#been a while since i posted anything here

[trashytracktales]

https://www.tumblr.com/trashytracktales/778028575513280512/hey-babe-i-cant-stop-thinking-about-lando-fucking

a fic like this would probably kill me, just saying...👀

Season opener | LN⁴

🔸️ inspired by this ask

🔸️ summary ──── After securing his first win of the season, Lando can’t wait to celebrate with his girlfriend.

🔸️ pairing ──── Lando Norris x she/her reader

🔸️ rating ──── explicit

🔸️ warnings ──── 18+, mature/sexual content, descriptive language, smut, swearing, semi-public setting, desperate!Lando, unprotected sex (against the wall), mild praise kink and possessiveness, overstimulation, interrupted intimacy (oops 👀).

🔸️ word count ──── 2.7k

🔸️ date ──── Mar. 25, 2025

🔸️ a/n ──── Here’s a little quickie to hold you over before I drop a 10k (so far) one-shot later this week. That mf has been living rent-free in my brain for a month now, and if I don’t end up posting it, you guys officially have permission to throw tomatoes at me. Enjoy this while you wait 💋

THERE’S STILL A lot of noise ringing in Lando’s ears, even as he’s dragged from one obligation to the next. The podium was nice, the feeling of being drowned in champagne and cheers always welcome, even though it can get really uncomfortable. It’s been a weekend full of twists and turns that, thankfully, is coming to a happy ending for him. But the real celebration awaits in his driver’s room.

However, it seems like the universe has decided to taunt him some extra today, with the post-race interviews where every question feels like it stretches time longer than naturally possible, and the conference where he has to relive every lap, as if there weren’t thousands of cameras that captured every angle of the race.

A real-life purgatory, that’s what it feels like.

His body is still running hot, adrenaline refusing to settle and, trough it all, there’s only one thought consuming his mind. He’s trying not to think about her, though, or the orange mini dress she picked out weeks ago for the season opener. He even tries not to imagine the curves of her body every time he blinks or to hear her soft voice in his mind, that sweet whimper that makes him more tense with every touch.

Lando grips the back of his neck as he listens to another useless question, his patience wearing thin. He can still feel the weight of her teary eyes on him earlier, the way she had smiled at him when he climbed out of the car. It was quick, a moment stolen in the chaos, but he caught it. It was theirs. And ever since, he’s been aching to get back to his girlfriend.

From the conference he is dragged straight to the debriefing and, by the time that finally ends, Lando is already moving before anyone can stop him; he mutters something about needing a minute and storms down the hall. His race suit is still damp from sweat and champagne, hugging his muscles, the collar pulled loose where he had yanked at it earlier. His curls are a mess, damp at the roots, and his entire body is vibrating with something more than just the thrill of the first win of the season.

He doesn’t hesitate at all when he reaches his room. Just opens the door eagerly, closing it just as quickly. The second he sees her, his stomach flips.

She’s already standing up from the little couch, her face lighting up the moment she realizes it’s him. “Congratulations, my lo—”

Lando is on her in an instant, crossing the small space with long steps and grabbing her waist, lifting her off the ground. She gasps in surprise, laughing breathlessly as her arms wrap around his neck, her fingers threading into his damp curls at the back of his head.

“Oh! Someone missed me, I see,” she giggles, breathing against his cheek.

Lando exhales deeply, his chest heaving, hands tightening around her hips. He can’t think straight, can’t focus on anything but her warmth against him, the scent of her sweet perfume mixing with the sharp tang of champagne on his suit.

“You have no idea. I was losing my fucking mind,” he admits, chuckling in return. He presses his forehead against hers, his breath hot. Purposely, his hands slide down her back, pressing her flush against him. “Thought about you the whole time. Could barely focus.”

Before she can catch her breath, her back meets the hard surface of the nearest wall. Another startled gasp leaves her lips, swallowed instantly by his mouth, his kiss demanding in ways she’s felt it before.

But not like this.

It’s the kind of kiss that takes her by surprise, leaves her thoughtless and very, very aroused. The dress has already lifted up her thighs, and they’re squeezing around him as if Lando could get out of her embrace if she’s not careful. What soothes her, however, is the fact that he is the one who pushes himself even harder against her, pressing his chest against hers until he almost leaves her out of breath.

Lando’s race suit is tight around his body, but he doesn’t have enough energy to care about anything else but her. All he knows is the way her lips part, letting him in like she has no choice, the way her fingers grip his shoulders, and the way his entire body feels like it’s still racing. Only now, it’s for and because of her.

She deepens the kiss, messy and uncoordinated, teeth grazing and tongues tangling in a tender yet rushed desire. Her hands run up the expanse of his arms, feeling the tension in his muscles as he holds her up effortlessly, her feet barely touching the ground. His biceps flex under her touch, and the realization that he’s holding back, restraining himself just enough so he doesn’t break her against that wall, only makes her more pliable in his arms.

“In here?” she asks between kisses.

Lando lets out a little noise while exhaling, feeling her heat pressed against him even through layers of clothing. One of his hands moves, lifting her dress even higher, until it hangs somewhere around the middle of her waist. His fingers are hungrily skimming her bare skin, until they find the waistband of her panties. He doesn’t have enough patience to tease. Just pulls at them, dragging the thin fabric down her thighs and letting it pool at her ankles.

“That answers your question?” asks Lando, feeling her nails digging into his shoulders as she tries to steady herself.

“Mhm,” she lets out a shaky breath, “So eager.”

Lando grins, shrugging, “Got some adrenaline left I need to burn off.”

He groans in frustration as he fumbles with his zipper, refusing to let go of her even for a second. Finally, he yanks it down just enough, his breath heavy as he works himself free with a sharp hiss. In all the rush, Lando’s hands won’t stay away from her hips for too long, keeping her exactly where he needs her.

The girl watches him, eyes filled with amusement despite the heat between them. Then she laughs, a silky sound that makes his heart race in his chest. Lando looks at her and something tender flickers in his gaze, even as he pushes his hips forward, even as the impatience still coils hot in his veins.

“You think this is funny?” he asks, lips curving into a smirk.

She shakes her head, though still amused at the image in front of her, and the way he’s so impatient he can’t even get out of the suit properly. “Nope. I think it’s hilarious.”

Lando scoffs dramatically, like he can’t believe her audacity. “Oh, yeah?” he challenges, his voice lower now. “Let’s see how funny you find this, then.”

Before she can throw another quip his way, his hand slides between her thighs, fingers trailing over her entrance with a lazy kind of intent. She sucks in a breath, all the amusement vanishing in a blink of an eye, her head knocking back against the wall as her body responds to his familiar touch.

Lando watches her reaction, the smirk widening on his flushed face. “Shit, you’re right,” he agrees, dipping his fingers in just enough to make her shudder. “It is hilarious,” he tilts his head, pretending to think. “Yeah. Getting wet so quickly almost has me rolling on the floor.”

He slides his fingers up and down her opening, then pushes two at once inside, curling them right before pulling out, only to make her squirm. Her thighs tighten around his waist, demanding more, but it’s not about her right now. It’s about him, making it a moment worthy of the Winner’s Room.

He’s painfully hard next time he cups himself, and the first press of his cock against her clit sends a shiver up her spine. Lando drags his length down her folds with uncharacteristic patience, until the distance between them diminishes completely, and he kisses her again, lazier than before. Their world becomes substantially smaller, and there’s just hot skin, erratic breathing, and the slick, aching need to be as close as possible. He lines himself up and thrusts in one smooth motion, punching a moan from her lips that she barely manages to swallow down.

Lando lets his forehead fall to hers, chuckling gently. “Not too loud, yeah?”

She shakes her head, “Don’t ruin the fun.”

He’s buried inside her, stretching so sweet that it sends a full-body shudder through her. The wall behind is harsh, but all she can focus on is the way he fills her completely. How he holds her there, with no chance to slip away. Not that she wants to be anywhere else but here, right now, with him.

Lando’s fingers grip her tighter as he pulls back, then slams into her again, feeling her walls pulsing faster around his cock. A broken whimper escapes her, her head falling defeated on his shoulder. It makes him curse under his breath, finally finding a rhythm that’s both deep and devastating. Each thrust forces a soft cry from her throat, her body moving in unison with his, nails raking down his sweaty back.

The way she pulls him in turns Lando on even more, the only sounds between them the ragged breaths and the wet, obscene noises of him fucking her right there, against the wall.

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” exclaims Lando, biting down on her shoulder, his hips snapping up harder.

She lets out a hiss, her head is spinning while pleasure is building gradually, her body burning from the inside out. She fists his curls, dragging his mouth back to hers, swallowing his groans as she squeezes him.

“That’s so good, baby. Shit. Keep doing that.”

The way she feels around him, the way she moans and gasps his name, the way her body reacts to him like she was made for him — everything gets too much for Lando. Yet, he somehow finds himself craving more of her. His movements grow sloppier, pushing him to drive into her faster.

“Lando…” she moans his name in a whisper, cupping his face with the intention to kiss him. But the way he’s moving inside her makes her weak, so she ends up holding on to him with limited strength, like her life depends on it.

And right now, it does.

Their eyes meet just as he lifts her thigh higher on his waist, the small adjustment allowing him to sink deeper.

“Fuck, Lando,” she whines, her voice barely more than a breath. “You feel so—”

He doesn’t let her finish. A hard thrust has her choking on her words, and the way she clenches down around him makes his jaw go slack.

“Yes, tell me,” he urges, his voice too unsteady, hanging on by a thread, while his fingers press into the curve of her waist like he’s trying to brand himself into her skin.

She loses it, her hands tugging at his hair just to hear his little noises in return. “Feel so good, love,” she breathes heavily, her head falling back, exposing her throat. “Fucking me so good.”

A guttural curse escapes him, dragging her against him with a pace that makes her cry out in pleasure. “That so?” he rasps, his teeth grazing her jaw before his lips claim hers, swallowing every desperate sound she makes. “Then take it, baby,” he orders gently, “All of it. All for you.”

“Shit—don’t stop,” she begs, her eyes teary because of how tense with pleasure her body gets.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he replies, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear. “Feel how perfect you are? How fucking tight, hm? That’s it,” he encourages her, watching the way her lashes flutter open to look at him. “Gonna let me feel you fall apart?” asks Lando, going somehow even deeper with each thrust.

Her back arches, a broken moan spilling from her lips. She’s so full and desperate to come, and he knows she’s close; her whines and the way her body reacts giving it away in the most obvious way.

“Need you, Lan,” she breathes in spasms, “Please.”

“I can see that, baby. Come on,” he grits out, his movements turning frantic. “Let me have it.”

Her body trembles at his words, at the sheer heat in his voice. The way he holds her, firm and possessive, sends her spiraling. Every thrust, every rough snap of his hips only winds her tighter, like he’s pulling her apart piece by piece just to put her back together again.

“Lan-do,” she breathes, voice breaking on his name. “I… oh, fuck,” she can barely think anymore, barely breathe with the way he’s fucking into her, like stopping isn’t even an option.

His hand slides up her side, gripping the back of her neck, tilting her head so she has no choice but to meet his gaze again. His eyes are way too dark now, blown wide with lust, sending another wave of heat flooding through her veins. He goes harder when he sees the desire on her face, pushing her further against the wall, and she lets out a high-pitched moan before biting her lip, remembering where they are.

“Wanna feel you all over my cock,” she hears him saying, but she’s so overstimulated now that can’t quite process the meaning of his words. She’s not sure she’s even breathing as Lando presses his body against her with more force, continuing, “Be a good girl and let go for me.”

That’s all it takes. Her body seizes, her head spinning as pleasure rips through her, hot and intense. And endless. She clenches around him, pulsing, shaking, and the feeling, the sight of her unraveling for him, sends Lando spiraling too.

He chokes out a curse, burying his face in her neck as he surrenders, his hips pressing deep and desperate to keep her close as he fills her. The warmth spreads between them, spilling down her thighs, and the sheer filthiness of it only makes her moan, her fingers flying to curl in his hair once again.

Lando rests his forehead against hers, panting, his lips ghosting over her cheek. He doesn’t move away just yet. Instead, he pulls out, and a sharp whimper escapes her as she feels the mess they’ve made drip down her thighs.

Then, without warning, he pushes back in making her gasp silently this time, her hands gripping his shoulders.

“Wait, Lan,” she almost cries, her voice raw.

He keeps her still while he rolls his hips, slow and teasing, his other hand trailing down her stomach before settling low on her belly.

She shudders at the touch and at the way he’s still so deep inside of her, tilting her head and blinking heavy-lidded. “Wh—what are you doing?”

Lando barely hears her. His attention is caught on where they’re still connected, mesmerized by the way his cock glistens with their release as he continues to lazily move in and out. He watches the way her spent body still takes him in, so perfectly, his jaw clenching as pleasure coils in his gut all over again. It sends his head spinning, the wet sensation of skin on skin almost maddening.

Every shift, every sudden flutter of her walls around him, threatens to pull him under completely.

“Fuck, baby,” his raspy voice is laced with adoration. “I can look at you all day.”

Her body is already responding before her mind can catch up. She clenches around him again and again, and Lando chuckles lowly, the sound rich with satisfaction.

“Oh, shit! You like that, don’t you? Hearing how good of a girl you are for me, hm?”

She nods and, without meaning to, she tightens around him harder.

Lando’s grin turns smug. “Yeah, you do,” his hips still for a beat, his hands flexing against her waist before he gives her one hard thrust that knocks the air from her lungs. “Like that, baby,” he groans, the words dripping with heat. “Keep me in.”

The sensation of her pulling him even deeper rips a moan straight from his throat, and Lando drops his forehead to her shoulder, breathing heavily.

“Fucking hell, you’re killing me,” he rasps, pressing an open-mouthed kiss against her damp skin. “Swear to God, I’ll come again if you—”

“Lando?” a muffled, familiar voice rings out from the other side of the door, accompanied by knocking. “Your parents are waiting, mate. You good in there?”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ MASTERLIST . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Thank you for reading!

None of my works are available for reposting on other platforms. Reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎

© trashy track tales, 2025

[hereforuconnwbb]

Unexpected Halt - CHAPTER EIGHT

paige x azzi (pazzi)

au fic!

~paige plays for uconn and azzi plays for stanford~

word count: 10.9k

warning: language, drugs

I PRE WROTE ALL TS AND WAS GONNA POST LATER BUT IMMA POST NOW CS IM SO GIDDY AND HYPED AZZI IS BACK FOR ANOTHER YEAR LESSSSFUCKENGOOOOOOOO

hey guys heres chapter 8 !! ik u guys wanted me to fix it but hey, we r getting there veryyyyy slowly 🤞🏽 gonna build off of this in the next chapter and maybe get them right ??? 🤷🏽‍♀️ we will see 😛 im hoping i didnt leave any mistakes in here and that it all adds up but hopefully yall enjoy !!!

DISCLAIMER: i want to make it clear that i DO NOT support, condone, or normalize victim blaming, manipulation, or any form of abuse. this story is purely fictional and meant for storytelling purposes, exploring themes of deception, miscommunication, and emotional conflict. the events depicted are not meant to excuse harmful behavior but rather to show how misunderstandings and outside influences can impact relationships. if any part of this story is upsetting, please read with discretion.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A few days had passed since the incident at Ted’s, and the silence between Paige and Azzi was deafening. Neither had reached out to the other, both wrapped up in their own spiraling emotions, unsure of how to bridge the gap that had suddenly appeared between them.

Paige had spent the last few days in a haze, replaying everything over and over in her head, feeling the weight of the mistake she’d made. She hadn’t known Lexi had drugged her, but the consequences of her unconsciousness were now clearer than ever. Azzi was hurt, and Paige couldn’t fix that — not yet, at least.

She couldn’t bring herself to call Azzi. The idea of hearing the coldness in her voice, or worse, hearing nothing at all, made her stomach twist. She knew Azzi had blocked her number. She had seen it in the moment of panic after waking up, and it hit her harder than any physical blow.

The days dragged by in an uncomfortable mix of regret and confusion. Paige found herself constantly checking her phone, hoping for a message, but there was nothing. Not even a hint of the person she’d come to rely on, to trust.

Azzi, on the other hand, was no better off. She sat in her room, staring blankly at her phone, unable to erase the image of Paige with Lexi’s lips pressed against hers. It burned in her mind every time she closed her eyes, the overwhelming betrayal eating away at her. Her heart ached in ways she hadn’t known possible, but her pride kept her from reaching out. What was there left to say?

Each passing hour felt like a battle to hold herself together, to not let her emotions get the better of her. She missed Paige. She missed the connection they shared, the easy comfort of being with her. But she also felt foolish for letting herself believe it was real. How could she have been so blind? And now, all she had was the image of Paige, unconscious, while Lexi twisted everything for her own gain.

Caroline had tried to comfort her, offering words of support, but even she had become a distant figure in the background. Azzi couldn’t focus on anything except the pain of what had happened. She’d blocked Paige’s number because she didn’t know what else to do. She didn’t want to hear more lies, more empty apologies. It wasn’t that she didn’t love Paige anymore. It was that she couldn’t trust her. Not now.

Paige lay in bed now, scrolling mindlessly through social media, trying to drown out the quiet ache in her chest. She didn’t know how to fix this, didn’t know where to start. The whole situation felt too complicated to untangle, but she knew she needed to find a way to apologize — and more than that, to explain what had really happened.

But how could she even begin? Would Azzi believe her?

Paige sat up, the silence in her room feeling more suffocating than it ever had before. Her phone lay in her hands, the screen lit up with messages from KK and Ice, but not a single word from Azzi. She couldn’t keep doing this. She couldn’t keep staring at her phone, hoping Azzi would maybe unblock her and reach out. She had to be the one to break the silence.

But where to start?

With a shaky breath, she unlocked her phone and scrolled through her contacts, stopping when her eyes landed on Caroline’s name. She hesitated, her fingers hovering over the screen. Caroline wasn’t exactly Azzi, but she was close. She might not be the one to forgive her, but maybe she could help. Maybe she could tell her what to do. After all, she had been there through everything with Azzi.

Finally, Paige tapped out a message, her heart pounding.

Paige: Hey, Caroline. Can we talk? I need to explain myself.

It took a few minutes before the dots appeared, and then the reply came. Caroline’s response was swift, but it hit like a punch to the gut.

Caroline: Paige, I don’t think you and Azzi should be talking right now. She’s hurt, and I don’t think it’s going to help either of you for me to be the messenger. You fucked up, and now you need to give her space.

Paige winced, the sharpness of Caroline’s words striking her harder than she had expected. She had known it was coming, but it still stung.

Paige: Caroline, I swear, I didn’t.

Caroline: I don’t care what you didn’t do. The fact is, she’s upset, and you need to respect that. Azzi’s not in a place where she wants to hear from you, and I don’t think it would help. Not right now. And honestly? I don’t think she’d want me to be talking to you either, but I’m not going to be the one to make this harder for her. She’s already been through enough.

Paige’s hands trembled as she read the messages over and over. She could feel the anger, the hurt in Caroline’s words, and she couldn’t blame her for it. She had let Azzi down, let both of them down, and now Caroline was just as angry. But she needed to talk to someone. She needed to explain.

Paige: Caroline, please. I just— I didn’t know what was happening. I was drugged. Lexi did it. I— I’m not making excuses, I just need Azzi to know that. I need to explain to her that I didn’t do this intentionally. It wasn’t me.

The reply came quickly, almost too quickly.

Caroline: I know you think you’re explaining, but right now, it’s not going to help. Azzi needs time, and I’m not sure if she’ll even want to hear what you have to say when she’s ready. You’ve hurt her, Paige. I think you need to take a step back and think about that.

Caroline’s words were like a slap in the face. Paige’s chest tightened as the weight of her own mistakes came crashing down again. She didn’t know how to fix this, didn’t know if Azzi would ever be able to look at her the same way again.

Paige: But I love her. I really do, Caroline. I never meant for any of this to happen. Please, just tell her I’m sorry.

Caroline didn’t reply for several minutes, and when she did, it was in a much softer tone.

Caroline: I’m not the one to give you her forgiveness, Paige. You’ll have to work for that. Just… think about what you’ve done. Think about how Azzi feels.

Paige read the message over and over again, her heart heavy with the weight of the truth. She didn’t deserve Azzi’s forgiveness. Not yet. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to fight for it. She had to.

She just didn’t know how.

—----------------

Azzi sat on her bed, her knees pulled up to her chest, staring blankly at the floor. Her phone lay beside her, still turned over, as if even looking at it would bring back everything she was trying to push away. But no matter how much she tried to distract herself, Paige’s words—or what she thought were Paige’s words—kept replaying in her mind.

She had barely slept since that night. Barely eaten. Everything felt off. On the court, she was slower, unfocused. She hadn’t even told her teammates what happened, and she wasn’t sure if she ever would. She just kept pretending she was fine, when in reality, she felt like she was unraveling.

A knock at her door pulled her from her thoughts.

Caroline stepped inside, her expression cautious. “Hey,” she said softly.

Azzi just hummed in response, not looking up.

Caroline walked over and sat beside her, exhaling before speaking. “Paige texted me.”

Azzi stiffened at the mention of her name. Her jaw clenched, but she still didn’t look up.

“She wanted to talk,” Caroline continued. “Said she needed to explain herself.”

That made Azzi scoff. “Explain what? That she lost interest? That she wanted her ex instead?” Her voice was bitter, laced with hurt. “I don’t need an explanation, Care. She made it pretty damn clear.”

Caroline hesitated for a second before nodding. “I told her I didn’t think you’d want to talk to her,” she admitted. “I shut her down.”

Azzi finally lifted her head, her expression unreadable for a moment before she exhaled. “Good.”

Caroline studied her carefully. “Are you sure?”

Azzi let out a dry laugh, shaking her head. “What am I supposed to do? Let her talk her way out of this? She kissed Lexi, Caroline. She literally told me she wanted her. And then she let me find out with a damn picture? Nah. I don’t wanna hear anything from her.”

Caroline frowned but didn’t argue. “I get it,” she said. “And I’m not saying you should forgive her. But… you’re not okay.”

Azzi looked away. “I’ll be fine.”

Caroline sighed. “You don’t have to be fine right now. But you also don’t have to act like this doesn’t hurt.”

Azzi swallowed, trying to keep herself composed. “I don’t wanna talk about it anymore,” she muttered.

Caroline nodded slowly. “Alright,” she said, squeezing Azzi’s knee gently before standing up. “Just know I’m here, okay? For whatever you need.”

Azzi didn’t respond, just gave a small nod before Caroline walked out of the room, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

And no matter how much she tried to bury them, they weren’t going away anytime soon.

—----------------

Paige sat at her desk, her phone still in her hand, though it had been a few minutes since she sent the message to Caroline. She didn’t expect an immediate response, but she still stared at the screen, waiting for something—anything—that would bring some relief to the knot in her chest. There was no reply from Caroline yet, and, even though she’d already given her the cold shoulder, it felt like she had lost Azzi for good.

She couldn’t shake the guilt gnawing at her. The way Azzi had blocked her, the way everything had gone from feeling perfect to nothing in the blink of an eye. Paige had never felt so helpless in her life. She hated herself for that night. For letting herself get caught up in Lexi’s twisted games, for not being able to explain herself, for letting Azzi slip away.

It wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t fair to either of them. She hadn’t had the chance to tell Azzi what had actually happened. She hadn’t even had a chance to apologize properly before things had spiraled out of control. Paige wiped at her eyes, trying to blink away the tears, but they kept coming. She hated the weakness she felt, the tears that kept spilling out even though she couldn’t stop them.

She couldn’t explain to Azzi. Azzi wouldn’t listen. She had no way of telling her that she wasn’t the one who sent the messages. That it hadn’t been her kissing Lexi, that she had been knocked out, unconscious, and that the whole thing had been twisted into something that it wasn’t. She wanted to scream, to shout at the top of her lungs to anyone who would listen, but all she could do was sit there, feeling more alone than she ever had.

And Azzi—Azzi would never know.

Paige felt the suffocating weight of her isolation, the constant ache in her chest. She couldn’t reach out to Azzi. Not after what happened. Azzi had made her choice. She had blocked Paige’s number, had made it clear that she didn’t want anything to do with her. And Paige couldn’t blame her. Not after everything that had happened.

But still, the thought of not being able to explain herself, of not being able to make Azzi see that she was innocent in all of this, tore her apart. She needed Azzi to know. She needed her to understand that everything had gone wrong, and she had been powerless to stop it.

Paige wiped at her eyes again, letting out a shaky breath. She hated this. Hated feeling like she had no voice. No way to make things right.

The room felt too small, too suffocating, and Paige stood up abruptly, pacing for a moment before grabbing her jacket. A walk. She needed a walk.

Without thinking about it any further, she grabbed her keys, slipped on her shoes, and stepped out into the cold night air. The campus was quieter than usual, the only sounds being her footsteps echoing on the pavement as she walked aimlessly, hoping the chill in the air would cool her thoughts, calm the storm inside her head.

Her mind kept circling back to Azzi. She kept wondering where things had gone wrong. When had everything started to unravel? Had it been Lexi’s reappearance? Had it been her letting her guard down and trusting the wrong person?

Paige wanted to scream at herself, to apologize for everything she had done wrong. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t take back any of it. She couldn’t change what had happened. And the longer she walked, the more she felt like a part of her was just slipping away.

She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know how to fix this.

The tears came again, harder this time, but she didn’t even bother to wipe them away. She let them fall, letting the cool breeze brush against her face as she tried to breathe through the pain. All she wanted was to hold Azzi, to make everything right again, but she knew that would never happen. She knew she had messed it all up beyond repair.

And the worst part? She didn’t even know how she’d get back from it.

Paige’s footsteps slowed, the weight of the night pressing down on her as she wandered aimlessly through the quiet campus. She could hear the soft rustling of leaves in the trees, but it felt like the world around her was miles away. Every step was a reminder of how broken she felt, and the pain in her chest felt like it might swallow her whole.

As she turned a corner, the sound of voices caught her attention. Her heart skipped a beat—Ice and KK. They had probably come looking for her. She hadn’t been in her room for hours. She hadn’t wanted to be there, hadn’t wanted to face the emptiness of it all. But now, she was alone, and the guilt was suffocating.

“Paige,” Ice’s voice called gently, and Paige’s shoulders tensed, the weight of the tears she’d been holding back finally breaking through. She didn’t even try to hide them as they fell freely down her face. She felt small in that moment, vulnerable in a way that she wasn’t used to. But the comforting presence of her friends made the pain a little more bearable.

KK was the first to reach her, pulling her into a tight hug. Ice followed, wrapping her arms around Paige as well, the trio standing in the quiet night with nothing but the sound of Paige’s soft sobs filling the air.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Ice whispered softly, her voice soothing as she rubbed Paige’s back. “You don’t have to be alone in this, alright? We’ve got you.”

Paige could barely catch her breath, but somehow, just being held in their arms felt like the tiniest bit of relief. She had been running on empty for so long, her emotions too tangled to even make sense of. But now, with KK and Ice there, she felt like she could finally break down—like she could admit how badly she was hurting.

“I messaged Caroline,” Paige finally whispered between shaky breaths. “I thought… maybe she could help me explain. But she shut me down. She shut me down…” The words stung more than she expected, and she felt a fresh wave of tears crash down on her.

Ice’s grip tightened around her. “You tried, Paige. You’re trying. That’s all you can do right now.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Paige choked out, her voice cracking. “I just… I can’t lose her, but it feels like I already have. I can’t even explain what happened to Azzi. I… I didn’t mean for any of this to happen, but everything’s messed up now.”

KK’s voice was quiet but firm. “You’ve got to give her time. Azzi’s hurting too, you know? You can’t blame yourself for everything, Paige. What happened wasn’t your fault.”

“I didn’t even get to tell her what happened,” Paige whispered, barely able to speak the words through the lump in her throat. “I didn’t get to tell her I was unconscious when the picture was taken, when the messages were sent… I didn’t get to explain myself.”

Ice sighed softly, her fingers still gently brushing through Paige’s hair. “Paige, we know. But right now, you can’t carry all of this on your own. You’ve got to give Azzi some space. You know how she is—she’s hurt, too.”

Paige nodded weakly, burying her face into Ice’s shoulder. “But I don’t know if she’ll ever forgive me. I don’t know if I can fix this.”

“You can’t fix it overnight,” KK said, her voice full of quiet assurance. “But you can start by being honest with her. And with yourself. You’re not alone in this, Paige. You’ve got us. We’ll help you through it.”

Paige nodded, her tears slowly subsiding as the weight of her friends’ words sank in. She still had a long road ahead of her, and there was no telling how things would turn out with Azzi. But for now, she wasn’t alone. She didn’t have to carry this pain by herself.

With a shaky breath, Paige whispered, “Thanks… both of you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

KK gave a soft laugh, squeezing her tighter. “You’ll never have to find out, Paige. We’re here for you. We always will be.”

As the three of them stood there, the cold night air no longer seemed so suffocating. It wasn’t much, but it was a small glimmer of hope in the middle of all the darkness. And for the first time in days, Paige allowed herself to believe that maybe—just maybe—she could make things right with Azzi.

—----------------

The morning after the late-night breakdown, Paige awoke feeling heavy. The guilt still clung to her, but today was game day—UConn was playing at Gampel Pavilion, and she couldn’t afford to be consumed by her emotions. She had to push through. She had to focus on basketball, even if it was hard to focus on anything else.

As the team began to prepare, the gym buzzed with excitement, the energy of the upcoming game pulsing through the air. Paige couldn’t shake the thoughts of Azzi, but she was determined not to let it affect her performance. Today, she would be focused. She would be the Paige Bueckers the fans knew and loved.

During warm-ups, Paige went through the motions, bouncing a ball between her hands, stretching her legs, and mentally preparing for the game. The stands were already filling up with fans—die-hard UConn supporters who were excited to see their team compete. Paige couldn’t help but notice how many eyes were on her. She always thrived in the spotlight, but today it felt different.

As she walked toward the sideline, a young fan caught her attention. The little girl was holding a sign that said, “I believe in you, Paige!” It made Paige smile despite everything she was carrying inside. But then, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a couple standing near the front row, holding a baby who was staring up at her with big, curious eyes.

“Hey there,” Paige smiled softly, walking up to them. The baby’s eyes locked onto hers, and she couldn’t help but wave. “Hi, little one! You’re so cute.”

The baby giggled and reached out a small hand toward her. Paige’s heart melted. It was a simple interaction, but it was the kind of innocence and sweetness that she desperately needed in this moment. Without thinking, she bent down to get closer to the baby, letting the little one grasp her finger. The parents were smiling, clearly just as touched by the moment as she was.

“I think you’re a future UConn fan,” Paige said with a chuckle, her voice warm and gentle. “Look at you, already a natural.”

The baby babbled happily, and Paige couldn’t help but laugh. She made a silly face, trying to get the baby to smile more. And sure enough, the little one broke out into a bright grin that had Paige grinning back, feeling a brief respite from her worries.

The moment felt perfect in its simplicity. Paige spent a few more moments chatting with the parents, thanking them for their support before she moved on to the next part of her warm-up routine. But what she didn’t know was that someone had captured the interaction on their phone, and before long, the video was being shared all over social media.

By the time the game was about to begin, the video had gone viral. The caption read: “Paige Bueckers making our hearts melt with this precious moment with a young fan! This is why we love her!” Fans flooded her social media with praise, commenting on how sweet and genuine the moment had been. It was a reminder of why Paige was so adored, even in the midst of everything she was going through.

—----------------

Azzi sat in her dorm room, the quiet hum of her laptop filling the space as she stared at the screen, not really focusing on anything in particular. She had spent the last few days pushing herself through the routine of school and practice, keeping herself busy, trying to avoid the thoughts of Paige that constantly swirled in her mind. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t escape the pain.

As she scrolled mindlessly through social media, something caught her eye. It was a video, a short clip of Paige interacting with a baby fan during warm-ups before the game. Azzi’s heart skipped a beat as the thumbnail loaded. She hadn’t expected to see Paige on her feed, especially not like this.

The video was simple but so undeniably sweet. Paige was crouching down, smiling brightly at the little baby, making faces and engaging with the child in a way that was pure and endearing. Azzi couldn’t help but feel a pang in her chest, watching the way Paige lit up in that moment. She hadn’t seen Paige so carefree in a while, and the sight of her doing something so genuine made Azzi’s heart ache with longing.

She swallowed hard, not expecting this reaction. But there it was—right in front of her, the real Paige, not the one with the cold, distant energy from the last few days. The Paige who made her feel like the world was worth it.

Azzi paused the video, taking a deep breath. The urge to reach out to Paige was almost overwhelming, but she quickly shoved that thought aside. No. Not after everything that had happened.

Despite what happened between them, she couldn’t help but admire the way Paige had handled the situation with the baby. It was clear that Paige was still the same person, the one she had fallen for. But Azzi couldn’t forget the betrayal she felt when Paige’s ex had sent her those messages, the photo, everything that had gone down.

Still, watching the video made Azzi feel conflicted. She couldn’t just turn off all her feelings for Paige, not when she still cared so deeply. It was hard, too hard, to simply pretend that the connection wasn’t there anymore.

Azzi sighed, shaking her head, trying to clear the fog in her mind. She glanced at the clock—there was still time before the game started. In a quiet decision, she clicked over to UConn’s sports app, finding the live stream of the game. It wasn’t the same as being there, but it was something.

She hit “Play,” and the game footage loaded, the pre-game buzzer echoing through her speakers. It was hard to admit, but a part of Azzi wanted to watch—wanted to see Paige play, to see her in her element. She missed it. She missed her.

With a small sigh, Azzi adjusted the volume, leaned back in her chair, and watched as the camera panned across the court, waiting for the game to start.

—----------------

The game was intense from the start. Their opponent came out aggressive, matching UConn’s energy possession for possession. Paige quickly found herself in a battle, hounded by a tough defender who was making every dribble, every cut, a challenge. But Paige thrived in these moments.

She took control early, weaving through the defense and knocking down a pull-up jumper from the elbow for the first points of the game. The crowd erupted, but there was no time to celebrate. Their opponent responded immediately with a three-pointer on the other end, setting the tone for what was about to be a tight, physical contest.

The first quarter flew by, a back-and-forth affair with neither team able to break away. Paige dished out assists, finding her teammates in transition and setting them up for open shots. She hit another mid-range jumper, then drilled a three of her own off a screen, keeping UConn in rhythm. But every time they gained momentum, their opponent answered right back, refusing to let them build a lead.

By halftime, the score was tied.

Paige wiped the sweat from her forehead as she made her way to the locker room. The intensity of the game was exactly what she needed—something to pour herself into, something to distract her from everything off the court. But even as she focused on the game plan, the weight of the last few days still lingered in the back of her mind.

Coming out of halftime, UConn looked to push the pace. Paige initiated the break, driving into the lane before kicking the ball out for a three. She followed it up with a hard drive to the rim, finishing through contact for an and-one. The crowd erupted as she flexed her arms for a brief second before stepping to the free-throw line.

But their opponent wouldn’t go away. They responded with a run of their own, forcing turnovers and capitalizing on second-chance points. By the time the fourth quarter rolled around, the game was still up for grabs.

Paige stood near the sideline, catching her breath as the buzzer sounded to signal the start of the final period. The score was nearly even, and it was clear this one was going to come down to the wire.

She took a deep breath, rolling her shoulders back again. One more quarter. That’s all that mattered now.

—----------------

Paige bent over slightly, resting her hands on her knees as she took deep breaths. The fourth quarter had been nothing short of a war. Both teams were going at it, possession for possession, neither backing down. Bodies crashed into each other on drives, defenders slapped at the ball with desperate aggression, and every bucket felt like it could be the turning point.

With under five minutes left, the game was deadlocked. Paige had already taken several hard hits, her jersey damp with sweat, but she wasn’t going to slow down now. She snatched a rebound and pushed the pace, weaving through defenders before dishing a no-look pass to her teammate for a layup. The crowd roared as UConn took a slim two-point lead.

But the other team refused to go away.

A deep three from their point guard put them back on top. The next possession, Paige fought through a double team, spun into the lane, and finished with a tough floater over an outstretched hand. The lead changed again.

Each time UConn scored, their opponent responded. The clock ticked down, the intensity inside Gampel reaching a fever pitch. The fans were on their feet, screaming on every possession, the sound rattling through the arena.

With thirty seconds left, UConn was up by one. Paige locked in defensively, her stance low as she shadowed her matchup. But their opponent made a quick move, driving hard to the basket. Paige slid over to help, but the ball handler kicked it out to the corner. The three-pointer went up.

And it dropped.

The opposing bench erupted as the shot fell through the net. With only six seconds left on the clock, UConn was suddenly trailing by two.

Paige felt her stomach twist, but there was no time to dwell on it. No timeouts. No huddles. Just instincts.

She grabbed the inbound pass and took off down the court.

Her defender rushed up, trying to force her wide, but Paige cut back to the middle, her feet barely touching the ground as she sprinted across half-court. The clock was down to two seconds. There was no time for anything else.

Paige planted her foot and launched a deep shot from just beyond half-court.

The ball sailed through the air, the entire arena holding its breath.

Then—

Swish.

The net barely moved as the ball dropped in.

Gampel Pavilion erupted.

Paige barely had time to react before her teammates swarmed her, bodies crashing into her as they screamed and grabbed at her jersey. The crowd was deafening, the floor shaking with the sheer force of the celebration.

She had won them the game.

Paige was breathless, hands in her hair as she tried to process what had just happened. She had done this before. She had hit clutch shots before. But tonight? This one meant everything.

For the first time in days, she felt something other than heartbreak.

She felt alive.

—----------------

Azzi sat on her bed, her eyes locked onto the screen as the game reached its final moments. The intensity had her gripping the edge of her blanket, her breath caught in her throat as she watched the opposing team drain a clutch three to take the lead.

Her heart pounded, even though she told herself she wasn’t as invested as she used to be. This wasn’t her team. She wasn’t supposed to care.

But then—Paige got the ball.

Azzi could see it coming before it even happened. The way Paige moved, the confidence in her stride, the way she pulled up from beyond half-court without hesitation.

Then—

Swish.

Azzi sucked in a breath as the crowd erupted, her stomach twisting as she watched Paige’s teammates swarm her in celebration.

Classic Paige.

It was the kind of moment that would be all over social media within minutes. The kind of moment that made Paige who she was—clutch, fearless, electric. Azzi had seen it firsthand so many times before.

And for a split second, just for a moment, she forgot everything.

She forgot about the messages.

She forgot about the picture.

She forgot about the way her heart had shattered.

Because all she could see was the girl she—

Azzi clenched her jaw and exhaled sharply, shaking her head.

No.

She grabbed the remote and turned off the TV, the screen going black instantly.

She refused to let herself get caught up in Paige Bueckers again. Not after everything.

Azzi leaned back against her pillows, sighing heavily.

It didn’t matter what Paige did. It didn’t change anything.

—----------------

Paige sat on the edge of her bed, still in her game gear, staring at the floor. The cheers from Gampel still echoed in her head, the weight of her game-winning shot still lingering in her body. Any other time, she would have been ecstatic—reliving the moment over and over, scrolling through the endless reactions online, feeling on top of the world.

But now? It felt… hollow.

She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, fingers threading through her damp hair. The adrenaline had worn off, leaving her drained, exhausted in a way that had nothing to do with basketball.

Azzi hadn’t texted her.

She hadn’t expected her to, but a part of her had still hoped. Hoped that maybe, just maybe, Azzi had seen the shot and thought of her. That she would reach out, even if just for a second.

But there was nothing. Just silence.

Paige blinked against the sting in her eyes, shaking her head. This is my fault. She kept telling herself that, over and over, even though she still didn’t have all the answers. Even though the entire night was still a blur, even though she knew she would never—could never—do that to Azzi. It didn’t matter.

Because Azzi thought she did.

Paige pulled out her phone, staring at their chat—the one that had been one-sided since that night. Every message she had sent after getting her phone back had gone nowhere. Blocked. The word still sat heavy in her chest, suffocating her.

She wanted to explain. She wanted to scream that she didn’t do what Azzi thought she did. That she had blacked out before anything happened. That she would never betray her like that. But she had no way to reach her. No way to make her listen.

Paige inhaled sharply and tossed her phone onto the bed beside her, pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes.

It wasn’t just the loss of Azzi that made her feel like this. It was the helplessness. The way she felt like she had no voice, no control, no way to fix what had been broken.

And she didn’t know how to live with that.

—----------------

Meanwhile, Ice sat cross-legged on her bed, her phone in hand as she scrolled through her TikTok drafts. “Yo, KK, remember when you were acting a damn fool at Ted’s that night?” she teased, smirking as she tapped on a video.

KK, lying across the floor with a bag of chips, rolled her eyes. “Acting a fool? Nah, I was carrying the energy that night.”

“Uh-huh,” Ice chuckled, pressing play. The video showed KK hyping up the crowd, doing some ridiculous dance moves in the middle of the bar while people cheered. Ice’s camera work was shaky from her laughing, but it captured everything—the loud music, the packed room, the chaos of the night.

They kept watching, laughing at KK’s moves, until Ice went to the next draft—another angle, another clip. The camera had been pointed at KK, but it was a little wider this time, catching more of the background.

And that’s when it happened.

KK was mid-spin when Ice’s laughter suddenly died in her throat. Her fingers twitched as she tapped the screen to pause the video.

“Wait.”

KK, still munching on chips, barely looked up. “Wait what?”

“Look,” Ice muttered, rewinding a few seconds and then slowing the video down. She zoomed in, her heart sinking as she focused on the background.

There was Paige. She was turned slightly away from the bar, caught up in a conversation with someone—not Ice, not KK, but another person they couldn’t see clearly. And behind her—just for a split second—Lexi stepped into the frame.

And then, clear as day, Lexi’s hand moved over Paige’s drink pouring substances in.

KK sat up so fast she nearly knocked the chip bag over. “Hold the fuck up—”

Ice played the clip again, watching the same thing happen. Paige had been distracted, fully unaware. And Lexi? She had been quick. Smooth. As if she had done this before.

Ice and KK locked eyes, the air suddenly thick with realization.

“Tell me I’m tripping,” KK said, voice lower now, serious.

Ice’s jaw clenched. “You’re not tripping.”

KK exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down her face. “Paige doesn’t know. She doesn’t know she was drugged.”

Ice’s stomach twisted. Paige had been blaming herself this whole time, drowning in guilt, thinking she had done something she hadn’t.

And the truth had been sitting right there in Ice’s drafts the whole time.

Ice and KK sat there in stunned silence, the weight of what they had just discovered pressing down on them like a brick wall.

Ice finally broke the silence. “We need to tell her.”

KK nodded, but she was still staring at the screen, jaw tight. “She’s been tearing herself apart over this, Ice. She thinks she actually let that shit happen.”

Ice exhaled sharply. “Lexi’s fucking sick. Paige was out cold, and she—” Ice cut herself off, shaking her head. “We need to tell her now.”

KK didn’t argue. She grabbed her phone and stood up. “Come on.”

The two of them left Ice’s room, moving quickly down the hall. KK’s heart pounded in her chest. Paige had been keeping everything bottled up, convinced she had ruined her relationship, and all this time—she never even had a chance.

When they got to Paige’s dorm, Ice didn’t bother knocking. She pushed the door open, and there was Paige, sitting on the edge of her bed, staring blankly at the floor. She looked exhausted—like she hadn’t slept in days.

Her head lifted slightly when she saw them, her brows pulling together. “What’s up?” she asked, her voice hoarse.

Ice and KK didn’t say anything at first. KK just walked over, sitting next to her, while Ice stayed standing, gripping her phone.

Paige’s expression shifted, picking up on the energy in the room. “What?” she asked again, her voice quieter now.

Ice swallowed, then looked Paige dead in the eyes.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” she said. “Lexi drugged you.”

Paige blinked. Her whole body went still. “What?”

KK took a deep breath and held out Ice’s phone. “We have proof, P. It’s on video.”

Paige stared at the phone like it might explode in her hands. Her fingers shook slightly as she reached for it. Ice played the clip, and Paige watched.

She saw herself standing there at the bar, completely unaware. She saw Lexi slide into frame. She saw Lexi’s hand move over her drink.

Paige’s breath hitched.

The room spun.

She had no memory of this.

Her stomach twisted violently, like she might throw up.

“Lexi…” Paige whispered, her voice trembling. She could barely hear herself over the blood rushing in her ears.

KK placed a steadying hand on Paige’s back, her usual playful demeanor gone. “She set you up, P. You didn’t kiss her. You didn’t cheat. She did this to you.”

Paige clenched her jaw, swallowing down the lump in her throat. Her breathing was unsteady. Her hands were shaking.

All this time, she had been drowning in guilt. All this time, she had been hating herself.

And the truth had been stolen from her.

She never had a voice in this.

She had been a victim.

Tears welled in Paige’s eyes, but this time, they weren’t just from heartbreak. They were from anger. From betrayal. From the sheer violation of it all.

Lexi had stolen so much from her.

And now, Paige wanted it back.

—----------------

Paige, Ice, and KK stood in front of the police station, the tension heavy in the air. Paige’s heart was pounding as she walked into the station, clutching her phone tightly, the video of Lexi drugging her ready to be shown. This was it—she was going to take action. She was going to make sure Lexi couldn’t hurt her—or Azzi—anymore.

After a few moments, they were ushered into a small office, and Paige nervously took a seat, her hands still trembling. A detective sat across from them, flipping open a notepad, looking up at Paige with a serious expression.

“So, what do we have here?” the detective asked, taking in the scene.

Paige’s voice shook slightly, but she kept her focus. “I was drugged. Someone put something in my drink without me noticing, and I—I need you to look into it. I also need to report… what happened after. I was unconscious, and she kissed me. I—I didn’t consent to it.”

The detective nodded, glancing at Ice and KK for a moment before looking back at Paige. “Okay. Let’s take a look at the video.”

Paige pulled her phone from her pocket, her hands still shaking, and handed it over. The detective played the video, eyes narrowing as they watched the footage of Lexi subtly slipping something into Paige’s drink. Paige felt a wave of relief flood through her—it was evidence. She was being believed.

“This is definitely a clear indication of tampering,” the detective said, pausing the video. “We can follow up on this. It’s enough to open an investigation.”

Paige nodded, finally feeling like the weight was starting to lift. “Good. I—I’m just so tired of feeling like I have no control over this.”

The detective paused for a moment, flipping through their notes. “We’ll look into the drugging part. We’ll need to talk to the bar staff and any potential witnesses, but this gives us a good place to start.”

Paige felt her chest tighten. “But what about… the other part? After I passed out… She kissed me. I didn’t consent to it. Can you do anything about that?”

The detective hesitated, then spoke in a measured tone. “I’m sorry, but without any concrete proof of the kiss or your state at the time, there’s not much we can do about that. The video doesn’t show anything further than the drugging, and no one has corroborated your story.”

Paige’s stomach dropped. Her heart felt like it shattered into pieces.

“So you’re telling me,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady but failing, “that I have no proof that she kissed me while I was unconscious?”

The detective nodded, his voice softer now. “Unfortunately, without any physical evidence or witness accounts, there’s nothing we can do legally about that part of the situation. It’s your word against hers.”

Paige’s hands balled into fists, and she tried to swallow the lump in her throat. The one thing she thought would be enough—enough to prove how messed up everything was—wasn’t.

“You can’t even do anything about the fact that she drugged me? Just because she didn’t touch me the same way?” Paige’s voice broke. She could feel herself spiraling. “I don’t get it. This isn’t okay. This isn’t fair.”

Ice leaned forward, her voice firm but compassionate. “We get it, P. We do. But we can’t let her off the hook just because she’s being sneaky.”

KK added, “We can’t just back down. We’re not gonna let her slide. We’ll find another way to make sure she faces consequences. We will.”

The detective sighed, closing the case file with a resigned look. “We’ll do what we can. But right now, the drugging is the only part we can act on.”

Paige nodded, feeling defeated but still a flicker of hope burning inside her. She wouldn’t let Lexi win. She couldn’t.

“Thank you,” Paige whispered, feeling the weight of the conversation and the long road ahead. “Please, just… do whatever you can. Make sure she doesn’t hurt anyone else.”

The detective nodded, looking sympathetic but helpless. “We’ll be in touch.”

As Paige stood up, she glanced at Ice and KK, their faces full of determination. “This isn’t over. I won’t let it be.”

Ice and KK nodded, walking with her out of the station. Paige knew the fight wasn’t over. Lexi might have escaped the law for now, but Paige would make sure she faced the consequences, one way or another. She wasn’t going to give up—not on herself, and definitely not on Azzi.

—----------------

Paige, Ice, and KK sat on a bench outside, the late afternoon sun casting a soft glow over campus. They were all still processing the visit to the police station, the weight of everything starting to sink in. It felt like a lot had happened in such a short time, and it was hard to believe that it was all because of one person—Lexi.

Paige let out a long breath, her hands resting in her lap as she stared down at the ground. “I still can’t believe that’s all they could do. I thought for sure they’d take me seriously about what happened… but now it feels like I’m the one who has to do everything.”

KK and Ice exchanged glances, both trying to comfort her, but they were also feeling the same frustration. Ice reached over, placing a hand on Paige’s shoulder. “We’ll find a way. You’re not in this alone.”

“I know, but it just… sucks, you know?” Paige’s voice cracked as she looked up at her friends. “I don’t even know how to make it right with Azzi after everything. I didn’t do any of this, but I feel like I ruined everything.”

KK frowned, glancing around the campus. “Hey, look. We’ll figure it out. But you can’t carry all of this alone, okay?”

Before Paige could respond, she saw a girl walking toward them, her eyes locked on Paige. She was around their age, wearing a simple hoodie and jeans, but it was the expression on her face that caught Paige’s attention. The girl looked like she had something important to say.

“Oh my God, I’ve been looking all over for you!” The girl’s voice was a mix of excitement and nervousness, and she approached Paige hesitantly.

Paige furrowed her brow, the familiarity of the situation hitting her. She recognized the girl now. “Wait… you’re the one who was in the bathroom at Ted’s that night. The one who left her phone in the stall.”

The girl’s face brightened as she nodded. “Yeah! I’m Serena. I saw everything that night. I’ve been trying to track you down ever since. I… I didn’t want you to think I was just some random bystander, but I saw what happened with you and that girl, and I think you need to know what I got on my phone.”

Paige’s stomach dropped at the mention of Lexi. “You saw… everything?”

Serena hesitated for a moment, then sat down next to Paige, pulling her phone out of her pocket. “I did. I know I wasn’t supposed to, but I was suspicious. When I walked into the bathroom and saw you passed out, I noticed that girl—you know, the one who was with you. She was right next to you, and I was just… something about her didn’t sit right with me.”

Paige stiffened, knowing exactly who Serena was talking about.

“So,” Serena continued, “I made sure I set my phone up on the bathroom stall door so it could capture whatever was going on. I had it pointed in the right direction, and when I opened the door and left, I made sure it kept recording.”

Paige blinked in shock. “You were recording me without me knowing?”

Serena nodded. “I know it’s weird, but I didn’t want to just let this go. I watched the footage later, and I saw that girl—Lexi—was kissing you while you were out cold. I don’t know her, but I saw it all. She took a picture of you two kissing too, and then when you woke up, she started acting like nothing happened.”

Paige’s heart started racing as she absorbed what Serena was saying. She had always known there was something off about that night, something in the back of her mind telling her that what she remembered wasn’t all of it. And now Serena had the evidence—the video.

“I knew it,” Paige whispered, her hands trembling. “I knew she kissed me while I was unconscious, but I couldn’t prove it. This—this video…” She couldn’t believe it was real. The weight of everything, the feeling of helplessness, finally started to lift as she realized she wasn’t alone in this.

Serena unlocked her phone and airdropped the video to Paige. “I just wanted to make sure you had this. You deserve to know what happened, especially if it’s going to help you get justice.”

Paige watched the video, her heart sinking as she saw Lexi leaning in and kissing her while she was unconscious, unable to do anything to stop it. She could feel the anger rise in her chest. The way Lexi had manipulated everything—it made her sick.

After the video ended, Serena gave her a small, apologetic smile. “I know it’s a lot to take in. But I thought you should know. And if you ever need anything, I’m here. I’m not going to let her get away with it either.”

Paige nodded, tears welling in her eyes. She didn’t know what to say—she was overwhelmed, exhausted, and still trying to piece everything together. But one thing was for sure: she wasn’t going to let Lexi get away with what she’d done.

“Thank you,” Paige finally whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”

Serena nodded, standing up to leave. “Just take care of yourself, okay?”

As Serena walked away, Paige sat in silence, the video still fresh on her mind. She wasn’t going to let this slide. This was just the beginning.

Paige, Ice, and KK sat in silence for a few moments, each of them processing everything that had just unfolded. The weight of Serena’s words lingered in the air as Paige held her phone in her hand, the video playing over and over in her mind. Her pulse was still racing from the shock of seeing it all again.

Ice was the first to speak, her voice quiet but firm. “This is huge, Paige. I’m glad you’ve got the video now. But what’s next?”

Paige wiped her eyes, her hands still shaking slightly. “I don’t know… I don’t know what to do with this.” She looked down at the phone in her hand, the evidence staring back at her. “I can’t just let this go. This is… this is messed up.”

KK nodded, her expression serious. “You’re right. You need to take this back to the police. You’ve got proof now, and they have to listen.”

Paige took a deep breath. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m not letting her get away with this.”

The three of them stood up, and as they walked back to the police station, the reality of the situation started to settle in. Paige’s mind was a whirlwind, thoughts spiraling as she tried to figure out what this all meant for her, for Azzi, for everything. She knew this wasn’t going to be easy, but she couldn’t just let Lexi’s actions go unpunished.

By the time they arrived at the station, it was nearing late afternoon. The police officers who had initially spoken to Paige greeted them, and the group followed them to a small meeting room. After a quick introduction, Paige handed over her phone, her fingers brushing over the screen as she handed over the damning video.

“We need to make sure this is seen by the right people,” Paige said, her voice steady, though there was a slight tremor underneath.

The officer nodded, watching the video carefully. “We’ve been looking into the situation more closely. We actually got in touch with the staff at Ted’s and got some more details. Looks like Lexi, the girl you mentioned, has been flagged by them before. She’s got a bit of a reputation for making trouble.”

Paige’s heart sank at the mention of Lexi’s name. “You knew about her?”

The officer gave a nod. “Not all the details, but yeah. We’ve heard rumors, and it looks like your situation is part of a pattern. We’re working on getting more concrete evidence. This video definitely helps.”

Paige let out a slow breath, the pressure on her chest easing slightly. “So, you’re saying… this might actually go somewhere?”

“We’re working on it,” the officer said. “We’re reaching out to some of the people involved and pulling more footage from the night. We’ll also be contacting Lexi soon, and we’ll see where it goes from there.”

“Good,” Paige said, feeling a surge of determination. “She’s not going to get away with this.”

Ice and KK stood behind her, their support unwavering. They had seen the weight of the situation settle in on Paige, but now they could see the fire burning in her eyes. She wasn’t going to let this end with a dead-end. They would get justice.

After a few more questions, the officer turned to them. “We’ll be in touch, Paige. You’ve done the right thing by bringing this to us. We’re taking this seriously.”

Paige nodded, relief and anger still mixing in her chest. “Thanks. I just want to make sure no one else has to go through this.”

Once they left the station, Paige felt a slight shift within herself. She wasn’t sure how long it would take, but she finally felt like she was doing something about it. Lexi wasn’t going to get away with her manipulations. And as she walked back with Ice and KK, she knew she wasn’t alone in this fight.

—----------------

Paige, Ice, and KK walked back to their dorm in silence, the weight of everything still pressing heavily on Paige’s chest. She kept thinking back to the conversation at the police station, her fingers itching to reach out to Azzi, but she knew that wasn’t the right move yet. Not when things were still so raw between them.

Once they were back in her room, Paige sat on her bed, pulling out her phone. Her hand hovered over Caroline’s name in her contacts, a wave of hesitation washing over her. Caroline had been pissed at her before, but this time, Paige had to make her understand.

She typed the message, taking a deep breath before pressing send.

Paige: Hey, Caroline. I know things have been rough, and I get why you’ve been shutting me out, but I really need you to listen to me. I owe you an explanation.

The response came quickly, but Caroline’s tone was firm.

Caroline: I don’t know if I’m ready to hear it, Paige. Azzi’s been through enough because of you, and I really don’t think this is something you need to be getting into right now.

Paige’s stomach twisted at the message. She’d expected this, but she wasn’t going to let it stop her.

Paige: Please, just give me a chance to explain. You know I’d never hurt Azzi on purpose. This thing with Lexi—it’s not what you think. It’s a lot worse than you know.

She waited a few moments, watching the three dots appear and disappear as Caroline typed.

Caroline: Fine. But this better be good, Paige. Azzi’s been heartbroken over this for days.

Paige quickly attached the video Serena had sent her and typed the message. Her hands were shaking, but she had to get this out.

Paige: I just got this today. It’s from that night at Ted’s. Lexi drugged me, and she used my phone to message Azzi, pretending to be me. She even sent that picture of us kissing while I was unconscious. I’ve already reported it to the police, and it’s under investigation now. I don’t want you to think I’m some kind of monster. This is all on Lexi.

She stared at her phone, her heart pounding in her chest. She had said it. She had finally said it all. There was no turning back now.

Caroline: Wait… what?

The message came a few seconds later, her disbelief clear through the words.

Caroline: I knew something wasn’t right. But I was pissed. I was too pissed about what happened between Azzi and you to think it through properly. I didn’t want to be the one to defend you when Azzi was heartbroken.

Paige’s chest tightened as she read that, the guilt gnawing at her. She understood why Caroline had felt that way, but hearing it out loud still hurt.

Paige: I know. I know, Caroline. And I hate that I made her go through that. But please, you have to believe me. I never wanted to hurt her. I’m doing everything I can to make this right.

Caroline: I just— I don’t even know what to say, Paige. This is a lot.

Paige sank back onto her bed, taking a deep breath. She had to get through to Caroline, she had to.

Paige: I know it’s a lot. I just need you to understand that I was never trying to do anything wrong. I thought I was protecting her, and I failed. But I’m not giving up on her, and I’m not giving up on us.

The message sat there for a long moment before Caroline replied.

Caroline: I’ll talk to Azzi. But you better hope this investigation leads somewhere because she doesn’t deserve to go through all this.

Paige felt a weight lift from her shoulders as she read Caroline’s words. She wasn’t sure what would happen next, but at least she had an opening now. A small one, but enough to build on.

Paige: Thank you. Just… please let her know the truth when you can. I just want to make this right.

Caroline: I will. Just don’t make this worse, Paige.

Paige set her phone down, letting out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. She knew this wasn’t over. Far from it. But she’d taken a step. Maybe it was a small one, but it was a start.

As she sat there, Ice and KK glanced at her from across the room, both of them giving her small, reassuring smiles. She didn’t know what would happen next, but for the first time in a long while, she felt like she had a chance at making things right.

—----------------

Caroline paced nervously outside of Azzi’s dorm, her fingers tightening around her phone as she held it in her hands. She had told Paige she would talk to Azzi, but she wasn’t sure how this conversation would go. Azzi had been hurt by Paige, and the last thing Caroline wanted was to make things worse. But, after everything she had seen, she knew the truth needed to come out.

Taking a deep breath, Caroline knocked on Azzi’s door. She heard a faint voice from inside, and with a hesitant nod, she pushed the door open. Azzi was sitting on her bed, a blanket wrapped around her, her eyes red from crying earlier that day.

Azzi looked up, her expression hardening as she saw Caroline. “What’s this about, Caroline? I told you before, I don’t want to talk about Paige right now.”

Caroline took a few steps into the room and sat down on the edge of the bed, her eyes softening as she looked at Azzi. She had never wanted to be the one to get in the middle of their mess, but this was bigger than anything she could ignore.

“I know, Azzi. I know you don’t want to hear from her. But I think you deserve the truth,” Caroline said, her voice firm but gentle.

Azzi’s brows furrowed, confused. “What do you mean? What’s going on?”

Caroline hesitated, then pulled out her phone. “Paige reached out to me. She explained what happened, and I didn’t believe her at first. But then… She sent me something. Proof. Proof that what happened with Lexi wasn’t what we thought.”

Azzi looked at Caroline skeptically. “Proof of what?”

Caroline swiped through her phone and opened the first video. She held it up for Azzi to see, her heart racing. “This is from the night at Ted’s. It’s the moment when Lexi slipped something into Paige’s drink while she was distracted.”

Azzi stared at the screen, her eyes narrowing as she watched the video. She saw Paige, laughing and talking with someone else, unaware of Lexi standing beside her, covertly putting something into her drink. Azzi could feel her stomach twist, but she stayed silent.

Caroline swiped to the next video, her finger shaking slightly as she clicked on it. “And this… This is the part where Lexi kissed Paige while she was unconscious in the bathroom.”

Azzi watched in silence, her lips parted as she saw Lexi leaning down over Paige, who was unconscious in the stall. Lexi kissed her, taking a moment to snap a picture before Paige stirred and pushed her away, visibly confused and disoriented. Azzi could see the tension in Paige’s movements, the way she was fighting to shake off the fog, the way Lexi tried to act like nothing had happened.

Then, Paige’s voice, shaky but strong, rang out in the video, pushing Lexi away. “Why the fuck are you kissing me while I was out? Are you crazy? I’m in a happy relationship right now.”

Lexi, her expression unbothered, smirked. “Well, not anymore,” she said, her words dripping with malice.

Caroline watched as Azzi’s face shifted, her jaw tightening in anger. Azzi’s eyes were glued to the screen, her brows drawn together in disbelief. Caroline couldn’t blame her. Seeing it all play out like this, it was hard to process.

“Do you see it now?” Caroline asked quietly, her voice softer. “Lexi was the one manipulating everything. Not Paige.”

Azzi turned her gaze to Caroline, her face pale. She was quiet for a long time, as if trying to absorb everything. Her emotions were all over the place — hurt, confusion, betrayal.

“I don’t know what to think,” Azzi murmured, her voice thick with emotion. “I just… I can’t believe it. I— I don’t know how to feel about it. I should've given her the chance to speak to me but I didn't.”

Caroline reached over and put a hand on Azzi’s shoulder, trying to comfort her. “I get it, Azzi. I really do. Lexi manipulated everything, and she’s the one who needs to be held accountable. Not Paige.”

Azzi shook her head slightly. “I don’t know if I can fully process this straight away. It's gonna take some time. ”

Caroline sighed, understanding the depth of Azzi’s pain. “I know this is a lot. I don’t expect you to process this whole thing right away. But you deserve the truth, Azzi. And now you have it.”

Azzi’s eyes were distant as she stared at her phone, her mind clearly racing. “I need some time. I just… I need time to think about all of this, it's all just new.”

Caroline nodded, standing up and walking toward the door. “I understand. But just remember, don't stress yourself too much because of how you handled it.”

As she left the room, Caroline glanced back at Azzi, who was still sitting on the bed, staring at her phone, the weight of everything settling in.

Outside the door, Caroline’s heart was heavy, but she knew that the truth was out there now. She could only hope that Azzi would come to see that Paige hadn’t been the one who had hurt her.

Azzi sat on her bed, her phone still in her hands, but now everything felt different. The video Caroline had shown her kept replaying in her mind. The look of shock on Paige’s face when she woke up, the way she pushed Lexi away, the argument that followed—it all started to make sense in a way that Azzi hadn’t fully understood before.

But even with the truth laid out before her, Azzi was still struggling. She couldn’t just flip a switch and go back to how things were with Paige. There was too much hurt. But now that she knew what happened with Lexi, it felt wrong to hold onto the anger. It felt like she was holding onto something that wasn’t real anymore.

Azzi took a deep breath, scrolling through her contacts until she landed on Paige’s name. Her finger hovered over the “unblock” option, and for a moment, she just stared at it, her chest tightening. Was she ready to hear from Paige again? Did she want to hear from her?

She thought about the last few days—how she’d kept her distance from Paige, how much she had cried, how much she had wanted answers, even when she wasn’t sure how to get them. Paige had been blocked, shut out from her life, but Azzi couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to this story. And maybe—just maybe—she needed to hear it from Paige herself.

Azzi tapped the screen, unblocking Paige’s number. It felt like a heavy weight was lifted, but it also felt like she was stepping into unknown territory. Her emotions were still raw, but she knew it was a step toward healing, even if it wasn’t one she was ready to take just yet.

She didn’t message Paige. She couldn’t. Not yet.

Azzi lay back on her bed, staring at the ceiling, her mind swirling with all the things she still needed to process. She wasn’t sure if she would ever fully heal from what had happened between her and Paige as it has emotionally wrecked her.

This was going to take time.

But unblocking Paige was a start. It was a sign that, maybe, just maybe, she was open to talking again when the time was right. The healing process couldn’t begin without some form of connection, and as much as Azzi hated to admit it, that connection had to come from both sides.

She closed her eyes, letting out a long sigh. “It’s going to take a while,” she whispered to herself, her heart heavy. But for the first time in days, she felt like there was a possibility of moving forward, even if that meant taking baby steps.

For now, that was enough.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[godricgryffinsnore]

I HAVE ANOTHER REQUEST FOR YOUUUU IF YOU FEEL SO INCLINED 🥰

i’m imagining bestfriend!remus x reader paired together in potions brewing amortentia. and reader is internally like, oh that’s funny it kinda smells like him. omg wait no it REALLY smells like him. and she has this whole silent epiphany that it’s always been remus

and remus is standing right there, maybe having the same realization in his own mind

up to you if you wanna write a confession scene too!! i’ll devour anything you post 🩷🩷

It's Always Been You ♡ : A Remus Lupin Fan Fiction.

pairing : Remus Lupin x bestfriend!reader

summary : A slow-burn, best-friends-to-lovers tale where a simple potions class reveals long-buried feelings, leaving two hearts fumbling through confusion, warmth, and the undeniable pull of something that’s always been there.

warnings : Extreme fluff, Best friends-to-lovers tension, soft, tender confession, shy, vulnerable Remus. Please let me know if I missed any.

author's note : English is not my first language, so please forgive me for any grammatical errors or spelling errors. Re-blogging is completely fine with me, but please don't copy my work. I love you all. Enjoy <3.

Word Count : 2k

main master list <3

della's note : I think I got a little carried away while writing, cause this request really made me imagine the soft banter and shy Remus things. I loved writing for this, you know? Again, I really hope this reaches your expectations, Sunny. You are an angel. Thank you for sending me this request, beautiful. @sunflowersonatas

banner : @anitalenia and @roseschoices

The dungeon is heavy with steam and candlelight, the golden glow smearing over the stone walls in syrupy ribbons. The cauldrons bubble lazily, swirling with pale lilac and silver, exhaling slow plumes of fragrant steam. The faint clatter of glass and mortar hums in the background, but you barely hear it over the dull roar in your ears.

Because your potion smells like Remus. And it’s really starting to freak you out.

At first, it’s nothing more than a brush of familiarity—a vague scent clinging faintly to the rising mist. Something warm and faintly sweet. Familiar, but not immediately recognizable.

You lean over the cauldron slightly, inhaling again.

And this time, it hits you square in the chest.

Wool scarves and firewood. The faint trace of chocolate he always carries in his pocket. The sharp, smoky sweetness of clove lingering on his cardigan. The paper-and-ink scent of the library corner he always claims.

Oh. Oh, Merlin. You stir the cauldron again, blinking rapidly.

Your fingers tighten around the wooden spoon. No. No, no, no.

Because surely this is a coincidence. A fluke. Surely amortentia isn’t sitting here, mocking you with the exact scent of your best friend. The boy you’ve known since you were practically children. The one whose worn-out jumpers you’ve stolen without thinking twice. The one whose voice is stitched into the fabric of your every memory.

You glance at him, pulse stuttering violently. And then you see it.

The faint crease between his brows. The subtle parting of his lips. The way his hands have completely stilled around the mortar. His knuckles flex once, then twice, gripping the stone edge a little too tightly.

Oh, Merlin. He smells you too.

His eyes are wide, a little frantic, his jaw slackened with dawning realization. His breath leaves him in a faint, uneven exhale, eyes flickering uncertainly between you and the cauldron.

Neither of you move.

You are absolutely going to throw up.

Your heart slams so violently against your ribs you’re almost certain the entire classroom can hear it. You stare at him, mortified, blinking like you might somehow wake yourself from this slow-motion nightmare.

Remus stares back.

And then— Because the universe is cruel and spiteful— Your professor’s voice cuts through the haze.

“Lovely work, you two,” Slughorn beams fondly, leaning over your cauldron. “Such a perfect shade of pearl—textbook, really. Five points to Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. Keep it up.”

He wanders off without another word, and you and Remus remain exactly as you are: paralyzed, stiff as corpses, faces slightly flushed, and looking very much like you’ve both been slapped with a Beater’s bat.

You exhale sharply, finally breaking the stare, trying to focus on your hands.

Which is, apparently, the exact moment Sirius Black and James Potter decide to materialize at your table.

Sirius appears first, leaning his entire weight over Remus’s shoulder, nearly sending him face-first into the cauldron. “Fancy that,” he drawls, dramatically squinting into the shimmering steam. “If my nose isn’t mistaken—which, let’s be honest, it never is—this rather smells like the entire essence of Lupin himself.”

Remus shoots him a look of absolute, bone-deep betrayal.

James, not to be outdone, slides in beside you, draping an arm over your shoulder like he’s known you for a decade longer than he actually has. “Fascinating,” he muses, inhaling deeply with exaggerated theatrics. “I dunno, Pads, but I’m getting a whiff of something quite reminiscent of our Moony. Could be my imagination. But—” he inhales again, obnoxiously loud, “—nope. Definitely smells like our dear Remus. Weird.”

You gape at him, scandalized. “Potter.”

“Moony,” Sirius grins, leaning heavily into Remus, who is now pale and glaring daggers into the middle distance, clearly rethinking every life choice that led him to this moment. “You wouldn’t happen to have been brewing a love potion with your favorite person in the entire world, would you? Surely not.”

James makes a mock gasp, gripping your shoulder with faux devastation. “Merlin’s beard. Do you think—? No. No, they wouldn’t. They couldn’t.” He shakes his head, eyes wide. “There’s simply no way that the two of you have been pining like lovesick, moronic sheep for years, only to have this very public, very embarrassing epiphany during a school-sanctioned activity. Right?”

You want the ground to open up and swallow you whole.

You shove James off your shoulder, your face practically molten. “Get out.”

“Now, now.” Sirius raises both hands, grinning wolfishly. “I’m just saying—this is awfully convenient. Almost like it’s been... planned.” His grin widens, sharp and dangerous, eyes glinting. “Planned, James.”

You blink. Remus blinks.

And then it hits you.

“Oh, you didn’t,” Remus says flatly, voice low with warning.

James and Sirius exchange a slow, self-satisfied look. “Oh, we did,” James confirms.

You stare at them, blinking dumbly. “You—you had a bet?”

Sirius clutches his chest dramatically, grinning like a madman. “Oh, darling, not just a bet. The bet.” He levels you both with a self-satisfied smirk. “Fifty galleons. That’s how long we’ve been watching you two idiots make heart-eyes at each other from across the common room.”

Remus lets out a soft, strangled noise of betrayal. “Fifty?”

James shrugs, far too smug. “To be fair, Peter thought it would happen last Christmas, so he’s out.”

“Unbelievable,” you mutter, burying your face in your hands.

Sirius claps Remus on the back with far too much force, nearly sending him into you. “Cheer up, Moony. You finally got the girl. And you won us fifty galleons.”

“Fifty galleons I fully intend to spend on chocolate,” James adds, glancing at Remus with mock pity. “Sorry, mate. You were the last to know.”

Remus mutters something incoherent beneath his breath and promptly drops his forehead onto your shoulder, grumbling softly into the fabric of your robe.

And you—because you love him, because you always have—simply grin into his hair, fingers softly threading through it, quietly grateful that, for once, they were right.

── .✦

The dungeon is still thick with steam and the faint, honeyed glow of candlelight when Sirius and James finally make their grand exit, cackling like lunatics and loudly debating which Honeydukes chocolate is worthy of their newly won fifty galleons.

They leave the two of you behind—flushed, mortified, and still reeling.

For a long moment, neither of you speak. The dungeon hums faintly around you—the bubbling of forgotten cauldrons, the distant scrape of chairs, the murmur of students packing up their things. It all feels muffled somehow—far away and unimportant.

Because he’s still holding your hand. And you’re still holding his.

His fingers are warm and slightly calloused, trembling faintly where they’re laced between yours. You feel his thumb—slow, barely perceptible—brush ever so lightly along the inside of your wrist.

And you know he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

You glance at him cautiously. His eyes are fixed somewhere on the table, pointedly not looking at you. His face is flushed, faint pink crawling steadily over his cheekbones, dusting the tips of his ears. His throat works around a faint swallow.

You exhale softly, your voice barely above a murmur. “Remus.”

His eyes snap up at the sound of his name. And oh.

The moment your gaze meets his, something in your chest caves violently.

Because his eyes—those soft, golden eyes—are wide and unguarded, darkened slightly with something tender and unfamiliar, something almost fragile. His lashes flutter slightly, gaze flickering between your lips and your eyes like he’s already memorizing the distance.

He looks at you like you’ve hung the stars in the sky.

And suddenly, you don’t think you can breathe properly.

His lips part slightly, but he says nothing at first—his throat bobbing with an uneven swallow. When he speaks, his voice is low and unsteady, a little breathless, as though he’s only just found it.

“I, um…” He clears his throat softly, but it doesn’t help. His voice is still rough, still trembling faintly. His eyes flicker to where your hands are still laced, then back to your face, and he lets out a weak, breathless laugh. “I—I’m, um. Not very good at this, you know.”

You watch him—his eyes so unsure, so vulnerable—as though he’s bracing for you to step back. As though he’s already preparing himself for the possibility that you might let go.

You tighten your grip instead.

His lips part slightly at the gesture, eyes flashing briefly with something startled—something helpless and adoring. His breath catches.

And then, in a voice so soft and hesitant you almost miss it, he murmurs, “But it’s always been you.”

Your breath hitches.

His eyes flicker downward, his hand tightening faintly around yours like he’s afraid you might slip through his fingers. His voice is barely a breath.

“I—I didn’t even know when it started.” He lets out a faint, shaky laugh—wet and self-conscious. “Maybe it was the first time you fell asleep on my shoulder in the library. Or—or when you hexed that Slytherin who called me a monster in third year.” His lips twitch faintly, voice softening. “Or maybe it was the time you made me that ridiculous scarf for Christmas—the one with the crooked stitches that you insisted was ‘fashionably uneven.’”

You let out a breathless laugh, your eyes burning with warmth.

His fingers tighten faintly around yours, trembling slightly. His eyes—soft and uncertain and so very full—lift slowly to yours, his voice dropping to nothing more than a whisper.

“But I know now.” His throat works faintly, voice hoarse. “I know because—because it hurts to look at you sometimes. Like—like it’s too much. Like you’re sunlight and I can’t stop staring, even when it burns.”

Your chest constricts violently.

His voice shakes slightly when he exhales. “And I—I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to lose you. You’re my best friend.” His lips twitch faintly, but the smile is weak—sad around the edges. “And I was terrified. Terrified that if you knew—if you ever knew—it would ruin everything.”

He exhales shakily, voice so soft it’s almost pleading. “But I can’t—” His breath catches. “I can’t not say it anymore.”

Your lips part slightly, your breath stalling, but he keeps going—because he has to—because if he doesn’t get it out now, he’s afraid he never will.

“I love you,” he whispers, voice breaking slightly on the words, raw and breathless. His eyes squeeze shut for half a second before fluttering open again—vulnerable and wide, searching yours. “I love you. I—I think I’ve loved you forever.”

You stare at him—his wide, trembling eyes, the faint flush blooming high on his cheekbones, the subtle, terrified way his fingers tighten around yours—and you wonder how you ever thought he was anything less than devastating.

Your breath catches violently in your throat. And then, you kiss him.

You lean forward suddenly—without thinking, without breathing—and press your lips to his, desperate and unsteady and so terribly sure.

He makes a faint, startled sound against your mouth—a sharp inhale, almost a gasp—but then he’s kissing you back with everything he has, hands coming up to cradle your face, trembling and reverent.

His lips are warm and gentle, tasting faintly of chocolate, moving against yours like he’s afraid to break you. You feel his hand trembling faintly against your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin with unbearable gentleness.

And when you finally break apart, you’re both breathless—foreheads pressed together, chests heaving faintly.

You blink at him, eyes glassy with warmth. “You’re such an idiot,” you whisper softly, breathless and laughing.

His lips twitch faintly, breath escaping in a trembling laugh. “I know.”

You let out a soft, disbelieving laugh, brushing your nose against his, your eyes still half-lidded and glowing with warmth. “I love you too, you absolute idiot.”

And oh— The way he breaks at your words.

His eyes flutter shut, breath hitching audibly, and he exhales faintly against your mouth, voice cracking softly when he whispers, “You do?”

You nod, laughing faintly, your fingers threading softly through his hair. “Always,” you murmur. “Always.”

And this time, when he kisses you, it’s slow and lingering, sweeter than anything you’ve ever known. His hands cradle your face like you’re something fragile and holy—something he intends to hold forever.

And in that moment, you know— You always have.

[sgiandubh]

Life and death of Anon

It's literally only hours after I stopped Anons from being pesky and nasty, that the number of sock accounts who suddenly wish to follow this page is over the roof.

It's literally only seconds after I wrote I will not allow any coward bullying in here anymore, that Anons started to pick on friendly shipper pages. Surely in the hope they will be given the oxygen they so sorely crave to reward a petty ego. Anons don't even make any cloak & dagger effort, anymore. Some righteous petticoats are showing aplenty: mannerisms, schmannerisms, heh. I could name names, even go ahead and prove that they almost copy and paste their own comments written elsewhere, but I won't. That would make them look important and possibly even brave, whereas I would look like the Bad Cop, something that never really interested me.

Come to think of it, there are roughly three main types of Anons who feel the urge to troll our pages:

The Simpleton: that particular Anon is almost always 'new in here' and seems to ask nonsensical questions, just for the sake of annoying the shite out of their hosts. They never see anything, never understand anything, but somehow their comments are always oriented towards a certain agenda. Makes you wonder, really.

The Weeping Statue: she has been a shipper since forever. She has patiently endured rough waters without capsizing and bravely weathered any storm. But right now, you see, ever since Orange Xena/Tennis Babe/German Athlete/Czech Young Woman came along, she just doesn't know anymore. She doesn't know what to think, she doesn't know what to say and she definitely has not the courage to post her rants on her own page. However, she still wants everyone to know she is petrified with grief and discombobulated. For one thing, she probably ceased to be a shipper (if ever) a very long time ago and this is just her indulging in her favorite pastime: being that fly in your ointment. I suggest you ignore: you are nobody's shrink, nor anyone's fool.

The Pennywise Clown: probably the worst type you could ever come across while in here and the unhinged variant of The Simpleton. But perfectly able and willing to send you violent bullshit like this one, with a noted propensity for long, verbose comments:

Received by me in December 2024, never answered. Would make a nice subpoena argument, anytime, anywhere. My crime? Refusing to bitch about the main cast and also being consistent and persistent about what are not just 'beliefs', but what I do consider as facts.

Mrs. It Pennywise went on and on and on with it for months, with very little variation in her nastiness and always at the ready to slap-a-shipper. I don't have the slightest wish to deal with Mrs. It Pennywise in court, because it would probably involve the Interpol, an international rogatory commission and lots of money I could use in more pleasantly creative ways. Only to probably uncover a provincial freak, with no sizable property to seize.

These idiots will always try too hard. Not only to make you seriously second guess your own deductive and even cognitive abilities, but even more so to curb your enthusiasm and anything positive about you being a shipper. For there are, overall, many positives in here, mark me: nice people, intelligent conversations, real empathy and kindness. If you feel you can take it, even when the heat hits too close to home, then you are certainly stronger and wiser than me. If not, my unsolicited advice is to make a very liberal use of the Block Anon button and ultimately get rid of this Tumblr setting altogether. Life will be calmer, for they are just a bunch of cowards hiding under a blade of grass. You don't have to answer every single idiocy that drops in your inbox. Also, you are the only one who has got the power to stop such in(s)anity. Tips and useful deductions almost never come that way, not anymore.

Let this be a cautionary tale. It's not because OL is slowly fading off, that the trolls suddenly deactivated. Far from it.

[kcdarchives]

so i've been doing some thinking on the opening section of kcd2 and hans. sorry huuuuuge analysis text post incoming

thinking soooooo much about hans dragging a delirious and distraught henry through the woods at night and trying his best to reassure him. like, henry is probably not carrying a ton of his own weight while he's walking here, probably made even worse with him looking around and reacting wildly to the various hallucinations he's seeing around. and despite this, hans with all his strength manages to drag henry to bozhena's hut, and then overcomes some incredible odds to beat a man wielding a sword with just his fists. not only would this be really hard in actual real life, if you have played the game, you know beating a guy with a sword with only your fists and no armor is also like. an incredible feat. it's insane. (i do remember hans saying something about the guy taking a bad fall and hitting his head or something like that, which helped, but STILL) hans did something which, as a player, I think is almost impossible and he did it to save henry. but he still ends up really injured, which is to be expected in that kind of scenario because that's what would happen to literally anyone including henry. but hans is bedridden with fever, and he eventually wakes up just to find that once again, henry has saved the day by getting the stuff for his medicine and fending off some more of those outlaws that attacked their camp. hans expended so much energy and effort trying to save henry and he DID, but for him, it seems like at the end of the day, henry ended up having to clean up after the mess he made. i think this is a feeling hans really starts incubating at this moment.

when he is rejected at the gates of trosky and all his noble manners and bearing get him nothing but a bucket of shit splashed onto his head, this is when he really starts to mentally freak out. they came here for ONE thing and they can't do it. there's no solution in sight.

when they go down to the tavern, my little headcanon is that part of the reason hans refused to help carry sacks is because he was still sore from hauling henry's heavy ass through the forest and also from being cut up by a sword but he has too much pride to admit this to henry, especially since henry seems to have no issue with it even after receiving a recent arrow to his shoulder/back. henry's working to bail them out of another mess with the tavern tab and hans can't even contribute. i think leaning on his status as noble is a good excuse, and also a great way of convincing himself, especially after the rejection at the gates of trosky. hans probably feels like he doesn't really have much going for him, besides his status as a noble. he doesn't even have control over his own inheritance right now, it's in the care of his guardian, hanush. when he's lecturing henry on the divine order, he's also trying to remind himself of his own status and worth. for us as henry and the player, it's frustrating. "why can't this guy just carry some sacks like the rest of us?" but for hans, he NEEDS to cling to this distinction in this moment. if he's not a noble, if he's just like everyone else, then does he really have anything? if he's too sore to actually help carry the sacks, then he really IS useless. he insists on henry treating him like a noble, because he knows literally NO ONE else around him will. and his title as a noble is worthless if no one actually treats him like a noble. and henry, eventually, relents because he's henry and perhaps can sense something in hans during this discussion.

later on, we can see that it's a few things pushing hans over the edge when he gets into the fight with that guy. the argument really starts with the guy saying "its those guys' own fault that they got killed for camping out in the open by the pond" because I just KNOW that was like a stab in the heart for hans. these were guys he knew for years and trusted to lead them, and the idea that it was his decision that got them all killed must eat him up inside. it's a kneejerk reaction to argue back, only for the guy to follow up with doubting his identity. having his status doubted not only hurts his pride, but its especially because it's that lack of belief in his identity that caused them to be turned away at the gates of trosky. when the guy tauntingly parrots his title back at him, it's just another reminder of the mockery at trosky castle, of his noble status being worthless in this moment when no on believes him. that's when he throws the first punch. and once again, henry ends up getting dragged into it when the brawl breaks out.

when the two of them land in the stocks, hans' frustration is through the roof. when he and henry fight, hans is upset that henry joined in the fight not because he felt like henry overreacted or that its really henry's fault somehow, but because it feels like henry was bailing him out of yet another mess. hans is wrestling with the idea that it's his own fault that they're in this situation. not just the fight at the tavern, but also the attack by the outlaws, and maybe even the rejection of the gates at trosky. was he lacking in some way? if he had conducted himself differently, said something else, would the guards have believed him? hans pushes henry away not because he truly feels like its henry's fault, but because he feels like he needs time away from him. hans needs to prove to himself that he's capable, that he doesn't need henry to achieve something and that he's not a failure. he's literally been sent on this task by hanush, and whether it's a test by his uncle or a sign of trust, he doesn't want to fail. and from a player standpoint and henry's as well, when you don't really understand what's going through hans' mind as he spits unwarranted vitriol in a moment of frustration, it truly does feel like "hey, at least some of this IS his fault? he's yelling at me for helping out in a fight HE started?" when even the player/henry feels this way, there's no doubt that hans is the person struggling the most with guilt and anger directed at himself.

when he leaves, you accept it. if he's going to be so stubborn and emotional for reasons that henry can't understand BECAUSE he doesn't bear the same expectations and pressure of status that hans is under, then fine. there's a little bit of a feeling of relief in that moment when henry separates from hans. hans was putting himself under a LOT of pressure, and in turn, a lot of that pressure was spilling over to henry as well. of course henry is still going to do the task they set out to do, but there's a palpable feeling of FREEDOM when you separate from hans here, because you're no longer chained under the expectations and restrictions of a noble's status that hans is constantly tied down by, even if some of it is self-imposed by his own need to prove himself as a worthy noble.

if henry runs into hans at his camp before the semine wedding, you can see hans in his element. he's much happier and more confident, feeling like he's found some measure of success here. he's hunting, something he's GOOD at, something special he's allowed to do because of his noble status (even if no one in this region recognizes it). i love that when he speaks, it's obvious that he had no intention of truly leaving henry behind. if hans succeeded in getting into the wedding and delivering his message, he would have found henry again, and proudly announced his accomplishments to him.

i think the things that make henry and hans' relationship so compelling is the complexity that arises from this constant wrestling with status and expectation. the main driver of the plot in kcd2 is hans, and his desire to prove himself. to his uncle, to henry, and maybe most of all, to himself. he's constantly pushing himself, and he's met with hardship at every turn, but he has both an impressive amount of perseverance (and perhaps also an incredible stubborn streak). henry, loyal and true, helps him throughout all of this. yes, henry is constantly getting hans out of messes, and hans has realized this early on. he struggles with it so much, not just because it makes him feel helpless or useless, but because he's stuck in a constant cycle of trying to prove himself, only to face some sort of setback where henry once again comes to his rescue. when hans is told that he's getting married, he doesn't raise as much of a fuss as we know he's capable of, because it's something he knows he needs to accept if he truly wants to meet the expectation of both his uncle and the other nobles around him. as a noble, an identity we know he places a lot of value it, this is the kind of thing they do. but it's still something he doesn't feel good about. whatever feelings he may have for henry aside, the small amount of freedom he previously had is getting restricted even further by this social contract of marriage. so much of hans character struggle is wanting to prove himself as a worthy noble, yet desiring the sort of freedom that he sees henry enjoying and wishing he could have both.

meanwhile, henry is hugely important in his life not just because he helps him out all the time, but because Henry doesn't have the same kinds of expectations and ideas about him that everyone else does. Henry, growing up as a peasant in a village and mostly having little contact with nobles up until the events of kcd1, really only knows the broad general knowledge about nobles that most other people do. with hans, someone he's grown to spend a lot of time with and seen many of his best and worst moments, he treats hans simply as the person as he is, first and foremost. he respects hans as a noble because he knows hans cares a lot about it but he doesn't let that create a sense of distance between them. henry's always very good about referring to him has sir hans and lord capon when talking to other people, but he most often just addresses him as "hans" when speaking to him. hans has never had someone like this around his own age, surrounded by servants and fellow nobles who were very cognizant of his noble status. henry, not a noble himself, doesn't place these heavy or strict expectations on hans, and he develops a caring and genuine relationship with him with little regard for their difference in status. i think a huge part of their relationship development lies in hans growing to accept henry's help as just being something that's a result of their strong relationship, and not an indicator of his own personal failings. henry is an anchor for him and often (if the player chooses to) touts hans' positive traits and capability, reassuring hans of his own worth.

in the romance culmination scene, hans' struggle with not being able to help henry is made more complex by the fact that the reason he can't help is BECAUSE he's a noble. when you recall hans' early refusal to carry sacks with his nobility as an excuse, you can really see the development of their relationship and hans' understanding of his own status as a noble as not only a privilege but a restriction.

when henry and hans talk after the siege of suchdol, it's really interesting to see this sort of...acceptance of everything. hans' status is something the two of them have always been aware of, but they developed a relationship regardless. a wedding is completely in line with what is expected of hans as a noble, so it's not unexpected, nor would it invalidate the bond hans and henry have built up over the course of the two games.

for hans, henry is a person with whom he can be honest, show vulnerability, and find moments of freedom with when he's finding he increasingly has less and less. and for henry, hans is someone who lets him have access to a world that would normally be untouchable for him. yes, he's a noble's bastard son, but it's his association with hans that's let him be in all these places where he normally would never be allowed to go, like trosky castle, noble meetings, wartime discussions. he's treated with so much more authority than he would usually have as a peasant not just because he's capable, but because hans is there to vouch for him (almost) every step of the way. hans has helped to give henry real power to avenge his village and family by taking henry with him, but (and i could be wrong, i only played kcd2) i can't think of a single time when hans has ever held this over henry's head. and while he might jokingly complain about henry talking about it all the time (when they do a tiny bit of catch-up exposition during the opening pond camp conversation), hans has only shown unconditional support for henry during the moments when it seriously comes up. hans takes henry's loss seriously, even if it's not something he can personally relate to with his relatively cushy noble upbringing and not having lost anyone in his life who he was close to in the way henry was with his parents.

anyways this sort of turned into an essay when i did not intend it to be, but anyways i hope this conveys why i find hans to be such an interesting and compelling character and why i find his relationship with henry to be so interesting.

[freneticfloetry]

In grand celebration of ACD’s birthday, the Red, White & Royal Box is officially live!

The RWRBox comes in two separate sizes, and each is chock full of FirstPrince jewelry, collectibles, and custom ephemera. Full details are available in the listing, but here’s a peek at each box, as well as a few of my favorite things.

Both boxes have decorative inside lids. The Curated Collection box sports a stylized “you and me and history” quote alongside firework art reminiscent of the collector’s edition cover, while the Complete Collection features a framed FirstPrince portrait by @ambiguouspenny, backed by architectural sketches of the White House and Kensington Palace and flanked with yellow and English tea roses.

(It is literally impossible to do that portrait justice in a photo. I keep trying, but it honestly has to be seen in person for full impact. The veladora art, meanwhile, has been my lockscreen for months.)

The canon ephemera was painstakingly recreated from real-life examples. There was no Wimbledon in 2020, obviously, but Alex’s gold-foiled pass is based on two recent tickets to the Royal Box. For Henry’s gold-embossed invite to the White House, I studied past State Dinner invitations until my eyes crossed (and went through four rounds of typesetting revisions to find the perfect Copperplate font). And as for his little souvenir from the Olympics… that was based on an actual ticket to a Rio 2016 diving event (not the finals, but still — I swear you can find anything on the internet if you just go far enough down the rabbit hole). Dates on the tickets are completely book accurate.

Both pieces of post-canon ephemera feature messages from Alex to Henry. Had to lean into my fanfic roots somehow.

Each bracelet comes with a set of standard charms by default (their initials, a wedding cake, a love letter, and either an aquamarine — their joint birthstone — or a silver heart and red, white, and royal blue glass pearls). Customization-wise, there are almost forty additional charms to choose from.

The silk ipê-amarelo blossoms are from vintage garlands made by a local vendor and sadly not available anymore. Which is tragic, since they’re absolutely perfect.

With a few exceptions (the trinket box, room spray bottle, noisemakers, and portrait frame) the non-print items included in each collection were all sourced from small businesses and independent creators.

The stash of vintage and antique Austens amassed for this is probably out of control. They’re all hardcover and in fantastic condition, and span all titles (though it is, admittedly, pretty P&P heavy). The latest is from 1980, but the earliest thus far is that amazing pocket edition of Sense & Sensibility, which is from 1913.

The linen & room spray is skin-safe, though (for me, at least) it’s much more an atmospheric scent than a wearable one. For the record, the notes are “bergamot, clean linen, fresh cut grass, roasted coffee, a dash of cinnamon, and a whisper of smoke.” One of these days I’ll stop spraying my room down with it every night before bed.

Henry’s journal is covered in grey suiting tweed and has a tiny silver fox foiled on the cover, which makes me irrationally happy every time I see it.

Alex’s (lurid teal) “Hoe Dameron” kimono is fully embroidered, not screen printed. It does indeed have pockets. :)

I know I’ve teased this project twice already, but after months of building it bit by bit, it’s amazing to have it done and out in the world. I love these boys, and I’m so excited for the fandom to see everything inside. And to anyone who actually does order a collection, i just want to say thank you here — as a multiracial AfroLatina with my own ally to questioning to queer journey, Alex and his story mean so much to me, and I loved getting to bring it to life in this way.

You can find the Red, White & Royal Box here, with a full breakdown of what’s included in each collection.

A portion of each sale benefits the Broadway Youth Center, which provides basic needs, health and social services, and gender-affirming care to LGBTQ+ young people here in Chicago experiencing homelessness and housing instability.

If you have any questions, feel free to ask away — my comments and inbox are open. :)

(And for my fellow Tarlos folks: you’re up next.)

I am once again tagging the FirstPrince mutuals: @rmd-writes @welcometololaland @three-drink-amy @orchidscript @firstprince-history-huh @never-blooms @liminalmemories21 @cha-melodius @lightningboltreader @danieljradcliffe @actual-sleeping-beauty

[beautifulfrog]

I'm alive, and it took me almost three months to do this. Just one drawing was really hard to finish, but I hope to be able to post more often. The truth is, I still love Monsters, Inc. and the purple lizard. I'm a little tired, for those who might be wondering. Honestly, I had to change psychiatrists after a really tough incident. But whatever, I think I'll keep drawing, even at my own pace.

Thank you so much for all your comments on my last post; I love you all. In context, I was SO inspired by the alternate story in @randall-simp-nadt88 about Randall going to prison. I think it was a really cool idea, and I couldn't help but think it was intriguing to see another path. That's why I wrote this short story alongside the drawing. Feel free to add and comment on anything. By the way, here in Mexico, mental health hospitals are very different from what one might imagine. Obviously, they can have unpleasant situations like anywhere else, but generally, they're not like in the movies. I'm not promoting any ideas or bad ideas about these types of places; I just wanted to adapt the "shady asylum" stereotype to ME. I just think it was necessary to clarify this.

I'm really sorry if the translation is wrong, I'm still learning English properly.

Ohno

Randall was arrested shortly after he had once again become involved in a conspiracy with another energy company (and again, for having fled two weeks before being found), this time leading to a possible terrorist act in the city. It wasn't long before Johnny Worthington managed to afford him a decent lawyer so he could face a fair trial. Even if the horned one was in prison, he managed to have some power.

The trial took place barely a month after he was captured. Clearly, he didn't have the money to even pay bail. He was completely broke, since after his exile, he had already been classified as a missing person and a fugitive. His apartment was evicted, his family (who didn't even call) took his belongings, and unfortunately for him, the only monster that kept him fed was still in prison. He was alone, with the entire city against him.

Due to protocol and background, he was ordered to remain locked in an isolated cell while in the custody of the authorities.

Cameras monitored his movements day and night, and he was never allowed to go out or socialize with others. He didn't really want that, but he hated every second in there. To add a layer to his obvious humiliation and defeat, he was fitted with an ankle tracker on his hind legs, as well as being required to wear a thick metal collar around his neck that connected to the cell wall. This was normally used for large, aggressive monsters like himself, as monsters were aware of their physical superiority over others. Randall showed discontent, occasionally causing mockery among the guards.

That was the beginning of something serious. Just a short time after being sent to the cell, Randall began to experience some episodes of paranoia. He began to have regular hallucinations about things from the past, voices making their presence felt behind him, small shadows or familiar figures passing by him. The nightmares also manifested during the night, centering on the horrible memory of being repeatedly hit in the face with the sharp shovel. Every time he woke up, he ran in search of a hiding place. But there wasn't one, and this stressed him out.

His aggressiveness toward the police also increased dramatically, as he no longer allowed them to speak to him or approach him. This led to multiple problems and a possible increase in his sentence. His lawyer clearly had no interest in Randall's freedom, but he was working to reduce his sentence, which, had it been a trial held forty years ago, would have undoubtedly condemned him to death. He spoke with the judge privately and agreed to perform a special examination to assess his mental state before the trial, since, in his words, "Randall will not survive prison." With permission, he was taken for X-rays, interviews, tests, and a few sessions with specialists.

The results were a traumatic brain injury, caused by the severe blow to the head he received in the human world (also accompanied by characteristics of post-traumatic stress disorder when he remembered it). His memory, behavior, and reactions suggested that he was unstable enough to appear in court, and that gave the lawyer the opportunity to finish his work cleanly.

On trial day, too many monsters were present to testify against him (as expected, Sullivan and Mike were there, getting on his nerves). They all said the same things...

"He's sick!"

"He's a psychopath!"

"He threatened me constantly..."

"He could have murdered my entire family!"

And when he least expected it, his sentence was final. They said he wouldn't go to prison, and that made him strangely happy for a few seconds before the punishment was announced, followed by a hammer blow.

"You'll go to the city mental hospital, the trial's over."

Randall was indignant and filled with rage after those words, having no idea what it would mean to be locked up in a place where supposedly all those who had no hope of being cured went. The lizard cursed, kicked, and growled at the guards who held his shoulders so they could drag him away. The humiliation and pain increased when he saw for the first time the pitying faces of a few coworkers he'd once had. He was finished.

The most painful part was leaving the courtroom, surrounded by some guards and nurses who would take him to the van of the mental hospital where he would be sent. The press photographed every moment and struggle, even though Randall tried to hide. For protocol and security reasons, Randall was restrained by heavy metal handcuffs fitted to his thin wrists, and a straitjacket that kept his lower arms still.

The muzzle soon covered his mouth, clamping his jaws to deny him the freedom to bite or threaten the journalists intrigued by his case. Randall no longer remembered much of the event and always refused to hear a word about it. It was a total humiliation.

The first few days at the mental hospital were filled with resistance and aggression. Again, because Randall was sent there for a fairly strong criminal record, they had to apply strict protocol to him. They isolated him in a padded room, where they forced him to wear a loose-fitting white shirt so he wouldn't try to take advantage of his unique camouflage.

They also gave him medication based on his diagnosis and the results of the therapy he received regularly (he remained very reserved when asked any questions). He was forbidden to drink coffee for a time, and the food there was relatively empty and boring. Most of the time it was soup, and he couldn't even go to the bathroom without someone having to watch him outside.

The hospital was incredibly large, but Randall didn't know even half of it. He was prohibited from entering and leaving many areas. He lost contact with the outside world; he knew practically nothing about what was going on outside because visits were strictly regulated and his contact with the other inmates was nonexistent. He didn't hang out with them, he thought it was a mistake to be there and that he would soon get out.

Clearly, that wasn't the case. The only privilege he had was that he was occasionally allowed to smoke outside for a while, but someone always had to be there to light his cigarette and make sure it didn't burn. He felt like a child, and that bothered him. Days, weeks, and months passed... Randall accepted his new reality, but it only led to the dreaded depression.

Realizing that he was only sent there because he was weak and because it was the quickest way to get rid of him was a hard blow. Everyone was living their lives out there while he was rotting away in a nursing home for other outcasts like him. No one was going to rescue him, and that filled him with immense despair.

He was the only one who would die alone.

[amaranth41]

Harkening back to the Starscream cosplay post I made before, been working on that and am super excited about it!! I finished the face crown I was working on a while back, I don’t have any pictures of it actually on but here’s what I got

I’ve also been working on the boots, jacket, and wings as well!! I finished the boots like two or three weeks ago and have been working on the rest since then.

The jacket I don’t think I have anything of the final dyed product, but I did SO much hand sewing that I’m so proud of: I cropped it and used the bottom part to extend the length of the 3/4 sleeves, I replaced all the buttons, I made a couple new button holes, and I Maximum Ride-ed the crap out of the back in order to make it fit the wings (that is TWO WHOLE FEET of button hole stitching around the edges to make sure it didn’t come apart)

And the last piece is the wings!! I’ve weathered these since this photo, but haven’t taken a new one lol very happy with them though!! I specifically made the straps a little loose and they Velcro together in the back instead of both being one solid piece so they’ll bounce a little bit when I move like Starscream’s actually do

Very, VERY excited for this whole thing but I am in fact in con crunch time so all of this has come together very haphazardly and very quickly. The con is this weekend so I’m hoping to get some photos I can share with you guys :D

[hollandbrights]

Holland had decided to settle into Aurora Bay to find her brother, but what she was really finding was who she was as a person. Traveling had afforded her time away from her family and time to understand a society that wasn't her small town. But now that she was out in the big wide world, she was learning so much about the type of person that she was and who she wanted to be. She knew that others probably felt like this at some point in their life.

"I suppose that's true. I mean I like wearing dresses, but I was forced to wear them my whole life. It's nice to get to experiment." Talking about her past was strange because her parents had a strict dress code for her—she now suspected that it was her whole town that stuck to that same code. Still, she knew others would find her past odd. "Oh, you work in fashion? That's so cool. I guess technically I do too since I work at the thrift shop." Holland had immediately falling in love with the thrift shop the second she walked in. A lot of her wardrobe had been purchased from various thrift stores across the country. Getting a job there was nice because she got to see what other people thrifted first and sometimes she did pick her clothes from new items before they made it to the floor.

"Oh, it's like... I don't know. It's nothing special," she said. She'd been proud of what it had accomplished. "I honestly haven't posted on it in a while because I mean I moved here. There's not been a ton of traveling in the last sic months, so I don't have anything to post." She'd have to revive it at some point when her life was a little more settled. "That's true."

Maybe it was the idea that coming home really did feel like finding her footing again. But being back in Aurora Bay meant that Ramsey finally felt ready to deal with her past. To deal with things in her life that she otherwise hadn’t really done. She still owed some people some conversations but the fact she had been reaching out meant smothering right? At least she hoped it did.

“ and comfort can always mean cute too. Like as long as you’re happy in what you wear and you like how it looks; that’s the most important thing. “ she noted. “ working in fashion has taught me most couture is not meant to be practical. It’s wearable art. The stuff we wear day to day? It can be whatever makes us the most happy” Ramsey had a bit of peacock energy when it came to dressing up but she still loved her casual clothes they were the pieces of who she used to be before she’d left town once upon a time.

“ I’m interested in your blog though now that you mentioned it” she offered glancing back to her with a smile “someone once said there’s only blueprints to ideas and it’s up to us to interpret it the way we feel @hollandbrights

[anotheroceanid]

don't be shy, post the long text

Since you asked, I'm posting it here xD

I hope this make sense.

The Aspect of Gods In My Fics or Why There's No Aspect of Gods in My Fics)

For context:

This covers all my fics and aus, though I currently have only posted TTG and WTHB. Unless I ever state otherwise, this is always my approach to the theme.

I first read the Riordanverse books as a kid, and then the only books available were the og PJO series, Heroes of Olympus and The Kane Chronicles. Only when I was much older I would find out about the new series, and I decided not to read them because I don't really like interacting with new canon content of media I enjoyed as a kid. I had bad experiences. The only one that I interact a little more is TOA, but just from a fandom perspective (I've read fics about it, but they were all Perpollo). Therefore, as I do not have any knowledge over these series, I'm not considering them here. Mostly because I might be the person to bend canon the most, but I make sure I really know canon to do it. Since I don't know canon of those stories, I never engage with them "seriously".

More or less in the same topic: in my fics, I don't consider the existences of multiple pantheons. The only gods that exist are the gods I'm writing about (mostly because I feel counterproductive unless I’m writing crack fics). This is another talk, thought I might've mentioned it every now and then. I just feel like the actions of the characters actions lose impact if there's a whole new apocalypse happening the next week with another pantheon. Like, I don't like shared universes. In general. Polly, Barbie and Max Steel all belong to Mattel. I don't need them all together in the same universe.

Most important of all: this ain’t an attack to Rick or the canon. This is just me being a silly ficwriter and picking what I think makes more sense when I’M writing my NON-PROFIT stories in my own free time. It's literally not that deep.

So, before anything else, let's touch on the subject of fading, because fading and the aspects are, in my vision, two elements that bleed into each other.

Fading, in canon, happens when a god or a monster is forgotten by humanity (or when their domains are diminished, like happened with Pan). What I will say know sounds terrible pessimistic, but I don't like mortals having this deep influence in the gods existence.

As I'm considering the gods as being the only gods, then they exist much before humanity. And I'm pretty sure Prometheus didn't make us powerful enough to do anything that damaging against gods. We can be annoying or amusing? Yeah, pretty much. But to the point they need us to remember them to exist. Nope. Not at all.

I do like that gods can fade, but in a more "they've been so emotionally damaged that they ceased to exist" way. Like, Pan saw all the things that he loved being destroyed, that must been affected him beyond the "destroyed realm" level.

Now, about the aspects. First of all, I want to remember everyone that there wasn't an unified Greek in ancient time, and while they shared similarities they were not all the same. Their gods were not the exact same. Or their cults, etc.

When I'm reading stories with Roman vs Greek aspects, I let suspension of disbelief do it's magic. But not when I'm writing, because I start to think: what about the other hundreds of aspects? It's not like religion was unified for either Greeks or Romans. And while one can use the excuse of "they also changed by what modern people think of them", because again… Who's deciding it? Who's "modern people" in question? Because the world is waaay to big to pick one place's point of view and stick with it.

In a way, I do think that the gods changed with time, but they lived thousands of years, they interacted with multiple people and their culture, of course they'd change. We as human change from school to collage, why can't they change after living through literally everything? (Also, it's interesting that even if they changed, they're the same to their core, but I won't enter in this topic here.)

Their interactions with mortals might have affected them somehow, but not so deep they have different personalities that clash with each other. Humans can worship them in different ways, I simply think the gods care more about being honoured and worshipped than how it's done. If it is something they find offensive, then okay, they'll turn against you. It's not like most mortals spend enough time with gods to pick up their whole personalities.

Then, if the gods are always the same in my fics, why there are two camps? I'll need you to hold my hands when I tell you this: the gods will be gods tag doesn't exist for nothing. They'll do things just because they can.

Demigods are wild cards. There's only so much control you can have over them. Having a two sets of demigods that historically hate each other is kinda useful. "Oh, they're fighting and praying for us? Kinda annoying, so many voices in my head. Time to separate them again. Now with about half the population from before. Oh, these things happen. Time to set them apart until it's needed again."

Also, this removes the "we're roman/greek demigods" from the equation. Some are greek demigods because they were found by a satyr. Some are roman demigods because they ended up with in the Wolf House somehow. Nobody is Greek or Roman (my brothers and sisters, most of you were born in 20th century USA), but it's fundamental that these identities exist just so they can hate each other. Especially for the Romans, as their identity as Roman is fundamental so they can keep sending their kids and grandkids to a military colony.

When Thalia says that her father came back "different", it's totally dismissive because: one, she was a child, and two, a child who barely knew her father at all to pick up his personality and set in stone "he was different". This makes Jason story even more tragic, as his fate was decided entirely by the gods. He was not born Roman, he was made one because it was beneficial to Hera.

Instead of making them have multiple personalities based off aspects, I prefer to keep them unified because it feels more consistent when I'm writing, but also keep them accountable. The whole "oh, I didn't know, it wasn't me" don't stick out to me. They have a personality, the stories as we know were written by mortals that had their own interpretation, some are more accurate than others. It's not that deep.

Of course, some mortals were particularly creative and their versions became really famous. This don't change what really happened or the gods personality. Using Medusa as an example, I always follow the myth in which she was born a gorgon, the fact that there's a version she was a priestess of Minerva won't change the fact that she was born a monster (and that Poseidon liked her that way).

Finally, I also prefer keeping them with one single aspect because I don't want them removed from the narrative. In the Trojan War (the Trojans also had their "own" versions of the gods, btw) they picked their side, no headache made them absent. They had kids in both sides, so? For me, having them actually picking sides is simply more interesting.

That's it.

I said it was long.

[deadlysoupy]

here's a tfe starbee request: post breakbee breakup, bumblebee wants to make breakdown jealous. starscream has been dealing with annoying comments from megatron since their divorce the end of the war and wants to make a point about him not needing megatron. they get together as each others rebounds and end up catching feelings for each other.

or, alternatively, bumblebee defending starscream from megatron's comments about how starscream is too evil to be allowed to exist in the world unsupervised. they aren't even together and don't even get along at this point but it makes starscream go heart eyes (spark eyes?) because other than hashtag no one's ever stood up to megatron for him.

this one took a while but hey, it's here and it turned out better than i thought it would! (quick note tho for the future: you guys should know i'm not one for "rebound" ships. or jealousy, unless it's starscream. there are some lines i dont want to cross and this is one of them. just letting you know that, unless an alternative is provided, like here, i will not write a "rebound" fic)

(Read here on AO3)

The day has not been going well for Starscream.

If he was being completely honest with himself, he's had a consecutive streak of bad luck looming over his helm. Ever since he was imprisoned, come to think of it. He's had it pretty well during their "stalemate" with the Autobots and the Maltos, but it was nothing he would describe as "lucky".

He ultimately failed in his mission to finally have a home, but that wasn't anything new.

Now, he's forced to share space with the person who pushed him so far into insanity, and he doesn't know what to do with himself.

Mainly, Starscream has learned to avoid confrontation with Megatron, no matter how impossible that seemed. It was working — for some time.

This day turned out to be an exception.

They cross each other in the maintenance room. Starscream needs to upload intel on their new human relations — he didn't read the file, it was too processor-numbing for him — and it seemed like Megatron ended up with the same objective. It had still felt like a strange vision, that Megatron would ever do someone's bidding that easily. The room was small, barely enough for three bots, and given Megatron's frame… well. One could say the air started suffocating Starscream pretty fast.

He grits his denta and reaches out his servo to the main panel.

Apparently, that was the wrong move to make. Megatron regards him with a "look", his size — as always — looming over him, murderous optics drilling into his spark.

"What do you think you're doing, Starscream."

He doesn't shudder under the threatening tone. He needs to keep calm, or it will blow his whole plan out of proportion.

"I'm doing my job, Megatron," he answers, staying as still as possible. "Or is this not what I'm supposed to do?"

The warframe clicks his denta. "You never do your job. There's always something with you."

"I've been nothing but compliant with you Autobots ever since you oh so kindly let me out," he can't help but sneer in response. "I have no reason to do harm, so you should just let me do what I came here to do."

Megatron unleashes his pointed dentas, glinting under the artificial lighting of the room. "I wonder how long this charade of yours will keep working, Starscream. We both know you aren't doing your job out of well intentions — your spark will always be rotten."

And Starscream would have agreed with him on any other day. On any other occasion. He would have glowed in the praise, would have considered it to be the mightiest words of affirmation he's ever heard, and he would have gone on his merry way.

But he wasn't going to let this go. He can't keep pretending to like this presence, this… humiliation. Hashtag, the Terrans, and one other particular bot taught him otherwise.

Starscream's backstrut straightens, high on alert, voice loud. "You may believe whatever you want, Lord Megatron, but I deserve to be here just as you do. You've earned your chance to keep your place among the Autobots, and I should have the space to be able to do the same. Unless… you actually don't deserve to be here? Unless you're just the same arrogant fool you've always—"

A servo squeezes Starscream's shoulder and the plating creaks under it. Starscream's frame buckles, but stands firm. "Shut your ammering, Starscream, or I'll remind you why I don't trust your miserable spark with anything of importance."

"What's going on here?" Bumblebee's voice comes from the entrance. Starscream won't admit it out loud, but he's glad to hear it. The Autobot has been the only one keeping him sane in all of his time outside of the brig.

"Nothing, Bumblebee," Megatron regards him with a short look. His servo moves away from Starscream's shoulder — the ping of pain runs across his entire frame, but it goes away quickly. Luckily, Megatron wasn't able to do a lot of damage. "I was simply concerned that Starscream had malicious intentions. Nothing more."

Bumblebee arches an optic ridge, first at Megatron, then at Starscream, who looks away from them both. He was not going to get involved anymore. It would only make things worse.

"Right," Bee says. "So, that's solved, then? Can't you… I don't know… be nice now?"

"Are you insinuating I wasn't, Bumblebee?"

And when that tone is directed at Bumblebee, Starscream's gears are twitching. He almost wants to open his mouth to retort, but Bee beats him to it.

"Well, by the sound of it — no, you really weren't. Yeah, I've been listening," the scout folds his servos. Star glances at him, and the stance almost mesmerises him. He's completely calm… while scolding Megatron. "I know you're trying, Megs, but come on. We need to be better than this. I'll admit, Starscream can be a little… a lot to handle, but if you deserved even a smidge of doubt, then he does, too. He's not that bad once you get to know him. You don't need to second-guess his every move. Just… be patient, okay?"

Starscream isn't sure whether he should be offended, touched, or enraged at Bumblebee's comments.

In the end, he settles on amused. He doesn't recall a time when someone would defend him and, at the same time, be so very kind to someone like Megatron. It's something Bumblebee masters to an art form. And he's growing to appreciate it.

Despite his efforts not to, a smile makes its way on Starscream's face. He turns his helm before anyone notices.

Megatron huffs air out of his vents. "You're right. We should… cooperate," he sounds like he's fighting the words actively coming out of his mouth. Starscream hopes it hurts to say them. "I'll come back later, when it's less crowded. Good day, Bumblebee."

"You, too."

When Megatron leaves, Starscream still has a smile on his face.

"That was some lecture you gave there, little Bee."

Bumblebee shrugs and walks up to Starscream. "Yeah, well, sometimes the guy forgets who's on which side. Gotta approach everyone differently, y'know?"

And there was also that. How Bumblebee chose his words carefully, suiting it for whoever the bot was talking to. It reminded Starscream of himself, in a way, and made Bumblebee all the more… interesting to interact with.

Bumblebee's nonchalance turns into concern. "He didn't… hurt you, did he?"

Judging by the way Bee glances at his shoulder, any answer might set off alarm bells in the Autobot's processor, so there was no way of hiding it. "Perhaps. Nothing I can't handle, though."

Bumblebee frowns. "Are you sure? Do you want me to… I don't know, stay with you?"

A grin snakes up Starscream's faceplate. "What, worried about little old me, Honeybee? Have no fear — I am perfectly operational. Besides, I'm sure you have your own duties to attend to."

The bot wants to protest, an objection on his lipplates, but a blush takes over on his faceplate, and the thought is forgotten. "…sure. I'll… see you later?"

"Oh, you will," Starscream coos, and Bumblebee turns tail as fast as that.

Despite his tremendous desire to shoo Bumblebee out of the room, it's now sparkless and empty. Starscream clutches his shoulder, still aching, but on its way to recovery. He'll manage without help, as he always had.

Next time, perhaps, Bumblebee. Next time.

[daiourage]

TFO Other Prime AU (Concept #8: Design, Relationships)

[Parts: Part 1! | Part 2!]

[Other concepts: #1! | #2! | #3! | #4! | #5! | #6! | #7! | #9! | #10!]

Edit: ASJLDKLFAJSDFJL 7 AND 8 ARE POSTED OUT OF ORDER 😭😭😭😭😭

As always, press/click for quality!

1. Okay hear me out. I want Starscream to be in love y'all have NO idea I'm like ill or something;;; What if he was in love with one of the 13 Primes since he worked closest to them as the captain (commander?) of the High Guard. Prima and Solus are in charge of pushing them together LMAO 2. Skywarp stayed behind while Thundercracker agreed to go with Starscream in case anything were to happen. They exchange intel, and the Autobots/Council are aware of this. Please do not mind how they look, I plan to draw them more in the future so they'll look better than this haha;; 3. Each main member of the Autobots have their "personal Decepticon" that they're with frequently, especially in combat. With Elita and Blinky, they're probably in charge of protecting one another equally, but it depends on the setting. For example, when in a meeting, Elita's probably a guard. When fighting against an enemy, Blinky's by Elita's side like a retainer. 4. Bee probably dissociates when by himself. He also probably looks like he's seen some things... I love the concept of Bee being the oldest member of the main 4 due to the sheer amount of time he's been down there. Also. Snack buddies with Rung! 5. Bee is the ambassador for the Autobots/Council because of his talking prowess. 6. Bayverse reference. Optimus and Other Prime are probably called by their former names by the other 2 members of their friend group, and also each other.  7. Holding Bee's hand calms him down, as figured out by Rung. It "quiets" his mind and calms him down. Rung then suggests having people he cares about hold his hands whenever he starts to feel "noisy" (casually putting my own attributes on my favorite characters). Maybe a set up to the Act of Intimacy but I dunno if I want to add that since there's already too many G1IDW homages in here... 8. Struggling to design the Primes...

⚠️Deja vu warning!⚠️

Concepts #3~#10 are all drawings I've uploaded before, but I deleted the original post because it was an intimidating wall of text lmao. So, I've decided to repost all of my drawings but separately, because I want to show the concept sketches(?) I worked on in between breaks from doing schoolwork.

(Also because I want to post my own art but I can't since I'm recording music rn)

[silentnights-stuff]

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

Author’s Note:

Thank you all so much for the love and support of my writing! I’m really grateful.

I just wanted to let you know that I’m not completely done with this story yet, so I’ll be sharing it part by part. Since my end-semester exams are coming up, this will be the last update for now. But don’t worry—I’ll be posting Part 3 on April 15!

Once again, thank you for all the love. Now, here’s Part 2—I hope you enjoy reading it!

⌗ Across the Fence𓂃 ࣪˖ ᥫ᭡.

Pedri gonzalez × fem!reader

Part-2

Masterlist

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, underage drinking, intoxicated behaviour, slight language, tipsy confessions, Pedri struggling (as usual), Gabi being an absolute menace, and way too much secondhand embarrassment.

Word count: 4968

Tagged: @moonvr Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

Note: This playlist kept me inspired while writing! If you're starting Part 2, hit play on Stuck with You for the perfect soundtrack.

Gabi felt like she had been losing her mind for a while and being delusional about Pedri. She was dejected, confused, and maybe even overthinking things way too much. And the worst part? Sofía seemed just as lost. Like—How could she be wrong? Or were both of them just spiralling over nothing?

That stupid joke was what finally snapped Gabi out of her habit of regretting being born over every minor inconvenience. In an attempt to cheer her up, Sofía invited her to a house party hosted by Xabier the captain of the basketball team.

Gabi hesitated. She wasn’t exactly the party type. She couldn’t even use the classic “my parents won’t allow me” excuse because Sofía knew damn well that her parents were the exact opposite—they’d beg her to go out. Her dad always said, "Enjoy while you can because when responsibility hits, it breaks your back.”

But still… why would she leave the comfort of her warm bed, her stash of late-night snacks, and The Originals on Netflix?

Not to mention, she had to keep those snacks hidden from Pedri, that menace, who would eat the whole packet and then complain about how bad the ingredients were—like he was some kind of MasterChef.

One time, during a sleepover, she woke up to the sound of rustling. Immediately sitting up, her messy hair sticking out in every direction, she hesitantly reached for her night lamp.

And there he was.

Pedri, shamelessly eating Flamin’ Hot Tex-Mex Doritos with Fanta Limón. When he noticed her staring, he dared to just smile and say,

"I didn’t know you kept your hidden snack stash in your second laundry bag under the bed. Nice spot, by the way. But now you need to find a different one."

She threw a pillow at his head.

_________

On the way to the chemistry lab, Sofía was still begging her to come to the party. She went on and on about how fun it would be—getting dressed up, putting on makeup, and escaping from the suffocating schoolwork and high-grading system trauma. It sounded nice. But Gabi wasn’t about to say that out loud.

Instead, as they walked down the hallway, she tried negotiating. “How about instead of that loud, sweaty party, you come over for an Originals Season 4 marathon?”

Sofía declined. Obviously.

Meanwhile, Pedri, who had successfully ditched physics class after convincing his teacher he’d “be back in five minutes,” was wandering the halls. He spotted Gavi and Sofía ahead and made his way toward them, but before he could reach them, he overheard their conversation.

A house party?

Oh, he knew Gabi would do anything to avoid going.

Grinning to himself, he made his presence very clear by wrapping her in a headlock out of nowhere.

Her immediate response?

She bit his bicep.

"OH MY GOD, SOFÍA, THIS FREAK—I'm telling you, she's the next Jeffrey Dahmer!" Pedri yelped, dramatically pulling away.

"Shut the fuck up, Pedri," Gabi deadpanned.

"So, Hamster, why aren’t you going to the party?" he asked, smirking.

She opened her mouth to answer, but Pedri—being Pedri—cut her off.

"Sorry, let me stop you right there before you give me that boring ass speech about your undying love for Niklaus Mikaelson. You already made me watch Season 4 last week, Missy. So, no excuses. You’re coming with Sofía, and if you refuse, I will get my boys from the football team, and we will carry you there in a celebratory lift."

She gawked at him, horrified.

Because she knew he wasn’t joking.

He had done it before.

On his birthday, she had ignored his backyard party because they had fought the day before. So what did he do? He and his friends dragged her out of her room—still in her pyjamas—so she’d be the first person he fed his cake to.

"Okay, okay, for the love of God, don’t do that! I have two working legs, I can walk on my own. So piss off! And if I see you skipping physics one more time, I will tell your mom."

Pedri just grinned. "Yes, love, do whatever the hell you want—as long as you come to the party."

With two fingers to his temple, he gave her a mock salute. "Signing off."

Then, just before walking away, Sofía called after him, "Pedri, you’re the best! Thanks for helping me drag Hamster out of her hole!"

Gabi smacked her forearm.

______

After that hectic school schedule, Gabi and Sofía barely had time to breathe before jumping straight into party prep mode.

From taking ridiculously long showers to playing dress-up with every possible outfit combination, the process was nothing short of a mess. They couldn’t decide what to wear, going back and forth between casual and elegant, heels or sneakers, before finally settling on something in between.

Between all that, they still managed to stuff their faces with bocadillos and pastries they’d picked up on their way home from school.

Since the party was near Gabi’s place, she had invited Sofía over to get dressed together. Sofía, of course, gladly agreed.

Gabi stood in front of the mirror, tugging at the hem of her white tank top while Sofía rummaged through a pile of clothes on the bed.

"You're seriously wearing that jacket?" Sofía asked, glancing up with an amused smirk.

Gabi shrugged, slipping her arms into the oversized varsity jacket. The black and beige fabric swallowed her frame, the sleeves hanging past her wrists. "It’s a house party, not prom," she said, adjusting the collar. "Besides, it looks good."

Sofía rolled her eyes. "Yeah, if you’re trying to look like you just stole it from someone’s boyfriend."

Gabi laughed, shoving her playfully before grabbing her black shorts from the bed. She slid them on with ease, the hem barely peeking out beneath the jacket. She paired them with thick white socks, scrunched perfectly around her ankles, and the chunky blue sneakers she had been obsessed with lately. She adjusted her accessories—a layered chain necklace catching the light as she ran her fingers through her hair.

Meanwhile, Sofía tossed aside a few options before finally settling on her signature look—edgy, sleek, and just the right amount of effortless cool. She slipped on a fitted black crop top that hugged her curves, pairing it with high-waisted, shredded denim shorts that barely skimmed her thighs. The frayed edges gave just the right amount of "don’t care" energy. Over it, she draped an oversized black leather jacket, the glossy material catching the light as she smoothed it over her shoulders.

She sat on the bed for a moment, adjusting the strap of her black chain-strap purse before standing up to fix her hair in the mirror.

"You look like you're about to ignore every guy who tries to talk to you," Sofía teased, eyeing Gabi’s outfit with a smirk.

"That’s the point," Gabi shot back, matching her energy.

Sofía grabbed her phone, giving Gabi a knowing look. “Well, at least you won’t be the only one.”

They met eyes in the mirror, their contrasting styles blending perfectly—Gabi’s sporty, laid-back cool and Sofía’s sharp, street-style edge. Different looks, same energy. The party didn’t stand a chance.

"Alright," Gabi smirked, flipping her hair back. "Let’s make this party worth our time."

By the time they were finally ready, it was already 8:00 PM. They packed their purses with the essentials—lip gloss, extra hair ties, gum, and (of course) an emergency snack—before heading downstairs.

As they descended the staircase, Gabi spotted her parents preparing dinner in the kitchen.

"Mom, I’m heading out with Sofía to a house party."

Without even looking up, her mom casually replied, "I know. Pedri stopped by earlier and told me that if you tried backing out, I should call him."

Gabi froze.

"That little shit—" she muttered under her breath. "I swear, I’m putting holes in his body with my heels tonight."

Her dad chuckled from the kitchen. "Good luck with that, Gabi. Have fun, but not too much. And stay safe. If you're going to be out past 11 PM, tell Pedri to drop you off at our door."

Gabi sighed, already regretting her life choices. "Yes, sir."

_______

Pedri had already left earlier with his football teammates to help the basketball team set up for the party. They were all good friends, always supporting each other, whether on the field or off. It was an unspoken rule—when one team needed help, the other stepped up. Tonight was no different. The football players had taken charge of arranging the speakers, setting up the lights, and making sure everything was in place before the crowd arrived.

By the time Gabi and Sofía reached the party, the place was already alive—music blasting, laughter echoing, and the thick scent of alcohol and smoke clinging to the humid air. As they stepped into the chaos, the overwhelming mix of sweat, liquor, and something sharper—weed—wrapped around them like an intoxicating fog. The bass thumped through the wooden floors, rattling the walls, each beat vibrating through their bodies.

It was already 8:40, and the house was overflowing with people, a restless, pulsing sea of bodies—some swaying to the music, others huddled in corners, red plastic cups clutched in their hands. Laughter spilled from every direction, high-pitched and reckless, while shadows flickered under neon lights, illuminating flashes of faces, drinks sloshing over the edges of cups, and cigarette smoke curling lazily through the air. The night was in full swing, and Gabi and Sofía had just stepped into the heart of it.

As they pushed through the sea of drunken bodies, Gabi’s eyes darted around, scanning the faces. Pedri wasn’t here. She didn’t expect to see him right away, but that didn’t stop the tiny, ridiculous pang of disappointment from gnawing at her chest.

They wove through the crowd; she followed Sofía, who was already scanning the crowd for one person—Cubarsí, a defender on the football team alongside Pedri. The party swirled around them—strangers brushing past, the smell of tequila sharp in the air, the occasional flash of a phone camera capturing the night in blurry, golden-filtered memories.

It didn’t take long to find him. He was by the pool, sitting on the edge, his feet dangling over the water, a drink in his hand. A group of football players surrounded him, their laughter ringing loudly over the music. They were playing Never Have I Ever, their drinks sloshing each time someone took a shot.

Before Gabi could react, Sofía was pulled into a bear hug, Cubarsí’s arms wrapping tightly around her waist before pressing a soft, lingering kiss to her forehead. "You made it," he murmured, his voice lazy with amusement.

Gabi hesitated at the edge of the group. She could feel the warmth from the pool reflecting against her skin and could hear the way the ice clinked against glass bottles. But her mind was elsewhere.

Where was Pedri?

She turned toward Eric, one of the midfielders, who was sitting beside her.

“Have you guys seen Pedri?” she asked, trying to keep her voice casual.

Eric furrowed his brows, thinking. "Yeah, he was here… maybe an hour ago? Talking to some guy. Why? You need something? I can go find him if you want."

Gabi shook her head, forcing a small smile. "No, it’s fine. I’ll just join you guys."

They shuffled over, making space for her in the circle. Someone handed her a drink, but she barely touched it.

The game resumed. The bottle of Absolut Vodka sat in the centre of them, the dim glow of the pool lights reflecting off the glass. The rules were simple—if you had done it, you drank.

Cubarsí smirked, glancing at Sofía before throwing out the first question. “Never have I ever… had a friend with benefits.”

Sofía rolled her eyes but took a shot.

Marc followed. Then Ferran, Fermín, and Gerard.

To save his ass, Cubarsí, after downing his shot, quickly added, "But she’s my girlfriend now." His attempt at damage control earned a round of laughter, while Sofía playfully smacked his arm.

Only Gabi, Jules, and Gavi remained sober for that question.

It was Gavi’s turn next. He leaned back slightly, a mischievous smirk tugging at his lips as he threw out his question:

"Never have I ever… had a dirty dream about someone unexpected while dating someone else."

A brief pause.

Sofía and Cubarsí answered in unison, "Never."

But across the circle, Marc, Ferran, Fermín, Jules, and Gerard exchanged guilty looks before silently lifting their drinks and taking a shot.

Gabi, on the other hand, stayed still, fingers wrapped around her untouched cup. She had never thought of anyone like that—not unexpectedly, not while dating someone. The idea felt foreign, almost absurd.

And yet, as the game continued and the shots kept coming, a strange weight settled in her chest. She was still sober. Too sober.

The questions kept rolling in—some ridiculous, some scandalous, and others downright shameless. The circle of football players and their friends was caught between bursts of laughter and the burn of alcohol, each shot tipping them further into reckless territory.

“Never have I ever… watched Game of Thrones just for the steamy scenes.”

Without hesitation, nearly everyone lifted their drinks and took a shot.

Except Gabi.

Ferran, already a little loose from the alcohol, turned toward her with a teasing grin. “Gabi babe, you’ve watched Game of Thrones, right? You never just… rewatched the spicy scenes?”

Gabi smirked, unfazed. “I watched it with Pedri. But no, never.”

That earned a round of drunken laughter, the group hollering at her answer. “Pedri’s too serious for that,” Marc joked, shaking his head.

The game pressed on, the questions diving deeper into scandal.

Never have I ever… had a rebound hookup.

Never have I ever… said “I love you” just to hook up with someone.

Never have I ever… undressed while my partner was in a Zoom meeting.

Never have I ever… joined OnlyFans.

Never have I ever… hooked up with someone without them knowing my real name.

Never have I ever… sent my partner a spicy picture while they were in class.

Never have I ever… fantasized about a stranger I saw just once.

With each question, the sound of glasses clinking filled the air, the vodka bottle dwindling with every passing round.

Gabi?

She had only taken a few sips here and there—four shots, at most.

Safe ones.

Never have I ever… accidentally burned something while cooking.

Never have I ever… accidentally sent a text to the wrong person.

Never have I ever… pretended to know someone I didn’t.

Other than that, she remained mostly sober, watching as everyone around her drifted further into intoxication.

And still—Pedri was nowhere to be seen.

The laughter around her started to sound distant like she was hearing it from underwater. Muffled voices. Blurred faces.

These were people her age—laughing, drinking, making memories. Living.

And she?

She was always buried under textbooks, drowning in assignments, chasing deadlines like they were the only thing that mattered.

But these people—they had the same workload. The same deadlines.

So why was she the only one missing out?

She knew why.

Because she was the problem.

Because she was too scared to step out of her comfort zone.

Because every time someone tried to pull her into the world beyond her perfectly controlled bubble—she pushed them away.

Even Pedri.

He tried. Again and again. Sometimes, he succeeded. But only 20% of the time. The other 80%? She shut him out, afraid of what might happen if she let herself be reckless.

But right now—reckless didn’t seem so bad.

Before she could stop herself, she reached forward, snatching the bottle from Cubarsí’s hands. The murmurs of protest barely registered in her mind as she tipped her head back, the burn of Absolut Vodka sliding down her throat like water.

Someone tried to grab it from her.

Of course, they did.

They were all scared of Pedri. They knew if he walked in and saw her like this, hell would break loose.

Pedri was always calm. Collected. In control. The kind of person who never lost his cool, no matter the situation.

But when he got mad?

He was war itself.

And right now?

Gabi didn’t care.

He wasn’t even here.

______

Pedri was out with Xabier, Dani, and Frenkie, making a last-minute booze run after the party started running low. The nearest grocery store had already closed, forcing them to find another supermarket, which took longer than expected. Xabier and Dani, armed with fake IDs, handled the beer and vodka, while Pedri waited impatiently for them to check out.

Just as they finished paying, his phone buzzed. Ferran. Pedri accepted the call, pressing the phone to his ear.

"So, how’s everything going over there?"

Ferran’s voice came through, rushed and panicked. "Pedri, bro, I need to tell you something—just don’t get mad, okay?"

Pedri frowned, his grip tightening on the phone. "I can’t promise you anything. That depends on what you're about to say."

"Okay, just… don’t freak out. It’s Gabi—"

Pedri cut him off mid-sentence, his stomach dropping. "What the fuck do you mean, ‘it’s Gabi’? What happened to her?!"

"No, no, nothing happened to her—just listen to me first!" Ferran rushed to explain. "She got drunk."

Pedri’s jaw clenched. "Who made her drink?"

"It wasn’t us!" Ferran insisted. "She was playing Never Have I Ever with us, and she only took four shots. But then… she snatched the bottle out of Cubarsí’s hand and downed half of it."

At this point, Pedri was fuming. His pulse pounded in his ears.

"I don’t care who did what—I asked you to take care of her until I got back!" He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "Oh my fucking god. Listen, don’t let her go anywhere. Keep her with you. We’re on our way."

He hung up without another word, already heading for the car.

The drive back to the party felt endless. Pedri sat in the backseat, his knee bouncing restlessly, fingers drumming against his thigh. Every second that passed made his chest feel tighter.

Xabier, seated beside him, finally broke the silence. “So… your girl got drunk?”

Pedri barely glanced up. “Yup.”

Xabier chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. “She’ll be fine, man.”

“Not until I see it for myself.” Pedri’s voice was sharp, his frustration barely contained.

Xabier raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. Chill. If you want, you can use the guest room upstairs—second floor. I’ll get you the keys. Once she’s calmed down, then you can take her home.”

Pedri exhaled, nodding.

“Besides,” Xabier added with a smirk, “you don’t drink, so at least someone is responsible tonight.”

Pedri wasn’t in the mood to joke. He leaned forward, his voice urgent. “Can’t you drive any faster, Dani?”

The driver, unfazed, sighed. “I’m a man, stop yelling.”

“We know you’re worried,” Xabier said, shaking his head. “But relax. The others are with her.”

Pedri knew that. He knew she wasn’t alone. But his mind wouldn’t stop racing until he saw Gabi himself. Until he knew she was okay.

And right now, the car still wasn’t moving fast enough.

______

The moment the car stopped in front of the house, Pedri was out before anyone else could react. He barely registered the cool night air or the muffled bass of the music vibrating through the walls. His only thought was her.

The house was packed, bodies moving in every direction, but it didn’t matter. Pedri pushed through without hesitation, barely sparing a glance at anyone in his way. He’d deal with Gavi and Cubarsí tomorrow—right now, Gabi was all he cared about.

And then he saw her.

She was in the centre of the room, completely lost in the music. The dim lights flickered across her skin like fireflies, and the way she moved—effortless, free, glowing—it was like the world itself was dancing with her.

Sofía twirled her, and Gabi let out a bright laugh, head tipping back as her hair fanned around her. Every move was instinctive like the beat was woven into her veins. Cubarsí, Marc, Ferran, Fermín, Jules, and Gavi stood around them, not just dancing, but protecting her—forming an invisible barrier so no one could get too close.

Pedri stopped for a second, breath caught in his throat.

She was enchanting. The way her body swayed, the way her eyes sparkled, the way her laughter melted into the melody—she was a sight he could never look away from.

For the first time in his life, Pedri thought maybe alcohol wasn’t such a bad thing.

He took a step forward, weaving through the crowd. Just as he reached her, she turned, her hair flying—smacking him lightly in the face. He barely reacted. His hand instinctively found her shoulder, turning her toward him.

And then she saw him.

Her face lit up like she was the moon in his night sky.

Without hesitation, she wrapped her arms around his neck, locking her fingers together behind him. “Where were you?” she pouted. “I was so disappointed not to see you.”

Pedri exhaled, his hands resting at her waist. “I’m sorry, Hamster. I wasn’t here—I went out to buy some booze.”

Gabi blinked, processing that information. “Oh.” Then, without missing a beat, she grabbed his hand, dragging him to dance with her.

Pedri let her. His grip on her waist tightened as they moved together, bodies swaying in sync with the music.

He leaned in slightly. “Are you having fun?”

“Yup, it’s really exciting to be here! I’m loving it!” Gabi exclaimed, swaying happily to the music. Then she paused, squinting up at Pedri with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Buuuut… you won’t be mad at me if I tell you a little secret, right?”

Pedri couldn’t stop looking at her. There was something so innocent about her in this moment, despite the absolute chaos she caused. He could pretend to be mad, but it would be a miserable attempt.

He smirked, tilting his head slightly. “Gabi, you know you can tell me anything. You’re the last person on earth I’d ever get mad at.” His voice softened. “Go ahead, love.”

Gabi gasped dramatically, clutching onto his black Valentino bomber jacket like he was her lifeline. Then she pulled herself up, so close he could feel her breath against his skin as she whispered in his ear.

“You know…” she giggled, gripping him tighter, “I drank half a bottle of Absolut.” She pulled back, wide-eyed. “But you don’t get to tell anyone.”

Pedri was struggling. Not because of what she said—honestly, that was expected—but because of the way she had leaned in, her lips grazing his ear, sending goosebumps down his entire body. And as if that wasn’t enough to destroy him, the next thing he knew—

Soft lips pressed against his cheek.

Gabi kissed him.

Pedri froze. Completely starstruck, his mind short-circuiting while she just… casually pulled away, completely unaware of the damage she just caused.

And then, as if she hadn’t just ruined him, she grinned. “Heard you bought more vodka! I’m gonna go get some!”

And just like that—before Pedri could even react—she disappeared into the crowd, vanishing into the neon lights and smoke like she was never even there.

Pedri stood there, absolutely shell-shocked, his cheek still tingling from where Gabi had kissed him. The bass of the music vibrated through the floor, and people moved around him, but he felt nothing. Heard nothing.

Because what the hell just happened?

One second, she was whispering in his ear, driving him insane, and the next—she kissed him, dropped a bomb about drinking half a bottle of vodka, and then vanished into the party like some kind of drunken magician.

Absolutely not.

There was no way he was letting her disappear into this chaos when she was already drunk out of her mind.

His chest felt tight as his eyes swept across the crowded room, his pulse pounding in his ears. The flashing neon lights did nothing to help—colors blurring, people shifting—but finally, finally, he spotted her.

By the drinks table.

Gabi stood there, staring at a bottle of vodka as if she were mentally trying to get it to open by itself. Her brows furrowed in d,eep concentration, lips pursed slightly, fingers hovering near the cap—but she wasn’t actually touching it.

Pedri exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face.

For fuck’s sake.

Without another thought, heand moved, cutting through the crowd with practiced ease, zeroing in on her like a man on a mission.

Just as Gabi finally reached for the bottle, Pedri snatched it away.

"Nope."

A dramatic ga asp.

Gabi spun around, offended like he had just stolen her firstborn child.

“Hey!” she cried, eyes wide. “Thass mine!”

Pedri raised an eyebrow. “Yours?”

“Yes,” she huffed, crossing her arms. Or, well—trying to. Her movements were loose, uncoordinated, as if even her own body wasn’t sure what it was doing. “I claimed it.”

Pedri let out a breathy laugh. “Oh, did you?”

“Yes.” She nodded so seriously—like she was delivering royal decree. Then, she poked his chest, her finger pressing against the fabric of his hoodie with great effort. “And you, sir, are stealing.”

Pedri leaned down slightly, leveling her with a look. “Gabi, you’ve already had half a bottle. I think that’s enough for one night, don’t you?”

She squinted up at him. “Pedri, sweetheart, my love—”

Oh, fuck.

He was in trouble.

“—I’m not even drunk.”

Pedri just stared at her. “Oh? You’re not?”

“Nope.” She popped the ‘p’ dramatically, swaying slightly. “M’ perfectly fine.”

Pedri tilted his head, amusement creeping into his voice. “Then what’s seven times eight?”

Gabi gasped.

Her entire body stiffened, eyes going huge with genuine betrayal.

She staggered back a step, clutching her chest as if he had just stabbed her.

“How dare you?” she whispered, voice full of pure devastation.

Pedri bit the inside of his cheek, fighting a laugh.

Her lips parted, her expression twisting into something dramatic as she looked at him like he was some traitorous villain. “What kind of best friend tests his friends like that?”

Pedri exhaled sharply. “Gabi—”

“Math, Pedri?” She pointed an accusatory finger at him, stumbling slightly as she stepped closer. “You would really do that to me?”

“I can’t believe this.” She threw her hands up, completely ignoring the way she almost smacked someone passing by. “I thought we had trust!”

Gabi gasped, her eyes going comically wide as she swayed on her feet, pointing an accusing finger at Pedri. “You—” she hiccuped, brows furrowing in intense concentration, “—are no fun.”

Pedri let out a slow breath, his grip tightening on the vodka bottle as she made yet another attempt to grab it. Her fingers barely grazed the glass before he pulled it further away, holding it above her reach like she was some kind of feral child.

“Gabi,” he said, voice laced with exhaustion, “you’re drunk.”

“No, you’re drunk,” she snapped back without thinking, blinking up at him like she had just delivered the perfect comeback.

Pedri raised an eyebrow. “I don’t drink.”

“Exactly!” she exclaimed, throwing her hands up like she had just proven some groundbreaking theory. “How would you even know what too drunk is, huh? HUH, PEDRO?”

Pedri closed his eyes for a brief second. Deep breaths. Patience.

“That’s not my name.”

“Yes, it is,” she huffed, swaying slightly as she reached for the bottle again. “And I—” another hiccup, “—demand you return what is rightfully mine.”

Pedri leaned back, holding the bottle further out of her reach. “Not happening, Hamster.”

“PEDRI,” she whined, stomping her foot like a frustrated child. “Give. Me. The. Vodka.”

He looked at her flatly. “No.”

“Why are you like this?” she groaned, throwing her hands up dramatically. “Who made you this boring?”

“I’m not boring,” he said with a sigh. “I’m just responsible.”

Gabi let out a loud, exaggerated scoff. “That’s literally the same thing.”

Pedri rubbed a hand down his face. “Gabi—”

She suddenly gasped, stumbling forward as she gripped onto his hoodie like she had just discovered the biggest scandal of the century.

“Oh my God.”

Pedri tensed. “What now?”

“YOU JUST LOVE CONTROLLING ME, DON’T YOU?”

Pedri blinked. “What?”

Gabi nodded aggressively, wobbling in place. “First, you tell me not to drink—”

“Because you had half a bottle—”

“Then, you tell me what to do—”

“Because you tried to climb the kitchen counter—”

“And now, you’re stealing from me.” She gasped, stepping back like she had just uncovered some grand betrayal. “You’re a thief, Pedri!”

Pedri let out a slow, tired exhale. “I swear to God, Gabi—”

“LET GO OF MY BOTTLE RIGHT FUCKING NOW, PEDRO!”

And that was it.

That was his final straw.

Pedri moved before she could react, grabbing her by the waist and effortlessly flipping her over his shoulder like she weighed nothing.

A shriek.

A loud one.

“PEDRI, PUT ME DOWN, YOU TRAITOR!”

“Nope.”

“YOU CAN’T JUST KIDNAP ME!”

“I literally can.”

“THIS IS ILLEGAL!”

Pedri barely spared her a glance as he adjusted his grip, making sure she wouldn’t slip. “Sue me.”

“I WILL!”

“No, you won’t.”

Gabi huffed dramatically, her arms crossed even though she was dangling upside down. “I hate you.”

Pedri smirked, making his way toward the stairs. “No, you don’t.”

“...I do.”

“Sure, Hamster.”

“You are officially my enemy.”

“Mmmhmm.”

“I’m never talking to you again.”

Pedri let out a breathy chuckle. “Can’t wait for that.”

Gabi gasped, smacking his back. “PEDRI!”

Pedri just shook his head, grinning as he carried her up the stairs, her drunken protests echoing through the hallway.

This girl.

She was actually going to be the death of him.

──── ୨୧ ────

[mangocurist]

GO MY BACKROOM WATOFIES.... literally the only undoomed watofies universe and theyre literally in the fucking Backrooms. what the hell is this irony

also hi connie !!!! heres ur backrooms watofies @pineconnie ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ⑅ ა

ೃ ✿𓈒ॱ⬭ᩙ °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚.ೃ࿔*:⬭ᩙ °❀･˚₊‧ೃ ✿𓈒ॱ⬭ᩙ °꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚.ೃ

If Wato had known that the search for a missing scientist in the Backrooms Complex would lead to her having to run through endless hallways of yellow wallpaper that smelled slightly of cyanide and stained the edges of her dress pants with a mysterious sheen of dust every time she trudged forward, all with a long-limbed shadow monster chasing her down like it was its life's goal to tear her apart, she would have thought twice about her decision to help McSwee. 

Her only saving grace in this mass, endless complex of twining rooms and empty, empty halls, was, as usual, Wifies. 

He’d been sticking to her side since the moment they’d entered the elevator chamber and been sent plummeting down through the floor— it was a habit that he’d picked up some time after Wato had returned from the End Barrens, catatonic and just barely holding it together at the sight of him. Back in those first few months post-End Barrens, Wato had latched onto him (and Ken, but Ken wasn’t here right now— and honestly, what a shame, because they could definitely break all three of them out) at any given opportunity. 

She had managed to outgrow that phase, mostly, but Wifies still stuck close by, just in case she ever felt like she needed his support.

Now, looping around one of the parking lot pillars for the third time, Wato couldn’t help but feel that immense gratefulness she’d felt during those hundred days for her beacon of hope rushing right back to her as she watched him cheer, opening a chest. 

“I found a tape,” Wifies waved it at her, beaming giddily as he jogged back over to her. Wato had seen him make this expression dozens of times before, sure, but every time it happens she only feels more endeared. “My first contribution to the team!” 

“One step closer to leaving,” Wato agreed readily, linking their arms together as Wifies deposited the tape into his bag. She was just barely able to stop herself from saying you’ve done enough already, just being here is enough, because it was true. They did need to get out. But Wifies could have been doing nothing at all, and Wato would still appreciate every second he stuck to her, the warmth of his hand in her own tethering her to the ground they stood on.

“Should we make our way back to the group?” Wifies asked as they left the underground parking lot, both taking another moment to recheck their surroundings. “I mean, if we can find them.”

“I think Vixios and Baablu… no, no, that’s not right, Vix and Swayle are together right now. Baablu is probably off exploring somewhere on his own,” Wato thought out loud. 

She couldn’t actually remember where the rest of their little ragtag rescue team were— and honestly, with Wifies next to her, she didn’t really care all that much about where the rest of them had gone. 

It felt a little like her time in the End Barrens again, when all she wanted was for someone to stay. Anyone, to stay. 

Here, though, with her Wifies by her side, the brush of his shoulder against her arm and the solid, real presence of his hand in hers, Wato only saw the need to keep him close.

“Do you want to go back to the, uh, hotel level?” Wato asked, in lieu of a response from Wifies. She couldn’t help but fill the silence between them whenever she could— that was another bad habit she’d picked up from End Barrens. If Wifies minded it, though, he hadn't yet said anything. “We can rest for a bit while the others continue collecting. Or, you know, we can try exploring some more, if that’s what you want.”

Wifies scrunched up his face slightly as he thought about it, shaking his head after just a moment’s hesitation. “I mean, the Complex is a huge place, so we’re probably gonna be stuck here for a while trying to get those tapes. You should try and get some rest while there’s no monsters trying to chase us around.”

The blatant concern on his face made Wato feel a little warm, like standing in a warm ray of sunlight instead of underneath the bright fluorescent lights of the lot’s ceiling. 

“Yeah, okay. That sounds good.”

She squeezed his hand just a little tighter before they started moving forward again, with nothing but the maze of light before them to guide the way.

[mutipede]

I've been paying like... 0.2% attention to it lately, since I've been having a rough time and haven't been online as much (and when I am online I'm focusing on - y'know, stuff that doesn't suck lol) but - that's kinda the thing, right?

How the hell did I end up consistently getting my username at like position #2 or 3 on roadkill fairy's shit list WHILE completely ignoring, blocking new accounts like whack-a-mole without responding to anything, and barely commenting or keeping up with the situation

Like, genuinely. 100% full recap. This is a fully complete and comprehensive summary of MY personal experience:

I followed several people who posted cool artwork, writing, and things related to media that I am interested in

One of the people I happened to follow happened to have a stalker

...AND THAT'S IT!! That is all you've gotta do in order to have someone accuse you of being a bestiality necrophile.

I'm grateful I've got the luxury of the bullshit accusations not bothering me, since I am a tiny mostly anonymous blog and none of what I do here is for the purpose of an audience anyways (that's another thing! there would be literally no point to "canceling" me anyways! I'd keep doin' this shit if no one followed me at all!) but just like holy shit what the fuck lol

[snailsgoingdowntown]

Help, I Reincarnated as the Female Lead’s Sister-in-Law!

‘Slight’ Yandere! Dion Agriche x Fem! Reader

Chapter 20

Story masterlist

Arranged marriage AU

Interact with THIS LINKED POST to be added to the tag list.

NOTE: Reader is not having a good time. Or Grizelda. Or Dion. Or Fontaine. No-one is. Whatever this chapter is, I do not know. It came to me in a dream/j (it's been sitting in my google docs and I decided to go with it in the end).

Warnings: toxic marriage/relationship, implied suicidal thoughts/ideation, attempted murder, choking (Dion to Fontaine), mental breakdown (Reader), Reader pulls her hair harshly, toxic and abusive family (the Agriches), talks of punishment, small themes of imprisonment, themes of abuse, implied past/recent attempted sexual assault, the Reader and Grizelda do get stalked a bit for plot reasons, the Reader can’t decide on what she wants, Dion gets called a dog a few times, mention of pregnancy once at the end, the Reader is an emotional mess and genuinely does not know what she wants in this moment, possible yandere themes (I’m not even sure, just adding just in case). Lant only cares about the hypothetical child since it would be Dion's and thus a rising star. Please tell me if I missed any.

Warning #2: some suggestive lines.

Everyone is out of character but that’s f i n e -

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT CONDONE ANY OF THE HARMFUL AND/OR DANGEROUS ACTIONS THAT MAY TAKE PLACE IN THIS PIECE OF FICTION. THESE ACTIONS/BEHAVIORS SHOULD NOT BE NORMALIZED NOR ROMANTICIZED AS THEY ARE BOTH EXTREMELY TOXIC AND DANGEROUS.

MINORS/BLANK BLOGS (BLOGS THAT DO NOT HAVE ANY CONTENT), BLOGS THAT DO NOT INTERACT WITH OR REBLOG ANYTHING FANDOM RELATED (FICS, ART, ETC, OR EVEN ANIMAL PICS), DNI.

= = =

Grizelda had made a turn to show you some of the safe flowers. The direction also leads to the indoor training room, but she’s sure that Fontaine is outside the gates of the mansion - after all, it’s bigger. More room to act recklessly. 

She didn’t know that others were outside it right now, which led to her older half-brother staying inside an isolated area, awaying from prying eyes.

You didn’t either.

“Oh, they’re… lovely,” your eyes soak in the sight of the colorful flora. The grass was also a healthy green - if there was one thing you could say about Lant Agriche, it’s that he makes damn sure everything is pleasing to the eyes.

If you ignore his face and the monsters raised here for dubious reasons. Fontaine being one of them.

You bite your lip - it’s still fresh in your mind. His voice. His touch. 

No - just ignore it. He’s not here. Grizelda is.

Even so, you’re jittery, scanning your surroundings every few seconds. In spite of her good company, you can’t help but to feel naked, watched from the shadows. Paranoia works wonders, especially when you see a shadow move from the corner of your eye.

“They are, aren’t they?” She watches as you approach a rose bush, fingers lightly tracing the petals. The pink flowers she had given - burdened - you with are in your left hand, held against your chest. “I don’t come here often, but it’s a nice change of pace.”

She joins you in looking at them. However, she doesn’t admire them like you are. They’re beautiful, sure, but they wilt rather quickly once plucked. They’re also used to make drugs.

Of course, she keeps that fact to herself. 

Approaching footsteps catches your attention, looking over your shoulder to see two guards. Your heart fills with guilt the moment you recognize them -

They’re the ones you smiled at while ignoring your husband. They look tired, a bandage on one’s neck while the other looks half-dead. You immediately knew that Dion was behind it - frankly speaking, you thought they would be dead.

 You’re also amazed at how fast he works - it was only yesterday they committed the crime that is looking at you. You freeze as they get closer, making your sister-in-law curious.

When they see you they become stiffer than a statue. The air becomes awkward as Grizelda looks on with curiosity. Their eyes trail over to her, seeing that you’re not alone.

That’s when they bow.

There’s a bitterness in your mouth. You quickly remind yourself why they’re like this. However, this interaction is only making you resent Dion more. Your grip tightens on the flower stems.

“Greetings, Lady Grizelda and Lady (Name),” they say with a croaky voice. They don’t lift their heads for several seconds until your sister-in-law commands them to. When they do, they avoid looking at you, their eyes glued to something behind you.

You hold back an apology - what good would that do? If anything, you copy their behavior, humming awkwardly as you stare at the flowers in your hands. 

The remnants of their ripped thorns dig into the fabric of the glove.

The three of you don’t want a repeat of that day - them getting punished for daring to look at Dion’s lovely wife, and you being ‘teased,’ hearing Dion call himself your husband - while it’s true, you hate hearing the word come out of his mouth.

You want him to leave you alone.

‘If it were me, I wouldn’t have left you alone in this maze of a mansion.’ A wave of nausea washes over you  when his voice swims to the surface. Chills crawl down your spine at the thought of being married to Fontaine. It almost feels like a blessing that you got stuck with the second eldest.

But is it really…? 

“... ah, we should get going - we’ve been ordered to help with the children’s lessons,” the brunette guard states. “They’re practicing with their weapons,” he finishes before attempting to walk past you. 

“Oh? That’s today?” Grizelda asks the retreating guard. He stops, turning to face her as he confirms it. He tries his best not to look at you.

“Yes; it’s taking place in the outside training grounds, My Lady,” the grey-haired man answers. Now that his attention is on the seventeen-year-old, his body becomes less stiff, a bit more comfortable. 

It makes you want to smack Dion. 

… no, I shouldn’t… it’s tempting, but -, and the resentment only blooms more.

“Hm… I suppose that means we can’t go anywhere near there - father is rather strict about that. Not only that, but there’s a chance you might accidentally get hit.”

“O-oh.. right.” You nod your head. 

The guards bid their farewells before leaving. You watch their retreating figures with a hint of guilt - they wouldn’t be like that had you just ignored them. But that guilt is slowly replaced with a thin layer of anger, baffled that Dion would go that far - you’re not sure what he did, but from how they acted, it wasn’t anything good - just because you smiled at them.

…does that horrible man expect you to eventually cave in? With his actions, it only makes you see him in a worse light, signaling he might not even let you have friends. The flower stems in your hand threaten to break under your grip. A moment later and you finally relax your hand.

For now, you bury the thought away, returning your attention to Grizelda. You try to smile. It feels tight.

“Since we can’t go there, how about another area? Anywhere is fine.” The sun beams down on you, your (h/c) shining in it as your (e/c) eyes reflect her figure, but there’s a hint of something she can’t put her finger on in them.

She hums, tapping her chin with her pointer finger, mulling over the options. “Well… we have to pass by the indoor training grounds - it’s a building smaller than the mansion, but still rather big. It’s usually used for whenever it’s raining and it’s too slippery.”

The description reminds you of a gym.

“Since the children are outside, it should be empty - no-one to run into. I doubt Dion is there, and Fontaine is probably taking his anger out on some monsters right outside the estate gates.” 

As you would later find out, her guess was wrong. Extremely wrong.

She continues, “We have to pass it to get to this one area I would like to show you. It’s peaceful there; barely anyone visits. Same for the library if you ever want to check it out.”

You hesitate to nod your head, your gut twisting uncomfortably. The nice smell slowly fades away, unable to kick the feeling away. You must be tired.

“What type of place is it?” You ask instead, shifting your weight onto your right foot. The left one still has a faint sting. It’s barely there, but it’s still a reminder of what happened.

Despite your outward behavior, you can’t shake everything off. So, you just smile. 

Either she doesn’t notice or doesn’t care as she answers. It sounds like a nice place - a small gazebo tucked away in a corner covered by trimmed bushes. 

Apparently it wasn’t as flashy as the rest of the mansion, simple but durable. 

So ordinary that no-one bats an eye at it, and it is something that your father-in-law has forgotten about completely - a nice place to hide away from the horrors of the world. 

“That actually sounds… nice,” you say with a smile - doing your best to forget everything that happened earlier. 

Right.

The sun is bright and the air is fresh. 

“It is. A nice little hiding place - I doubt that anyone is there right now.” And with that, the younger girl takes lead, and like a baby chick you follow, still holding the pink flowers as the red ones are in her own hands. 

It still feels like eyes are on you. Your legs are starting to feel strained, walking becoming an effort. The hairs on the back of your neck are standing, a small sheen of sweat on your nape.

Your eyes travel downwards to the flowers in your hands - still vivid and pink, not a hint of wilt on them. You look back up at Grizelda’s back, her brown hair gently bouncing with each step. It’s peaceful.

… how long will this last…?

Your gaze drops to your feet, slowly inhaling before shaking your head at the silly and useless question. But the feeling of being watched only increases. The lie you told yourself moments ago is already starting to shatter as you’re imprisoned by your own mind.

“Once we get there, we can stay for a bit, admire the view of the garden.” The brunette suggests with a quick glance behind her shoulder. She looks back ahead once you nod your head. The rest of the walk is quiet, something heavy edging at the back of your mind. 

When you get near the indoor training room, two guards are carrying dummies while heading towards it. You both halt, surprised to see anyone there - you shouldn’t be, but the sorceress was so sure of herself it almost felt like the scene was going against the laws of nature.

Confusion fills you - Fontaine was the oldest, Dion the second, Grizelda the third and Roxana the fourth. Twenty-three, twenty, seventeen and fifteen. The rest are considered children, therefore wouldn’t they be attending their lesson…?

Neither of them notice you, too caught up in their conversation. Both you and your sister-in-law don’t see a point in calling out to them, simply continuing your walk.

That is, until they drop the dummies, their expressions turning grave. They scream out two certain names before rushing in. 

“M-Master Dion! Stop, please!”

“Master Fontaine!” 

“...huh?” 

“What?” 

You both look at each other, Grizelda looking over her shoulder. There’s a pause before you silently agree to check out what’s the commotion about. You don’t rush, you don’t run, your steps hesitant while hers are confident. She drops the flowers once she peeks inside, still as a statue, eyes wide and mouth ajar - an expression you have never seen on her once, both in this life and your last in illustrations.

You hurry, heart dreadfully drumming against your chest, a hollow pain swelling your chest cavity. Both Dion and Fontaine are in there - just what’s going on? 

The flowers drop to the ground as your grasp loosens. 

Holding the first born against the wall, your husband was choking his own brother. You can’t see his face, but his entire body is tense, putting his all into trying his best not to snap Fontaine’s neck. You can see the veins on his neck and hands.

… it’s a nice sight, until you remember -

He’s not supposed to die yet. Fuck, he’s not supposed to die yet! 

Reflexes taking over, you run over to the two men. 

This isn’t supposed to happen. He’s not supposed to kill him. He’s not supposed to die yet - the story has changed so much already! What happens if he dies right here and right now!?

Someone calls out to you, their voice distant. Hands grab your shoulders, firm but not enough to stop you from shaking them off. You grab him without thinking.

Dion freezes. 

You pull harshly. Part of you wants to watch the scene in full - does he even deserve to live? He’s trash, worse than your husband and yet -

The fear you’re feeling isn’t for your own safety nor is it for his outburst. No, in spite of yourself, it’s for Fontaine’s worthless life -

What happens if he dies right now?

It’s a question you don’t want answered. 

Distantly you feel your head shaking side to side. You don’t stop pulling, but your body is screaming that you should. You ignore it, ignore the nagging voice at the back of your head to let it happen. A lot has changed already.

So, what if this happens? No, you tell yourself, no.

Your gut is twisting painfully, screaming he can’t die now.

Dion looks at you like you’ve gone mad and honestly, you think you have. You shouldn’t be saving his brother’s worthless  life. You don’t want to.

But -

Not yet.

Two words you silently mouth. You dig your feet into the wood as you use all of your strength to attempt to pull your husband away. Of course, it doesn’t work, he’s too big and strong to be physically stopped by you.

His red eyes become blank as his grasp on his brother’s neck slowly loosens. Good. 

He called himself my dog… Dion Agriche, you better keep that promise. You feel gross for calling him one, reducing him to something that has no choice but to listen to you.

You don’t notice how his gaze travels to your chest, the way his eyes narrow once they see the blood stain on your bodice. But you do notice how he tightens his hold on Fontaine’s neck again.

You’re not listening well for someone who said he’s my dog!

These thoughts will haunt you for weeks on end once all of this ends. 

You try another method. It feels shaky as you talk, the words feel heavy. You force them out regardless, scared of what would happen if Fontaine Agriche were to die right here and right now. You can’t let that happen.

Even as a small part of you wishes to praise Dion.

“Dion… please.”

THUD 

Like the obedient dog he promised to be, he lets go. He takes a few steps back and you follow suit. You don’t let go of his arm. You repeat your words from earlier silently. 

Not yet.

The man looks confused before returning his attention to Fontaine. Your eyes also fall onto the older Agriche, small amounts of regret joining the fear in your chest. How are you supposed to take care of this…?

This isn’t like you. 

You blink before you look up at your husband, seeing your reflection in his scarlet eyes. Your lips painfully force a smile and you hope it looks sweet and loving. Your fingers dig into his sleeved arm and you don’t even notice it. 

It takes effort to rub your thumbs across his knuckles after a moment passes. Pretend to be a caring wife, pretend that you don’t want him to stain his hands further.

You can feel your hands tremble. It’s hard to keep smiling. The man before you said he was your dog and he listened like one, which brings forth a new worry -

What if he wants a reward?

You swallow the thought down. “Let’s go back. Please?” You don’t want to return to his room, you don’t want to be alone with him. But if you just leave him here…

Everything after that is a blur. The only thing you remember before reaching his bedroom is his tight grip on your hand. If only you noticed the figure in the background.

- - -

Grizelda stares at her older brother on the floor. He doesn’t make any attempts to get up, and he’s still breathing heavily. His men fret over him, but know better than to touch him. She wonders if he’ll kill them for not forcing Dion off of him. 

The sight was amusing. 

But it was also slightly… concerning.

‘... he listened. Fontaine knows he has a soft spot for her now… not to mention, Dion might even listen to all of her demands… ah, this will either be amusing or horrible.’

She leaves before Fontaine even notices her. 

It’s concerning but also interesting. She slightly smiles in amusement - things will change around here. 

But that amusement is washed away once someone calls her. When she looks at the person, she forces a scowl away. The tattle-tell will rat this out to Lant.

- - -

You’re still scared of your husband. You still hate him.

Your heart won’t stop hammering against your chest. Your hands feel clammy and his larger one holding yours only adds more heat. His pace is enough for you to keep up, but it still feels like he’s dragging you. 

You feel like you’re becoming his little doll. 

You want to cry. You want to scoff. To scream, to encourage his behavior towards Fontaine. But the uncertainty of the future prevents you from doing so, unsure if hell will be let loose if he dies so early, if doesn’t die at the hands of Cassis. 

You bite your lip. None of this should be happening. You shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be married. 

But someone has twisted their and your faith for entertainment. 

Wait, you think. Maybe Roxana will pity you some more after learning what happened with Fontaine… hopefully that’ll give her a good enough reason to help you out of this hellhole. 

Then, you realize it -

He knows. 

Your heart drops at the realization. Why else would he try to kill him? So early at that, before the timeskip. Should… should you be happy he knows? That he tried to murder him for you?

But you didn’t ask him to. You might have, you probably would have once you found your voice. Regardless, your skin starts to feel filthy - are you, an unwilling wife, really about to rely on your sadistic and possessive husband? The same man who indirectly told you he would lock you up if you even try to leave?

You can hear your heart beating against your chest. The sound is loud, echoing in your head dully. It hurts, bringing your free hand to clutch at your chest. It does little to soothe the pain.

Breathing becomes difficult. Thinking about anything else is hard. If you’re not thinking about the man in front of you, then your mind reaches for the recent memories of being chased and touched. Threatened with violence.

Your waist starts to tingle where Fontaine gripped it. Your skin feels prickly, dirty. The taste of iron makes itself at home on your tastebuds again. A sharp sting on your bottom lip, the pressure only increases the longer you walk. 

You made a mistake.

You shouldn’t have gone to him. You should have let Grizelda take care of it. You shouldn’t have fucking left the room. 

 He might lock you up after this. He might hover around you more now, might -

A hand gently cups your cheek, handling you with utmost care. Like you were made of glass. However, the touch burns your skin, bringing forth an unpleasant sensation that travels down your spine and drowns in your stomach. 

SLAP!

“Don’t-!” By reflex you slap the hand away, taking multiple steps back until your back hits something sturdy. Pressed against the double doors, your eyes travel to your side, landing on the door handle. Your hand grabs it as you look ahead, seeing the figure of the man who might trap you in this very room, if it means Fontaine won’t touch a single hair on your head.

Safety for freedom - he would be that type of person. The bird he wants to keep is mere inches away from him - it would be easy for him to grab you. But it wouldn’t be in the same manner as Fontaine. Regardless, it doesn’t ease your worries. 

You don’t want to be touched by that pervert but you also don’t want to be trapped by your own husband. 

You don’t want to rely on him, either. He’s scum too, he took you from your family - why else would you be married to him? He probably blackmailed your father, or, or something.

An emotion unfamiliar to you flashes through his eyes. He almost looks hurt, but doesn’t take another step towards you. It’s then do you look around, only to realize you’re in his room.

This stupid room!

Your heavy breathing fills the room. Your head hangs, chest twisting and turning as your heart beats to a tune that’s too loud and heavy. It’s painful, breathing is painful, thinking is painful, you feel dirty -

You look at Dion again. Like a dog, he stays in place, waiting for you to call him. He looks worried and it makes you sick, stomach churning at an expression he shouldn’t even know how to make. This isn’t right. 

This is going against the natural order of things.

This isn’t right. 

A small part of you feels guilty. That small part wants to thank him and even praise him. But the rest of you want to run and hide from him, from Fontaine, from everyone.

Your husband remains quiet as your chaotic state of mind refuses to calm down. Your back presses harder against the door as you slide down, unable to support yourself on your feet and legs anymore. 

Pathetic, I’m pathetic. This isn’t -

Should you blame yourself? Blame him? Fontaine?

Should you blame God?

… you don’t know anymore. You only know how to run and cry.

You should have stayed dead. Ah, but God wouldn’t give you that pleasure, would he?

“Wife -”

“Stop. Please. I’ve been through enough already,” you interrupt, on the verge of bawling your eyes out. You were able to touch him earlier. You smiled at him. You considered praising him on the way back.

What happened?

You were fine with him holding your hand. But now -

“You can’t keep ignoring this-! Whatever delusions you’re living in, they won’t!” 

You should thank him.

You should curse him.

Stay.

Run. 

Praise him.

Degrade him,

Accept him.

Escape him.

Harshly tugging at your hair, you fight with yourself mentally. It was fine, you were fine, you could touch him earlier, so why can’t you now? It feels like your scalp is being ripped apart. It hurts, it hurts, it fucking hurts -

Something grabs your hands. It’s warm but unwelcoming. Firm enough to stop you but gentle enough it doesn’t hurt.

You hate it.

“Hey.” The voice is deep and scratches the back of your mind. It’s pleasant but the person it belongs to isn’t. Wait. No.

It’s not pleasant. It’s horrible, nails on a chalkboard, making your ears bleed. It makes you want to go deaf. You shut your eyes tight.

This isn’t right.

“...let go. You touched me enough, haven’t you?” Your words come out broken, small. He almost has to strain his ears just to hear you. 

“If I do, you'll just hurt yourself again,” Dion states, refusing to let you go. This isn’t romantic. And both of you can’t even pretend that it is.

“... I… I didn’t ask for it, I didn’t ask for this either. I just… wanted some fresh air…,” you trail off, exhaustion catching up. Maybe you’re about to start your period - yeah, that’s it. That explains everything.

You’re just emotional because of the hormones. You’ll be fine in a week from now. This will be a distant memory.

The lie only takes you so far before Dion asks what you meant by that. The first part specifically, and it’s obvious that he’s trying his best not to grip your hands harder. 

Dion… he… he wouldn’t blame you, right?

Hah. one moment you’re fearing him and the next you’re hoping he’ll take your side. You don’t know what you want anymore. You want to sleep everything off. 

You can’t help but hate him. But as a husband, he should know, but you don’t want him as one -

“... he grabbed me. I - I stomped on his foot before he could go further - he ch-chased me but Grizelda he-helped me… I mean, that’s all he did, so I shouldn’t -”

“He would have done more if you didn’t stop him.” 

The fact only makes you curl into yourself. Dion still has a grip on you, not allowing you to escape him. There’s nothing but static in your head. Your body is slowly giving up on you, having to remind yourself to breathe. 

You have a family here, a lovely one. A father who cares. A mother who nurtured you, loved you. An older sister who guided you, a younger brother who teases you. You have a family who you love, who loves you.

Yet, resentment has been building up for a while now, hasn’t it? Small amounts of it that are starting to clump together. No, you shouldn’t, you love them.

But even at the thought of them, your breathing becomes slower. More gaps between each breath. You blink.

Secretly, you’re starting to wish that you would drop dead.

…is living worth it when I struggle to keep up?

It’s a dangerous thought. It darkens the corners of your mind the more it echoes in your head. You’re not supposed to be here. This is supposed to be a fictional world.

These people are supposed to be fictional characters. 

This setting is supposed to be a dark fantasy, survival first and romance second. The Agriche family are only supposed to be names on the screen, beautifully drawn digital pictures to tell the story. You’re not supposed to be here.

But God has decided to make this your punishment.

Are you willing to do it? After all this mental distress? After wanting to survive and escape this hell - are you willing to do it? 

Do you want to?

Living here is death. But your family, they’ll mourn, right? Don’t you want to see them again? Your siblings, your parents - don’t you want to hug and laugh with them?

So, why? Why are you considering -

Because you are weak.

“...” The air is suffocating, something is constricting your throat. Your mouth feels dry and your mind goes blank. You can’t think. The static gets louder and louder, filling your head, ringing in your ears. You were fine earlier.

But now something is tugging at your feet, daring you to stand. It would be easier to just drown at this point. If you’re breaking down just from this… then there really is no hope for you.

Your eyes feel heavy as you force yourself to lift your head and look at bright scarlet. His face looks fuzzy, but your reflection in his eyes is clear. That’s all you can see. 

Today, you decide that you hate bright and vivid red the most.

That Fontaine Agriche is enemy number one.

Your mouth moves but you don’t hear your own words. You don’t see your husband’s expression. You can’t even feel the beating of your heart. You feel nothing but the static filling your little head.

The urge to die has begun to resurface. 

- - -

“You what?” 

Lant’s deep voice becomes lower after hearing the report - unfortunately for everyone involved, a faithful servant to the Black Master overheard and even saw the aftermath of the incident. 

 It was also that same servant who happened to be in the locked room across from Grizelda’s study when Fontaine showed up to wreak havoc. They had debated opening the door until the sibling’s conversation went on.

They decided to wait it out. To trail behind you and the Master’s daughter. He had planned on appearing sooner once he saw the physical assault, but his gut screamed he would die had he did.

The oldest son stands in front of his father’s desk with his head hanging low. Sweat pools at his temples before slowly sliding down his face. His hands are clammy as a million excuses rush through his head.

 He knows that even if he were to tell Lant that you had stomped on his foot, it wouldn’t work for him but against him. Of course, there was a chance you would receive a small punishment for injuring an Agriche, but since it was he who went against Lant’s orders, Fontaine would get the worst of it.

You were off-limits. But the oldest son always had greedy hands.

Grizelda stands off to the side, watching the entire thing unfold. Lant’s faithful servant stands at his side, hands clasped as he awaits for further instruction. Silently she wishes for him to ram his pinky toe into the sharpest corner of a dresser while barefoot.

Fontaine’s men are on their knees, bowing with their head on the floor. The oldest person in the room pays no heed to them. Instead his heated gaze is on his own son.

“F-father… I was just -”

“Silence - I did not give you permission to talk, you fool!” Your father-in-law stands behind his desk as his fist slams down on it, unable to believe that his own flesh and blood would go against his orders. He doesn’t know what punishment to give him. 

He doesn’t even want to see his dull face.

“Where is Dion?” He growls out, holding out a cigar for his servant to light. The smell of smoke starts to fill the room after a few puffs. 

“He took the Lady with him, Master. I saw them on my way to the training room,” the man dressed in black answers. “He was holding her hand.”

A moment of silence before Lant lets out a laugh. “Is that so? Tell them both to stop by later today. I’m curious as to why he reacted so violently.” Dionn wasn’t exactly known to be emotional - he had little to no interests.

The change in his attitude is clear - anger at Fontaine, slight amusement with Dion. The grey-eyed man grits his teeth in silence. He was the one who got choked! 

No-one notices the slight flinch Grizelda gives. This was why she didn’t want to report it - it’ll only cause complications. If her older brother does care about you, then Lant finding out would only bring forth something awful. 

You’re a stranger but this wasn’t your fault. You just were a poor soul who got dragged into this hell.

Her stomach churns at thoughts of possibilities of what could happen. Dion was already unsteady deep down - this would only make it worse. What would happen if Lant does something to you?

“Going back to you,” their father looks at Fontaine again, taking a hit of his cigar. He puffs out smoke, doing his best not to physically lash out at him. Everyone waits with bated breath. 

“The punishment room isn’t enough for you. You dare touch something that isn’t yours? Go against my orders?” 

Lant goes on, watching as his son’s body starts to tremble. It’s a pathetic sight, and could have been avoided if he listened like the good boy he’s supposed to be. “But for now, until I say otherwise, you’re going to be held in a cell without any food or water - I’ll even lash your back personally.” 

Another puff as Fontaine’s head whips up, protests on his tongue. He bites the pink and slimy muscle when Lant glares at him. “As for the girl - she’ll be confined to her room for a few days. She should have had a maid with her - what was her name again…?”

“Hana, Master.” 

“Right. She needs to be punished too.” 

“And what of Young Master Dion, Master Lant?” 

The Black Master stops to think. While it’s true he was in the right - after all, you belong to him - he can’t exactly let him get away with attempted murder on a family member. It’s almost tempting, but then, thoughts might start to pop up in his head.

He doubts Dion will ever betray him. But, at one point, he was also a son to a father who trusted him. He was a son who killed his father. 

Besides… he’s curious. Why would he react so violently? A man who showed no interest in anything, simply carrying out orders. Something’s not adding up.

Or maybe he’s just stressed right now, with the paperwork due and Fontaine being a fool.

“I’ll send him to the hunting grounds. It’ll take at least a month for him to return,” he answers after taking another puff. “Now, who should I replace that maid with…”

“... I’m regretful to say this, but Hana was sent on an errand by the Young Master when this happened. She was preparing the contraceptives on his orders.” 

Lant blinks before sighing. “Right. I forgot about that.” He looks at the stack of papers on his desk - did this really have to happen when so much is due? His teeth grind against each other.

However, before Lant could think of what else to say, the servant spoke up once more. “While we are talking about the Lady… she hasn’t stepped foot in her room once.”

Grizelda’s nails dig into her palms once her father was finally alerted. Still, this could easily be brushed off as Dion simply sleeping with you, addicted to carnal lust. Until that damn man speaks more.

“Even when he’s off on missions, she stays in the Young Master’s room.” 

This is a matter that frankly, doesn’t concern Lant. But does that matter? No. 

“...interesting. I’ll question them about it later.”

Grizelda’s stomach twists. You’re nothing more than a stranger she pities. So, why? Why is this dread so deeply etched into her bones? You only spoke a handful of times before today - you are nothing to her aside from an in-law on paper.

This isn’t like her.

This doesn’t feel natural.

Oh. 

Maybe… something interfered with their faith. With yours.

She scoffs at herself quietly enough that no-one hears. What a stupid thought. Her attention returns to her father. It’s here when he finally speaks to her.

“Grizelda. Tell me, why didn’t you report the incident that made her run into your study?” His accusatory tone is ironically justified, but he doesn’t need to know that. Grizelda has always been a good girl, and she never interacted with you once you moved in.

“I thought it would be best to have her calm down first. I was going to bring it up when we ran into each other in the hallway - but she was still jittery. Please forgive me, father.”

She bows her head before adding, “I’ll accept any punishment you see fit.” 

It goes without saying that Lant considers this for a moment. After a beat, he replies with, “Until I say otherwise, stay in your room.” The same punishment as you. Twins! 

Grizelda mentally cringes at her uncharacteristic thought. What was she, a child?

“Go and bring them both to me. Now.” 

“Yes, Master.” 

The servant leaves with a bow. The room goes quiet, panic in everyone’s head. Lant doesn’t dismiss any of them. His footsteps echo in the room until he stops right in front of Fontaine. He puffs smoke directly into his face, causing his son to cough. 

“Prepare for the worst if she’s pregnant.” 

= = =

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