and harder for you to fuck yourself on her strap, especially when you start mindlessly babbling a stream of curses and moans. You’re pulling at her hair, jaw slacked, eyes rolling back, your tits bouncing in her face—she could cum at the sight.

“V-Vi—I-I’m—”

“F-Fuck, yes! Please, please, please—”

And with one last thrust of her hips, you sink onto the entire length of her cock, hitting that delicious, spongy spot in your soaking pussy. You tense above her, back arching, pressing your front against hers just as the strap presses against her clit.

Vi moans loudly, trying so very hard to keep her eyes open as she trembles beneath you, her hips stuttering violently as she cums at the sight of you, at the way the strap feels against her, at how she can feel your wet juices dripping onto her thighs. God, it feels so fucking good. Her hands make their way back to your waist, easing you slowly to ride out your high, even though her clit is already so fucking sensitivite. She enjoys the way you tremble in her lap, her head dropping to rest on your bare shoulder, panting and heaving against your skin.

You struggle for a couple minutes to catch your breath and a moment later, Vi whimpers pathetically when you shift slightly on her strap—she’s so sensitive.

“S-Sorry, one second,” you whisper, carefully moving to remove her strap from your heat.

Once you’re off, you help her out of the straps hurriedly, dropping them somewhere onto the carpet of your apartment and when you finish, Vi doesn’t waste another second until she pulls you back into her lap, closer against her. She closes her eyes, breathing in your scent as she nuzzles her face into your neck for just a moment before leaning her head back on the couch, lips parted, breathing heavily.

The room is quiet now, save for the lingering echoes of your ragged breaths. Your body is warm over Vi’s lap, your legs still trembling. Her hoodie is pushed up, bunched around her ribs, just past her toned abs, her skin hot beneath your fingertips. Her own fingers trail absently along your back in slow, lazy movements. You watch her, still catching your breath, your hands resting lightly against her chest.

She looks so pretty—lips slightly parted, a flush across her cheeks, her hair sticking to her damp forehead.

But then Vi’s fingers slip up your spine, and she hums, almost like a purr. She tilts her head slightly, opening her eyes just enough to look at you, her gaze heavy-lidded, still hazy with pleasure, dazed, distracted, her pupils blown wide. She’s looking at you like she always does—like you hung the moon, like she’s still yours.

And then, before she can stop herself, before she even registers the words spilling from her lips—

“I love you.”

Your whole body stiffens.

Vi freezes, her eyes going wide after realizing what she said. Fuck. She didn’t mean to say it—at least not now, not like this.

Her pulse hammers against her ribs, her mind racing through the damage she might’ve just done.

You don’t move. Don’t breathe. Your eyes lock onto hers, wide and startled, your lips parting slightly like you might say something, but nothing comes.

Panic flares in Vi’s chest. Shit. Shit. Say something, fix it, play it off—

“I—” Vi stammers, shaking her head, forcing out a short, nervous laugh. “I mean—shit, that was—I didn’t mean—”

The silence that follows is deafening.

You pull away slipping from Vi’s lap like the air between you has turned solid. Your shirt is the first thing you find, tossed carelessly to the floor, and you tug it over your head, not bothering to fix it properly. You don’t blink. You don’t look at Vi. Your eyes drift somewhere else—past the couch, past the walls—like if you stare hard enough, you can pretend you didn’t just hear those words.

Vi scrambles behind you, clumsy and rushed, trying to catch up to you.

“Just–Just let me explain—” her voice cracks, rough and unsteady, and she fumbles with the waistband of her jeans, pulling them up in a frantic mess, fingers shaking as she tugs her hoodie back into place.

But you don’t respond.

You don’t even look at her.

And fuck, Vi’s never looked smaller than she does right now—standing there in your apartment, jeans not even fully zipped, hoodie crooked on her shoulders, hair a mess, her heart bleeding out onto the floor between you both—but none of it matters. All she’s thinking about is you. The way your arms are wrapped tight around yourself, how your voice trembles, how you refuse to look at her.

You told her. You told her from the start. No commitment.

And she agreed. Because what choice did she have?

If the only way she could have you was like this, Vi would’ve taken it. She would’ve taken anything.

You already told her what this was. What it wasn’t. She knew. And yet, Vi looked you in the eye just now, and told you she loved you. As if the words weren’t a bomb going off between you.

You clench your jaw so tight it hurts, staring at the floor, at the wall—anywhere but her.

“You—” you start, swallowing hard. “You shouldn’t have said that.”

Vi pauses.

“Why not?” she blurts out, stepping forward instinctively—and you step back just as fast.

Her face crumbles.

“Why not?” she says again, quieter this time, more desperate.

“Because,” you whisper, shaking your head. “Because it’s not—that’s not what this is.”

Vi looks at you, looks to the wall on her right, then looks at you again, eyebrows knitting together before she laughs, sharp and bitter.

“Do you really believe that?” she asks quietly. “Do you really think I can keep doing this—and–and not feel anything for you?”

Your heart lurches.

“Violet.”

“No, tell me,” she cuts you off. “Tell me you don’t feel anything when I’m here. Tell me you don’t think about me when I’m gone.”

You shake your head again, “I told you what this is, Vi.”

She doesn’t move. Doesn’t say anything at first.

“This isn’t what we’re doing,” you whisper, more to yourself than to her, “We’re not doing this.”

“I know, but—”

“No, you don’t,” you say, finally meeting her eyes, and Vi’s breath catches at the sight of the unshed tears threatening to spill over.

And it hurts. It hurts so much because you can still feel her everywhere—the heat of her hands on your skin, the rasp of her voice against your neck, her lips, her breath, her mouth, her skin…

“No, no, I think I do,” she shakes her head. “Do you think I came here every night for the sex? Is that what you think?”

Her breath hitches, and she stands there.

“I didn’t come here just to—just to fuck you. I came here because I miss you.” Her eyes lock on yours, searching, pleading.

“We said no commitment,” you murmur, barely above a whisper.

“Fuck that,” she says. She’s upset, more than upset, her face twisted in frustration, her breath quick and shaky as she watches you. “Fuck that.”

“Vi—”

“I don’t want that,” she cuts you off. She steps closer, her hands twitching like she wants to reach for you but doesn’t know if she should. “I never fucking wanted that. I just… I want you.”

She stops herself, breathing hard, trying to collect her thoughts, but they’re scattered, all over the place, too many emotions crashing together.

“I’ve spent the last three years thinking about you,” Vi admits. “Wondering if I’d ever see you again, if I’d ever be able to fix things, if I could get you back—”

Her breath hitches, her jaw tight as she stands in front of you, desperate and angry and so fucking tired of pretending like this isn’t tearing her apart.

Vi scoffs, shaking her head, frustration and pain battling in her eyes. Her hand moves up to run through her messy hair, tugging at the strands as if she could pull out the emotions knotting in her chest.

“And—And you’ve been pretending that you don’t feel anything for me, but I know you do.”

“God, you’re so full of yourself,” you snap, feeling the anger rising in your chest, fueled by her accusations, by the way she’s completely ignoring everything you’ve been trying to avoid, trying to hide from. “You always think you know everything, don’t you? You think you know what I feel—what’s in my head—but you don’t. You don’t know a damn thing.”

Vi opens her mouth to respond, but the words catch in her throat as she watches you, and you’re not sure if it’s the frustration or the hurt in her eyes that’s making it all harder. You can feel yourself shaking, the tears threatening to spill over. You don’t want to cry in front of her, but it’s too much. Everything is too much.

“I’ve spent so much time pretending it didn’t hurt,” you choke out, the words coming in gasps. “—that it didn’t matter when you’d leave again, or when you’d go silent for days, weeks, at a time. I kept telling myself that I didn’t care, that I didn’t miss you. That you didn’t matter anymore—”

Vi furrows her brows and halts for a moment, realizing you’re not talking about this anymore… you’re talking about back then.

The tears start to fall, blurring your vision, and you swipe angrily at them, wiping them away, but they keep coming, as if they were waiting for permission to break free.

“But it still hurts, Vi. It fucking hurts. Every single day. And you—you just keep showing up, and I didn’t know how to deal with it anymore.”

Vi stands there, her hand trembling slightly at her side as she steps forward, but you back away again, not ready for her touch. Her heart breaks. Her jaw tightens, her hands clenching at her sides as her chest heaves, like there’s a chance she’ll fall apart right in front of you.

“I know I fucked up,” she says, like she’s trying to shove the truth out of her mouth before she can stop herself. “I know that I’m the reason we’re even in this mess in the first place but—”

You flinch at her words, at how easily she’s admitting it all, like she’s been rehearsing this moment in her head, waiting for the right time to spill everything. But she doesn’t stop—she can’t stop.

“Don’t stand there and tell me you don’t feel anything for me,” Vi pleads, stepping closer, her voice breaking, the desperation cracking through her tough exterior. “Don’t act like this doesn’t mean anything. Don’t act like you don’t love me. We wouldn’t be doing any of this in the first place if you didn’t.”

Your heart twists painfully, and you shake your head, blinking back the sting of tears. “Vi—”

“No,” she interrupts. “I love you. I never stopped loving you. I still love you now.”

You look away, your breathing shaky. But Vi keeps going, her voice trembling now, as if she’s afraid of what will happen if she stops.

“I can’t pretend this doesn’t kill me every time I come here,” she says softly. “I tell myself I’m fine with whatever this is, that I’ll take whatever pieces of you you’re willing to give me—but I’m not. I’m not fine”

She takes a step closer, and you don’t move away this time. You’re frozen, caught between wanting to hold her and wanting to push her away again.

Vi’s voice cracks completely when she says, “I want you back.”

Your breath is shaky, a tear slipping down your cheek before you can stop it, but you don’t wipe it away.

“You don’t get to say that,” you whisper.

Vi’s shoulders slump, her eyes glistening as she watches you.

“You think this is easy for me?” Your voice rises. “You think I don’t want more? That I don’t think what it would be like if you had just—just tried harder? If you had picked up the damn phone, or come home, or given me one fucking reason to believe I was still important to you?”

Vi’s mouth opens, but you shake your head, blinking through the burn behind your eyes.

“I waited for you,” you say, your voice breaking on the word. “I already fucking tried, Violet. And when I finally saw you, you just kept pretending that we were okay—th-that our problems were just gonna magically disappear if you just stopped to fit me in your schedule for a couple of days—and now you think you can just waltz back into my life and tell me you love me like that’s enough?”

Vi’s breathing is ragged now, her eyes red-rimmed and glassy, but she doesn’t look away. She takes it—every word, every painful, bitter syllable—because she knows she deserves it.

“You don’t get to do that,” you whisper, your voice barely audible now, cracking under the weight of everything you’ve been holding back. “You don’t get to tell me that you love me when it’s convenient for you.”

You watch as her jaw clenches, her hands shaking at her sides. “That’s not why I—”

“No, Vi,” you snap.

“I’m not trying to—”

You laugh, but it’s hollow, as the tears roll down your face. “You think because we’re sleeping together, that it means you get to tell me you love me and I’m just supposed to—what? Fall back into your arms?”

She takes a shaky step forward. “That’s not what I’m saying—”

“Then, what are you saying?” you cut her off again, your chest heaving. “Because all I’m hearing is you trying to make yourself feel better.”

Vi flinches, her lips parting—but you’re already speaking again, the words pouring out faster than you can stop them.

“You didn’t fight for me then, so why the hell are you fighting for me now?” Your voice cracks, every word slicing through the air, right into her chest. “Why is it only when I let you fuck me that you suddenly remember how much you love me?”

Her face drops, “Baby, that’s not—”

“I’m not some backup option for when you get lonely, Violet. I’m not a fucking consolation prize.”

Vi stops.It feels like everything she thought she could build with you—everything she’d hoped for, everything she believed could happen—shatters instantly.

A tear slips down her cheek, her hand instinctively reaching up to wipe it away.

“You really think that?” she whispers, all too quietly.

It hurts so much. All these years, Vi had told herself that she would never be the one to hurt you again, that if you ever gave her another chance, she would do everything differently.

But now, standing in front of you, she realizes the damage she’s done. She can’t take back it all back. She can’t erase the time she let slip through her fingers when she should have been fighting for you.

“I never meant to make you feel that way,” she chokes out.

Her breath hitches, and she’s suddenly too aware of the space between you both. She wants to reach for you, to beg for your forgiveness, to pull you close and beg you to understand. But she doesn’t. Instead, she stands there, rooted to the spot, her heart in her throat.

Vi swallows hard, trying to keep the words from tumbling out, but she’s not sure what she’s even asking for anymore.

You watch her as she lets out a heavy breath, the sound shaky, her hands running through her hair in frustration. She tries to stop the tears that threaten to spill, but they still come, sliding down her cheeks as she scratches the back of her neck in an attempt to distract herself. Her eyes flicker between you and the floor, too afraid to look directly at your face for too long. She starts paces in short, restless steps, her mind racing with things she should’ve said—things she should’ve done differently.

You stand still, frozen in place, tears still streaming down your face as you watch her. It feels like an eternity passes.

And soon, you glance down at her neck. Your eyes catch the glint of her necklace, dangling just slightly under the hem of her hoodie.

Vi stops pacing when she sees you, her steps faltering as she realizes what you’re seeing.

But she only looks away.

“I should go,” sbe says too quietly.

Her voice trembles as she glances at you for just a moment, as if she’s waiting for you to stop her.

But she already knows. She already knows you won’t.

Vi steps back, her body tense, her eyes tracing every inch of you like she’s committing you to memory.

“Vi…” you sigh, watching her walk away towards your apartment door.

Her chest rises with a shaky breath, and she reaches for the handle, fingers brushing against it. She hesitates, just for a second, because she wants to look at you. Because maybe… she’s won’t get another chance to.

“I’m sorry,” she says.

She doesn’t wait for you to say anything else. Without looking back, she pulls the door open and steps out into the hallway.

It’s only when the door clicks shut behind her that you let out a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding.

And when you look over towards the door, you see a glint of silver on the floor.

Vi’s lighter.

Stupid.

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