#deep breaths everyone nothing is set in stone and it's not over yet

[1d1195]

Pucking Rookie IV

Read Pucking Rookie here | ~8k words

From me: slow burning!!!

Warnings: ANGST violence. CW: Signs of abuse.

Summary: Harry is very hot. Very sweet. VERY protective.

“Hey everyone,” she greeted brightly. “How���s everyone today?” She asked while setting down a tray of eight glasses and two pitchers of water on the table.

“Wonderful, baby, so excited to have you.”

She nearly knocked the glasses over (fortunately, since they were water glasses, they were only plastic). She made eye contact with him and felt her heart completely stop for a few beats. Kael smiled wickedly in return.

Fuck.

She kept her smile in place. “What can I get you to drink?” She asked. After eight years, she already knew what he wanted so she focused on his teammates.

“We were hoping to see The Chargers tonight,” Kael told her. “Do they come here often?”

She didn’t respond. “We have a few specials tonight, so if you have any questions, please let me know,” then she sauntered away to place the drink order.

“Already know what I want, baby?” He called. “That’s so sweet!”

She ignored him. Taking deep breaths she headed to the kitchen. Louis wasn’t in yet. Harry didn’t know she was working. Which meant the rest of the team thought she wasn’t working too. Marc and Michael probably had their suspicions that she was with Harry. So, no one knew she was there. Not really.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

It was probably just going to be an hour. He had his team with him. It wasn’t like they could have a private conversation in the middle of a restaurant. Yeah, he would probably tease and torture her for the better part of that hour, but she could be civil. She could pretend. She had for ages. He didn’t know she was working for The Chargers—she was sure he had an idea that she might be. But the afternoon set it in stone.

He was such a dick. It was the first time she had seen him face to face since she moved out. Everything about him made her skin crawl and she hated it. Every touch and kiss between them seemed tainted now. All those good memories, dates, hockey games, everything felt ruined. Each interaction was colored now with the hindsight that he didn’t love her. Not the way she did. Not the way she expected him to love her for ever and ever. It wasn’t fair. She didn’t deserve that. She knew she didn’t deserve that.

So why did he make her feel undeserving of it ever again?

*

Kael and his teammates came and went fortunately. Just as she predicted. Only a little over an hour. She refrained from speaking directly to Kael and focused on the group as a whole.

When Kael left, she was well past the feeling of relief. There should have been a stronger word for how liberated she felt. She used the bathroom, splashed cold water on her face, and took a moment to process everything. It was just like Kael to come in and make her feel like shit without even trying. Louis was supposed to be in, so at least she had that going for her.

“Hey love,” Louis called. “Everything good?” She probably looked a little shaken, so she wasn’t surprised he asked. She felt shaken.

“Good,” she smiled assuredly. She flitted around the room, ducked behind the bar, and went about her day. It was a busy night, and she wasn’t going to let Kael sour her shift that he had next to nothing to do with. So she didn’t. The next hour ticked on quickly and she was feeling more herself as the time stretched between Kael’s departure and the present.

“Hi baby,” he cooed.

Her arms felt numb almost instantly, she was lucky she didn’t drop her tray. Her fight or flight swept her and just made her freeze. She turned as she had earlier in the day and looked at him. “Hi,” she said curtly. He was alone, which made her nervous.

“I figured you must get a break soon. I’d like to talk.”

“Not for a while. And it’s busy,” at least that wasn’t a lie. “So I might not take one tonight.”

Louis was hurrying about from kitchen to back room, to front of house. It was busy as it could be, but she wanted to keep an eye on him. If Kael got her alone, she wasn’t sure she would be able to control her emotions as well as if she had someone that knew she was not in a situation she wanted to be in just by looking at her. Louis wasn’t Harry, but he would know all the same that she was uncomfortable.

Kael smiled brightly.

Well, at least someone that cared ifshe was uncomfortable.

“I’ll wait,” he offered.

“Great,” she deadpanned.

She went to the back room and wished that there was a group of Chargers there. If she called any of them, she knew they would break curfew and be there for her in a heartbeat. The thought of Kael anywhere near her would make Callie incensed for ruining her day. Niall would be protective in his own way and focused on her. Asher and Lang would get her away from The Locker Room and make sure Kael never set foot there again.

She could hardly imagine what Harry would do to him.

But she lied. She told Harry that she wasn’t working. The routines the boys had had in place prior to her arrival with the team had been disrupted more than she ever anticipated. It was nice they cared but it wasn’t fair to them to upheave their lives for her. She was just the photographer for the team. Their coach’s niece. They didn’t ask to have someone they needed to babysit.

She was an independent, self-sufficient person.

“You okay, love?” Louis asked.

She nodded and flitted around the room taking order and tried not to think about the feeling of Kael’s stare on the back of her head.

*

It was perhaps another hour, and Kael was true to his word in staying put. Fortunately, The Locker Room remained steadily busy. She didn’t have to lie about not taking her break. She foisted him off on another waiter who grew a little tired of him asking for her each time he went over. “Baby,” he snatched her hand as she went by.

She pulled away. “Kael, I’m busy,” she marched away before he could reach for her again.

Without warning a multitude of memories where he snagged her hand over the years filtered through her mind. His grip tight on her arm or hand. Never in a way that any outsider would notice. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she whispered to herself. She was going to call Harry. His wrath would be well worth it. At least Kael was scared of Harry and the team. Especially if he was outnumbered. She was shaking a little as she headed for the kitchen hoping to catch Louis at least.

“Hey,” Kael said grabbing her again as she passed too close to his table. This time he caught a real hold of her arm and pinned it to the table. To any other onlooker it would look like he was just keeping her in place holding onto her hand in almost a romantic kind of way. No one would see how his fingers dug into her skin, how she was feeling the ache of the hard wood against her knuckles and wrist bone like she just lost an arm-wrestling contest. “I just want to talk.”

She wanted nothing less. “Hey, Louis!” She called quickly and loudly enough so that he would be able to hear her over the din of the whole place regardless of where he had gone off too.

Within seconds Louis was there from the back room.

Harry was right beside him. His eyes narrowed at the sight of her arm on the table. Her mouth popped open in shock. She had no clue he was there. Most obviously, she didn’t want him to see this. “Oh fuck,” she whispered and tried to pry her hand away from Kael’s. She squirmed slightly as he refused to release her. He cupped his other hand gently on top of her arm trying to get her to stop.

Harry wasn’t supposed to be here. He was only supposed to come to her rescue because she couldn’t figure out what else she was to do. She was going to hide in the kitchen and wait.

Harry wasn’t supposed to be around Kael.

“Styles,” Kael practically sang. He didn’t release her arm. “Didn’t know you were here. Tough loss today. I hope it’s the same tomorrow, to be honest.”

He didn’t take the bait. His nostrils flared. “Let go of her hand Crowe,” Harry snarled stepping closer to him.

“We were just talking, right baby?” Kael smiled and took his free hand to cup the side of her face. She turned her face away and brushed it away from her skin.

Harry continued to approach him—up close and personal. If they were on the ice the cages of their helmets would have been touching. “Let her go, right fucking now,” his shoulders were heaving.

“It’s fine,” she croaked. Harry didn’t even acknowledge her.

Was he trying to keep it together? Not make a scene, maybe? Harry was quick to anger—like most hockey players. He probably would have torn Kael limb from limb by now if this wasn’t a local place where fans and the rest of the team went.

“Let go of her,” her he repeated, his voice was so deep. His body shaking.

“Harry, I’m fine—”

He ignored her still and Kael continued keeping her in place despite her squirming. She wanted to whimper as he squeezed her tighter and pressed her hand harder into the table. To the untrained eye, you wouldn’t know. But Harry was watching like this was his favorite movie and they were at the climax of the plot. He saw the way she winced and her body bend slightly as he pressed harder. “Mind your fucking business, Styles,” Kael shook his head. “This doesn’t involve—”

“She is m’business. Especially when you’re fucking hurting her,” the whole bar area went silent as they realized one of their favorite celebrities was about to punch the lights out of one of the best names in hockey. “If y’don’t let her go, m’gonna rip your hand off, Crowe. And m’gonna enjoy it,” he promised shaking his head. “Let go of her.”

She wanted to move more but was utterly terrified. Harry could get in serious trouble. Kael wasn’t particularly dangerous, but his grip was making her whole arm ache. Harry’s threat made her stomach swoop; he was so ready to protect her. Of course that was nice, but she wanted to cry. Hurting one of the top professionals in the league (even if Harry was also at the top) was a great way to get a hefty suspension and fine if he was caught.

Just another way she was going to upend his perfectly normal, happy life.

“Harry, stop,” she begged.

“Yeah, Harry, stop,” Kael mimicked. But she inhaled sharply, pulling and moving again uselessly to try and get away from the grip he had on her wrist. She whimpered despite herself as the pain continued. “Mind your business Harry,” he snarled. “M’talking to my girlfriend.”

Harry didn’t acknowledge the comment. “Stop fucking touching her, Crowe.”

“She’s mine. I’ll do whatever I want to her.”

Harry stared at him, his gaze flicking to her wrist still pinned to the table. She was still squirming, looking to get away. Louis reached for her and Harry put his hand on his chest and pushed him away. He walked to the bar, grabbed a shot of whatever the bartender was pouring. His head tipped back as he sucked the liquid down. The quiet clink of his glass hitting the bar was the only sound in the room. Silently, Harry plucked the rings he wore when he wasn’t playing hockey off his fingers. He tucked them into the inside pocket of his jacket. It felt like the seconds were ticking by in slow motion. Not even the pain from Kael’s tight grip on her hand was enough to draw her attention away from Harry’s movements.

She swallowed, her eyes pleading with Harry not to do it. It wasn’t that bad. She could take it. The pain she was feeling now was hardly anything in comparison to what he could do. This was nothing.

“One more time, Crowe... Let go. Of her,” Harry’s voice was even. Measured. It had the tone of I’m not asking again.

“She’s mine, Styles. Find someone else to stalk.”

Harry smirked, shook his head, and his eyes flickered to hers for only a second. Then they were back on Kael. “Oh. No. No she’s very much not yours.”

As slow as the seconds had ticked by, they all came rushing back at full speed; maybe time even sped up. Harry delivered a lightning-fast punch to Kael’s nose causing him to gasp and drop her hand as he instinctively reached for his face. With the toe of his boot, Harry tipped his chair before Kael could get his bearings, and he fell flat to his back. The chair broke into pieces with his weight. He gasped, trying to right himself and protect his nose from bleeding everywhere. Harry reached down before Kael could get a grip. He yanked him up by the collar and front of his shirt. A stupid, ugly orange and blue sweatshirt that Harry was delighted to wrinkle hard in his hands. Before Kael was barely on his feet, Harry hauled him backward. Shoved him hard into the bar so the edge dug into his spine, no doubt. Without pause, Harry delivered a solid punch to his cheek, a heel stomp to his foot, and knee to his stomach.    

Kael bent forward, gasping for air and Harry’s breathing was as even as if he was sleeping.

Her hand went to her mouth and the other to her stomach as she tried to hold herself together. Everyone looked in pure shock. Surely someone was supposed to try and stop Harry. Even if he was a hockey player for the town that everyone loved. But given he incapacitated Kael in a matter of thirty seconds it wasn’t like anyone wanted to try and stop him. Even Louis was speechless and looked in horror. “Are y’gonna touch her again?” He didn’t say anything, which was the wrong answer as Harry twisted him in an instant, pressing his face down into the bar, pulling his arm back behind his body. “I said, are y’gonna touch her again?”

“No,” he rasped.

“M’letting y’keep your hand. Don’t make me regret it,” he snapped and shoved him a final time into the bar. He dropped a few hundreds on the bar for the damage and his drink. “Louis, keep the change,” he muttered over his shoulder without sparing another glance at Kael. “S’time t’go, Bunny,” he murmured lowly for no one else to hear but her. He placed an arm around her waist, and tugged her toward the exit. Every pair of eyes followed them.

“B-but m-my shift—”

Without missing a beat, he grabbed his wallet from his back pocket and stuffed it in the front pocket of her apron. “Let’s go,” he repeated and ushered her outside.

Harry opened his passenger door and gestured for her to get in.

She looked nervous, which made Harry uneasy. This strong, brave woman who bantered with unruly hockey players and dealt with fans and drunk patrons looked a bit lost. “What about my car— I mean... your other—”

“Get in the car, Rookie,” he ordered.

She followed his direction. Harry waited until she was safely buckled inside before closing her in. He locked the door for the short walk around his car, only unlocking it so he could slip inside. Once seated and buckled, he turned the car on and immediately exited the parking lot. After driving in silence for several moments Harry dropped his hand on her thigh like it was an instinct.

He didn’t ask if she was okay. Which was kind of him, because how could she be? Her heart was thudding in her chest, her wrist hurt, and her brain was a mess. Harry’s hand on her leg should have made her uncomfortable given he didn’t ask. But it was almost too comforting, and she dreaded the idea that he would have to let go of her eventually.

“Don’t y’dare cry over him, bunny,” his voice was tight.

She sniffled, not realizing she was, in fact, crying. She swiped her hands across her cheeks. “Sorry,” she whispered looking toward the window.

Harry shook his head and sighed. His hand squeezed her leg while he pressed his head back into the seat hard—if the head rest wasn’t there and he didn’t have to watch the road, she was certain his eyes would be facing the ceiling of his car, searching for strength somewhere above him. His jawline seemed sharper than ever as he clenched his teeth. “Y’don’t have t’apologize.”

“Thank you,” she croaked quietly. “For doing that, I...” she swallowed hard. “I don’t really know what I would have done,” she admitted. The scenario didn’t seem to play out in full if Harry wasn’t there. Yeah, Louis would have helped, but this was different. Harry didn’t say anything. She pulled his wallet out of her apron and placed it in one of the cup holders between them. “I don’t want—”

“It’s yours.”

 “Harry, it’s not that—”

“Bunny, I haven’t stopped thinking ‘bout you all afternoon. Since I met you, really. I can’t stop. I used t’think ‘bout nothing but hockey. But s’like you’re the only thing on m’mind now. M’happy when I see you around the rink taking pictures. M’happy when y’try t’skate on m’pond. I love our lessons, and I want t’have y’in my house all the time. M’happy when you’re around. Happier than I’ve been in years, and I didn’t even know I wasn’t completely happy. I can’t have one-night stands anymore. I tried, I did. You’re a long shot. I know that. Someone who deserves a guy so much better than a hot-tempered hockey player as evident by the piece of shit that hurt you in so many ways,” His voice is quiet. “S’not a secret I like you. A lot. If we can only be friends and roommates—because m’sure as hell not bringing y’back to that sorry excuse of an apartment—then s'what I’ll do.”

There was only a brief beat of silence while she contemplated all he said. “I worked really hard on my apartment,” she whispered.

This seemed to soften him a little. He sighed. “It’s adorable, Bunny. It is. But m’constantly worried you’re going t’be kidnapped, robbed, or worse. You can move in this week,” he insisted. “I have the day off after tomorrow and I was going t’spend it at the gym t’lift with the guys so we can pack and move your shit all the same instead.”

“Harry, I don’t think that will work... I have to pay out the rest of my lease if I move out early.”

“That’s bullshit,” he scoffed. She didn’t say anything. Because she kind of agreed that it was bullshit. But she couldn’t move in with Harry. Not when he just admitted he liked her the way she did. It set her heart into a dramatic flutter. Being legally bound would hopefully be enough of a reason for Harry to agree to let her stay until her lease ran out. Then she could figure out her next steps. “Fine,” he decided after a moment. “The black debit card in m’wallet will take care of it.”

She snorted unable to hide her shock. “Harry, you can’t—”

“M’done arguing with you ‘bout this, Bunny.” She frowned and looked at her hand, turning her wrist and wincing ever so slightly. “Is your wrist okay?” He asked.

She shrugged and answered instinctively. “It hurts; but I’ve had worse,” she gasped at her own mistake almost instantly. “Oh fuck, I mean—” she stopped speaking. It didn’t matter. It was too late. Harry saw through it and understood exactly what she meant. He clenched the steering wheel tighter and he swallowed. The bob in his throat looked like he was drinking a glass of nails.

“Did he ever hurt you like this before?” Harry’s voice was an octave lower than she ever heard it. His eyes narrowed as he stared forward.

She didn’t want to make matters any worse, so she didn’t speak. Didn’t move. For several seconds, the car seemed so silent it was as if the tires weren’t even on the ground anymore or if she was breathing.

“Harry,” she whispered eventually.

Harry took a deep breath not liking the tone of her voice and pulled off to the side of the road.

“What are we— Harry!”

Before she could understand what was happening, Harry was outside and opening his trunk and the car doors locked her inside. Instantly, he pulled out one of the back-up sticks he had in case his two in the locker room broke in the middle of a game (or if he wanted to practice while he was home on the pond out back). He slammed it hard on the pavement multiple times grunting as he did until the stick snapped. Then he grabbed a second and repeated this process again, swearing and cursing like he was imagining Kael was under the stick.

Once satisfied with his destruction, he collected the broken pieces and dropped them in the back before sitting in the driver’s seat again, his breathing only slightly elevated.

She stared at him wildly. Her eyes were wide and beautiful. “If he touches you again, m’killing him,” he said simply. It was a promise. His breath was heavy from the exertion.

She nodded; Harry put the car in drive and continued back toward his place. His hand went right back on her thigh, which she still found comforting and warm, even though she had only had the luxury of his hand on her for no more than a few minutes. “Okay,” she whispered hoping there wouldn’t be an again to speak of.

Harry let the silence linger again. “My apartment is the other way,” she reminded him.

He rolled his eyes. “I just told you, Rookie, y’not living there anymore.”

“Oh my God, Harry. You can’t be serious.”

He snorted. “No. I am. As a heart attack.”

“Harry I can’t move in—”

“Of course, y’can. I have like five bedrooms. Pick one. Pick three for all I care.”

She swallowed. “What if I pick your bedroom?” She was attempting to lighten the mood, maybe. Harry wasn’t sure. Or maybe she was trying (and failing) to be annoying. But Harry was never annoyed by her. He was amused at worst. She was adorable. Every little thing she did was adorable.

“Then it’s yours,” he shrugged. He was hardly home during the season anyway. With his niece, Mum, and Gem out of town, he wasn’t home much in the off-season either. He could easily move into another room if she wanted his. In fact, he probably would give her his room. It wasn’t the only one with a bathroom, but it had a nice tub that he knew was being wasted without proper use and it felt like she deserved a relaxing night to soak in the tub until she got pruney and everything else that stressed her in her life disappeared.

“I thought you didn’t bring women home to stay,” she reminded him.

“Never had one that I wanted t’bring home,” he shrugged.

She pressed her head to the window. He was quick. Didn’t miss a beat. “I’ll stay tonight, but I’m not moving in. My uncle is going to kill you.”

He shrugged. “S’a long line of Glacier Wolves who’ll want t’kill me before him.” She giggled softly under her breath. Harry glanced at her peripherally and smirked at the little smile that graced her lips. “M’niece is over a lot in the off season,” he told her. “Gem and Mum come by too. So s’had women there before.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Then, yeah. Never had a woman I wanted to bring home,” he repeated. Harry parked in his driveway, turned to her, his hand still on her thigh and honestly, she never wanted it to move.

“Are we still friends?” She blurted. He just admitted he liked her. It was no secret she liked him too. It could make things very awkward going forward so she wouldn’t blame him if he really didn’t want to be friends any longer.

“What a weird fucking question, Rookie,” he shook his head.

“Can you just tell me?”

“Yes, we’re still fucking friends. Despite the fact I would love t’be more.”

She closed her eyes. “He really fucked me up, Harry,” she whispered. “He... he wanted some trophy girlfriend that doted on him and worshipped him for being a good hockey player. He didn’t want me to be my own person. He didn’t want me to have my own hobbies or interests. Like I was nothing, a nobody—”

“Rookie,” he whispered.

“—and I just let him treat me that way. Because it was easier than confronting it—”

“Rookie.”

“—So I don’t want to keep falling for you because you... you’re so talented and you will overshadow me and you should. But it’s so fucking cold living in the shadow of someone else and I don’t think I can do it anymore.”

He winced. “Bunny,” he wanted her to stop.

“I don’t love that nickname either,” she sighed. “I want to. It’s cute and it’s even cuter when you say it. But the connotation of being a puck bunny is just more of what Kael insinuated and I don’t—”

“I don’t think you are a puck bunny. S’not why I call you that. Y’wrinkle your nose like a bunny when y’concentrate. S’the first thing I noticed when I met y’taking pictures rink-side. And you’re always going and going like the little Energizer bunny. But mostly, s’because you’re so fucking cute like a bunny. S’honestly nearly nauseating sometimes.”

Her heart skipped a beat. She swallowed trying to keep all the feelings of falling for another hockey player at bay. “So, I make you sick?”

He smiled. “Excessively.”

“And you want me anyway?”

“Excessively,” he whispered cupping her face. She leaned into the touch, closed her eyes, and sank into the way his hand caressed her cheek for a moment.

Sighing, she opened her eyes and looked at him shyly. “You probably know that he cheated on me,” she reminded him. “And the worst of it, I don’t know if it was the first time, and I don’t want to know. Because I already felt stupid for letting him belittle me and letting me forget parts of myself.”

Harry tilted his head back fully staring at the ceiling for a moment. “Yeah...” And now Harry knew this wasn’t the first time he had hurt her either. Whether it was intentional or not.

“And...” she swallowed. “I don’t think you’re like him... if you take anything away from this conversation, please know that I think you’re nothing like him. You’re up front about most of everything. He kept things from me. But... you’re you and you could have any woman you want in any city you want. I don’t fault you for that—I really hope you know that... but I don’t want to be a number anymore, Harry. I don’t want to feel like an idiot, and I don’t think you would intentionally make me feel like an idiot but—”

“Bunny,” he interrupted, turning back to gaze into her eyes so intensely it felt like everything around them disappeared except for the space between them. The seriousness in his green eyes made her stomach flip. They seemed darker. Like the color was changing to a darker shade to explain how serious he was and how he meant every word that spilled from his mouth. “I think you’re brilliant,” he whispered. “In every facet of your life. I’ve thought about nothing but hockey m’whole life. It has been eat, sleep, and breathe ice, pucks, and sticks. The second I met you, every thought has been ‘bout you,” he reminded her. “If I never played another game of hockey, I really think I would be okay s’long as y’were around.”

Her heart felt like it was broken and whole all at the same time. It was too sweet. She bit the inside of her lip. “Well, I don’t want that,” she whispered. “You’re quite good,” she reminded him.

He chuckled. “The point remains, Rookie... I want you t’have everything y’could possibly want. I want t’do anything I can t’help y’achieve anything y’want t’do.”

She looked at her lap. “I can’t believe you went to get a drink.”

“I really didn’t think y’would be there... was hoping I’d run into Louis and maybe he would know if y’were okay. Y’never answered my texts. Didn’t tell me y’made it home.” he frowned. “Why did y’lie t’me, Bunny?”

She took a deep breath. “The whole team has been so nice to me,” she whispered. “I’m not really used to that...” she trailed off. “Callie got so many penalties, you had to interrupt your post-game cool down to walk me to your car, everyone wants to take shifts to watch me... you have to drive me home, give me one of your car... I’ve seriously disrupted your lives... and it was all just too much today. I don’t want to bother you guys. You didn’t sign up to have a kid or a pet you need to watch. Uncle Charlie didn’t have to give me a job with a hockey team. I feel like I didn’t earn anything. It’s so sweet that all of you care, but it’s weird for me...”

God, she was cute. Even sad she was cute. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “Y’haven’t disrupted our lives,” he promised. “We’d do this for anyone.”

“That’s comforting I suppose.”

“C’mon, s’late... we have a game tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Harry,” she whispered.

“Course, Rookie,” he squeezed her leg one more time and then got out of the car. (As she predicted, she hated the feeling of Harry’s hand anywhere else but her thigh.)

Entering his house, Harry kicked off his shoes and headed down the hall toward the bedrooms. She texted her group chat with Michael and Marc as she flopped onto the couch until she got more direction from Harry.

I’m at someone’s house for the night so don’t worry about me.

Michael reacted to her message with a thumbs up.

It better be a HOT hockey player.

Michael reacted to Marc’s message with a thumbs down.

Good night, Marc!

I want every INCH of detail

That earned a vomiting emoji from Michael. I do NOT want any details.

GOOD NIGHT MARC

*

Harry hated that he had a big house. If they were at her apartment, they could have been squished in her bed right then. She wouldn’t be down the hall and half of Harry’s mattress wouldn’t have felt so cold. He rubbed his eyes and sighed. Fortunately, his phone vibrated almost immediately. Like she somehow knew he was awake.

Are you awake?

M-hmm

Can we get breakfast, please?

Harry would throw himself down a set of stairs for her if she asked. “You could jus’ come in here t’ask,” he called.

“I’m creating boundaries!” She answered from a guest room. “Besides this bed is comfy and I don’t want to get up,” she giggled.

“Well, I don’t want boundaries,” he grumbled to himself. He wondered if she slept without pants on. Not that it mattered. He was turned on by the thought of her naked in his bed or if she was in a full snow suit.

“What did you say?” She called.

“Nothing,” he grumbled and pressed the palm of his hand over the front of his shorts willing the blood to rush anywhere but his dick at the thought of her in a goddamn snow suit. “I just have t’shower,” he mumbled.

“Okay, I’ll be here,” she sighed, and Harry could picture her snuggling herself further into the mattress. Maybe it was for the best she was in another room. If she was there looking all cute and cuddly on his bed, he would have to quit hockey. He would probably spend the rest of his life worshipping her on his mattress in every possible way.

Plus, his dick would never be anything but hard.

“Jesus, fuck,” he sighed to himself under the spray of the warm shower. He tried to think about anything but her pretty self in the other room. In his house. In his bed. In his clothes. She was probably changing into her uniform from the night before, so at least he wouldn’t see her in the shirt and shorts he gave her to wear for bed.

He shook his head and focused on shower and not what it would feel like to press her against the tile or—

“Fuuuuck,” he touched his forehead against the tile. Hockey. Defense. Goals. Niall. That’s good. Niall, gross. Callie—FUCK Callie. Asher owes me ten dollars for betting Lang wouldn’t say “good effort” in their pool game the other day.

His shower took twice as long to shower because he had to actively think about something other than his pretty friend. Once he was out, he slipped into a pair of sweats and one of his long sleeve practice shirts. As he put on his deodorant, he realized it took him an embarrassing amount of time to realize what she was doing as he got dressed. “Rookie, you are not,” he called as he hurried down the hall.

“Not what?” She asked innocently.

“Doing my dish—Rookie, what the hell!”

“They were just there! And I was bored, Harry. Plus, you didn’t say I couldn’t!”

“I told you last time.”

“Well yeah, but that was last time.”

“Please stop,” he begged and rubbed a hand over his face. “We’re supposed t’be going t’breakfast.”

“Well, I figured while you took two years to get ready,” it couldn’t have been more than twenty minutes max but maybe his effort to not think about her in his shower took longer than he thought, “I would make myself useful,” she shrugged and set the final dish on the drying rack beside his sink. She turned the water off and ran the dishtowel over the counter and edge surrounding the sink. She turned, leaning against the counter. Her black and silver uniform top for The Locker Room was on her again. Her leggings from the night before clung to her legs like a second skin.

He wondered how she could look so cute after working a hectic, busy shift, then slept all night and it barely looked like she had a hair out of place. “What?” She asked looking down at her shirt. “Do I have something on this? We’ll have to stop at my apartment first if I do. I’m not going out with you to breakfast when you look hot and I look like trash,” she frowned.

He snorted. “Y’don’t look like trash, Rookie.”

“Well, do I smell or something?”

“No,” he shook his head and rolled his eyes. “You’re beautiful. Stunning really,�� he shrugged one shoulder and reached out to touch her face. He skimmed his thumb along her cheek wishing he could lean in and kiss her until they were both breathless. He smiled softly enjoying the way her cheek warmed under his touch. For someone so snarky, she was awfully shy. “Let’s go,” he tilted his head toward the main hallway. He made his way before she could read into it as he was sure she was wont to do.

Harry opened her passenger door and smiled wickedly at her as she got in. “What?” She asked, her eyebrows pinching together.

“You think I’m hot,” he sang.

“Shut the fuck up.”

Harry chuckled, closing her inside.

*

Kael didn’t play because he was injured. The report sustained it happened at practice the day before but everyone on The Chargers bench knew. Kael kept his gear on but moved to the end of the bench for the starters and lines of his teammates that would be playing. He hardly cheered, hardly moved.

The rest of The Wolves sent death glares to everyone on the team. Harry was checked into the boards more times than he could count. But every time he caught sight of the pretty photographer twirling her wrist in between photos, he felt grateful for each hit. She continued to take pictures, placing her camera into the cutouts of the glass around the ice.

Kael hid from pictures from his own media specialist, the news outlets, and even the fans during the game and in between periods.

“Coward,” Asher growled as they left the ice and headed to the locker room at the end of the game. The group that typically resided in the back of The Locker Room was livid when they found out from Harry that Kael hurt her. They too must have seen the way she twisted her wrist around between pictures. Harry wondered if she noticed she was doing it. It ate at him that it wasn’t the first time that piece of garbage hurt her. There was nothing Harry could do—well, maybe if he ever did figure out time travel, he could. But for now, he could take the hits from Kael’s stupid team and make sure the pretty photographer was okay.

Besides.

He may have had a tough game physically, but Harry was truly on cloud nine.

“Sweetheart, you good?” Lang called from the front of the line heading back toward the locker room.

“I’m good!” She answered.

Harry didn’t even care that Niall was walking alongside her and not him. Or that Callie gave her arm a squeeze when he walked by. It didn’t bother him that Asher was as irate as him either.

Because the word Styles was on her body. It was purposeful. If Kael paid attention, he would see it. He would know she supported Harry, regardless of how outlandish it was (or wasn’t) that he defended her last night. Harry knew the second he saw it, that Kael was going to look at the pretty girl with his number on her and start fuming in his seat. Maybe that’s why his team aimed for him so vehemently throughout the game as well.

Whatever, Harry could take it.

It was well worth it to see his name on her jersey.

Harry realized it was his time to shine after they went out for breakfast. He drove her to get her car at Louis’. He followed her home to the shady apartment building. He wasn’t in the mindset to leave her for any bit of time given the night before. Maybe not for a good few days either if he had it his way. They had away games coming up so they would be all but trapped together on a plane, a bus, and in a hotel so that was in his favor.

He really hoped she would be in a nearby room at the hotel. Or better yet, there wouldn’t be enough rooms, and he could share his with her.

“Why’d you choose eleven?” She asked when she came out of her room after getting ready. She was fluffing her pretty hair and tugging at the hem of the jersey that she had put on. It took a moment to register in Harry’s mind that she was talking to him and was anticipating a response. In her mind, it was no big deal that she was nonchalantly wearing his name and number. That she was by far the prettiest thing he had ever seen. The sweetest person he knew.

He swore his heart skipped a beat as his vision refocused on the lovely girl wearing his name on her back.

He cleared his throat. “S’the first number I ever got,” he shrugged. “But now I say m’so good, m’number twice.”

She grinned and laughed quietly under her breath as she put earrings on with The Chargers logo. “I like that. You are very good. I’ve seen a lot of hockey myself. I like to think I’m a good judge of ability.”

When Harry was younger, he thought if he could have a superpower, he would want to time travel. As he got older it changed a bit, he wanted super strength so he could be the strongest hockey player. Read minds so he could predict the movements of opponents on the ice. Since he met her, he returned to the tried and true: if he could time travel, he could figure out twenty seconds after he kissed her if she hated him or kiss him back, he would have done it right then.

He smirked. “So m’the lucky one today?” He asked pulling on the sleeve.

“I don’t know, does wearing someone’s jerseys constitute as lucky for the day?”

He nodded. “Yeah, very much so, Rookie.”

“Then sure; you’re very lucky, Harry,” she rolled her eyes.

Harry had to bite the inside of his lip to keep his smile from splitting his face in half. He turned away slightly and caught sight of a string of pictures on her little kitchen bar. “What’s all this?” He asked, picking up a photo and inspecting it. It was one of the ones she took while Harry was practicing before the rest of the team showed up. Another photo she got laying down on the ice of Callie’s skates when Harry wanted to rip his teammate’s arm off for holding her so close that day. One from Niall’s empty net. Another of Asher’s locker, his jersey on display. A close up of the C on Lang’s jersey. One of just the empty rink—no fans, no players, nothing.

“Oh... I don’t know,” she looked away shyly piling them together. “I was playing with the idea of making a series of photos,” she flipped one over to indicate the back showed the number three in the line. “You guys are attractive and stuff, but I thought there was a lot of beauty in the little things behind the bench, you know? It’s not just fights and points. The rink is so pretty,” she shrugged.

Harry grabbed her hand before she could stack any more of them away. He looked at each of the pictures painstakingly selected from the hundreds of photos she took each day. The way the light shone off a helmet, the way a shadow fell on the bench. “They’re beautiful, Bunny. Why don’t y’do it?”

“Do what?”

“Make it a series?”

She shook her head. “No... I don’t know. Not many people care about sports photography,” she shrugged. “Not like this anyway.”

“Rookie, I think every team owner and manager in the league would pay t’have this set in their arena.”

“No way, there’s not a single headshot of a star player. In sports, the only thing that really sells by far is you guys and your pretty faces,” she patted his cheek. “It’s tragic, I have some incredible photos of a few baseball diamonds at sunset. But there’s no fans and no players so it just wouldn’t sell well.”

“Show me,” he urged.

She sighed and put her jacket over “We’re going to be late, Harry. Uncle Charlie is already going to be annoyed with me that I’m wearing your jersey. And so will the rest of the team.”

“They all had their turn, Rookie, y’made me wait forever,” he grumbled. They didn’t have to be annoyed. They didn’t have a crush on her the way Harry did. They all knew that. His teammates were his family, but they made him cranky no less; teasing him about how smitten he was about their photographer.

She smiled sadly. “Harry,” she sighed. “I’ll show you another time.”

“Promise?” He pleaded.

“Promise?” She repeated in disbelief. Harry was nearly thirty years old and sounded like he was in kindergarten.

“Promise you’ll show me,” he said pointedly.

“Alright, yeah," She shook her head, sighed with a smile still on her lips. "I promise.”

--

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[emchante]

Divorced dad!Daniel + “Sighing softly at the shell of your ear so you can hear how much you affect them” -> imagine you’re the first person he’s with after a long time and he’s so vocal when you palm him through his boxers 🙏🏼

~🫠

sweet temptations | d. ricciardo

summary: daniel had been relieved from dad duties for the weekend, so he invited you over for dinner. not long after, you’re on top of him and helping him get off— something he hasn’t experienced in a while.

prompt: “sighing softly at the shell of your ear so you can hear how much you affect them” + divorced dad!daniel

warnings: 18+ content, post-divorce daniel, handjob through clothing, dirty talk.

w.c. 1.3k+

masterlist | requesting rules

a/n hello lovelies! divorced dad!daniel series finally has it’s first official blurb and i’m so happy with it. thank you to my wonderful anon for requesting, i loved writing this. please let me guys know what you think, i would love to hear your thoughts and would be honoured if anyone wanted to drop into my inbox so we can explore this series together <3

the night was cool, the streetlights of the neighborhood glowing dimly through the thin curtains of daniel’s living room. you could count how many times you had been round at his place on a single hand, as he often came to your house, whether that be with or without his kids.

this weekend he was free from dad duties, and he had invited you to his house for dinner. this.. thing you both had going on was still new. it was more than a casual fling, but nothing had been set in stone or defined as of yet.

that didn’t matter currently, not when you found yourselves entangled on his sofa, the fingers of your right hand tracing lines up his exposed chest.

daniel’s breathing was heavy, his rose-inked hand was firm on your waist, pulling you closer. your left hand trailed down his body, brushing over the hardness straining against his trousers. a shudder ripples through daniel’s body, a low groan erupting from him.

“god,” he breathes as his head falls back, sunken eyes dark and hooded as he gazes up at you, full of need. “you have no idea what you do to me.”

you smirk at his words, giving him another gentle squeeze. his response is immediate— a long-drawn moan, his hips shifting toward your touch, craving more. “i think i have a small idea,” you tease, winking as your thumb circles over his hardening cock.

you relish in the whimper that escapes him at the small movement, enjoying the jerking of his hips at any touch. your eyes trailed over him, taking in the sight in front of you. the older, handsome and —quite frankly— powerful man that everyone seemed to fawn over, was currently beneath you on his worn down sofa, cock straining as he moans for your touch.

you lean on your right hand, using it to ground yourself as you move closer to daniel’s face. you place a line of soft kisses from his chin, up his jaw and one final kiss on top of the freckle that resides under his ear, before moving your lips up.

“but still, tell me,” you whisper, biting on the bottom of his earlobe and gaining a soft gasp from him before continuing. “tell me what i do to you, daniel.”

a deep flush creeps over daniel’s cheeks, but he doesn’t shy away. instead, his right hand moves to your face, nudging it until you’re both eye-to-eye. his dark eyes were clouded with desire and need, staring deeply into you.

“every time you touch me, it’s like— i don’t know,” he stammers, voice quiet as he tries to gather his thoughts. “it’s been so long since someone made me feel like this. it’s like im re-experiencing everything all over again, like this is all new to me,” he explains, licking his lips as he stares at you, waiting.

you lean down and press your lips into his, capturing him in a slow kiss as you let your fingers work him slowly; palming him through the fabric of his trousers. his reaction was instant, another low, guttural moan erupting against your lips; and it sent heat pooling in your belly.

“god, you’re so sensitive,” you murmur against his lips, pulling back and pointing your head down to watch. you press your hand a little harder, and are rewarded with a twitch beneath your palm.

daniel nods quickly, head tilting to the side so his lips are against your ear. you bite your lip while he pants into your ear, swallowing thickly before sighing softly. “yeah, you— you have no idea,” he stammers, hips bucking up into your hand again desperately. “please.. don’t stop.”

your fingers found the button of his jeans, and another shaky breath escaped him. you tilt your head back up to look at him, and his eyes meet yours with a look was half-desperation, half-anticipation.

“is this okay?” you whisper, wanting to double-check he really was okay with this. despite his eagerness, you wanted to make sure.

any doubts you had were shut down in an instant as his hand grabbed your face, pulling you closer to capture your lips in a fervent kiss. “more than okay.”

your hand makes its way into daniel’s jeans, cupping his straining cock through his boxers. you give him another squeeze, enjoying the warmth in your hand now you were closer to his cock than before. the sound that escapes daniel can only be described as pure, unfiltered relief. “oh— oh my god,” he chokes out, his voice straining as he stretches his head back against the couch.

you could feel him pulsing beneath your hand, the heat building as you continued. you were drawing needy sounds from him that made your own heart race, desperate to hear more. the sight before you was one you wanted to memorize, so you kept your eyes trained on his body the entire time.

as you kept stroking him through the thin fabric of his boxers, you bit your lip as you listened to the string of soft moans fall from his lips. his head was writhing from side to side, hips shaking and jerking almost uncontrollably as the pleasure started to truly overtake him.

he tried to get into somewhat of a rhythm, focusing on trying to grind his aching cock against the palm of your hand. another deep groan escaped him as his body started to tighten, and you knew he was nearing the edge.

you move your face closer to daniel’s again as your lips ghost his own, his eyes opening as he tries to keep them trained on you. you can tell that daniel wants you to lean in that inch closer, connect your lips and kiss him hungrily again.

but you don’t.

you keep your lips brushing his own as you continue to stroke him, eyes boring into his own. daniel gets bored of your little game fast, and leans forward to capture you in another kiss. he kisses you like his life depends on it, tongue grazing your bottom lip slowly before slipping it into your mouth. his hips continue to buck into your hand, thrusts becoming more hurried.

“come on, daniel,” you murmur against his lips, pulling back. you lick your lips before taking you bottom lip between your teeth, squeezing his aching cock and sighing. you move to his ear again, kissing just behind it before whispering to him. “let go for me.”

daniel’s body shuddered, his breath hitching as his whole body went rigid, and with a final strangled moan, he did as you said. you could feel the heat and dampness through the fabric as daniel finished, his head falling back against the couch while squeezing his eyes shut, riding out the waves of pleasure as small whimpers and groans escaped him.

you continued to cup him through his boxers, your thumb slowly rubbing against his softening dick through his boxers. when his breathing was starting to even out, his eyes opened slowly and he lifted his head to look at you. you slide your hand out from his unbothered jeans. you wink at him, licking the slight wetness off your thumb which causes a low groan to come from daniel.

daniel uses his hands to push himself up, back resting against the armchair before moving one of his hands onto your waist, and pulling you into him. you rest your forehead against his own, and daniel takes it upon himself to place a soft kiss onto your lips.

⋆˙⟡ enjoy the fic? come chat to me through my ask box, publicly or on anon! i’d love to talk to you and hear your thoughts about it <3

[happypopcornprincess]

Chapter 3 || Friends? idfc

Pairings - Joaquin Torres X fem!Reader

Premise - Feelings take over Joaquin and y/n as Mexico proves to be more dangerous than anticipated... bringing with it both new faces and old enemies.

Word Count - 4.7K

Warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI!, unprotected hate sex, Joaquin and y/n being freaky asf, Language, Angst, Mentions of blood, DV, Abuse

a/n - This chapter's got a lot more intense stuff, probably the longest one yet! About Y/n's suit, I decided to go with the 'Black Widow' movie design, like Natasha's. I was thinking 'Civil War' at first, but the 'Black Widow' one was just better for the... ahem... spicy parts. Also, the POV will be switching a lot between Y/n, Peter, and Joaquin from now on. Hope you like it! This is my first time writing anything this hardcore T~T so please let me know in the comments if I got it right!

<< Chapter 2 || Series Masterlist || Chapter 4

Nothing could have prepared you for how cold the desert gets at night.

When you landed just outside of a small abandoned village in the middle of the mexico desert, the quinjet opened up to a cold gust of wind hitting you on the face. You heard Peter swear and then a loud smack followed just after, you let out a laugh, knowing it was Kate who did that.

Setting camp in an abandoned church was quite odd, but it was also unsuspecting. The roof was gone, what remained were the stone walls and the altar, which was somewhat intact. But the corroded wood on the platform told you one step would send you through the floor.

Sam held up a makeshift meeting place on the altar, and covered the backside of it with tarp as a space to sleep in.

“Team,” Bucky spoke up, “Briefing at 10, set up camp where you can.”

“Is it just me or is this giving major Resident Evil vibes.” Peter spoke to you, and you looked ahead as you walked through the church.

“Well now that you said it…” you huffed out looking at the blown out ceiling, an eerie feeling of being there all on your own creeping up your back.

You tried not to think about it, but the feeling only grew as all of you worked in silence, the only sound being the shuffling of your team with the equipment, “Guys,” Peter smashed a box on the floor, stealing everyone’s attention, “I think we’ve got company.”

You tensed, hand on your utility belt, Peter's senses were rarely wrong.

“Company as in, Kingpin?” Shang Chi asked with caution, the rings around his arms glowing golden.

“No.” Peter took a deep breath, deploying his suit, “something else.”

“Ghosts?” Kate perked up, and you shot her a look, “I mean…” you shook your head at her as she strung her bow, but still, you locked eyes with Peter.

A heavy, brooding voice cut through the eerie silence, “Looks like we’re not the only one hinting kingpin, red.”

The sound of a clocking G36 Rifle made you grab your Glock and point it towards the source; the altar.

Out from the shadows, as though magic, you see a big white skull coming in view, sending shivers down your spine. Everyone suits up, bucky pointing a gun at it, and as the figure stepped out into light, you saw the skull was spray painted onto a bulletproof vest. And the wearer was none other than…

“Punisher?” Sam’s puzzled tone made the grip on your gun stronger, “but-” he couldn’t complete his question, when a flash of red appeared right in front of him.

The figure stood up, and the realization made you drop your jaw on the floor.

Horned helmet, in a suit entirely crimson red, eerily close to the color of blood. It was Daredevil. The devil of Hell’s Kitchen.

Amongst everything unravelling in front of you, all you could mutter out… was…

“What the fuck is going on?”

—/—/—

“We had no idea,” Daredevil said, eyes trained on the ground, “the avengers were onto Kingpin.”

Frank Castle, the punisher, chuckled, “thought we were the only one searching for him, like always.” his tone laced with mockery.

“What’s up with that sarcasm man?” Shang Chi spoke up, making Frank look at him.

“Shouldn’t you be in San Fran?” he asked, his stance relaxed, earning a bewildered look from Shang Chi. He looks at you and you shrug in confusion, but still alert at the man standing in front of you.

“I met you once,” Kate stepped forward, “you told me to stay away from Hell’s Kitchen.”

You remembered that rain-soaked night, the chaotic alleys of Hell's Kitchen, crashing into Kate as she ran towards you. She had gripped your arms, her eyes burning with urgency, and screamed at you to run the other way. 

Minutes later, you had witnessed a distant explosion, a building consumed by flames.

“You had no play in that war Kate,” Daredevil spoke, “your mother already paid the price, you should have stayed away from it.”

"After the Blip, Hell's Kitchen was a free-for-all," Daredevil explained, his voice strained with suppressed rage. "I was gone, Frank was gone, the Defenders were gone. Kingpin turned every gang in the city into his pawns." He took a ragged breath. "He's hiding here after Maya killed him… or so we thought."

"Kingpin was in Tamaha," you stated, your mind racing, connecting the dots. "That was the last place we had a solid lead."

"Yeah," Frank growled, "All of Hell's Kitchen is a warzone because of him. Every attack, every explosion, every murder, every act of violence… it's all him."

"But the cartel conflict…" you began, trying to find a thread of reason, but Daredevil cut you off, his voice sharp with anger. "It was his doing. He pitted the cartels and the mafias against each other, keeping the law distracted, preventing any semblance of peace.”

Frank continued, “Guess who’s running for mayor this year?”

You locked eyes with Bucky, finally clicking everything in place, Bucky says, “Kingpin will swoop in as the savior, the hero of the neighborhood who saved them,” you hissed, your breath catching in your throat. "The people don't even know they're being manipulated by the very man who's destroying them."

“Anyways,” Peter exhaled a sharp breath, “what next?”

“The fuck you mean, what next?” Frank glared at Peter. “We find Kingpin and blow him to hell.”

The room erupted in chaos, voices overlapping, arguments flaring.

“You want to blow him up?” Kate shouted, incredulous.

“Yeah, and you don’t?” Frank retorted, his voice a low growl.

“What happened to your no-killing rule, Daredevil?” Peter challenged, stepping closer.

Daredevil retreated, grumbling, “I won’t be the one pulling the trigger, Spider-Man. And don’t pretend you don’t understand. There’s no other way.”

“There might be,” Shang-Chi countered, his voice firm.

“You brought those rings for show, then?” Frank sneered, turning his attention to Shang-Chi. “One punch from you would be enough. No need for us to get involved.”

“I’m not killing anyone!” Shang-Chi bellowed, his voice echoing through the room.

“You’re not getting involved in this, Frank!” Bucky interjected, pointing his vibranium arm at Frank. Frank responded by stepping directly in front of Bucky, his hand hovering near his gun.

“Frank!” Daredevil intervened, his voice strained.

You moved towards Sam, who was preparing to step between Bucky and Frank, the two most volatile members of the group. Before you could speak, Joaquin’s shout cut through them. “HOLD ON!”

Everyone turned to him, Joaquin standing in the center of the room, frustration etched on his face. “Arguing won’t get us anywhere. Let’s just… I don’t know… sit down and talk it out?”

He looked at you, Sam, and Bucky. “We’re here to stop Kingpin, not fight each other. We all know Frank and Daredevil have faced Kingpin before, and if they want him dead… there might be a reason.” He turned to Sam, his mentor. “Please, let’s hear their perspective before we move forward.”

He scanned the room, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary, before settling on Punisher and Daredevil. “I understand why you want Kingpin gone, but believe me… killing him won’t solve this. We need him to confess to his plan, or someone else will take his place.”

“So,” he raised his hands, palms open, “can we sit down and talk this through?”

You hastened to Bucky, gently placing a hand on his arm. “Bucky, please,” you murmured. You felt him take a deep breath, and Frank, though his eyes remained fixed on Bucky, stepped back. Their gazes remained locked, charged with unspoken tension.

—/—/—

And what the hell were we?

Tell me we weren't just friends

This doesn't make much sense, no

The cold desert winds have died down to a simmer, the moon above providing light in the empty atmosphere. At Sam and Daredevil's insistence, you, Kate, Shang-Chi, Peter, and Joaquin found yourselves excluded from the building. You didn't like it, but held onto the hope that Sam would manage the situation.

“Can someone please explain to me why we are outside? Shouldn’t our opinion matter too?” Kate asked in frustration. 

Leaning on the outside walls, you spoke softly, “Kate…” trying to reason with her.

She didn’t stop, “Why even bring us here if they get to make all the decisions!” 

“Kate…” you ask her to stop, a warning in your tone. You could understand why this affected her directly. She was left all alone by the direct involvement of Kingpin and his schemes. She was the victim of his scheming plans.

“No, Y/n, Frank can’t kill Kingpin. He has to go to jail for what he did.” she huffs out.

“And how did that work out the first time?” you ask her a genuine question, “you think he won’t be able to bribe his way out again?”

“Are you agreeing with them? He is a mercenary y/n.” Kate walked up to you. 

“I never said that.” you stood straight, watching Shang Chi trying to pull Kate away from you.

"She swats his hand away, looking right at you, “I want him behind bars, dying a slow, agonizing death, suffering for years and years watching how he ruined so many lives for his gain.”

“Kate…”

“He is the reason my mom’s in jail!” she screams.

Joaquin held you back, trying to silently plead with you not to speak further, but the words slipped out, “She is in jail because of her involvement with him. She is responsible for what she did Kate… you can’t change that.”

Anger contorted Kate's face. She shoved you, immediately being restrained by Shang-Chi. “Do you even know what it feels like to lose the only family you ever had? Did you ever lose anything, Y/N?”

The raw hurt that flashed across your face was impossible to hide. You saw the moment Kate realized she’d crossed a line, a flicker of regret in her eyes. Peter held her back as she lunged forward again, and Joaquin rushed to your side, his hand reaching for your arm.

You shrugged him off, the sting of her words still burning. Without a word, you turned and hurried towards the Quinjet, your footsteps echoing on the hard ground.

“Y/N!” Peter called after you, his voice laced with concern, but you didn’t dare look back.

Joaquin, his expression a mixture of worry and understanding, hesitated for a moment, then followed you. He didn't say a word to the others, just gave them a hard look before turning to go.

Inside the Quinjet, the silence was thick with unspoken emotions. You moved to the pilot's seat, running a pre-flight check, your movements sharp and precise.

Joaquin settled into the co-pilot seat, his gaze fixed on you. "Y/N," he began, his voice soft, "are you—"

"Because you started it, Y/N! You brought her mom into this, can't you see you're in the wrong here?" Joaquin's words hung in the air, a final, stinging accusation.

"Wrong?" you spat, the hurt and anger boiling over. "I'm wrong? She pushed me!"

"And you pushed her buttons!" he retorted, his voice rising. "You know her history, you know her triggers, and you still went there!"

"So what? I'm not the one who put her mother in jail!" you demanded, your voice cracking. "She brought my brother into this, Joaquin! She knows what happened, and she used it against me!"

“Your brother?” he asked, his tone laced in confusion, “what brother? Why don’t I know about this?”

“You don’t need to know about him.” you try to turn away from him but he grabs your wrist, forcing you to face him.

"Why not, Y/N? After everything we've been through, why can't you trust me with this?"

Your chest tightened, a knot of fear and frustration. "Because..." you breathed, "I- I don't want to."

“You don’t want to?” Joaquin let out a dry laugh, “are you listening to what you’re saying?”

"You don't need to know about me, Joaquin!” you push him away.

“But I want to!” he shouts back, grabbing your shoulders, his grip tight. “I want to know why you get closed off everytime I bring up your past! Or anyone! I want to know why you can’t talk about it!”

"Why do you want to, Joaquin?" you demanded, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and fear.

"Because I love—"

"No!" you cut him off, the word a desperate plea. You knew what he was about to say, and you couldn't bear to hear it. "Don't say it!" You pushed him away, the force of your anger sending him stumbling back. 

“You can’t say it, Joaquin.” you pleaded.

His eyes bore into yours, his gaze unwavering, “I want to, and I know that you want to say it too.”

'Cause I have hella feelings for youI act like I don't fucking care'Cause I'm so fucking scared

I'm only a fool for youAnd maybe you're too good for me

I'm only a fool for you

But I don't fucking care at all, 

Blinded with rage, you stepped forward and slapped him across his face, and he stood there, silently accepting it. 

At that moment, something took over you, and you surged forward, grabbing his neck, your lips crashing against his. 

It wasn't a kiss of passion, but a desperate, angry collision. He responded in kind, his hands gripping you tighter, the kiss a raw expression of the frustration and unspoken desire that had been simmering beneath the surface.

He shoved his tongue down your throat, and you pushed him back on the seats of the Quinjet, straddling him, your mouth not leaving his even for a moment.

Joaquin retreated for a second, gasping, “F.R.I.D.A.Y… disengage surveillance, and lock the doors,” before undoing your utility belt. He bit your lip as you got busy undoing his suit, your tongues fought for dominance, the only sound being the mechanical whirl of the closing doors of the quinjet.

You did quick work on his pants, and he left your lips to take off his shirt, and as soon as his shirt was out of the equation, he unzipped the front of your suit, pulling down your bra and releasing your breasts. The cold air hit your skin as Joaquin took your nipple in his mouth, taking turns on them, his fingers rubbing on the other as he licked on one, in response you could only gasp and moan, clawing at his back, biting his neck.

The entire act was raw, primal, a need in your core waiting to be satisfied.

When he looked up at you with hooded eyes, they had turned dark, pupils blown in ecstasy.

Joaquin grabbed the back of your suit, forcing you to remove it completely, leaving you in your panties, as he unclasped his belt to get rid of his pants. His cock was erect, swollen, and already leaking precum, and you wasted no time to sit on his lap and stroke him.

He kissed you again, in an urgent warring way, and lifted you up by your waist just to slam his cock inside you.

A scream left your throat as he stretched you out, your walls pulsating already, and you grabbed his neck and choked him, rocking your hips agonizingly slow.

Joaquin gasped for you, his strong arms hugging you by your waist to bring you closer, which only encouraged you to increase your pace. You moved up and down on his cock and it didn’t take him long to thrust his hips up to meet yours.

You moaned in unison, feeling his cock pulsating inside you as you chased your climax. He buried his face in the valley of your breasts, and you arched your back in response, his hot breath on your skin. 

A scream left your throat as you came hard, milking him while he gasped for air, releasing inside you. You felt his juices leak from between your legs, connected so impossibly close to him that you could feel his heartbeat on yourself; inside and out.

You and Joaquin gasped for breath, your bodies still intertwined.

Then, Joaquin pulled away. His movements were abrupt, almost violent, as if he were tearing himself free from you. He refused to meet your gaze. The silence that followed was a stark contrast to the sounds of your breath against each other mere seconds ago.

He dressed quickly, but you, still recovering from the sudden shift, fumbled with your own suit, your fingers clumsy with a mix of confusion and hurt. You stole glances at him, but his face remained devoid of any emotion. He was calculating, debating.

"Y/N," he called, his voice flat.

Your heart leaped, a desperate hope flickering within you. "Yes?"

But I'm not hurt, I'm tense'Cause I'll be fine without you babe

He worked on his utility belt, his back still turned towards you, refusing to acknowledge your presence. "It's over," he stated, his voice as cold as the desert wind. "We're done."

A thousand questions screamed in your mind, but your voice was trapped, lost in the sudden revelation.

He turned then, his eyes finally meeting yours, but there was no tenderness, no regret, only a cold, hard reality. 

"This never happens again," he said, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Don't mistake this for anything else."

—/—/—

“We will work together.” Sam announced, and while he earned some protests from Kate and Shang Chi, others listened to him in rapt attention, “Kate, Joaquin, Shang Chi, you’re with me and Daredevil. Peter, y/n, you’re with Frank and Bucky. Settle down for the night… we move at dawn.”

Peter took a deep breath, looking at Kate who was still fuming with anger. He was a bit skeptical of Frank, but now looking at him and Bucky who were discussing something in a hushed tone, he realized when it came to having a common enemy; these two were probably the best as a pair.

Daredevil was sitting alone on a beam on top of the altar, looking at the scene below. Peter knew he had to stay away from that man, as his Spidey senses tingle every time daredevil looked at him, like he was staring into your soul. In all honesty, Daredevil scared the shit out of him.

His eyes moved to y/n working alone on the ammo and supplies, and his senses perked up looking at how tense she looked. He then looked at Joaquin talking to Kate while looking at y/n, but then looking away as soon as she looked at him.

Shang-Chi sidled up, his voice low. "Quick question, completely unrelated to tomorrow’s impending doom."

"Go on," Peter said, bracing himself.

"Are they... generating a noticeable amount of static for you?" Shang-Chi asked, gesturing with a subtle tilt of his head.

"Yep, totally," Peter replied, his eyes following the gesture.

"But… why?" Shang-Chi raised an eyebrow.

"No idea," Peter said, with a shrug that was probably a bit too casual.

Shang-Chi hummed thoughtfully. "Is this about Kate?"

"I don’t think so," Peter said, his gaze moving back and forth between his two friends. "This feels... personal."

Shang-Chi's eyes narrowed, "Joaquin would have told us if something was going on with her, you know because she’s…"

"Yeah." Peter said, though he couldn't quite suppress a small grin.

Just then, Y/N’s gaze snapped towards them, making Peter and Shang-Chi deeply engrossed in examining their suits.

“Anyway,” Peter said, changing the subject, “bit bummed we’re not on the same squad.”

Shang Chi swooned, “Aww man, me too.” he pats Peter's back.

—/—/—

You agreed to take the first watch while everyone got some rest. One to give Kate some space at the moment and two, to stay away from that one man.

Frankly, staring at a wall was more appealing than him . The one actively pretending like you don’t exist.

“Hey.” Bucky’s voice made you look up from the sniper rifle you had set up on the nearest intact roof from the church.

“Yep,” you breathed out, going back to looking through the scope at the distance.

Bucky joins you on the ground, lying on his front, “I heard about Kate.”

“I’ll have a chat with her later. Kingpin’s first priority right now.”

“Okay.”

“Can’t sleep.” you ask him.

“No… I had a bad dream.” he breathed out.

That was enough to drop your stance and turn to him.

Bucky and you had made a pact early into your friendship; if any one of your nightmares returned, you would tell each other. No matter how bad or grotesque, the other would listen.

You took a deep breath, holding his hand, “Wanna talk about it?”

“Washington… Steve, Sam and Natasha on the highway…” he let out a shaky breath, “it’s been a while. First one since that flag smashers situation.”

Bucky looked at you with a warm smile, which just made your heart ache even more. This gentle, kind man went through hell and back all to be a pawn in the hands of the devil. The people who stole his life don’t deserve to be called human.

“How are you?” you ask him.

“I’m alright. I should be asking you this question. Are you good?” he says, squeezing your hand.

“I had an episode before coming here.” you gulped, your brother’s cries still ringing in your ears.

“Why didn’t you call me?” Bucky asked, his voice laced with concern.

“Joaquin stayed over.” you blurted it out like it was a fact.

Your heart contracts thinking back to that night, his tender touch, his familiar scent, how his arms cocooned you, how easily you fit right into them; like you belonged right next to him.

You shake yourself out of it, just to find Bucky looking ahead, a smug smirk on his face.

“Well well… you won’t need this old soul to sing you melodies to sleep now that you have a boyfriend-”

“-he’s not my boyfriend!”

“- to cuddle to sleep…”

“-I’m gonna throw up!”

“-Ah, cute couples courting each other… How I miss it.”

You punch his arm with full force, knowing full well he won’t feel it, just to make him stop.

He laughed, a genuine, hearty laugh. 

For a moment, you forgot about Joaquin, the impending doom, Kingpin, the whole chaotic mess. It was just you and Bucky.

You look through the scope to check the environment, but what you saw made your heart drop. Amongst the pitch dark desert… a red, fiery dot on the horizon. Your sharp inhale alerts Bucky as he shoves out his firearm, and you scream into the comms, “Mayday! Mayday! Missile approaching 20 seconds out!”

Looking through the scope you come to a horrible realization: it wasn’t going at the church; it was coming right at you.

“Bucky run!” you scream at him, already on your feet with him running down the stairs when a deafening sound pierces through the atmosphere, and you feel the heat of the blast on your skin. You are thrown to the ground, and Bucky grabs your form and shoves you under him to protect you from the debris.

And then, the gunfire started.

War had begun.

—/—/—

You ran out of the debris with help of Bucky, and found mercenaries littering the streets. Bucky shoves you behind a wall, and together you scout the area. There were some 8 people covered in tactical gear and state of the arc weapons surrounding the church.

“Get to the others, I'll handle this.” he told you.

“Stay safe.” you look at him.

“Yeah, I'll join you at the church.” he winks at you, and runs out.

As soon as Bucky headed out, you ran in the opposite direction.

—/—/—

Sam had three people firing at him, redwing shooting lasers at every person entering the Church. Kate was perched up a beam, shooting arrows to injure, Daredevil had num-chuks out and about at the altar, attacking five soldiers at once. Peter swung around the area, shooting webs and hanging them on the ceilings. Joaquin was fighting alongside Sam, taking two soldiers at once.

The Punisher screamed at him and Sam, “I’m heading outside!”

“I’ll cover!” screamed Shang Chi, already blasting a group with his rings.

The two men stepped outside, and what followed was an immediate shower of bullets and blasts outside.

Joaquin shot one, but the other kicked away his gun. He readied his hands to fistfight him, but the soldier had other plans. He fished out two daggers, and began attacking him blindly. Joaquin on instinct picked the nearest object; a knife. He gave it his all, slashing and stabbing at him, but a machete was no match in front of two razor sharp daggers. Soon, the soldier was successful in disarming him, and just as he was about to slash his throat, he shook with bullets flying into him.

Joaquin turned around to look at the attacker; and found you with a semi automatic in your hands. 

Sam spoke through the comms, “everyone get out of here it’s an ambush. Fall back!”

It was mere seconds before he saw you fall back, a bullet piercing through your body.

—/—/—

The sting registered in your bones before you opened your eyes.

A blinding light welcomed you back, sunlight falling right on your face. Looking around, you found yourself in an empty room, dust all around, lying on the floor next to a window. When you tried to get up, your abdomen felt like it was on fire. Looking down you found your upper suit gone, your tank top rolled up to your stomach, and bandages covering your lower body. A large patch of blood seeped through from your right side, just below your ribs.

“You got shot.”

You gasped as you heard Frank’s voice from the entrance, he stood on the doorway with a frown, his skull vest covered in blood. Your hands grabbed around the nearest piece of fabric; a familiar  shade of green, and you covered your front.

Frank had his eyes on his shoes, he spoke again, “Don’t strain yourself. We’re safe for now. Take some rest.” saying so he went away.

You looked at the jacket on your body and let the realization set in.

It was Joaquin's.

The one he was wearing beneath his suit.

As on cue, you heard shuffling outside, and in came Shang Chi and Joaquin.

Shang Chi ran to you and hugged you fiercely, all while staying careful of your wound.

“That was quite a scare y/n.” he spoke, helping you lean on the wall behind you.

“You should have seen the other guy.”  you tried to joke, but he didn’t smile.

“That wasn’t funny, y/n.” Joaquin spoke, his eyes blazing with fury.

Shang Chi gave you a reassuring squeeze on your shoulder, “I'll be outside.” he said.

“Go easy on her, please,” he told Joaquin in a hushed tone, and left the room.

Joaquin didn’t come near you, instead opted to stay next to the door, his eyes trained on you.

“I had to fish out a bullet from you under a flashlight. And you think this is funny.”

“Nice to see you too, Joaquin,” you bit back.

Joaquin’s voice was a low growl, his eyes blazing. “You almost died!”

Anger and frustration boiled inside you. He refused to talk to you, and now he’s going to give you a lecture on staying alive. Pushing yourself up against the wall, wincing at the pain, you retorted, “You think I wanted to get shot? I saved your ass back there!”

“I didn’t ask you to save me!” He yelled

“You were one second away from being kebabbed by that guy’s daggers!” You yell back.

“I patched you up!”

“I didn’t ask you to!” You try to throw his jacket at him, but due to your wound, you just drop it on the floor.

He scoffs, “You are going to get yourself killed!”

“Then so be it!” you screamed with all your might.

Just as Joaquin was about to respond, Frank's voice cut through the air, flat and emotionless. "Enough! We have contact."

He stood in the doorway, his expression grim. 

You locked eyes with Joaquin. A silent agreement of halting your personal matters until the situation is in control.

—/—/—

“Where are you?” Sam’s voice spoke through the comms that Frank had connected to an outdated radio he had found around the house you were camped in.

“A broken down house in the middle of nowhere.” Frank replied. He was right, this small two bedroom house was in the middle of the desert, with no other thing in sight. You had searched about some during the mission prep, about how people just abandoned their houses to move to cities.

“Peter and Daredevil are on the lookout. I’ve got Kate and Bucky with me. Is anyone injured?”

“Y/n took a bullet through the abdomen. She’s fine now.” Joaquin spoke, his tone monotone.

“Okay, tell her to stand down. We’ll meet near the kingpin's base and infiltrate in. I have contacted tony for more backup.”

“Wait! I have a plan.” you speak up, “after Frank and Daredevil told us of kingpin running for mayor, it got me thinking…”

The comms went silent, and after a while, you heard Sam, “go on y/n.”

You took a deep breath, collecting yourself, “Kingpin is about to run for mayor right? He’s got to have a voter’s base, people who will support him for his kind deeds of giving back to the community after going from rags to riches. But, what if we reveal his true face before he does this?”

“Go on.” this time it was Bucky speaking.

“Every shred of evidence we have, we leak it. Let’s broadcast it to the world who Wilson Fisk truly is. His crimes, his true intention after he becomes the mayor.”

“And how does this happen? No media house will publish anything bad about him. He’s the reason they are afloat right now.” Frank asks you, his gruff voice laced with curiosity.

“Internet.” you breathe out, “Running a crime syndicate on this scale… he’s got to have records. And he won’t be trusting it with anyone, so it’s got to be on a system he’s carrying all the time. His phone, laptop, something personal. I’ll run a cyber attack on their system, take every shred of data from his database and let it go wild on the internet. It will all be anonymous, untraceable.”

Shang Chi looks at you like you just won a marathon, and Frank had a smug smile on their face.

“There’s a catch,” Joaquin said. “A large-scale data exfiltration isn’t going to happen with a simple DDoS or Trojan. You’ll need a more sophisticated approach, likely involving a man-in-the-middle attack against his network.”

“Yes. exactly.” you state.

“Which means,” Joaquin continued, “you need to be within range of his local network.”

“Which means I’m going with you,” you said.

“No you are not!” Joaquin says calmly.

“Y/n,” Bucky’s voice came through the comms, “you have to lay low. I swear if I see you on site I will knock you out.”

“If we leak the evidence of all his crimes, his sentence might increase, and no matter if he bribes his way out… there will never be a chance of him running for mayor. He will lose all credibility.”

“You are injured!” Shang Chi protests.

“I won’t be fighting anyone.”

“And how do you plan on infiltrating his lair without a fight?” Joaquin asked you.

“Leave that to me.” Frank Grumbled.

To Be Continued...

<< Chapter 2 || Series Masterlist || Chapter 4

A/N - Thank you everyone for sticking with me till the end of this fic! if you liked it please let me know through the asks and the comments. Next Chapter will be up soon... Love y'all, Take Care!

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[padfootagain]

Love in Verses (I)

Chapter 1 : ‘And that orange, it made me so happy, as ordinary things often do just lately’

Hi, everyone!!! I’m so glad to finally start posting this series! I know I’ve been talking about it for a while, and I thank all of you for being interested and even excited about it! I hope you won’t be disappointed!

The first chapters will set the plot into motion, of course, we need to get the story going!

I hope you like this series! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader (professor!AU)

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff in later chapters, some scenes in later chapters will have heavy sexual themes even if it’s not explicit nsfw description, so minors here

Summary: Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Word Count: 3502

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s masterlist – Main masterlist

The Orange

At lunchtime I bought a huge orange— The size of it made us all laugh. I peeled it and shared it with Robert and Dave— They got quarters and I had a half.

And that orange, it made me so happy, As ordinary things often do Just lately. The shopping. A walk in the park. This is peace and contentment. It’s new.

The rest of the day was quite easy. I did all the jobs on my list And enjoyed them and had some time over. I love you. I’m glad I exist.

Wendy Cope, The Orange and Other Poems, 2023

There was sunshine upon the Liffey that morning. A scent of new beginnings in the air, a whisk of excitement in the breeze.

You took a deep breath before entering the college grounds. This was what you had worked so hard for, for so long…

You were finally working in a university, you were a researcher, you would be teaching to younger generations about your passion. And every time you thought about that truth, that new reality, your heart made a happy jump, and a grin formed on your lips.

You were there. At long last. You had a teaching position, you had money for your research, and you had this at Trinity College, no less.

For now, there were no students, the grounds were empty, filled with nothing but old stones, bending trees and sunlight. The year had not begun yet, it was still the early days of August, filled with warm weather, summer storms and a tinge of sun here and there. It seemed that your first day was one of those sunny, warm days that felt too much like vacation time to work. A good omen, if you had ever seen one. A good omen for your life that seemed to fall perfectly into place these days. Professionally, you were achieving your goal today, with this position in the best university in Ireland. Your family was proud, and so were you. And on a personal point of view, you were engaged, to be married to a successful man. You glimpsed at the diamond on your finger. You didn’t have a date for the wedding yet, but you were aiming for spring of the coming year. Frank had proposed during the summer, while you were on a trip for your vacation in Wales. You smiled at the memory. You were lucky this year, your life was perfect, or at least, successful. You were ticking all the right boxes. What else could you ask for?

You walked between the still frames of Edmund Burke and Oliver Goldsmith, stepping finally on the grounds of Trinity College. And you took a deep breath as you stepped into the entrance hall, crossing the building to reach the first courtyard hidden inside. You gathered your thoughts, tried to slow down your beating heart that was pounding with nerves and excitement.

You were to meet one of the fellows of your department, Professor O’Connell. You had never met the woman, but she seemed kind enough on the phone, if strict in her tone. You checked your watch, but you were still seven minutes early. At least, you would not make a bad first impression because you were late…

You hurried under the archway at the centre of the yard, glancing at the forbidden green grass on both sides, and the tall buildings that surrounded it. You tried to calm yourself, thinking that you were an assistant professor already, even if this was your first stable job, that you knew what you were doing, that the papers you had already published were proof of your academic success and your worth as a researcher. You could do this. You could do this…

You walked towards the English department with hesitant steps, trying to follow directions on the various signs scattered across the grounds. A fifty-something woman waved at you from afar though, she seemed to be waiting in front of a building. You smiled, hurried towards her, hoping that you were not mistaken and that she was, indeed, the woman you were looking for…

“Y/N Y/L/N?” she asked, and you nodded your head with a grin.

“Yes! Professor O’Connell, I assume?” you answered, offering her your open hand, which she took with a smile.

“Oh, Lydia is more than enough. How are you?”

“Grand… grand…”

“Welcome to Trinity, I guess. I’ll guide you for a quick visit of our building, and then leave you in the competent hands of our HR department for you to sign off some paperwork. Come on, I’ll show you around.”

She guided you across the large stone building in which you would be working from now on. You easily got lost in the maze of corridors, staircases and halls you were crossing. Still, she showed you the cafeteria in which you were introduced to a few of your new colleagues, some of the classrooms, and finally she guided you to the HR, where a middle-aged woman gave you some paperwork to sign.

Lydia was waiting outside, ready to guide you to your office. A new maze of corridors opened before your feet, but you said nothing, figured that you would eventually get used to it. You took a turn to the right to another corridor, headed straight for the door a few steps ahead. Wooden, with two plaques fixed on its surface.

Dr. Andrew Hozier-Byrne

Dr. Y/N Y/LN

Your heart skipped a few beats at the sight of your name there, engraved in copper.

“You’ll be sharing your office with another of our assistant professors,” Lydia explained. “Andrew arrived last year, he’s working mostly on 20th century literature… but I’ll let him talk your ears off about his research.”

She knocked, didn’t wait for a response before opening the door.

The office was tiny, to say the least, but it was enough for the two desks and chairs set there, a wardrobe and a few shelves. There was a poster of Johnny Cash on one of the empty spots on the white walls, and a large window facing the door, behind one of the desks. The other desk was set on the left-side of the room, a tinier window behind it.

A man was sitting in the chair behind the desk in front of the larger window, and he looked up as the door opened and Lydia walked in, you following close behind.

“Good morning, Andrew,” Lydia greeted her colleague with a smile. “This is Y/N, our new assistant professor, who’s going to share your office this year.”

Andrew’s eyebrows arched slightly, although he still gave you a warm but shy smile, standing in a hurry. You couldn’t help your surprise as he stood up, towering you with an intimidating height. He seemed to have long hair, that he had tied in a bun. You studied his features, something kind and gentle made his hazel eyes shine, a short beard coloured his cheeks. He readjusted his glasses, as he quickly stepped around his desk. He was wearing a black turtleneck and dark jeans, there was a brown jacket thrown on the back of his chair.

You looked up at him as his smile widened just a little, still polite but with an extra-touch of kindness now. His body was intimidating though, and the fact that he was handsome wasn’t helping. He bent to avoid the lamp that was hanging from the ceiling.

“Of course! Erm… hi, nice to meet you,” he greeted you, offering you his open palm, avoiding eye-contact. You weren’t expecting how soft his voice was, how quiet his tone sounded. If his height gave something intimidating to his appearance, his voice countered that feeling, and you immediately felt more at ease.

“Hi! It’s very nice to meet you too, Andrew!”

“Alright, I’ll leave you to settle,” said Lydia, addressing you. “My office is down the corridor, if you need anything. But I’m sure Andrew can help you with the rest. The HR gave you everything you needed to access a computer?”

“Yes, I’ve got everything.”

“Good. Settle this morning, we’ll have a talk about your research this afternoon. The meeting for the upcoming year and classes is set later this week, you’ll get all the information you need for your teaching then.”

“Alright, thank you so much.”

She gave you a bright smile, before walking out of the room.

You were left alone with Andrew, who gave you another shy smile, rubbing at his palms.

“Erm… right… obviously, there is a large selection of desks you can choose from in this room,” he joked, his tone still stern, and you noticed how he was biting the inside of his cheek.

But you laughed good-heartedly at his joke, and he raised his eyebrows at your reaction.

“Hmm… I guess I’ll take this beauty over there,” you said, dropping your bag on your desk.

“Good choice,” he nodded, fleeing your gaze again. “Erm… I’ve emptied a couple of shelves over there for you too, and made some room in the wardrobe as well.”

“Thank you,” you smiled up at him and caught his eyes again, noticed their pretty hazel shade.

You turned on your computer, looked through your papers for the password that had been given to you so you could log in.

“So… what’s your research about?” he asked, a little awkward, shifting his weight while burying his hands in his pockets.

You noticed how he was bending his head and shoulders a little, as if to look smaller than he was.

“I work on feminism and the use of the female gaze in literature, as opposed to the male gaze.”

He raised an eyebrow, and you noticed how his gaze lit up with interest.

“Oh… that’s so interesting!”

You were surprised by the earnestness in his tone. The academic world was a particularly misogynistic one, after all. Most men in your field were enemies rather than allies.

“Yeah… I… I think so too,” you smiled, cursing yourself for your naïve answer. “I mean… If I chose to work on that, it means that I’m interested in it, but…”

He chuckled, the sound as quiet as his voice. You were still surprised by it, by the contrast it offered to his intimidating stature.

“Totally, yeah…”

“What about you?”

“20th century literature… mostly modernism and contemporary poetry. So… Lots of Joyce, Woolfe, Heaney and the likes.”

“Nice! That sounds interesting.”

“I mean… I teach a lot about modernism, but my research is more focused on poetry, especially poets who are currently writing.”

“That’s pretty rare, to have scholars studying contemporary art, instead of… dead people.”

You both chuckled at that.

“Yeah… but I… I mean… I value a lot the political weight of art, so… I find it more interesting to study something that talks about our current problems, rather than the problems from… four centuries ago or something...”

“Can’t argue with that,” you nodded.

You exchanged a smile, noticed that Andrew was relaxing as well by now.

“Erm… I’ll let you settle down, but… tell me if you need anything. Oh, and…”

Andrew nodded towards an empty frame tugged away against the wall, in a corner of the room.

“There’s an empty spot on the wall, feel free to hang something you like in it. As long as it’s decent enough.”

“Oh… I will refrain from a poster of my naked celebrity crush then,” you joked, making Andrew laugh again.

“Please, refrain. Although, I will accept your latest pagan ritual to summon Chtulhu or something…”

He tensed again, bit the inside of his cheek, as if he regretted his joke, but you laughed, and he seemed a little surprised by it.

“Dully noted… so, I can bring my pentagrams at work?”

His smile widened.

“Feel free to do so. I can produce the goat for the sacrificial ritual, if you need.”

You chuckled again, and Andrew bent his head, but you noticed the way his shoulders relaxed.

“Right, sorry for the weird humour,” he apologised anyway, and walked back to his desk. “Tell me if you need help with anything. I have a couple of things to take care of, but I can show you around if you need.”

“Okay, thank you! Yeah, that would be grand! And no need to apologise, I have a rather dark humour too.”

You exchanged a smile, before both of you would focus on your computers. You managed to log into almost everything, started to create documents and files for your research, downloaded a few articles that you needed to read this week.

It was almost noon when Andrew looked up from his screen again.

“Erm… is everything alright for you?” asked Andrew, his voice still as quiet.

“Yeah… erm… I just can’t log into something.”

Andrew stood up, bent to avoid the lamp again.

“Can I take a look?” he asked softly, and he walked around your desk when you nodded.

He helped you log into the software you needed, showed you a couple of things that you would need to use often.

“Would you like to get lunch?” he asked you with a timid smile.

You answered with a bright smile.

“Yeah, sure!”

“Did you bring some food?”

“Erm… no…”

“That’s fine, no worries,” he chuckled at your sudden hesitation. “We have a cafeteria in our building, for the staff. But it’s more suited for a coffee break than anything else. You can’t buy food there, except for a few snacks from a vending machine. There’s an electric kettle, a coffee machine… there’s a microwave and fridge too, if you… like… want to bring your own food. But nothing to make proper food. We can go to the cafeteria on the campus, though.”

“Okay, that would be nice! Are you waiting for anyone else for lunch?”

But Andrew shook his head.

“Most people in the department are gone to a conference in Cork for three days,” he explained.

“How come you didn’t go?”

But Andrew merely shrugged.

“I wasn’t invited to be a speaker, and to be honest, it was mostly about subjects I’m not particularly interested in. Besides, someone had to stay behind to keep the new lecturer company,” he smiled with a tinge of mischief, and you liked the sight.

He waited for you to gather your things, and you walked together out of the building. Andrew showed you around the campus a little bit, mainly the library and a couple of buildings where you could be asked to teach. You followed him to the cafeteria as well.

“Do you eat here often?” you asked, as you took a look at the food that was available that day.

“When I can. It’s not bad. But students come here too, so you should come only if you can avoid the worst of the crowd. As this year hasn’t started yet, we’re in the clear for a few more weeks.”

You ordered a sandwich, while Andrew bought a salad, and you walked together to one of the many empty tables.

“Lydia told me it was your first job as a professor?” asked Andrew, before sipping on a glass of water.

“Yeah. I mean, I’ve obviously been teaching and working in research for a while, but it’s my first year since I got that title,” you answered with a smile.

“Have you talked about your classes with Lydia yet?”

“No, not too much. I should be able to create a couple of lectures based on my research, but for the more… general stuff, nothing.”

Andrew nodded.

“Yeah, you might inherit some of the classes no one really wants to do, as you’re the newbie.”

“Did it happen that way for you?”

Andrew nodded again, but shrugged right after, swallowing a mouthful of salad.

“I mean, you’ll stay in something you’re used to, don’t worry. But a lot of people are holding the classes they enjoy teaching. You’ll have a limited choice in your field.”

“Any class that you’re hoping to drop?”

“One of them is bound to religion and religious references. I should be able to pass it to someone else this year. We’re exchanging. I’ll get a class on Yeats instead, which is much more in my area of expertise… and interests.”

“Not a religious guy, are you?”

He chuckled.

“Not really, no.”

He didn’t elaborate on the subject, and you didn’t want to push him, happy enough that your colleague and office-roommate was talking to you and acting with benevolence.

“Where did you teach before Trinity?” you asked instead, changing subject.

“Cork for a while, but my partner works in Dublin so I really wanted to move back on the west coast. And then I had the opportunity to come to Trinity last year, when I got the rank of assistant professor, so I didn’t really hesitate. What about you?”

“I taught for a while in Belfast, and they offered me a job when I became assistant professor. But I really wanted to teach at Trinity, so I applied and… got the job! My fiancé is working about halfway between Belfast and Dublin anyway, so it didn’t change much on his side.”

Andrew nodded.

“Relationships can be tricky with academic jobs, especially with how few the teaching positions can be.”

“Yeah, that’s for sure.”

You had gotten a yoghurt for dessert, and Andrew some dry fruits. He handed you the packet, a questioning rise of his eyebrow as a silent enquiry. You smiled, opened your hand and he poured some fruits in your palm.

“Anyway, I hope you’ll get interesting classes, and especially that you can teach about your research. Aside from being interesting for you, I think it’s important to develop what you’re working on in our field.”

You smiled, and he seemed to notice, giving you an awkward smile of his own in exchange.

“Thanks. I think so too.”

“But I have a more important question to tackle.”

You raised a questioning eyebrow, inviting him to go on.

“What poster are you going to put in that empty frame?”

You couldn’t refrain a laugh.

“I have no idea,” you admitted.

“Well, think about it. The decoration of our office is at stake, that’s serious business.”

“Of course, of course. Definitely my number one priority.”

“Good, it should be. My Qi is very sensitive to that kind of stuff.”

You both laughed, and you felt yourself relax again.

You had a good feeling about Andrew, about your shared office, about your new job, about this whole life that was ahead of you.

The world was smiling to you, even the weather was on your side. What could possibly go wrong?

You were so excited to go home and tell everything to your fiancé. Frank got home before you did, you lingered a little longer than anticipated because you asked Andrew questions about how the university worked, the power dynamic in the department, the people you should avoid and those who were nice to talk to. And you wanted to tell Frank about Andrew too. You were so relieved that the colleague sharing your office was nice, kind even.

When you stepped inside, Frank was watching TV. He had ordered some takeaway, and was eating in front of a stupid show that was on, more focused on his phone than on the tv anyway. He jumped when you entered, put his phone away in a hurry.

“Hey, babe!” you greeted him with a grin, bending to kiss him as he sat on the couch.

“Hi! I ordered food for tonight,” he said, nodding towards the Indian food that was scattered across the coffee table.

“Nice!”

“You’re home late.”

You grinned, nodding your head.

“It went amazing!” you jumped up and down excitedly. “First, a senior professor, Lydia, came to pick me up and showed me around. She seems very strict, but nice as well. Apparently, as long as you do your job well, she’ll be on your side. I went to the HR to sign some papers, and…”

You noticed that Frank wasn’t paying too much attention anymore, so you rushed your explanation.

“Anyway, I’ve met a few colleagues, and especially Andrew! We’re sharing an office. He’s been of great help throughout the day, and he’s very sweet! Which is surprising given that he is quite literally a giant!”

“You’re sharing your office?”

“Yes!”

“With a guy?”

“Yes. His name is Andrew! He’s been teaching at Trinity for a year.”

You noticed the way Frank refrained from making a comment, knowing you would call him out for being jealous. You refrained a sigh.

“He lives near Dublin with his partner too. He’s specialised in poetry.”

Frank seemed to relax, and you struggled not to be annoyed by his reaction.

“It’s grand that your first day went fine, babe,” Frank gave you an earnest smile.

“I’m just so relieved that the guy sharing an office with me is not some… misogynistic gobshite. I mean, I don’t know Andrew very much, but he seemed to be more on the feminist side of the spectrum, so I’m sure we’ll be able to get along.”

“That’s nice.”

He didn’t ask any further question but he was still looking at you. You sat down next to him, and he handed you some food he had ordered for you. It wasn’t your favourite, but you liked it.

He opened his arm for you to settle against his shoulder, and you happily obliged. You thought about all the details you wanted to say, but knew would bore him. You chose another question instead.

“What are you watching?”

[s-ublimewrites]

xanax (melissa schemmenti x f!reader)

synopsis: melissa needs a push to make a much-needed change in her life

words: 2.9k

warnings: swearing, mild angst (mel & reader argue), gary bashing, republicanism mention

note: i wrote part of this, didn't touch it for eight months, picked it back up, and now here we are: another fic where nothing actually happens between mel & r, but also everything happens. enjoy!

“Don’t go in there yet,” Janine stops you before you can enter the teacher’s lounge. 

“Uh, why not?” You prepare to step around her and she blocks your path. 

“Y/n, it’s tense in there right now,” she insists. She’s stress sweating, you notice. 

Your brow furrows. “Janine, it’s the first day. It’s…” you check your watch, “7:04am. How is it already tense?”

Janine checks over her shoulder and lowers her voice slightly. “So, you know Gary? Melissa’s vending machine guy?”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. Yeah, you know Gary. You are, in fact, acutely aware of Gary’s presence in Melissa’s life. Listen, you’re super happy for Melissa - she seems to like him, they just spent the summer in Jersey Shore together. You just think it’s kind of weird how he relates everything to vending machines. And you’re kinda wary of asking Melissa who he voted for in 2016. And 2020. And, okay, maybe seeing him kiss her goodbye in the break room makes you want to puke. Whatever. 

“I’m familiar,” you say to Janine.  

Her eyes flick to the cameras, then back to you. “Okay. Well. On the last day of their Jersey Shore trip, something happened. Melissa is pissed and Barbara totally knows why and I think they’re maybe mad at each other about it? Anyway it’s basically a war zone in there and you need to tread very carefully, Y/n.”

There’s genuine fear in Janine’s voice. Poor girl has definitely suffered the wrath of Melissa Schemmenti this morning. 

“Do you know what happened?” you ask. 

Janine shakes her head. “No, but Barb keeps shaking her head all disapprovingly and saying ‘Melissa Ann Schemmenti, just you wait until Y/n gets here,’ so…” 

Her Barb impression is… pretty bad. You don’t comment on it. 

“Ah,” you say, “so I’m the bomb-defusing robot you’re sending in so Melissa will stop being mean to everyone. I see.” 

Somewhere during your time at Abbott, grumpy Melissa has become your responsibility. Not that you mind very much. You like being the only one that can get through to her when she’s like this; you like that everyone knows it, too. 

“If rugs are Xanax for second graders,” Janine says, “you’re Xanax for Melissa. Good luck!” 

Janine scurries off and you take a deep breath. Here goes nothing, you suppose. 

It’s just Barb and Melissa in the lounge — you figure the palpable tension that hangs between them has scared everyone else off. They sit at different tables, decidedly not talking. Melissa’s face is buried in her phone, glasses on the end of her nose, and Barb stares at the yogurt that she’s stirring but not eating. 

“Good morning,” you offer softly as you step into the room, trying to give an air of ‘I’m perfectly normal and don’t know anything about your potentially-failing relationship.’

Melissa’s eyes flick up from her phone, landing briefly on you before she returns to whatever is on her screen. Barb, though, snatches up her bag and her yogurt and is on her feet moving toward you. 

“Maybe you can talk some sense into this one,” Barb says to you furiously. She keeps walking, heading right past you, and slams her yogurt into the trash before exiting the room. Somewhere in this time, the camera crew has the good sense to scram.

You look at Melissa. She looks back at you. 

“What?” she all but spits - angry, sure, but also upset. Hurt by something. Someone. Your hatred for the vending machine guy is set in stone. 

“C’mon, you don’t get to be mad at me - I literally just got here,” you remind Melissa and drop into the seat next to hers. 

Melissa doesn’t say anything, but she looks at you with less loathing. It’s a good first step. 

“You traumatized Janine,” you reattempt. 

“A strong gust of wind could traumatize Janine,” Melissa mutters. She puts down her phone and finally looks at you, moving her glasses to sit atop her head. “Why? What’d she say t’ya?” 

You remember Janine’s words — tread carefully. “Not much. Something about things being tense with you and Barb… Something about Gary.”

Melissa’s jaw sets and she looks at her lap and she doesn’t say anything. 

“Did you fight?” your voice is gentle.  

Melissa plays with her fingers and shakes her head. “No. Well, I don’t know. Kind of? I don’t know. Maybe.” 

You stay quiet while she thinks about this (you didn’t intend for it to be such a difficult question, but you don’t say that).

“Not yet, I guess,” Melissa finally decides. “We haven’t fought yet.” 

You nod, beginning to understand. “Does Gary know that you’re potentially going to be fighting?” 

She shrugs. “Dunno if I wanna make it a thing.” 

“So, there’s two things going on here? You’re mad at Gary for something, and Barb is mad at you?”

She nods. You nod. She suddenly becomes interested in her cuticles.

“Okay,” you retry, “which do you want to tackle first?”

“Neither.”

“Melissa.” 

“Why dontcha just drop it?” Melissa snaps. 

You don’t back down; rather, you give her a pointed look, and she sighs heavily — her international sign of realizing she was mean to you.

You try again. “So, Barb is mad at you.”

“Mhm.”

“Because of the Gary thing?”

“Mhm.”

“Did you fuck up, or did he?”

Melissa goes quiet again and you kick her under the table. 

“Hey, I don’t care either way. You know I support women’s wrongs,” you do your best to keep your tone light.

This draws a half-smile out of her. “Him. Mostly. Then, kinda me… Kinda.”

It’s your turn to stare at her, because what the hell are you supposed to do with that?

She huffs out a sigh, averts her eyes, and her words come out in a rush: “He fucked up and did some stuff and Barb is mad that I haven’t dumped him yet, okay?”

You nod, trying to piece the information together. “So, you wanna give him another chance, but Barb doesn’t? That’s… not usually how this goes.”

“I’m old, alright?” Melissa breathes out, any trace of venom having left her words. Now, she just sounds exhausted. 

“Hang on,” you hold up a hand to halt her train of thought, “what? First off, no you’re not. Second, what does your age have to do with anything?”

She looks at her lap. “I found someone who wants to settle down with me. I got divorced and wrote off love then found it again and I can’t afford to be throwin’ it away.”

Every once in a while, Melissa will let you see her frayed edges like this. They’re ragged and raw and tender and she trusts you to not probe more than necessary. It makes you feel… something. Something deep and warm that burns inside you like brandy and makes your hands tremble. 

“But?” you coax gently, and she runs a hand down her face in something akin to defeat.

Melissa’s eyes flick to the door, and you know she’s making sure there’s no camera crew and no Janine.

“But somehow we got this far in without talkin’ about politics. I mean, I talk about it. All the time. And he nods, so I thought we were on the same page, but…”

Christ alive, I was right about the elections, you think, and clamp your mouth shut (it is so not the time for an I Told You So).

For the umpteenth time this morning, you choose your words with care. “I’ve never known Melissa Schemmenti to compromise her beliefs for anybody.”

And, well, there it is. You’ve said the thing that both Melissa and Barb knew you’d say, and she wouldn’t be able to fight you on it, because it’s you. Her Xanax. 

She spends a moment chewing on her bottom lip, and her voice is low when she says, “I don’t wanna hav’ta start all over again.”

It occurs to you that this woman is deeply scared that she’s never going to be loved again. 

You don’t know how to reassure her that you’re not going to let that happen. 

Instead, you just say, “Yeah,” because what else is there to say?

After a beat, you add, “You also don’t wanna hav’ta date someone who thinks they’re putting litter boxes in classrooms for all the kids who identify as cats.” 

Melissa huffs out a somewhat incredulous laugh and blinks away the tears that you weren’t planning on pointing out. She shakes her head like she’s clearing out cobwebs. 

“I was hoping we could just ignore it. That it would be one of those things we don’t talk about,” Melissa tells you. 

You look at her pointedly. “Right. Until he tries to tell you that unions strip you of your individual voice and makes you watch NewsMax after dinner every night. Melissa, you’d murder the man.”

The glare you receive in return only confirms what you both know: once again, Melissa is incapable of arguing with you, and she’s kinda peeved about it. 

“Why d’ya gotta to be so…” she fishes for the appropriate word, “…right? It’s obnoxious.”

“It’s obnoxious that I know you?” You suppress a smirk. 

“Yeah.”

“So you want me to let you keep dating a republican?”

Melissa crosses her arms over her chest. “Shut up.” 

“You gotta dump him, babe. Before there’s a questionable campaign sign in your front lawn,” you stress, and she groans. 

“Then who’s gonna take me to Ocean City and haul me back to the hotel room when I’m eight Manhattans deep and three g’s in the red?” She pouts. 

Your eyebrow quirks up. “Is that your only qualifying factor? I can do that.”

The pout gives way to a small smirk. “So, I dump Gary and you take me to Ocean City? Is that the deal?” 

You pause. Or… maybe ‘freeze’ is a more accurate word. 

“I… guess?” you manage to get out.

Melissa considers this for a moment, head cocked to the side. “Not a bad incentive.”

How did we get here? you briefly wonder, and you push the thought aside. 

“So you’re gonna leave him, then?” you try to keep your tone light, hoping to urge her back toward your main objective. 

Melissa huffs, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I get it. You wanna be my knight in shining armor. You’re not gettin’ me to Ocean City that easy, kid.” She smirks, but it’s tight. Almost forced. 

“Hey, I’m just saying that if all it takes is some drinks on the boardwalk, I’m your gal,” you laugh softly, and she cracks a smile back. 

For a brief moment you feel like you’ve successfully dodged the bullet; Melissa’s more relaxed now, some of the tension having left her shoulders. You just have to coax her a little bit further. 

“I’m serious, Melissa. You deserve way better than a guy who…” is politically vomit-worthy “… doesn’t share your values, y’know? You don’t have to settle.”

That’s when something changes in the way she’s looking at you. The smirk disappears, her eyes narrow, and when she speaks her voice has cooled significantly. 

“Settle?” Melissa repeats. “Who’s settlin’?”

It’s like the air thickens around the two of you. You try to backpedal, to shove the words back in your mouth and swallow them, but it’s too late. Melissa is putting those walls right back up. 

“I don’t need you to swoop in and save me, Y/n,” her voice is sharp, intentionally chosen to carve out space between the two of you. “I’ve stuck it out through way worse than this, alright?”

You sit back in your chair a little and do your best to keep your voice even. “That doesn’t mean you have to-“

“I don’t have to do anything.” Melissa is already shaking her head, voice firm. “I didn’t ask for advice.”

Ouch. Okay, so, she’s kinda pissed. Usually your talks go a lot better than this, and you’re both laughing by now. Then again, usually the talks are about Ava’s inadequacies as a principal or some annoying parent. Not Melissa’s love life and sense of self-worth. 

“Melissa,” you try to control the damage, “I’m not trying to-“

“I’m not some delicate little flower who can’t handle a little trouble. You know me,” Melissa leans forward. “I’ve dealt with way harder stuff than Gary screwin’ up a little. You don’t know half of what I’ve gone through, so don’t sit there and try to pretend that you do.”

Her words hit you square in the chest. You didn’t know what to expect coming back to work after not seeing Melissa all summer, but you didn’t imagine it would be like this. 

Not that you imagined it often. Definitely not. 

You had hoped nothing would be different between you, but she’s evidently putting you at arm’s length now. 

“Melissa, I’m just saying,” you take a breath and try to regroup, “you deserve better than him.”

“Better than what?” Melissa shoots back, arms crossed securely in front of her chest. “Than a guy who wants to settle down with me? Yeah, he’s got some rough edges. So what? Who doesn’t?”

You make a mental note to unpack that sometime down the road. 

“Rough edges?” your eyebrow raises. “Melissa, I’m just trying to make sure you’re happy and not… settling.”

You’re hyper-aware of your use of that word again, and so is she. 

Melissa looks at the table and her jaw clenches. “Yeah, well, maybe you don’t get to decide what settlin’ looks like for me. We’re not on the same page with this, alright?”

In the tense beat of silence that passes between you both, you can feel her withdrawing further from you. The months you’ve spent apart have made it all too raw, too soon. She leans back, arms still crossed, face set in a stubborn scowl. 

“I’ve been fine without your opinion all summer and I’ll be fine without it now.”

You sit back in your chair and try to not let the sigh you let out sound too irritated (or too hurt). This isn’t your first rodeo with Melissa, but still… Ouch. 

“All I’m saying,” you start gingerly, “is that just because you can get through something, it doesn’t mean you should.”

Melissa’s eyes narrow again, but they’re softer this time. She’s listening — even if she doesn’t want to be. 

“I know better than to try to tell you what you can or can’t do,” you continue, keeping your tone casual like you’re discussing the weather. “But I know you, Melissa. You don’t accept less than what you deserve. So if you’re ’sticking it out’ with Gary, there’s a reason, but I don’t think it’s the reason you think it is.”

Melissa doesn’t speak right away, just… stares, with this thoughtful expression. You let the silence hang between you, allowing your words to sink in. 

“You dunno everything about me, Y/n,” she finally says, looking away from you, and her voice has lost some of its edge. 

You offer a small smile. “I never said I did.” 

Another beat of silence. You can see her chewing on your words, probably fighting the urge to make it an argument again. This is always the hardest part — getting her to let go of the fight without feeling like she’s losing. 

“I just… I think you’re worth more than whatever this is,” you say carefully, making sure to keep your voice low. “And maybe it’s time you stop sticking it out just because you’re scared of what comes next.”

That does it. You see Melissa flinch, just barely, but it’s enough to know you’re getting through to her. 

“I’m not scared,” she mutters, but it lacks any real conviction. 

You don’t argue with her, just nod. “Yeah. I know.”

Melissa shifts in her chair, arms still crossed, but she’s less tense. She’s still mad, sure, and maybe she’s even still mad at you, but the fire behind it is dying down. 

“You always gotta be so damn calm, dontcha?” she grumbles. 

“One of us has to be,” you chuckle softly. 

Melissa finally cracks the tiniest smile, her boot nudging you under the table. “Good. You’ll need that calm at the craps table.���

“You’re totally gonna hold me to Ocean City, aren’t you?”

She shrugs. “Gotta have somethin’ to look forward to since you’re makin’ me dump my usual company.”

“Hey, I’m not making you-“ you pause. “Oh. So… you’re gonna do it, then?”

“Yeah,” Melissa nods with a sigh. “I guess I am.”

You just nod, and it seems like Melissa is really absorbing the fact that she’s about to be single again. She looks at the clock like it’s a ticking bomb. 

“Guess I’ve got some time to figure out how I wanna do this,” she says, and you know she’s going to be an anxious mess until 3:30 rolls around. 

“One thing at a time,” you offer a small, supportive smile, and she nods. 

She chuckles softly, more tired than amused. “Right. Should probably focus on my thirty second- and third-graders first.”

Right. Teaching. The thing you’re here to do. You both stand up and start gathering your things. She doesn’t make for the door when you do, and you stop. 

“It’s gonna be okay, Melissa,” you reassure her. “And you know where to find me if you need me.”

Melissa nods and takes a steadying breath. “We’ll talk later?” She sounds almost… hopeful. 

“Of course,” you smile. “If I recall, we’ve got an Ocean City trip to plan.”

Melissa huffs out a small laugh and gives another nod. The tension seems to leave her frame slightly as she finally heads for the door. You follow behind her, knowing the hardest part of the day is yet to come. But maybe, you think, everything will turn out just fine.

[peeponastick]

Touch My Soul, Pt. 1

Uchiha Itachi x fem!Reader

Word count: 1.6K

Rating: This will be a NSFW 18+ multi-part fic. Part 1 doesn't have any outright explicit content tho. Part 2 here

cw/tw: SPOILERS, mentions of sexual harassment (Hidan is a skeevy perv), emotional turmoil, angst?, sexual tension (but nothing actually happens sorry to edge y’all), major eye contact, like way too much eye contact reader and itachi are basically eye fucking each other 90% of the fic, dramatic asf I can't help myself im sorry

Idk what im doing This is my first time writing and really being on tumblr in general, please let me know if I missed any tags or if you have any advice!! 

not canon at all (but SPOILERS!!!!) pls humor me, everyone in the Akatsuki is alive and led by Madara/Tobi

Synopsis: Madara, the elusive figurehead of the Akatsuki, is an ambitious yet paranoid man. That’s why he has you, as a security measure, given your secret jutsu that allows you to see into people’s souls to confirm their true intentions. When Itachi Uchiha shows up to join the Akatsuki, what will you see behind his obsidian eyes?

Exhausted. Another cross-country mission with pain in the ass Hidan was just what the doctor ordered for your repressed rage and depression living in basically a wet cave with the rest of these jerks. You tried your best, you really did, to not let any emotions slip through the cracks of your cold facade. Some of them had better qualities than others, but none of your fellow Akatsuki members were people you felt particularly amiable towards.

Most of them viewed you as Madara’s stone-cold right hand, his own personal weapon. He trusted you more than any other member, and that fact alone was enough to instill a certain kind of fear in the hearts of every other Akatsuki member. And you know what, good. The more you kept your distance, the better. 

Though your body ached with fatigue upon returning to headquarters, your senses immediately picked up a foreign energy hanging in the air– a presence. Not ominous per se, but definitely a palpable and strong chakra signature.

Leaving Hidan’s perverted requests to join him for some “one-on-one post-mission relaxation time” behind, you made your way to Madara, the chakra getting stronger the closer you got. 

There he was. 

Your breath hitched as your eyes set on a statuesque man standing across from Madara, his tousled, raven-black hair draped around his stunning face and strong shoulders. A lifetime of stress and hardship left evidence of weariness across his features, and yet his eyes still sparkled with a fierce softness, framed by a set of beautiful, thick lashes.

He was so... pretty. Your eyes dropped down to his lips, then his chest downward as you began to drink him in, feeling flushed with an unfamiliar warm tingling the longer you studied him.

He glanced at you with his penetrating eyes, your cheeks burned at being caught in your lustful admiration. Without a doubt, it was Itachi Uchiha standing next to Madara, a solemn look spread across his delicate face.

You’d seen him in the bingo book before, but all the talk you had heard didn’t compare to standing in the same room as him. It was intriguing, though, for someone with such a reputation, and clearly such immense power, his energy didn’t feel threatening or overbearing to you.

Madara raised a hand to Itachi, finally pulling your gaze away from him, before walking over to you. 

“I’m sure you’ve completed the tasks assigned to you, y/n, correct?” Madara asked rhetorically.

You had never failed him, it was important for you to maintain your position in his eyes. Your usual self would have made a sardonic remark about your disdain for working with Hidan again, how a pet rock would have been just as helpful with none of the sexual harassment. But, with the third party in the room, you simply nodded while maintaining your cold, detached demeanor.

“Good, I have another task for you then,” Madara commanded lowly in his deep, chilling voice, pointing his chin in Itachi’s direction.

“This is y/n,” Madara announced, gesturing in your direction as you followed him towards Itachi.

“She’ll just perform a little security check if you don’t mind, nothing personal. I am interested in your usefulness, but I just like to be sure of who I’m working with, I’m sure you can understand. After all, ‘clan killer’ doesn’t exactly have a trustworthy ring to it, now does it?” Madara taunted.

Itachi’s beautiful, brown eyes glinted with an undetectable emotion before connecting with yours, and again you began feeling the wave of heat washing over you.

What was this?! Some sort of jutsu he was using on you?? No.. my god, had it really been that long since you’d been attracted to someone? 

Snapping out of your embarrassing realization about your pitiful sex life, you cleared your throat as you pulled yourself together to perform your special jutsu. Your specialty was energy and emotions– detecting, reading, transmuting. This made you very handy to Madara, after all, knowing what’s inside someone’s soul makes it much easier to manipulate them and offer them what they want to hear, in exchange for whatever Madara wants or needs.

Your secret jutsu was something you dreaded performing. You were incredibly sensitive and receptive to energy, so oftentimes it would leave you completely drained and horrified— seeing all of the vile things people have done, let happen to others, things people buried and hid deep within themselves. It was a lot to witness and take in, and have to maintain your icy demeanor on top of that, lest Madara begin to question you. 

After weaving the hand signs, you hid the nerves buzzing in your body as you approached Itachi to place your hands on either side of his lean, muscular shoulders and touch your forehead to his. By the power of your jutsu, you were transported into Itachi’s soulscape, where you’d be able to confirm for Madara upon exiting, Itachi’s true intentions and trustworthiness as an Akatsuki member. 

Given what you had heard about Itachi, you braced yourself upon entering his soulscape, but were totally unprepared for what you saw.

Time stopped as you and Itachi stood under an endless blue sky painted with magnificent rolling waves of white clouds. The sound of rushing water caught your attention as you looked behind you to notice you were standing several paces away from the edge of a breathtaking waterfall. The cascading water plummeted down the carved earth into pools of emerald green.

Peace. You felt peace standing in this supposed monster’s soul? Itachi stood silent, his eyes intensely watching you as you began to take in more of your surroundings. You’d never seen or felt anything like this, this energy was so.. pure. 

Taking a moment to gather all the information flooding your senses, you turned to look at Itachi as tears pricked your eyes. Your heart broke as you began to fully understand and feel the weight of what he’d been through– what he’d been forced to do, and how much of a monster he believed he was because of it. You felt a gut-wrenching familiarity that ignited an inferno in your own soul, pulling you to him like a magnet and calling you to embrace him and never let go.

“Itachi, I-” you moved close to him, your mind racing as you tried to process the truth, “I’m so sorry, for everything you’ve been through.” You delicately placed a hand on his cheek while looking deep into his gorgeous eyes. His demeanor softened as the emotions overcame the both of you.

“Y-You know?” he hesitantly asked, almost too scared to believe you were seeing the real him and not judging or looking at him with disgust.

Your brows twinged with sadness as you nodded, “Everything,” you replied, tears streaming down your pink cheeks. 

He placed his large, warm palm over your hand as he searched your eyes for confirmation that this was really real and happening to him. He had always been expected to take on insurmountable tasks, things that made him question morality itself, all alone.

And yet, here you were, seeing him, understanding him, accepting him for who he truly was and not what he had done. The burden of his past finally being shared by an open heart, something he never could’ve imagined he deserved.

You reassured his fears without words, both of you lost in each other’s all-consuming gaze. You had never met before, and yet it felt like your souls had known each other many lifetimes. 

You were standing so close to him, the heat of his flushed skin radiated his intoxicating scent, smelling of old-growth forest and clean musk. Every nerve and fiber of your being was lit aflame as his eyes dropped down to your plump lips. His soulful eyes returned to yours as he moved his other hand to gently push a strand of your silky hair out of your face.

You were entranced by his beauty, slowly blinking as you held eye contact with him, fighting every urge to taste his lips that were mere inches away. He equally was mesmerized by your beauty, his eyes scanned all of your features, trying to take you all in and understand what this all meant, how you came to be the you standing here holding him.

“Who are you?” his deep, gravelly voice purred, a gentle smile lighting up his face. 

Panic overtook you as reality came crashing down, remembering that Madara was waiting in the real world for your answer. Though time operated much differently in your jutsu, Madara would certainly become suspicious if things took too long.

You placed your hands on either side of Itachi’s face as you held him close, a frantic look in your eyes.

“We’re out of time. Come to my room tonight, I’ll explain everything.” You hurriedly released the jutsu, and collected yourself so you could resume your emotionless facade so as to not draw suspicion. 

You turned to face Madara, immediately detecting his impatience, “He passed,” you confirmed, “Sorry for the delay, there was.. a lot there.”

Madara stood silent for a moment before releasing a booming laugh, “Yes, I suppose given our Itachi’s history there would be quite a lot to sift through, y/n.”

He turned to walk past Itachi and beckoned him to follow as he began to discuss his plans for the Akatsuki and, eventually, the world. You stood frozen, body still processing all of the huge waves of  emotions you’d experienced in your jutsu. A pit of anxiety began to form deep in your stomach knowing this fated meeting with Itachi meant it was finally time to begin your plan. To take down Madara and the Akatsuki from within. 

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

If you read this far, thank you so much I appreciate you!! I hope you liked my first fic ♡ᵎᵎᵎ

[dandelionclangen]

MOON 01 GATHERING (Part One)

The first Gathering under the new-leaf moon brings each Clan towards the Crumbling Stones. GossamerClan has a bone to pick with DandelionClan.. [Top Row, Left to Right] [Spirestar - Tom, He/Him - FrondClan Leader] [Oleanderstar - Molly, She/Her - GossamerClan Leader] [Snailstar - Tom, He/They - PlumeClan Leader] [Littlestar - Tom, He/Him - DandelionClan Leader] [Bottom Row, Left to Right] [Palepaw - PlumeClan Apprentice] [Bramblingnose - FrondClan Elder] [Icypaw - DandelionClan Apprentice] [Fireflower - GossamerClan Mediator] [Yellowstripe - DandelionClan Warrior] [Iceflower - DandelionClan Deputy] [Marigoldfur - DandelionClan Elder] [Rimecall - DandelionClan Mediator]

"DandelionClan, this will be our first Gathering in over eight seasons." Littlestar looked over his gathered Clan one by one. It was a smaller group than most went, but he could not be blamed for having a small Clan a the moment. He was proud of each of them for stepping forward, and he made sure to show it in his words.

"We've come a long way from the Starless nights, and they will expect much from us. But I believe in each of you to be on your best behavior and being able to put your best paw forward. We will show them that DandelionClan is no pushover, yet no threat." "Now, go!"

The moment Littlestar flicked his tail, multiple pelts rushed past him through the dense thickets and large stones. The leader himself pushed back the ferns to take in the sight that awaited him down the hill. Large, flat stones stacked atop one another pushed into the sky as though keeping the stars aloft under their weight, and the cats gathered underneath the greatest of their shadows to spread news.

Already, he could see Icypaw and Yellowstripe wasting no time to integrate themselves into smaller hoards of cats with Rimecall in the lead. Icypaw's eyes locked into a smaller apprentice's animated tale ("-and then I saw Robinclover take down all of those rabbits! He and Inkyfern had to take three trips to bring them all back!" An enthusiastic cry erupted.), and Yellowstripe's blinding grin was on full show at a mediator's tale. ("-there's always talk of strange magic in the lands. Seeing across great distances, sacrifices for wood spirits, but you can never trust much of them, can you?") But Littlestar's attention was placed directly upon the Stone Rise, where his true test will begin. Three sets of eyes watched his every move as he approaches the Rise. Spirestar's claws dug into the ancient stone, narrowing his dull hazel eyes in distaste. Oleanderstar's single-eyed watch was no less receptive, a wary and guarded expression on the molly's features. Only Snailstar seemed to remain neutral, flicking their tail in greetings and looking back towards his own Clan.

Despite his new lives, being on the receiving end of the gathered leader's searching stares felt as searing as StarClan's own.

"Greetings." Littlestar meowed, jumping up the steps with a grunt. "It's good to see everyone here."

"Don't be so quick to be cozy, rogue." Spirestar huffed. "How do we know this is not another trick? Do you even have your nine lives?"

"Would you rather try sink your claws into my pelt to find out?" Littlestar countered, tail lashing behind him.

"Quiet, young ones." Snailstar rumbled. "If you must fight, do it on your own territories." His green eyes glanced back up at the full moon. "Do not disturb StarClan's sanctity."

"Snailstar is right." Oleanderstar nodded. "The rogues... DandelionClan... would not be here if it was not StarClan's will." The molly looked towards the gathered crowd of cats. "I will give the signal if we are ready to begin."

At the three's nod, the GossamerClan cat took a deep breath and yowled into the clearing. "Let all gather under the moon for this Gathering!"

When the wriggling mass of tails and paws settled themselves down, only then did Snailstar nod and stand tall. His age betrayed nothing, Littlestar noted. If there was a fight to be had, no one could pass off the elder as a frail thing.

"I will begin this Gathering." Snailstar grunted. "Prey is running well in our territory. We have two new warriors who have earned their names and flight feathers." Snailstar looked towards the two, pride ringing clear in his voice. "Gladeowl and Murkyfur."

The clearing cheered for the two. "Gladeowl! Murkyfur! Gladeowl! Murkyfur!" "Our remaining apprentices are training hard to follow in these great warrior's pawsteps. And our Nursery is to be filled with Viperthroat's new kittens in a few day's time." Snailstar stepped back. "That is all from PlumeClan."

"We will go next." Spirestar nodded. "FrondClan is well-fed this moon, with prey returning to the forests under the Tree Spirits guidance." His ear flicked at Oleanderstar's scoff. "We have named several new apprentices. Sharppaw, Pipitpaw, Riverpaw, and Snowpaw have started their journey into becoming warriors." Congratulatory murmurs flooded the clearing.

"Finally, it would please the Clans to know that the Twolegs have not returned to their nesting spots on the edge of our territories. That is all from FrondClan."

Oleanderstar took a moment to survey the cats underneath the Rise, her gaze shifting into a steely glare. "I wish I could say that GossamerClan is doing well. But I can not. Rogues have been seen gallivanting our territory as though it was free of border markers. Chasing down our prey and disregarding our warriors until we had to fight to force them to flee. So it is why I must ask..." Her glare snapped to Littlestar. "Why DandelionClan can not control its own cats?"

[paradise-world]

Beneath The Surface | Kim Taerae ZB1

Summary : In a high school where popularity and social expectations define everyone's worth, you find yourself caught between your quiet nature and the pressure to conform. When Taerae, the popular yet conflicted boy, starts breaking the façade he's built to fit in, his vulnerability draws you closer, but it also stirs doubt and confusion. As you both navigate the tangled web of identity, loyalty, and personal truths, you must decide whether to risk everything for the sake of authenticity. In a world full of facades, the question remains: Can you both truly embrace who you are, without losing each other in the process?

Genre : Popular!Taerae X Quiet Fem!Reader, School, Fluff, Angst, Romance, Coming Of Age, Drama

Warnings : N/A

Playlist : She Looks So Perfect by 5 Seconds Of Summer / Chelsea by The Summer Set / Somebody To You by The Vamps / Classic by MKTO / Talk Too Much by Coin / Complicated by Avril Lavigne / Somebody Else by The 1975 / Television Romance by Pale Waves / This Love by Maroon 5 / Teenage Dream by Katy Perry

Word count : 18k (18,814 exact)

the sun has already dipped below the horizon by the time you leave the library, casting long shadows down the marble-floored corridor. soft golden light spills from the arched windows, filtering through dust motes that drift lazily in the air. the silence is thick, padded by the hush of the evening and the distant hum of the janitor’s cart. your footsteps echo like whispers against the stone, and with each step, your mind replays the day's lectures, the scribbled pages, the quiet ache behind your eyes from trying too hard to disappear.

the footsteps come first—light, unhurried, too self-assured to belong to anyone else.

"hey."

you turn slowly, your fingers still curled around the strap of your backpack. taerae stands there, half in shadow, the loose tie around his neck swinging with each step he takes. his blazer is slung over one shoulder, and that ever-present grin plays on his lips like a secret he’s not quite ready to tell. the hallway lighting catches in his hair, making the copper strands gleam gold at the edges.

"fancy meeting you here," he says, the way someone might say hello on a lazy summer afternoon, not like you're the only two left in this part of campus. his voice is light, effortless, but there’s something behind it—like he’s testing the ground before stepping closer.

"you followed me."

"guilty." he shrugs. "you’re not exactly hard to find. library, third row, always by the window. sometimes you bring coffee, sometimes tea. you tap your pencil when you’re stuck."

you raise a brow, shifting your weight. "do you keep track of everyone like that, or am i just lucky?"

"just you."

the answer comes without hesitation, but he doesn’t look at you when he says it. instead, his gaze flicks to the floor, then up to the high ceiling as if he's trying to act like it doesn’t matter. it does. you know it. he knows it. the air feels different now, charged, brittle.

"i thought you were going home."

"i was. then i wasn’t. plans change."

"sounds impulsive."

"sounds like me," he says with a grin.

you nod once, but say nothing. the silence stretches, fragile but not uncomfortable, like a shared blanket on a cold night.

"you always this quiet?" he asks, stepping closer now, until he’s leaning against the wall across from you. his eyes study you, not searching for flaws, but for openings.

"you always this nosy?"

to your surprise, he laughs—not loud, but genuine, from deep in his chest. it makes something in your ribs shift, like breath where there wasn’t any.

"maybe," he says. "depends on who i’m talking to."

the hallway hums with quiet energy, like the walls themselves are holding their breath. lockers line either side like silent witnesses. you glance past him, toward the staircase that leads out, but don’t move.

"come on," taerae says suddenly, straightening up. "let’s go somewhere."

"why?"

"why not? don’t you ever get tired of this place? the pressure, the silence, the pretending?"

"i don’t pretend."

he gives you a look. not mocking, but curious. "you don’t? ever? not even a little?"

you think of all the days you’ve stayed quiet in class to avoid drawing attention, all the times you’ve bitten your tongue when someone said something wrong just to stay invisible. you think of your hands, always fidgeting under the table, and your throat that tightens when people expect more than you’re willing to give. the invisible armor you wear every day.

"everyone pretends," you say finally.

"exactly," he murmurs. then he grins again. "come on. rooftop. i’ve got snacks."

"you brought snacks to school?"

"you never know when you’ll need to bribe someone into good company."

he starts walking, and to your own surprise, you follow. it feels reckless. it feels strange. but it also feels right.

the rooftop is quiet, windswept, the city below just a low hum of traffic and light. the sky stretches wide and ink-blue above you, streaked with the last traces of twilight. he lays out a small bag of chips and a couple cans of soda like it’s some kind of picnic. the gravel crunches softly beneath your feet as you sit down beside him.

"this is ridiculous," you say, though you’re already sitting.

"so are most good things," he replies.

a breeze rolls over the rooftop, and you both lean back, letting the silence wrap around you. for a while, you just sit there, the both of you sipping soda, staring out over the edge where the stars begin to blink into existence. the kind of silence that says more than words ever could.

"truth or dare?" he asks suddenly, like it’s a game he’s been dying to play all day. his tone is casual, but there's a strange tension in the way he says it—like he's fishing for something he’s not sure he’s ready to catch.

you glance at him. "neither."

the words are soft, but they land heavy between you.

taerae blinks, caught off guard. "neither? you can’t just—"

"i can."

he stares at you for a moment, like he’s trying to solve a puzzle he didn’t realize was missing pieces. "so you don’t play games."

"not ones that start with pressure and end in discomfort."

the wind catches his hair, brushing it across his eyes. he pushes it back absently, his hand lingering in his hair a moment too long. "you’re something else."

"i get that a lot."

"i meant it as a compliment."

"i know."

the quiet returns, but it’s heavier now. not awkward—just full. charged with possibility.

taerae leans back on his hands, exhaling. "you know, i thought you didn’t like me."

"i don’t."

he laughs again, but this time there’s a note of something else behind it—relief, maybe. or hope.

"but you came up here. you stayed. that has to mean something."

you don’t answer. not because you don’t have one, but because the truth is slippery, and you’re not sure he’d believe it even if you said it aloud.

you watch his profile against the night, the way his jaw flexes when he’s thinking, the way his eyes flicker with something like sadness when he thinks you’re not looking. you wonder what it’s like to be that sure of yourself, that bright in a world full of shadows.

"you always like this with everyone?" you ask.

"only with people i can’t figure out."

"and can you? figure me out, i mean."

taerae turns to you, his face illuminated faintly by the soft orange glow of the rooftop lights. his expression is serious now, stripped of humor.

"not even close," he says. "but i want to."

the wind picks up again, rustling your clothes and teasing the edges of your hair. and for a moment neither of you speak. you feel the edge of something shift inside you—not enough to fall, but enough to lean.

"i should go," you say, standing up. your voice is steady, but your heart isn’t.

"yeah," he says, standing too. "me too."

as you walk back toward the stairwell, he doesn’t try to touch you. doesn’t try to stop you. but just before you reach the door, he says, "hey."

you turn.

"next time, maybe you’ll pick one. truth or dare."

"maybe," you say.

the metal door swings open with a soft creak, and you both step into the dim stairwell. the clatter of your steps echo faintly as you descend side by side.

and you know, as you walk down the stairs with his footsteps echoing behind yours, that he’ll ask again.

and you’re not sure what scares you more—that you might say yes.

or that you already want to.

the morning sun filters through the tall windows of your classroom, painting golden streaks across the floor. the scent of paper, old wood, and faint citrus cleaner lingers in the air as students chatter around you, voices a soft hum of excitement and dread. your desk is warm from the sunlight, and you absentmindedly trace a finger over a small nick in the wood as your teacher clicks through the morning’s slides.

"group project," she announces, setting her remote down with a decisive click. the sound echoes slightly in the high-ceilinged room. "you'll be working in groups of four. research and present a critical analysis of a modern social issue. presentations in two weeks."

you already feel a ripple of anxiety in your chest, threading like cold water down your spine. group work means talking. collaborating. being visible.

"groups are assigned," she continues, her voice too casual for the bomb she's dropping. she begins to read names off a list, each pair of syllables like a tick of a metronome.

as she reads through the roster, your gaze flicks outside. cherry blossoms are blooming in the courtyard, fragile petals catching on the wind and tumbling like confetti. you lose yourself for a moment in the slow, aimless dance of it—until you hear your name.

"taerae, ohseong, areum, and... y/n."

your name lands softly, like a pebble in still water. not unpleasant. just unexpected. you glance sideways and meet taerae’s eyes as he turns in his seat. he catches your gaze and grins—half-charming, half-mocking, wholly unreadable. ohseong, seated two rows up, nods once, as if this grouping had been inevitable. areum leans closer, her expression lighting up.

"we’ve got a good team," she whispers, already uncapping her favorite pen. there’s something unwavering about her. always in your corner, always seeing more in you than you let show.

by late afternoon, the four of you gather in the quietest corner of the library, where dust motes swirl like slow snowflakes in the shafts of sunlight. the shelves tower over you like watchful guardians, and the hum of whispered conversations and pages turning forms a kind of cocoon.

taerae arrives last, as expected. he drops his bag beside the table and slides into the seat across from you with the kind of lazy grace that feels practiced. his eyes sweep over the group.

"alright, team," he says, his smile bright, shoulders loose. "we’ve got this. how do you think we should tackle the assignment?"

his tone is light, but there’s an unmistakable seriousness beneath it, like he’s measuring your reactions even as he plays it cool.

"let’s start by breaking down the requirements," ohseong offers. his voice is calm, thoughtful. "and assigning parts based on our strengths. no wasted effort."

areum shifts closer, her pink notepad already open, pen poised. "maybe we can sketch out a mind map? it might help us see how everything connects."

you nod, grateful for the direction—and her presence. you open your notebook, the one filled with stray thoughts and half-formed ideas, and turn to a clean page. as the others speak, you start to draw, letting the pencil move with quiet confidence.

"topics," taerae says, leaning forward. "throw some out. let’s see what sticks."

"media influence on youth," ohseong suggests.

"or digital identity," areum adds. "there’s a lot of potential there—self-image, privacy, pressure to perform… it branches really well."

you glance up. "it also lets us pull from psychology, sociology, and tech. there’s depth. data."

taerae raises an eyebrow. "you’ve thought about this before."

"a little."

"of course you have," he says softly. his smile shifts—less teasing now, more genuine. "digital identity it is."

the brainstorming begins in earnest. your page fills with interconnected bubbles: public versus private personas, algorithmic shaping of identity, performance culture. areum colors the branches with highlighters. ohseong begins collecting reference materials. taerae starts outlining a structure.

"i can handle visual synthesis," areum says. "i’ll make sure the flow of the presentation is clean."

"organization’s on me," taerae adds. "i’ll tie everything together so it sounds like one voice."

"i’ll fact-check, compile data, and make sure we don’t miss any angles," ohseong says, already scrolling through academic databases.

you sink into your strength—research. critical thought. connecting the abstract with the concrete. the mind map expands into a tangled, beautiful web. your pencil scratches out subtopics, arrows, and small quotes.

taerae leans over occasionally. "this part—maybe tie it to perception versus reality? how we see ourselves versus how others see us online?"

you meet his gaze, surprised by how close he is. there’s the faint scent of soap and paper and something citrusy.

"that’s... a good link."

"figured you’d think so," he murmurs, voice tinged with a small laugh. his eyes linger a beat longer than necessary.

"you’re doing amazing," areum whispers, nudging your elbow. her smile is bright, encouraging. "this is coming together better than I expected."

"thanks," you murmur, feeling something unfamiliar—confidence, maybe—rising in your chest.

"found something," ohseong says, holding up his phone. "a case study on teens managing online personas. it’s solid."

"perfect," taerae replies. "send it to the group chat."

the table becomes a controlled chaos of highlighters, overlapping notes, stray pens, and half-sipped drinks. someone hums quietly under their breath. laughter bubbles up once or twice—light, easy. something about this feels different. less like school. more like building something real.

"this might actually be fun," areum says, stretching.

"we’re a balanced group," ohseong agrees. "no slackers."

taerae smirks. "and surprisingly focused. i was expecting someone to bail."

you raise a brow. "you mean me?"

he gasps in mock offense. "never. but if the shoe fits..."

areum giggles, and even ohseong smiles. your own lips twitch upward, a quiet laugh slipping free before you can stop it. taerae notices. he always notices.

"alright," ohseong says, tapping his watch. "we’ve got a direction. let’s assign individual tasks and reconvene in three days."

"same place?" taerae asks.

"works for me," areum says, gathering her pens.

"i’m in," ohseong replies.

taerae looks at you, expectant. "what about you?"

you hesitate only a second. "yeah. i’m in."

the group begins to disperse. areum and ohseong chat quietly about possible reference articles. taerae lingers near you as you close your notebook.

"hey," he says, low and a little unsure. you pause.

"yeah?"

he glances at you, then away. "you surprised me today."

"how so?"

"you opened up. not a lot. just... more than usual."

you shrug. "maybe i care about good grades."

he laughs under his breath. "sure. maybe."

the library doors swing open with a soft creak. outside, the late afternoon light has turned golden, shadows stretching long across the hall. the silence between you is gentle, expectant.

you don’t look back as you walk away, but you feel the tension between you, strung taut and humming. a thread pulled tight.

two weeks.

a lot can happen in two weeks.

the morning light pours through the tall windows like honey, thick and golden, illuminating the long corridor ahead of you. shadows stretch across the waxed floors, reflecting a soft sheen, and the scent of lemon-scented polish clings faintly to the air. the school hums with motion—lockers bang open and shut, sneakers squeak across linoleum, and the ever-present drone of teenage conversation floats like smoke through the air. your fingers tighten around the edges of your books, the corners digging into your chest like a quiet reminder not to drop your guard.

you tell yourself it’s just another day. just classes. just a group assignment. but the thoughts from yesterday echo too loudly in your head—the ease of the conversation, the way taerae had stayed a little longer than he had to, the glimmer of something unspoken in his eyes. you try to focus on your steps, on the path ahead, but your mind keeps wandering.

then—without warning—you round the corner near the science wing and walk straight into someone.

a startled gasp escapes your lips. your books jolt, slipping slightly, and your shoulder hits something solid. you’re met with warmth and motion, and then the two of you freeze in place.

"oh—sorry," he says quickly, hands lifting instinctively like he might catch you, though he never quite touches you. his voice is low, hushed, as if afraid to break something delicate between you.

it’s taerae.

your eyes meet his, and everything else falls into silence. his usual confident grin is gone, replaced by a more uncertain expression—like he’s just realized he stepped into the wrong scene in a dream. his gaze holds yours for a beat too long, then flickers away, searching your face like he’s trying to read a word scribbled faintly in the margin.

"i didn’t see you there," he adds, voice still velvet-soft. you can barely hear it over the hallway’s commotion, but somehow, it reaches you clearly.

"me neither," you manage, your own voice uneven. your heart beats faster, too fast for something so small.

his lips twitch—barely. a shadow of a smile. then it’s gone, like it was never meant to be there. around you, the hallway flows with students rushing to class, laughter bouncing off the lockers, footsteps echoing like waves. still, neither of you moves.

taerae glances back at the tide of people behind him, then at you again. "i... guess i’ll see you later."

"yeah," you say, though your voice is thin, almost swallowed by the noise.

and then he’s gone. swept up in the stream of bodies, his figure disappearing around the corner like a dropped note carried away by wind. you’re left standing still, the echo of your collision still resonating in your bones.

"hey," a familiar voice cuts through the murmur of the crowd.

you turn your head. areum is making her way toward you, eyes wide and curious, eyebrows lifted slightly. she falls into step beside you, head tilting just enough to show she saw everything.

"that looked like quite a moment," she says, nudging you lightly. "you okay?"

you nod, but it feels like a lie. "yeah. just… didn’t expect to see him."

she gives you a gentle, knowing smile. "he looked surprised too. kinda like he’d seen a ghost."

"he apologized," you murmur.

"taerae? apologizing? wow. are we in the same universe?" she grins, then softens. "but seriously. he seemed... i don’t know. softer?"

you nod slowly. "he felt different. not like yesterday. not quite."

areum loops her arm through yours just as the bell rings above your heads—shrill and sharp like a chime dropped in water. "come on," she says. "you know how mr. lee gets when we’re late."

"yeah." your voice is barely more than breath.

you let her guide you forward, but your thoughts lag behind, still lingering in that half-second where his eyes had locked with yours, full of something you can’t name.

later that day, the cafeteria swells with noise. trays clatter, chairs scrape, and dozens of conversations tangle together into a messy, familiar hum. you sit across from areum, picking at your food without much interest. your tray holds a sandwich, an untouched apple, and a bottle of water that’s already sweating in the warmth.

areum watches you with a sideways smile, her head resting in her hand. "you’ve been zoning out all period," she says.

"have i?"

"mhm." she leans in. "so, tell me—what do you think that was?"

you blink. "what do you mean?"

"the hallway," she says, waving her hand. "taerae. the almost-collision. the awkward silence. the look."

"maybe he was just being polite."

"maybe," she says, but you can hear the disbelief in her tone. "or maybe he’s starting to notice you. like… really notice you."

you stare at your sandwich. "you think so?"

she shrugs. "he’s not as careless as people make him out to be. sometimes i think he pays attention in ways others don’t. quiet ways."

her words settle into your thoughts and sit there like stones dropped into still water.

by the time school ends, the sky outside is tinged with lavender. you find yourself back in the library, your usual corner still drenched in golden light. you sit, spreading your notes across the desk, but your focus drifts.

the mind map from yesterday catches your eye—digital identity. self-perception. versions of self. you run your fingertips along the branches, tracing the fragile connections like veins.

then, footsteps.

"is this seat taken?"

you look up.

taerae stands beside the chair across from you, backpack slung low, hair a little tousled. he holds a notebook, his fingers drumming softly on its cover.

"no," you say.

he slides into the chair, opens his notebook. "figured i’d get started. probably smart to be ahead for once."

"yeah. same."

for a few minutes, the only sound is the scratch of pen on paper and the occasional shuffle of pages. but the air between you feels different now—not tense, not distant. more like the hush before a song starts.

"you’re good at this," he says suddenly, still looking down. "the way you connect ideas. it’s impressive."

"thanks."

he glances up. "you don’t say much in class, but when you do, it lands."

you hesitate. "i just… i’m not always sure what’s worth saying."

"everything you say is worth something. at least, to me."

your stomach flips.

he shifts in his seat, then adds, more softly, "earlier today—sorry again. i didn’t mean to rush off. i just got caught up."

"i get it," you say, offering a small smile. "it’s okay."

he looks at you like he wants to say more, but instead he just nods. "still. i’m glad we ended up in the same group. it’s been... unexpected. but nice."

"yeah," you reply. "unexpected. but not bad."

and you return to your work, side by side in golden silence, the noise of the world falling away outside the walls of the library. the sun continues its descent, casting long beams of amber and rose through the windows, coloring the space between you.

and maybe, you think, just maybe—a single moment in a hallway isn’t always an accident. maybe it’s a beginning.

the hum of the classroom is steady and low, like the background score to a film you didn’t choose to star in. the fluorescent lights flicker every few seconds, casting faint halos on the glossy surface of your desk. the air smells faintly of old paper and dry-erase markers. your pencil moves in lazy loops across the margins of your notebook—doodles, half-formed ideas, fragments of thought not quite ready to become words.

outside the windows, the sky is a pale watercolor blue, clouds drifting slowly past like thoughts you haven’t named yet. the teacher’s voice drones on, a soft, unrelenting murmur about literary devices and comparative themes, the kind of voice that threads its way into your ears without ever touching your mind. students around you shift, scribble, stretch, yawn. someone sneezes. someone else whispers a joke that earns a stifled laugh. the sound of pencils scratching against paper is like rainfall on a tin roof—constant, repetitive, oddly calming.

your mind drifts.

your gaze wanders.

you find him again—taerae. three desks ahead, two rows over. he’s angled slightly in his chair, elbow propped on the desk, his cheek resting in his hand. his fingers curl near his temple, almost as if he’s shielding his thoughts from the world. the light hits the side of his face, catching in his lashes. his expression is different today—not unreadable, not guarded, but soft. maybe even lost.

he shifts, turning a page in his notebook. then—almost as if he feels it—his head lifts. his eyes meet yours.

you freeze.

not because you were caught, exactly. but because, for a breathless second, the connection is undeniable. his gaze holds yours, and in it is something raw and strangely vulnerable. his brow lifts slightly, a question without words. his lips twitch—not quite a smile, but not far from one either. it feels like he’s looking straight through you. not past you. not around you. through you. and the startling thing is—you let him.

he doesn’t look away.

a full second passes. then two. then three. your chest tightens, not with anxiety, but something quieter. something closer to hope.

and then he does smile. small. genuine. almost sad.

you glance down quickly, heart tapping at your ribs like it wants to be let out.

a moment later, a folded slip of paper slides across the space between desks. you blink, surprised. it lands neatly on the corner of your notebook. you look up—areum grins at you from one desk over, eyes sparkling.

"he’s so obvious," she mouths, barely moving her lips.

you stifle a sigh, but can’t help the small smile that edges into your lips. you unfold the note.

“do you ever feel like you’re pretending all the time?” it reads. the handwriting is neat. careful. familiar.

your head lifts just enough to find taerae again. he’s back in his notes, but his hand tightens around his pen. his foot taps lightly against the floor, like he’s waiting for something.

yes, you write back. sometimes it’s the only way to breathe.

you slide the note to the edge of your desk, not daring to pass it directly. but taerae is watching. the paper disappears.

a minute passes. then five.

another note returns.

“do you think anyone really knows who we are?”

your chest aches a little at the question. you look at him. this time, he doesn’t look away. his eyes ask everything his words can’t.

no, you write. but i think maybe some people want to.

he reads it. he exhales. his shoulders drop slightly, the tiniest shift. like something inside him just softened.

the bell rings.

students begin to stir, shuffle, rise. the classroom breathes out all at once. chatter fills the space. chairs scrape against the floor. the teacher’s voice fades beneath the rustle of movement. you stay seated a moment longer, fingers still curled around your pencil.

taerae lingers too.

he stands slowly, gathering his things with practiced ease. then, as if pulled by some invisible thread, he drifts toward your desk.

"hey," he says. his voice is lower now, meant just for you.

"hi."

he hesitates. his bag slung over one shoulder, his free hand fidgeting with the strap. "those notes... i wasn’t sure if i should’ve written them."

"i’m glad you did."

his eyes search yours again. up close, there’s a flicker of something behind them. not quite fear. more like... yearning.

"sometimes i feel like i’m playing a part. all the time. and i don’t even know when it started."

"it’s exhausting, isn’t it?"

he laughs under his breath. "you have no idea."

you tilt your head. "maybe i do."

he smiles at that. really smiles. it lights up his face in a way that’s almost too much to look at. his hand brushes against the corner of your desk, like he wants to reach out but doesn’t know how.

"we should talk more," he says, voice gentle. "not just about assignments. or... whatever."

"okay."

there’s a pause. the hallway is louder now, students spilling out from other classrooms, voices bouncing off the walls. but in this moment, it feels like the two of you are still wrapped in the hush of that shared glance.

areum appears in the doorway, watching the two of you. her smile is subtle, but it’s there.

taerae glances back at the classroom, then at you. "i’ll see you later?"

"yeah."

and just before he turns to leave, he adds, "thanks. for being real."

you don’t reply. not with words. but your smile, quiet and honest, says enough.

as the classroom empties and the hallway fills with voices and footsteps, that small, unspoken thing between you remains. delicate. uncertain. and entirely real. and even as you pack up your things and follow the crowd, the warmth of that connection lingers—like light after a storm, soft and slow and full of promise.

the morning air is cool against your skin as you walk through the front gates, a hush of wind tugging at your sleeves. it feels different today, though nothing has changed. the same cluster of students gather beneath the tall windows, the same birds chatter overhead. but something in your chest hums with a quiet anticipation.

you don’t know why you’re holding your breath until you’re at your locker, fingers brushing the cold metal, and you see it—tucked just beneath your history textbook, peeking out like a secret waiting to be found.

a folded note.

small, square, and cream-colored. the paper is slightly textured, almost delicate. you glance quickly down both ends of the hallway. students are lost in their routines, lost in their own mornings. no one is looking at you.

you unfold it with slow fingers.

some moments are meant to be cherished.

the words are written in neat, soft handwriting. familiar, maybe. thoughtful, definitely. the kind of handwriting that takes its time. there's something about it that warms your chest, even as your fingers tremble slightly.

"hey, you okay?"

areum’s voice is gentle, laced with the same concern she always carries for you. she leans against the locker beside yours, her eyes flicking to the note in your hand.

"what’s that?"

"i... found it just now. someone left it."

she tilts her head, smiling knowingly. "someone’s got a poetic streak. any guesses?"

you shake your head, though taerae’s face flickers across your thoughts. not because you’re sure—it’s just that his voice has started echoing in your head lately, soft and unguarded. the memory of his eyes holding yours in class, the quiet smile, the folded notes. it lingers.

"another mystery," areum says brightly. "your life’s turning into a romance novel."

"you think it’s taerae?"

"could be," she says, shrugging. "or maybe someone else entirely. maybe a quiet poet who’s been in your orbit this whole time."

"you’re having too much fun with this."

"and you’re pretending you’re not."

she winks and steps away with a laugh, disappearing into the stream of students headed to first period. you linger a moment longer, rereading the note before folding it carefully and slipping it into the back pocket of your notebook.

the day unfolds like a slow bloom. between second and third period, you pause at the bulletin board to check for a field trip signup—and there, beneath the edge of a flyer, another note.

what if every small moment matters more than we think?

you scan the hall again. nothing. no eyes locked on you. no knowing smiles. whoever this is, they’re good.

in english class, your thoughts are restless. the teacher’s talking about metaphor and tone, but your mind is busy weaving questions. your hand finds the corner of your notebook and tears a small square.

why me?

you don’t know why you write it. you don’t know who it’s meant for. but you fold it anyway and keep it.

after lunch, just as you’re about to unzip your pencil case, something falls from the side pocket. your breath catches. another note.

you look for answers in the quiet. i think that’s beautiful.

your fingers tighten around the slip of paper. it’s not just admiration. it’s understanding. like someone sees something in you you’ve barely admitted to yourself. like they’ve been paying attention to the spaces between your words.

you catch taerae’s gaze across the cafeteria. he's laughing at something ohseong says, but there’s a delay. like his eyes linger on you before he turns back to his friend. he doesn't smile this time. he just looks. steady. thoughtful.

areum leans in again, nudging you. "another one?"

you nod.

"you’re glowing."

"am i?"

"you are," she grins. "it’s sweet. honestly, it makes the whole day feel lighter."

"it’s weird... i don’t even know who it is, but it’s like they know me."

"maybe they do. or maybe they just see the parts of you you don’t show often."

the last class of the day stretches with the lethargy of afternoon light. your teacher’s voice drifts in and out. the sunlight pools across your desk. you open your notebook, tracing your fingers over the folded notes tucked safely in the back.

you wonder about the hand that wrote them. the moments they must’ve planned this—the care it must’ve taken to place them where you’d find them. it’s not just admiration. it’s intention. it’s quiet affection turned into ritual.

the bell rings, and the hallways flood with footsteps and chatter. you walk slower than usual, hoping—maybe—for one last message. one more moment.

and you find it. right outside the library door, slipped beneath a display of new releases.

you don’t have to say anything. i just wanted you to know someone sees you.

you stare at the words, your breath caught in your throat. it’s not dramatic. not cinematic. but something in you shifts.

and then:

"you found it."

you spin around.

taerae stands there, hands in his pockets, gaze unreadable. but his voice—his voice is soft. hopeful.

"you?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

he nods. "i wasn’t sure if it was okay. but after our last conversation... i wanted to try. to be real. to be honest."

you hold up the last note. "you’ve been writing these all day?"

"yeah. i wasn’t going to say anything yet. i thought maybe you’d figure it out. or maybe you wouldn’t. i just wanted you to feel seen. because i know what it’s like to go through a whole day feeling invisible."

your heart pounds.

"why me?" you ask again. this time, not into paper. to him.

he smiles. not the charming grin everyone sees. it’s softer. gentler.

"because you listen. because you see people. because when you look at someone, it feels like you’re really looking. and i guess... i hoped you might look at me like that too."

you don't know what to say. not at first. so you don’t.

you reach into your notebook and hand him the folded note you wrote earlier.

why me?

he opens it. reads it. then looks back at you.

"because... some moments are meant to be cherished. and you—this—you’re one of them."

the hallway grows quieter around you. students thin out. lockers close.

you don’t move. neither does he.

the silence between you feels full. not awkward. not uncertain. just waiting.

"so," he says, tucking your note into his jacket pocket, "can i walk you out?"

you nod.

and as you both step into the fading afternoon light, side by side, the mystery no longer feels like a question. it feels like a beginning.

the morning sunlight filters through the windows of classroom 3-b in slanted golden bars, striping the desks like quiet reminders of passing time. taerae sits near the back, one arm propped lazily against the window frame, though nothing about him feels relaxed. his gaze is distant, trained on a cluster of students gathered near the lockers outside. specifically, on you. and on matthew.

they're laughing. it's soft, nothing flashy, but the way you tilt your head when you smile—taerae knows that look. he’s seen it, felt it, in those quiet moments you two have shared. and now, someone else is on the receiving end of it. someone who doesn’t have to sacrifice anything to make it happen. someone who can just be.

"you've been staring for like five minutes. want me to draw you a picture?" ohseong drops into the seat beside him, cracking open a packet of instant coffee and dumping it into his water bottle like he’s done this a thousand times, shaking it with practiced flicks of his wrist.

taerae doesn’t blink. his eyes don’t leave the window. "was i?"

"painfully obvious. subtlety's not your strong suit today," ohseong mutters, taking a sip of the bitter mixture with a grimace. "what's going on with you lately? you've been acting like your brain's buffering."

taerae exhales, long and slow, pressing his thumb to his temple. "i don’t know. it’s like... i keep doing the math and it never adds up."

"math? since when do you do math voluntarily?"

"not numbers. life. them. me. this whole... thing." he gestures vaguely at the window, at you and matthew. "i feel like i’m two people right now. one who wants to keep things simple, and one who’s... tired of pretending."

ohseong quiets, serious now. he leans back, letting the bottle rest on the edge of the desk. "is this about the notes? about them?"

taerae nods. barely. "i want to talk to her. i want to be honest. but every time i get close, it feels like i’m betraying some unspoken rule."

"whose rule?"

"my dad's. this school. my friends. myself, maybe."

"you know," ohseong says, tapping the bottle lightly against the desk, "when you start listing off people you’re trying not to disappoint and you include yourself last, something's already broken."

taerae looks at him, and for the first time in a while, he looks truly young. not the curated, confident boy people know, but the tired kid behind the act, the one who barely knows which mask he’s wearing anymore.

"you remember last year," he begins, voice low and steady like he's reading from an old script etched into his bones. "when we were doing that fundraiser, and i disappeared for a week?"

"yeah. everyone said you had the flu."

taerae shakes his head. "i was in the hospital. not for me. for my brother."

ohseong stiffens, his grip tightening around the bottle.

"he ran away from home, ohseong. and no one knew. not even me. and when we found him he was horribly sick from the environmental conditions, my dad panicked. said if people found out, it would reflect badly. ruin my chances of a student council recommendation, the family name, all that bullshit."

"jesus."

"so i kept smiling. made jokes. went back to practice like nothing happened. everyone bought it, too. 'taerae's back!' they said. 'still the same as ever.'"

he laughs, but it's hollow, like wind echoing through a forgotten hallway.

"but i wasn't. and now i don't even know who the hell i'm supposed to be."

ohseong says nothing for a moment, just leans forward, elbows on knees. "maybe it doesn’t matter who you were. maybe it matters who you choose to be now."

the bell rings, but neither of them moves. the classroom empties around them, chairs scraping, footsteps fading.

later, in the cafeteria, taerae moves through the motions like a ghost. he grabs a tray, nods at jokes, high-fives a teammate. his laughter is a little too loud, like he's trying to drown something out—something gnawing, persistent.

and then, he sees it.

you and matthew.

the way matthew leans close when he speaks. the way you smile up at him like you’re not just hearing his words but feeling them. there's no hesitation in matthew. no fear. he doesn’t have to choose between versions of himself just to be near you. he just is.

taerae sets down his tray, untouched, his appetite vanishing like fog under sun.

"you okay?" one of his teammates asks, clapping a hand on his shoulder.

"yeah," he lies. "just not hungry."

he walks out of the cafeteria, the chatter behind him blurring into white noise, the clatter of trays and laughter melting into something shapeless and distant.

he ends up in the music room, door closed, blinds drawn. it smells like wood polish and worn sheet music. the piano waits quietly in the corner like it’s been holding its breath. taerae sits on the bench, fingers hovering over the keys. he doesn't play. he just breathes. in. out. slow.

a knock comes. soft. hesitant.

"it's open," he says, not looking up.

ohseong steps in, tosses him a canned drink. "thought you might need this."

taerae catches it. "thanks."

they sit in silence for a while, the kind that stretches and settles without asking permission.

"i saw them," taerae says, finally.

"matthew and y/n?"

"yeah. they looked... real. effortless."

"you can't compare your behind-the-scenes to someone else’s highlight reel."

taerae huffs. "it wasn't a reel. it was a full movie. indie, award-winning, critically acclaimed."

ohseong grins a little. "you jealous?"

"i don't know. maybe. but not of him."

"of what, then?"

"of the way he doesn't have to split himself in two just to care. of the way he gets to be exactly who he is without having to ask anyone for permission."

"maybe it's time you stopped splitting. maybe you’re allowed to be both. or neither. just... yourself."

taerae runs a hand through his hair, the motion rough. "what if i lose everything? the friends, the respect, the image... my dad’s approval?"

"what if you don’t? what if the people who matter... stay?"

taerae doesn't answer. he stares at the piano keys like they're a map and he's forgotten how to read.

outside, the day moves on. clouds drift, students laugh, bells ring. but inside taerae, something shifts.

not a decision.

not yet.

but the beginning of one.

the afternoon sunlight pools gently through the library windows, the warmth a soft contrast to the sterile hum of old computers and fluorescent lights. you're seated at the large table in the corner—the one usually reserved for group projects—flanked by areum, taerae, and ohseong. textbooks lie open, highlighters scattered across the table like fallen petals, but the energy is fractured, disjointed. taerae’s eyes skim the same sentence three times without registering it.

"so," areum chirps, tapping her pen against her lip, "we’re still on the third section?"

"almost done," taerae replies automatically, but his voice lacks the usual spark. you notice the way his fingers fidget with the edge of the worksheet, folding it back and forth, like his mind is somewhere far from here.

he’s usually so polished, his demeanor wrapped tight like the hem of a school uniform blazer—neat, composed, always the center of gravity. but today, that composure is fraying at the edges. you watch him shift in his seat for the fifth time in ten minutes, glancing toward the windows, toward the exit, toward nowhere.

"you okay?" you ask, your voice quiet enough to almost disappear under the hum of the air conditioning.

he looks up. too quickly. smiles. too easily. "yeah, of course. just tired."

there’s something rehearsed about it. like muscle memory, like he’s used to this line.

you nod, not convinced. there’s something hollow in his grin, like a carefully placed mask. you go back to annotating your paragraph, but you keep watching him from the corner of your eye. the way his knee bounces under the table. the way his jaw clenches when ohseong elbows him with a joke that barely lands.

"hey," taerae mutters to ohseong, his voice low. "come with me for a sec. i need help finding that reference book."

"again? we literally—" ohseong pauses mid-sentence, catching the look in taerae’s eyes. a silent exchange happens between them. ohseong stands. "right. yeah. back in a bit."

they disappear between the tall shelves. you tap your pencil against your notebook, pretending to write. silence blooms at the table like fog settling over the morning.

"he’s acting weird, right?" you whisper to areum.

"you noticed it too," she says, lowering her voice with a conspiratorial smirk. "his eyes look all stormy. definitely something going on."

"i don’t want to pry."

"you wouldn’t be. he clearly trusts you. maybe he just doesn’t know how to say it."

you hesitate. "still. i think i should let him talk if he wants to."

"or," she says with a mischievous grin, "we create the perfect opening."

"areum—"

"shhh. they’re coming back."

you barely have time to protest before the two boys reappear. taerae's shoulders look tenser than before, like whatever words passed between them only added weight to the ones already there. ohseong doesn’t say anything, but his gaze lingers on taerae with quiet concern.

"ohseong," areum says, standing suddenly and nudging him with a practiced urgency, "come help me find that marker set we saw the other day. the neon ones. remember?"

"wait—what? now?"

"yes. now. urgent creative crisis. come on."

she tugs his sleeve. ohseong glances back at taerae, then at you, then sighs. "fine, fine. neon markers. the fate of our project depends on them."

they disappear into the maze of shelves again, their footsteps quickly fading.

you and taerae are left in the quiet. it’s not the sterile kind of quiet from before. it hums now, thick with unsaid things.

"you don’t have to talk about anything," you say, fiddling with the cap of your pen. "i just... you’ve seemed different lately. and i guess i just wanted to say that you don’t have to carry that alone."

he exhales slowly, like the air is heavier than before. "i’ve been trying to keep it together. keep up appearances."

"it’s okay not to."

taerae lowers himself into his seat, fingers laced together. he stares at the notepad in front of him like it holds answers he’s not ready to read. "i’m not brave enough for that. being open. vulnerable. i don’t know how to do that without feeling like i’ll fall apart."

"there’s beauty in imperfection, you know," you say gently.

his eyes flicker toward yours. "what do you mean?"

"i mean... we both live under expectations, right? people assume things based on who we are. who we appear to be. you have your social world, and i’m... the quiet one. but there’s more to both of us than that. maybe it’s okay to let the cracks show. maybe that’s how we let light in."

taerae leans back slightly, gaze not leaving yours. his voice is quieter now. "you always speak like that?"

"like what?"

"like you’ve got all this... quiet wisdom tucked behind your eyes."

you shrug, a little flustered, but you hold his gaze. "maybe. i just think too much."

"or maybe you see more than most people."

you look down at your notes, pretending to adjust a paperclip, trying to ignore the sudden warmth in your cheeks.

a moment passes. then—

"truth or dare?" he asks, his tone lighter, teasing.

you blink. "neither."

he groans, leaning back dramatically, but there’s a chuckle beneath it. "you always say that. you said you’d choose next time."

"no, i said maybe."

"i’m still trying to figure you out."

you meet his eyes again, steady this time. "you’re a nice person, taerae. but i don’t think you’ll manage that before the other two get back."

he smiles. not the practiced, public smile he wears like a badge, but something softer. something true. "maybe not. but i think i’d like to try."

the silence between you isn’t silence anymore. it breathes. it holds space.

"you’re not what i expected," he murmurs.

"neither are you."

and then comes the laughter, distant at first—areum’s bright and unmistakable, ohseong’s grumbling—and then they’re back, arms overflowing with markers, novelty pens, and at least one fuzzy eraser shaped like a cat.

"mission accomplished!" areum declares, grinning. "we are now fully equipped for academic greatness."

"we’re gonna fail in style," ohseong adds, tossing a neon pen onto the table.

taerae glances at you one last time, something quieter and deeper behind his eyes.

something that says thank you without needing to speak it.

and you— you think this might be the beginning of something real.

the next morning, the hallways buzz with the usual chatter, sneakers squeaking on polished tile, lockers slamming open and shut like a rhythm no one consciously hears anymore. you make your way through the crowd, trying not to focus too much on the little hollow feeling gnawing somewhere under your ribs, like a soft bruise hidden just under the skin.

you pause at your locker, fingers hesitating over the dial. the numbers blur a little as you glance down the corridor and spot taerae. he’s surrounded, laughter bubbling around him from the center of his popular clique. he leans against the lockers, one foot propped casually, tossing a stress ball from one hand to the other as if yesterday never happened. his voice is animated, alive in a way that feels both familiar and distant. when your eyes meet, something flickers—recognition, maybe. but he doesn’t wave. he doesn’t smile. he just watches for a second too long before someone nudges his arm and pulls his attention away.

your fingers tighten around the locker handle. the warmth from yesterday’s conversation feels like a fading echo. that moment in the library had meant something to you. had it meant something to him?

"hey," a voice says beside you, pulling you back to the present. it’s matthew.

you blink at him, trying to reorient. "hey."

he watches you a moment, head tilted. "you alright? you seemed a bit... off yesterday. didn’t really get a chance to say much."

you shrug, eyes drifting back toward taerae and his orbit. "i don’t really wanna talk about it."

"totally fair." matthew’s voice is easy, calm. he doesn’t press. he just stands there with his hands in his pockets, gaze steady. "just thought i’d check in. you looked like someone who could use a lifeline."

you nod, appreciative of the quiet understanding. silence sits comfortably between you for a few seconds until a laugh bursts nearby—sharp, theatrical. taerae’s group is moving closer down the hall, their magnetic energy pulling the attention of everyone they pass like a slow wave.

taerae is right there, but it feels like he’s on the other side of a glass wall. his expression is carefully curated again, polished like the smile he wears when he knows eyes are on him. but those eyes are on you now. watching you beside matthew.

a shift in the air. tension, subtle but unmistakable.

before you can say anything, matthew’s group starts arriving. rebels, outsiders, the ones who laugh too loudly in class and write quotes on their sleeves. a girl with electric blue streaks in her hair tosses a grin in your direction.

"yo matthew. who’s this?"

"this’s the one i told you about," he replies. "quiet storm. they’ve got poetry in their bones."

you laugh, surprised by the compliment.

"we could use someone with brains," the girl adds, elbowing him.

and then—like a storm front colliding—taerae’s clique halts nearby. the two groups lock eyes across the space between them. it’s like oil meeting water. tension, unspoken and electric.

"you gonna recruit every quiet soul you find?" minseok asks, arms crossed, tone pointed.

matthew smirks. "just the ones with actual depth."

"you sure they want to be around your little band of misfits?"

"maybe they don’t want to be another accessory in your curated high school fantasy," matthew says coolly, not missing a beat.

you feel your heart beating in your ears. your gaze flickers between them—between the messy, authentic chaos of matthew’s circle and the perfectly polished frame of taerae’s world. your eyes land on taerae. he’s quiet, jaw tense. but he’s still watching you. his silence is louder than anything else in the hallway.

"we should go," taerae finally mutters to his group. "this is dumb."

but he doesn’t move. his friends start to drift, uncertain, throwing glances back. you wait—for a look, for a word. anything.

nothing comes.

matthew nudges your shoulder gently. "we were gonna hit this cafe after school. the one with the floor pillows and the bad poetry on the walls. it’s kinda great. no pressure, but... you’re welcome."

you hesitate. you could stay. you could wait for taerae to do something, say something. but how many times can you reach out before your hand is left empty?

you nod. "okay."

matthew’s smile is soft. "cool. there’s always room for more at our table."

the girl with the blue streaks slings an arm around your shoulder like you’ve always belonged. their group moves with a fluid rhythm, like they don’t need permission to be who they are.

you glance one last time at taerae. he stands there, frozen. not saying a word.

and then you turn and walk away.

the world outside the school gates feels wider than the one behind. you and matthew talk about books and music, and he tells you about how they once held a protest by sitting in silence on the steps of the school for a full hour.

"weirdest protest ever," he laughs. "but it worked. the principal actually asked to meet with us."

you laugh too, the sound unfamiliar and light. it’s not that the ache in your chest is gone. but with each step, it feels a little easier to breathe.

the cafe is small, tucked between a laundromat and a thrift shop. inside, it smells like cinnamon and old paper. the walls are plastered with poems written on napkins, some beautiful, some illegible, all passionate. mismatched cushions litter the floor, and you sit cross-legged, a warm mug in your hands.

they talk, and you listen. and slowly, you start to talk too. not because you’re expected to. but because you want to.

behind you, back at school, the image of taerae’s face lingers. but it’s distant now, like something viewed through rain-streaked glass.

maybe he’ll reach out. maybe he won’t.

but for now, you’ve found something that feels real.

and that’s enough.

the morning light filters through pale curtains, soft and indifferent to your mood. you wake with a heaviness that settles in your chest before your feet even touch the floor. school feels like a battlefield today, but instead of blood, it’s emotions that stain the ground—confusion, frustration, and disappointment.

you walk through the gates with your headphones in, letting music blur the chatter around you. everyone seems the same, but you’re not. not inside. your thoughts are tangled, raw threads knotted around taerae and every mixed signal he’s thrown your way. the hallway hums with energy, but you feel like a static ghost drifting through the noise.

areum finds you near the lockers. she spots the look on your face before you even say a word.

"okay," she says, dropping her bag beside yours, "what did he do now?"

you sigh, dragging a hand down your face. "it’s not even about what he did. it’s what he doesn’t do. he keeps acting like i matter in these tiny, almost-secret ways. but then the second he’s around his clique, it’s like none of that happened. like i didn’t happen."

areum nods, her brows knitting together. she leans against the locker beside yours and lets you vent.

"i’m so sick of it," you continue, voice low, brittle. "i don’t want to keep feeling like i’m making things up in my head. like maybe i imagined the way he looked at me. or the way he listened that day in the library."

"you didn’t imagine it," areum says firmly. "i saw the way he looked at you too. it wasn’t nothing. he just... he doesn’t know how to not be afraid. he’s trying to be everything for everyone and ends up being nothing to himself."

you shake your head. "then maybe he shouldn’t have started whatever this is."

before areum can answer, someone taps your shoulder. you turn to see matthew holding out a small chocolate bar, his smile soft, hesitant.

"you looked kinda down," he says. "was saving this for later, but i think you need it more than me."

you blink, surprised. "matthew, i—"

"no pressure," he says quickly, waving a hand like it’s no big deal. "just a chocolate bar. hope it helps."

"thank you," you murmur, taking it from him. his fingers brush yours just barely.

he nods once, gives you a small smile, and walks off, slipping through the corridor crowd with that easy grace of his, like he was never meant to interrupt—only to offer something quiet and kind.

as soon as he’s out of earshot, areum raises an eyebrow. "okay that was adorable. sweet and observant? i’m starting to like this guy."

you unwrap the chocolate slowly, trying to ignore the heat crawling up your neck.

"it’s awkward," you mumble. "his group and taerae’s are basically sworn enemies. and now he’s just... being nice? out of nowhere?"

"i’m team rebel," areum declares, leaning her shoulder against yours. "at least matthew’s consistent. that wasn’t a mixed signal. he saw you. he noticed. and he didn’t overthink whether it was allowed. he just did something good. simple as that."

you roll your eyes, but the corner of your mouth lifts slightly as you bite into the chocolate. it melts slowly, bittersweet on your tongue, grounding you just enough to take a full breath. there’s something strangely comforting in the way it sticks to your teeth a little.

"it doesn’t fix anything," you say quietly.

"no," she agrees. "but sometimes it’s the little kindnesses that keep us from falling apart. tiny moments of honesty in a world full of performative smiles."

you lean back against the lockers beside her. students walk past in a blur. conversations rise and fall like waves. but for a moment, the world quiets around you. it’s just you, areum, and the echo of a kind gesture in the shape of sugar and cocoa.

"what if i just stopped caring?" you whisper, the words heavier than you expect.

areum glances at you, her eyes full of warmth. "do you want to?"

you think about it. really think about it. about how easy it would be to just shut off, to close the door inside you that still hopes he’ll choose you over comfort, over popularity. but the truth is, you do care. and that might be the hardest part.

"no," you say finally. "i don’t want to stop caring. i just want it to make sense. i want someone to see me and not run away when it stops being convenient."

"then hold on to that. but don’t wait around for him to decide if you matter. people make time for what they care about. they don’t make excuses. and you? you deserve someone who doesn’t make you feel like a question mark."

you nod, chewing thoughtfully. your gaze flickers down the hall where taerae usually lingers. he isn’t there right now, and maybe that’s for the best. maybe space is what you need. or maybe it’s what he needs to figure out what he’s really willing to risk.

areum doesn’t say anything else. she just stands there with you, like she’s holding your frustration so you don’t have to carry all of it alone.

you close your eyes for a moment. let the noise fade. let the weight in your chest shift, just slightly. the chocolate is gone, the taste still lingering like a memory you’re not quite ready to let go of.

when you open your eyes again, the hallway hasn’t changed. but you feel steadier. more rooted.

"thanks," you say, voice soft.

areum smiles. "always."

and somehow, in the midst of the chaos, the rumors, the aching uncertainty—you don’t feel quite so alone.

the sky hangs over the school like a sigh held too long, weighed with clouds that never quite burst. the courtyard is quieter today, the edges of winter creeping into the air. even the laughter sounds subdued, as if the world itself knows that something has shifted beneath the surface.

in a tucked-away corner of the school near the art rooms, taerae and ohseong sit on the stone bench beneath the skeletal branches of a leafless tree. their breath puffs in the cool morning air, and taerae’s knee bounces restlessly, betraying the calm front he tries to wear like a second skin.

"so," ohseong says, breaking the silence with a raised brow, "you gonna talk about it, or do i have to keep playing mind reader?"

taerae exhales slowly, his fingers tugging at a frayed thread on his sleeve. he doesn’t look up right away. he hates how obvious he's been.

"you mean about her?"

"you know exactly what i mean. i thought you liked y/n. like, real feelings—not just a passing thing."

taerae lets out a slow, uneven breath. "i do. i really do. but... the group—"

"ugh, the group," ohseong interrupts, waving a hand. "tae, come on. you’re not like them. never have been. they’re just louder about pretending. you’ve always been quieter about it, but that doesn’t mean you’re not pretending too."

taerae winces, glancing off toward the distant noise of the school building. "it’s not just about pretending. i’ve built something with them. a reputation. influence. you think that’s easy to just walk away from?"

"nah, it’s not easy. it’s just necessary," ohseong says, leaning back. "you’re clinging to comfort like it’s a life raft. but that comfort’s draining the color out of you, piece by piece. i see it. every time you look over at y/n like your whole day depends on whether they smile at you or not. then you turn around and laugh with the group, like you didn’t just die a little inside."

taerae is quiet for a moment. the wind stirs fallen leaves at their feet, brushing their ankles like hesitant fingertips.

"we talked," he says finally. "during that group session. when areum dragged you off."

"figured something happened. you both looked different after. like something cracked open."

"she... saw through me. really saw me. said we were similar. both caught between who we are and who we’re supposed to be. i didn’t even know how to respond. it scared me how easy it was to be honest with her, how fast it all made sense. and i didn’t know how to let that be real."

"you liked that she saw you," ohseong says gently. "and you hated it. because it meant you couldn’t keep hiding. not from her. not from yourself."

taerae nods slowly, eyes fixed on the ground.

"so why the distance? why freeze her out?"

"because i don’t know how to be both. i want to hold on to what i’ve built, but i also want something real. with her. with them. but it’s like i have to choose."

"sometimes you do have to choose. that’s life," ohseong replies. "but let me be real with you. most of the people in your clique? they’re peaking in high school. this is as good as it gets for them. but you... you’ve got more in you, tae. only if you stop performing."

taerae’s brows furrow. "more how?"

"more heart. more vision. more of the stuff that actually matters. but you’re burning it trying to keep up appearances. and for what? validation from people who wouldn’t even notice if you disappeared from their group chats tomorrow?"

taerae doesn’t respond. the truth sits between them like a heavy fog.

"do you think y/n liked me back?" he asks finally, voice barely audible.

"i think she does like you," ohseong says. "but you made it really hard for her to show it. that day you pulled away, left them standing while matthew stepped in? what did you expect her to do? wait around for breadcrumbs while you posed for pictures with people who don’t see you?"

taerae’s jaw tightens. "matthew... he’s part of that rebel group. i thought maybe they’d hurt her. maybe i was protecting her."

"dude, no. matthew’s the only one who’s been straightforward. he’s been there when you weren’t. and let’s be honest: the rebel group might be intense, but at least they’re real. the worst they’ll do is argue with you. your group? they’ll smear you behind your back while smiling to your face. y/n probably felt safer with him, not because he’s perfect, but because he wasn’t pretending."

taerae closes his eyes for a second, pressing his palms together like he’s holding something fragile.

"i don’t want her to get hurt."

"then stop hurting her with your silence. she put herself out there. you didn’t meet her halfway. vulnerability’s a two-way street."

taerae’s hands tighten. "but what if i open up and she’s moved on? what if she’s done waiting?"

"then you’ll know you tried. but this—this waiting in the shadows stuff—it’s not bravery. it’s fear disguised as patience. she deserves more than uncertainty. and so do you."

the bell rings in the distance. students begin to filter inside, their chatter rising as the cold morning gives way to routine.

taerae stands slowly, his shoulders heavy with the weight of truths too long unspoken. he looks toward the main building, where he knows you’ll be, somewhere between the noise and the silence.

"i’m scared," he says quietly.

"good," ohseong replies, standing beside him. "fear means it’s real. now go do something real."

they walk together, side by side, through the chill and the chaos. but this silence is different—it hums with anticipation, with decisions waiting to be made.

the stakes are no longer background noise. they’re the heartbeats between each step. the difference between being seen and being remembered.

and for the first time, taerae thinks he might finally be ready to stop pretending—and start becoming.

the classroom felt colder today, though the heater hummed quietly in the background. sunlight barely filtered through the frosted windows, casting a pale light across the desks where your group of four sat in a crooked square. the project on digital identity glowed dully on the shared tablet screen in front of you, but none of you seemed particularly focused on it.

areum sat close to your side, legs crossed, her fingers idly tapping her pen against her notebook. her presence was grounding, even in silence. across from you, taerae and ohseong mirrored the closeness, though something about taerae's posture felt restless, like he wanted to close the space between you all but didn’t quite know how. his eyes flickered toward you every few moments, always quickly darting away when they met yours.

"so," ohseong finally broke the stillness, his voice light but not quite carefree, "we need to finalize the media portion today, right? taerae, you were working on that digital footprint comparison?"

taerae nodded, tapping his screen to bring up the visual timeline he’d put together. "yeah, i’ve got the graphs and timeline structure set up. just need to overlay some quotes and analysis. i was thinking we could use some of y/n’s points from last week. they were good."

you looked up at him, caught off guard. it was the first time he’d directly referenced something of yours in this session. "oh... sure," you replied carefully. "if it fits the structure."

he smiled a little—small, hesitant. "it does. i double-checked. it made sense, what you said about the curated versus candid self. it kind of stuck with me."

"thanks," you said, your voice quieter than you expected. there was something in his tone, something too sincere, that made your stomach twist.

he held your gaze for a second longer than necessary, then looked down quickly, his fingers brushing nervously against the side of his tablet.

"we should start dividing the final write-up," areum said, trying to fill the strange air that hung between you all. "we’re almost at the deadline."

as the conversation turned to logistics, taerae leaned in slightly every time you spoke, his responses more thoughtful than usual. he asked for your opinion on font choices, on which quotes to keep, even on color palettes—which was uncharacteristic for him, since he usually deferred to areum or ohseong for aesthetic choices. each time, it made your stomach tighten a little. you weren’t sure if it was nerves or something closer to ache.

"you okay?" areum whispered close to your ear when the others were distracted, her voice barely audible.

you nodded, but it wasn’t convincing. "it’s just weird. the vibe’s off. he’s being... too nice."

she raised an eyebrow. "too nice?"

"like, overly attentive. like he’s trying really hard."

"maybe he is. maybe he’s trying to make up for how things went down."

"yeah, but... i don’t know. it feels fake. or maybe i just don’t trust it yet."

on the other side of the table, taerae glanced at you when he thought you weren’t looking. he wanted to say something—he always looked like he was about to, then backed down at the last second. ohseong nudged him once, a subtle encouragement, but taerae only pressed his lips together, visibly conflicted.

you could tell he was struggling. it wasn’t the loud, obvious kind of performance. it was in the way his hands stayed too still, the way he kept stealing glances your way, the way his voice softened just slightly whenever it was directed at you.

"hey," he said suddenly, catching your attention again. "i was thinking about that conversation we had. the one about hiding our true selves. and i’ve been trying to show less of the filtered version of me. more of... the real me. even if it’s messy."

you blinked. "why?"

"because..." he hesitated. "because you were right. it’s easy to perform for everyone else. harder to be honest. and i think—i think i messed up by pretending things didn’t matter when they did. i think i messed up by pretending you didn’t matter."

your breath caught for just a moment. his words lingered longer than you expected them to.

"taerae..." your voice came out quieter than you intended.

"i know it might come off fake," he continued quickly, almost tripping over his words, "but i’m not trying to win you over or anything. i just—i don’t want to lose whatever this was. is. even if it’s awkward now. i want to fix it. i need to."

you looked down at the tablet screen. the timeline of identity flickered back at you, ironically fitting. curated selves versus raw truths. wasn’t that the same thing you were both tangled in?

"i don’t know what to say," you admitted. "part of me wants to believe you. another part is still upset. i don’t like mixed signals. i don’t like feeling like i was just an afterthought."

"i get that. and i don’t blame you. i was scared. i still am. i was trying so hard to be who everyone needed me to be, i forgot who i was when it was just me. and when i was with you, it felt like i didn’t have to pretend. and that scared me even more."

areum and ohseong exchanged a glance but didn’t interrupt. the air around the table stilled, like even the room was holding its breath.

taerae’s fingers tapped nervously against the side of his laptop. "but i’m trying now. really trying. even if it’s clumsy. even if i don’t know if it’ll be enough. i’d rather be messy and real than polished and distant. i want you to see me. really see me. and i want to see you too."

"then stop trying to be perfect," you said quietly. "no one needs you to be perfect. not me. not even your group. there’s something... more honest in imperfection."

taerae’s eyes softened. "you told me that before. that there’s beauty in imperfection."

you nodded.

"i didn’t believe it then. i think i do now."

the silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable this time. it was the kind of pause where something settled, even if just a little. a breath in the middle of a sentence. a comma, not a period.

"so," ohseong clapped his hands together, breaking the moment gently, "should we do a final run-through of the presentation? make sure we’re not all talking over each other again?"

"yeah," areum agreed, standing to grab her notes. "but this time, let’s maybe not get too philosophical mid-slide."

taerae chuckled softly. "no promises."

you offered him a small smile, still guarded, but it was something.

and for the rest of the session, taerae didn’t try too hard. he didn’t overcompensate. he just existed beside you, showing up in quiet ways—in the way he adjusted your mic levels, the way he double-checked your slides, the way he listened, fully and without distraction.

it wasn’t a grand gesture. it wasn’t sweeping or romantic. it was something quieter. something honest.

and maybe, just maybe, it was a start.

taerae sat on the edge of the leather couch in the living room, the plush cushions doing little to ease the stiffness in his shoulders. the chandelier above him flickered faintly, casting soft glows that danced across the marble floors and cold-toned walls. everything in the room was polished to perfection—the glass coffee table without a single fingerprint, the decorative vases lined up along the mantel like soldiers. and yet, none of it brought comfort. the air felt heavy, not because of heat, but because of expectation. his phone buzzed for the third time in a minute, face-down on the coffee table, lit up with messages from the group chat.

minseok: bro, where are you?? we’re gonna head to han river for pics

jungho: taerae don’t be lame, come onnn

minji: bring your dad’s car again lol

he sighed. he didn’t even want to look at the rest. instead, he just stared ahead, focusing on the faint ticking of the antique wall clock. the hands moved too slowly. his dad sat across from him in the armchair, legs crossed, reading some school-related newsletter printed in thick, glossy paper, occasionally flipping a page with a deliberate snap.

"you’ve been quiet," his dad said, not looking up. "how was the prep meeting for the next student council term?"

"it hasn’t been officially announced yet," taerae replied, tone practiced, smooth. "they’re keeping the results confidential until next week."

"well, let me know the moment you find out. you know how much it matters to the board. mr. kwon was asking about you yesterday. said you were a fine example of discipline. i don’t want to disappoint him. or the principal."

his father finally looked up, eyes sharp under the rim of his glasses. "remember, she’s not just the principal—she’s important to me. our reputation reflects directly on her too."

taerae nodded. "i’ll tell you as soon as i hear."

"that’s my boy. we have a name to maintain. you’ve done well so far. the kwons, the jeongs, the han family—all of them see you as the standard. we can’t afford any... dips in image."

taerae managed a polite, neutral smile. "of course."

his younger brother, jihwan, was curled in the corner of the couch, earbuds in and hoodie pulled up, face half hidden. he looked drained, his posture slumped like he was trying to fold into himself, shoulders hunched and head lowered.

"jihwan," their dad snapped, voice sharper now. "sit properly. you look like you just rolled out of bed. straighten up. we have guests visiting this week, and your demeanor reflects on the entire family."

jihwan flinched and sat up slightly, but didn’t say anything. his eyes stayed on the floor, and he adjusted the hem of his hoodie like it might shield him.

"we are not raising delinquents," their father continued. "you understand that, don’t you? taerae can manage himself—why can’t you follow his example?"

taerae’s stomach twisted. his brother didn’t respond, which only seemed to irritate their father further.

"answer me."

"i understand," jihwan mumbled.

"good. don’t embarrass this family. i’ve worked too hard for that. now, i have calls to take. taerae, keep an eye on your brother."

once their father disappeared into his study, the pressure in the room deflated just slightly. taerae let out a quiet breath, like he’d been holding it the whole time.

he shifted to face jihwan. "hey. you alright?"

"does it matter?"

"yeah," taerae said softly. "it does."

jihwan didn’t look at him, but his hands were clenched tight in his hoodie sleeves. "i’m just tired. i didn’t even say anything, but it’s like everything i do is wrong."

taerae leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "he doesn’t mean it like that. it’s just... he has expectations. and pressure. too much of it. he’s projecting it onto you. it’s not your fault."

"it feels like my fault."

"it’s not. you’re allowed to be tired. i am too."

jihwan finally looked at him. "you don’t act like it. you always have everything together. you say the right things. you’re always on top of stuff."

taerae gave a hollow laugh. "i fake it. every single day. i fake it so hard sometimes i forget what it feels like to not pretend."

"why do you do it, then?"

taerae hesitated. his phone buzzed again, and this time he flipped it over to see the screen.

jungho: we’re picking you up in 10

he stared at it for a second longer before replying with a simple:

taerae: ok

"because dad likes when i’m with those kids. their families have influence. it makes him feel like we’re secure. like we belong."

"but do you like them?"

taerae swallowed. "not always. they can be exhausting. it’s all about maintaining appearances. even when i’m with them, i don’t feel like i’m really there. i’m just... playing a role."

"then why do it?"

"because if i don’t, dad notices. and when he notices, he starts comparing. to me. to you. and i don’t want him turning all of that onto you again."

jihwan was quiet for a long moment. "i hate it. i hate all of it."

taerae reached out and ruffled his brother’s hair, something he hadn’t done in years. "me too, sometimes. but you don’t have to carry it the way i do. you’re still figuring yourself out. let me be the buffer, okay?"

jihwan’s eyes shimmered a little, but he didn’t let the tears fall. he just nodded, pressing the sleeve of his hoodie against his face.

taerae leaned back again, his head hitting the couch cushion. his phone buzzed again, and this time he didn’t look. instead, he stared at the ornate ceiling, wondering how long he could keep pretending. his fingers tightened around the edge of the cushion.

"i wish i could just... disappear sometimes. go somewhere no one knows who i am. no expectations. no roles. just... be."

"you could," jihwan said, voice muffled. "not forever, but... maybe with people who see you. the real you. not the version you’re forced to be."

taerae thought of you. of that moment during the group project when you said there was beauty in imperfection. when you looked at him like you actually saw through all the layers. it was frightening. and freeing. it was a glimpse of something he’d forgotten he needed.

"maybe," he whispered. "maybe."

jihwan’s breathing had evened out a little. taerae glanced toward the hallway, checking to make sure their father wasn’t about to come back in. the silence felt fragile, like it could break at any second.

"you want me to tell him you’re studying at the library later?"

jihwan nodded. "thanks."

taerae stood up and grabbed a blanket from the armrest, tossing it over his brother’s legs. "take a nap. i’ll handle it."

as he walked toward his room, his phone still buzzing in his hand, he felt the weight of both roles dragging behind him—dutiful son, popular friend. and somewhere underneath all of that, the raw version of himself he hadn’t figured out how to be fully yet.

but he knew where he felt closest to that version. he knew who made him feel like maybe, just maybe, it was okay not to have it all together.

and maybe... that would be enough to keep trying.

the hum of the classroom lights buzzed softly above you, just low enough to be noticed, just loud enough to irritate. your pen moved across the page at a steady pace, filling in each blank with confidence you weren’t even aware you had until now. the pressure in the room was palpable—midterm season always had that effect—but today felt especially thick. maybe it was the way mr. jang kept pacing behind the desks like a caged animal, his shoes clicking against the floor with a rhythm that betrayed his nerves, or maybe it was the small rivalry blooming between students who usually coasted just beneath the radar.

it didn’t matter. not today.

"oh," mr. jang said, pausing beside your desk. "you tackled this algorithm in a completely different way. smart. unexpected."

heads turned. not many, but enough. you didn’t lift your gaze until the rustling stopped. you offered a small smile. "thank you."

that was all it took. by the time class ended, whispers had already started. quiet kid. smart kid. under-the-radar genius. you weren’t sure if you liked it, but it was better than being invisible. the way their eyes lingered longer, more curious than before, unsettled something inside you.

taerae leaned over from the desk behind you, voice lowered. "that was seriously impressive. i’ve never seen anyone solve it that way."

you blinked at him, still unsure if he was joking. "it just made more sense that way."

he tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to figure out what else you were hiding. "you’re always full of surprises."

you weren’t sure how to respond, but before the moment could stretch too long, matthew passed by, giving you a grin. "yo, that was cool. you didn’t even hesitate."

"thanks," you said, voice softer than usual.

matthew raised his brows in a friendly way, like he meant it. "seriously. that kind of clarity? people spend years chasing it. good job."

you watched him walk off, backpack slung over one shoulder, easy and confident in a way that didn’t feel performative. beside you, areum leaned in with a quiet smirk.

"you’ve got the boys buzzing," she whispered.

"stop," you mumbled, nudging her with your elbow.

she only laughed, brushing her hair back as she spotted something across the room. "uh-oh. incoming."

you followed her gaze. ohseong was waving the both of you over, standing with taerae near the back of the room. the two of them looked strangely in sync—taerae with his usual calm expression and ohseong more animated, as if already mid-thought.

areum straightened, then walked a step ahead of you like a bodyguard. her posture was casual but firm, like she was ready to intercept any weird energy before it could reach you. it was something you were used to—her subtle way of saying, "i’ve got you."

"hey," ohseong said as you approached, his tone easy. "so, we’re meeting tomorrow for the final presentation, right? how’s everything looking on your end?"

"pretty much ready," areum said first, arms crossed. "just tightening up the visual references."

you nodded. "we’ve formatted the layout, and i finished the analysis part. i uploaded everything to the shared drive this morning."

taerae looked at you as you spoke, eyes lingering with a quiet focus. it was hard not to notice. you didn’t meet his gaze directly, but you could feel it anyway—like sunlight warming your skin without ever touching it.

"i added the notes to the shared doc," you added. "we just need to finalize the talking points."

"yeah, i saw those," taerae said. "they’re really clear. like, easier to follow than i expected."

"same," ohseong chimed in. "you worded it in a way that makes even the dry parts sound... not so dry. that’s rare."

"thanks," you said again, shifting your weight slightly. group conversations were fine. it was when the focus narrowed that everything felt too sharp.

"we should run through it once tonight," areum suggested, glancing between the three of you. "just to make sure timing’s right."

"agreed," taerae said, still watching you. "are you free later? we can call or something if meeting up isn’t possible."

you nodded slowly. "i’m free after seven."

"cool," ohseong said. "i’ll set something up in the chat. don’t ghost us."

"i never ghost," you said under your breath.

areum gave you a small side glance, the corner of her mouth twitching up. the conversation drifted then, the four of you talking briefly about fonts, color palettes, the layout of your presentation slides, and the fact that taerae still hadn’t uploaded his part of the visual storyboard.

"i’m doing it tonight," taerae promised. "i wanted to double-check something before i commit."

"don’t flake," ohseong warned, nudging him lightly. "you’re the pretty face of the group. we need your slides to be just as charming."

taerae groaned. "no pressure, right?"

a few more laughs were shared, warm and unforced, and then you and areum began stepping away. the hallway buzzed with students, all loud and moving too fast. but just as you neared the door, taerae called out.

"wait."

you turned slightly. areum paused beside you, scanning the area like a second pair of eyes.

taerae caught up, breath a little uneven from navigating the crowd. he glanced toward areum, then to you.

"i meant what i said," he told you. "about earlier. the way you handled that problem? it was impressive. not just the answer, but... the way you didn’t try to make a big deal about it. that kind of quiet confidence? it stands out."

you felt warmth rush to your cheeks, unsure how to respond to that level of sincerity. "i wasn’t trying to stand out."

"that’s why it worked," he said. "it felt real."

there was a pause, not awkward, but suspended in a way that made it feel like something was settling between you. something not quite spoken, but there all the same. his eyes searched yours for a second longer before he smiled, soft and genuine.

"you’ve got this presence," he said. "like... people listen when you speak. even when it’s just a whisper."

it left you feeling exposed, yet oddly comforted. like he saw you, really saw you, and didn’t look away.

"thanks," you said finally. "for saying that."

taerae gave a small nod, more to himself than to you. "see you later."

"yeah," you said, and then turned back to areum, who was already waiting.

as you walked away together, she leaned in, voice low. "okay, that? not a mixed signal."

you rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips gave you away. and somewhere deep inside, under the pressure and the expectations, something light and unexpected started to bloom. it wasn’t just about the praise. it was the recognition. the possibility that you could be known—fully, honestly—and still be liked.

and that thought stayed with you long after the crowd faded and the hallway quieted, long into the evening, where a group call loomed with people who might just be seeing more of you than you meant to share.

maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing.

the classroom was a little warmer than usual, the overhead lights casting a yellowish hue across rows of desks as each group took their turn presenting. everyone was dressed slightly better than usual, a mix of school uniforms and semi-formal additions—blazers, ties, even the occasional collared shirt. nervous energy buzzed in the air, mixed with the hum of the projector and the occasional squeak of a chair. you could feel the low thrum of tension in your chest, the kind that curled around your ribs and held on.

your fingers tapped lightly against the side of your thigh, counting breaths as you waited. your group had rehearsed this presentation, sure. you knew your part. but standing up in front of a room full of your peers, under their eyes and assumptions, was never easy. it never had been.

"you ready?" areum whispered beside you, nudging your elbow lightly. she was all bright eyes and encouragement, a steady warmth beside your growing nerves.

"as ready as i can be," you murmured, managing a tight smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

the group before you wrapped up their presentation with scattered applause. the sound felt distant, like it echoed from somewhere underwater. then it was your turn. you rose from your seat with the others—taerae, ohseong, areum—and walked to the front of the room. each step felt heavier than the last.

the screen flicked to your title slide: digital identity: who are we online? a simple title, but it held weight. relevance. questions that didn’t always have easy answers.

areum opened with her usual warmth, introducing the topic with bright eyes and a spark in her voice. she brought energy into the room, making the subject feel fresh and approachable. her enthusiasm was infectious, drawing smiles and nods from even the more apathetic students. then it was your turn.

"according to a 2022 study by pew research center," you began, voice even but calm, "sixty-four percent of teenagers admit to feeling pressure to appear a certain way online, even if it doesn't reflect their true selves."

you clicked the remote and the slide shifted, revealing a graph. clean, sharp lines and percentages marked the screen.

"this presentation explores the psychological effects of digital curation, the pressure of online personas, and how these behaviors affect our sense of self in offline spaces."

your words were polished, academic, controlled. you cited articles, quoted psychologists, broke down data points. your hands were steady, your pacing practiced. you weren’t flashy, but your quiet authority was clear. each fact you offered was a small step into a truth most people didn’t want to confront.

taerae followed you. the tone in the room shifted the moment he spoke. confident, charismatic, his smile subtle but practiced. he didn’t just speak—he performed, weaving his words with a kind of ease that held people captive.

"when we think about our digital selves," he said, stepping a little closer to the edge of the projector light, "we don’t always realize how often we edit our identities to match who we think others want us to be."

the room was still. even the kids who usually tuned out were watching.

"i mean, think about your last post. how many drafts did it take? how many filters? did you delete it after ten minutes because it didn’t get enough likes? yeah. exactly."

laughter trickled in. not cruel, but understanding. relatable.

you glanced at him, and for a brief moment, he looked at you—eyes flickering with something almost apologetic. a silent message you couldn’t quite read. but then he turned away, and the performance continued, effortless and magnetic.

ohseong brought it back to the facts, clicking through the slides smoothly. his voice was calm, anchoring. he connected taerae’s charm with your analysis, bridging ideas and clarifying terms. he didn’t draw attention to himself, but his role was essential—a quiet kind of glue holding everything together. areum wrapped it all up, beaming as she thanked the class for their attention, her voice tinged with genuine pride.

the room clapped, and your group shuffled back to your seats. you sat down, the nearest empty chair placing you beside taerae. areum sat on your other side, and you leaned slightly toward her, grounding yourself in her presence.

taerae said nothing at first. then, quietly, "you killed it up there."

you blinked at him. "thanks."

he hesitated. "i meant it. your part had actual weight. like... it made people think."

you offered a faint nod. "it was supposed to."

a pause. then he leaned slightly closer. "you always talk like that when you’re nervous?"

you turned to him, raising an eyebrow. "talk like what?"

"like you have a thousand thoughts all trying to get out at once, but you pick the calmest ones to show."

"and you talk like someone who needs everyone to look at him or else he might vanish."

the words came out sharper than intended. taerae flinched slightly, not offended, but thrown off. areum, sensing the tension, gave your knee a gentle squeeze under the table, then busied herself with her notebook, the buffer between you both.

"you’re not wrong," taerae murmured after a moment, voice low. "i just... wish you didn’t see through me so easily."

the rest of the lesson blurred. the teacher spoke, more groups presented, but your focus was split. taerae didn’t speak again, but he didn’t move away either. he stayed next to you, like proximity could say what he wouldn’t. something about it felt like a question.

by the time class ended, the room began to empty. ohseong and areum had already slipped out, chatting quietly. you hadn’t even noticed. you were still sitting beside taerae, the soft echo of desks scraping and zippers zipping fading away.

"looks like we’re the last ones," he said softly.

you glanced up. "didn’t even realize."

silence settled. the kind that felt too heavy, too intentional.

the light from the window had dimmed slightly, afternoon sun slanting in golden across the floor. the room felt still, like time had slowed. dust floated through the air, illuminated like motes of memory.

"i could never leave you alone," taerae blurted.

you froze. turned your head. stared at him.

"then why are you doing just that?"

your voice cracked, laced with something brittle. betrayal. confusion. exhaustion. the words hung in the air like smoke, like ghosts.

taerae inhaled sharply. his shoulders tensed. "because i don’t know how to not mess things up."

"what does that even mean?"

"it means i care too much. and that scares me. and when i get scared, i retreat into what i know—my friends, the image, the safety net."

you stared at him, jaw tight. "you keep saying you care. but caring means showing up. not just when it’s convenient."

he looked down at his hands. fidgeted with the edge of his sleeve. "i know. i just... i grew up learning that appearance was everything. that if i didn’t keep people impressed, i’d lose everything. my dad, he’s always talking about legacy and expectations and... it doesn’t matter how i feel."

your heart softened slightly, but the hurt was still there. "and what about me? do i just get shoved into the background whenever your reputation's on the line?"

"no. never."

"then why does it feel like i’m some secret you don’t want to admit?"

taerae swallowed hard. "because i’m scared that if people see how much you mean to me, they’ll use that against me. or worse, against you."

"that’s not protecting me," you said quietly. "that’s hiding me."

the room was so quiet now you could hear the ticking of the clock.

taerae finally looked up, eyes glossy but steady. "i don’t want to hide you. not anymore. not ever."

you searched his face. this wasn’t the charming, composed taerae from the presentation. this was someone raw. scared. real.

"then stop acting like this is all some game," you whispered. "i’m not a move in your social strategy. i’m a person."

"i know. and i see you. i swear, i see you. more than anyone else."

the final bell rang, distant and hollow.

the moment didn’t break. it lingered, stretching thin between you both like a thread not quite ready to snap.

you stood slowly, gathering your things. taerae rose too, unsure, watching you with that same uncertainty that had been there since the beginning.

"we still have work to do," you said softly.

he nodded. "i’ll do better. if you let me."

you met his eyes one last time before heading for the door.

"we’ll see."

and then you left, heart thudding, unsure if that ache in your chest was hope or heartache—or both. outside, the hallway was quiet, and yet everything felt impossibly loud inside you.

the night was heavy with silence.

the kind of silence that didn’t just fill a room—it filled your chest, too. hours had passed since you’d left the classroom, the tension of your conversation with taerae lingering long after the final bell had rung. you sat at your desk at home, a notebook open in front of you, but the words on the page blurred together. you weren’t really reading. you were remembering.

every glance. every word. every moment he looked like he might say something more, but didn’t. you kept replaying that look in his eyes—soft, trembling, like he had something more to confess but hadn’t found the courage.

you wondered if he regretted saying it. if he even meant it. or if it was just another reflex from the same boy who charmed a whole classroom like it was second nature. your fingers curled slightly, pressing against the paper, smudging the ink you weren’t writing. you thought about how you’d built your own walls, quietly, without drama or spectacle. how easy it was to stay protected when you didn’t let anyone close. but now that someone had gotten through—what now?

meanwhile, across the city, taerae was lying on his bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling. headphones in, no music playing. just static silence. his room was dark except for the dim glow of his desk lamp, casting long shadows across the posters on his wall.

"i could never leave you alone." his voice, in his own head, sounded uncertain now.

then yours, echoing back sharper:

"then why are you doing just that?"

he exhaled shakily, fingers curling into the blanket beneath him. everything he’d built—the polished smile, the calculated charm, the easy laughter—felt like a crumbling tower now. a house of cards built on expectation and fear. he had spent so long being exactly what everyone wanted, afraid that if he wasn’t perfect, he’d become invisible.

he rolled onto his side, staring at the photo frame on his nightstand. a picture of him and his father at a school fundraiser. taerae was smiling wide, perfect teeth and all. his dad had a hand on his shoulder, that proud, stern look carved into his features.

his dad expected perfection. expected leadership. popularity. image. every friendship taerae had was curated, observed, evaluated. especially the ones with the popular clique—the sons and daughters of executives, judges, politicians. taerae knew they didn’t care about him, not really. they liked the way he moved, the way he dressed, the way he maintained the illusion of effortless cool.

but it was exhausting.

and he didn’t want to lie anymore. not to himself. not to you.

he sat up suddenly. the floor was cold beneath his feet, but he didn’t hesitate. quietly, carefully, he crept down the hallway of his home, every creak in the wooden floor loud in the midnight hush. he stopped outside his father’s room, hesitating only a moment before pushing the door open.

his dad wasn’t home. another dinner with school board members, probably. a meeting with the principal. or some parent of another high-achieving student. taerae didn’t care.

the room was dimly lit, smelling faintly of cologne and printer ink. framed certificates lined the walls. the desk in the corner was neat, every pen in place, every folder labeled. he walked over, fingers skimming across papers and folders until he found the tablet his dad used for school-related communication. he tapped it open, unlocked it easily—it was the same passcode he’d used for years.

he scrolled through emails, eyes scanning lines of text until he found it: a school-wide bulletin from the owners of the school.

subject: upcoming school events and calendar reminders.

he clicked it open.

there it was. next week.

a school-wide festival. a full day of competitions, performances, student-run booths, and—most importantly—an open stage. a platform. a spotlight, but one he could control.

taerae stared at the screen, the glow of it lighting up his face in the dark. ideas churned in his mind. quick, racing, half-formed but vivid.

he could do something then. something that wasn’t curated or careful. something that wasn’t for his dad or the popular clique or the school image. something for you. something that would say all the words he hadn’t managed to find in that empty classroom.

his heart thudded louder. faster. hope and fear mixing like storm clouds in his chest. maybe he could rewrite the ending. maybe he could change the narrative.

he closed the tablet gently, set it back exactly where he found it. he took one last look around the room—at the awards, the photo, the expectations—and then he walked out.

as he padded down the hallway back to his room, the faintest curve of a plan was already forming in his mind. he could see flashes of it—a crowd, a microphone, his voice steady this time, eyes searching only for yours.

he didn’t know how you’d react. he didn’t know if he’d be brave enough.

but for the first time in a long time, he wanted to try.

whatever it was—he’d do it that day.

and whatever happened next, would change everything.

the air smelled like sugar and fresh popcorn.

bright paper lanterns swayed lazily in the warm breeze as students hurried past in clumps, laughter bubbling from every corner of the school grounds. booths lined the courtyards, painted in bold, cheerful colors. some were run by clubs selling snacks or trinkets, others hosted games that rang with bells and excited shouts when someone won a prize. the school had transformed into something almost unrecognizable—not just in appearance, but in spirit too. there was a giddy chaos to everything, like the world had tilted slightly, inviting everyone to let go.

and yet, even in the swell of cheer and music, you felt the undercurrent of nerves.

you clutched your drink a little tighter, scanning the festival as if your eyes could catch something that would explain the tension in your chest. areum walked beside you, cotton candy in one hand, the other linking casually through your elbow.

"you think taerae's actually going to show up?" she asked, licking a bit of pink fluff from her finger.

"he said he would," you said softly. "but he didn’t say anything about... today. not really."

areum gave you a sideways glance. "he’s been weird all week. quiet but intense. like he's planning something. it’s like every time i saw him, he looked like he was having a staring contest with his thoughts."

you nodded, your mind drifting back to the few times you’d seen him in class—focused, distant, like he was walking through a fog only he could see.

the crowds shifted, students weaving between booths and performers. somewhere near the back field, music began to pulse through speakers as a group prepared for a dance competition. the smell of grilled meat wafted past from a food stall nearby, and someone bumped into you while chasing a flying balloon. but it wasn’t the competitions or food stalls that kept your gaze wandering. it was something else. something you couldn’t name.

and then, the loudspeaker crackled.

"attention students," a familiar voice began—miss shin, the event coordinator. "we have a surprise performance on the open stage. please gather around if you’d like to watch. it’ll begin in five minutes."

you exchanged a look with areum. your heart stuttered.

"do you think..." she trailed off.

"i don’t know," you whispered, already walking toward the stage.

the crowd gathered slowly, curious murmurs rolling through the air. the open stage was modest—a few steps high, strung with fairy lights and a mic stand in the center. students leaned against each other, whispering theories and gossip as more people arrived. when taerae stepped onto it, time seemed to freeze.

he wasn’t wearing his usual polished look. no blazer. no carefully styled hair. he looked... real. soft hoodie, jeans, hands trembling slightly as he adjusted the mic. but his eyes scanned the crowd until they found yours.

and he smiled.

a nervous, crooked, achingly honest smile.

"hi," he said into the mic, his voice cracking slightly. "um... i wasn’t on the original lineup. sorry. but i asked miss shin for five minutes, and she said okay. so... here goes."

students murmured again. the popular clique was near the front, confused, some even frowning. ohseong stood off to the side, arms crossed but watching closely.

taerae took a deep breath.

"i’ve spent a lot of time pretending to be someone i’m not. i think most of you know me a certain way. charming. put together. maybe even a little fake sometimes. and you’d be right."

a hush fell. the music from the rest of the festival faded in your ears.

"i kept pretending because it felt safe. because it made people like me. and maybe it made my dad proud. but... lately, i’ve realized it’s not making me happy."

his eyes found yours again. locked.

"especially not when it costs me the people who actually matter. the ones who see through all of it. who see me."

somewhere near the back, someone whispered, "what is he doing?"

taerae smiled again, but this one was bittersweet.

"i’m doing something for myself. for once. and maybe for someone else too. someone who... means more to me than i ever let on."

his hand shook as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small folded paper. he unfolded it, glanced at the lines once, then looked up.

"i wrote this last night. it’s not a poem. not a speech. just... something i needed to say."

his voice grew steadier as he read.

"to the person who looked past my smiles and still stayed. who challenged me when i was hiding, and stayed gentle when i wanted to shut down. i know i hurt you. i know i pulled away when it mattered most. but you made me want to be honest. and i think... i think i need to tell you the truth."

he folded the paper again, lowering it slowly.

"i like you," he said. clearly. openly. raw.

gasps from the crowd. laughter. murmurs. someone muttered, "no way."

but he kept looking at you. only you.

"i like you, even when you’re quiet. even when you’re guarded. even when you think no one notices. i notice. i always have."

your breath caught.

you weren’t sure when your hands started trembling.

"and i know this might ruin everything," he added. "maybe my friends won’t talk to me after this. maybe people will start whispering more. maybe you... won’t say anything at all. maybe this just ends here."

he stepped back from the mic.

"but i had to try. because you deserve someone who doesn’t hide. who doesn’t lie. who chooses you, even when it’s hard. even when it’s messy. even when i’m scared."

silence. electric.

and then he stepped off the stage, disappearing into the crowd before anyone could stop him. not fast, but not lingering either—like he’d given the moment its weight, and now had to walk away from it.

you stood frozen.

around you, the world moved on—games played, students cheered, music blared again. teachers chatted near the booths. someone won a plush toy and screamed.

but in your chest, everything shifted.

areum touched your arm gently. "you okay?"

you swallowed.

"i don’t know," you whispered. your eyes searched for taerae, already lost somewhere between the tents and the stream of students.

but something inside you had cracked open. maybe fear. maybe hope.

"but i think i have to find him."

and so, as the lanterns swayed above, and the festival roared around you, you stepped forward into the crowd—toward whatever came next.

the night sky stretched endlessly above you, painted with soft shades of twilight and the last hints of the festival's lights flickering below. the hum of the crowd was distant now, muffled by walls and wind as you stood at the base of the staircase leading to the rooftop, breath catching in your throat like a song unsung.

"he has to be up there," areum said beside you, breathless from the search. her cheeks were flushed, her hair tangled from running between buildings. "he always disappears to quiet places when things get too loud."

"he said he wanted to be alone," you murmured, almost to yourself.

"doesn’t mean he should be," she said, her voice soft. she gave your arm a squeeze, then stepped back. "i’ll wait down here. go on."

you nodded, your hand tightening around the railing. your heart was loud. louder than the laughter still echoing faintly below, louder than the pulse of music that had played beneath taerae's confession. louder than your doubt, louder than the wind threading through your thoughts.

each step up the stairs felt like crossing into something unknown, something uncharted. you remembered how he looked on stage—vulnerable, raw, exposed—and it felt like your own skin had peeled back with every word he spoke.

when you pushed the door open, the wind met you first. soft. cold. honest. the night had settled deep and wide, stars scattered carelessly across the sky. taerae stood near the edge, arms crossed over the railing, his hoodie hood half up as if to hide his flushed face from the sky itself. the wind tugged at the hem of his sweater, and his figure looked smaller somehow, silhouetted against the infinite dark.

he turned at the sound of your footsteps, his eyes catching yours in an instant.

"oh," he breathed. "you found me."

"yeah," you said, stepping fully onto the rooftop. "you didn’t make it easy."

the corner of his mouth lifted, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "wasn’t trying to. guess part of me hoped you wouldn’t."

"why?"

he shrugged, turning his gaze to the skyline, where the horizon blurred with clouds. "because if you didn’t... then maybe i could pretend i didn’t ruin everything. pretend i didn’t make a fool of myself."

"you didn’t," you said quietly. "you were brave."

he let out a soft laugh, the kind that stung. "brave. right. it felt more like falling."

you stood beside him now, your arms close enough to brush his. he didn’t move away.

"falling can be good," you said.

he looked at you, brows furrowed. "you’re serious?"

"you said something real," you replied. "and you said it in front of everyone. that takes courage."

"but did it matter?" his voice cracked. "if it just made you uncomfortable? if it made people talk? i saw their faces. half of them were confused. the other half looked at me like i’d betrayed them."

"and what about how you felt?"

the question hung between you like fog. heavy. honest.

taerae’s shoulders dropped. "i felt free. for the first time in... god, years."

"then it mattered."

he turned toward you fully then, his eyes glossy under the rooftop lights, his expression naked with truth.

"i didn’t expect you to come after me."

"i didn’t expect you to say anything." you gave him a small smile. "we’re full of surprises tonight."

he laughed again, softer this time, but warmer.

"do you remember," he said, "the first time i asked you 'truth or dare'?"

"you asked me two times," you said. "i said 'neither' both times."

he nodded. "and you never explained why."

"because choosing meant risk."

taerae leaned against the railing, facing you now. "and tonight? would you still say the same?"

you looked out over the city, the wind tugging gently at your hair, the lights blinking like distant stars below.

"ask me again."

his lips quirked, the mischief returning to his eyes, this time mingled with something rawer. realer.

"truth or dare?"

you turned to him, steady now. "both."

he blinked. stunned.

"you always said 'neither'."

"i’m not the same person i was yesterday."

his smile bloomed slow, like dawn. "okay. truth first."

"go on."

"did you mean it? when you said i was brave?"

"every word," you said. "you were honest. vulnerable. you didn’t have to be. but you were. and it changed things."

he nodded, his voice almost lost in the wind. "your turn. dare."

you tilted your head. "dare me."

"dare to believe me," he said. "when i say i like you for who you are. not who people think you should be. not who you try to be when the world gets loud. just... you."

you stared at him. that was no ordinary dare. it was a lifeline. a bridge.

"i’ll take that dare," you said. "if you’ll take one of mine."

"name it."

"be yourself. from now on. even when it’s hard. especially then."

taerae nodded, slowly. "i think... i want to. more than anything."

"me too," you whispered.

the silence that followed wasn’t awkward. it was full. peaceful. the kind that came with understanding, with shared weight lifted.

taerae glanced down at the courtyard below, the laughter still trickling in from somewhere near the front gates.

"i thought being popular meant being safe. respected. seen," he said.

"but it’s exhausting when it isn’t real."

"yeah. and now that it’s slipping through my fingers... i think i’m okay with it."

you reached out, gently brushing your fingers against his.

"sometimes letting go of what people expect lets you hold onto what actually matters."

taerae looked down at your intertwined hands. "like this?"

"like this."

he leaned closer. "i don’t know what happens next."

"me neither. but... we’ll figure it out."

he nodded. "yeah. we will."

you stood there together, under the stars, away from noise, away from judgment. two people who had unraveled every mask, every defense, until all that remained was something honest. flawed. beautiful.

taerae turned to you once more, a shy smile creeping back onto his face.

"truth or dare?" he asked again, voice softer than before.

"both," you said. always now.

and somewhere between your joined hands and the cold wind brushing past, the world didn’t feel so heavy anymore. it felt like beginning.

change, although often painful and risky, had brought you both here. and here—on a rooftop under starlight, with laughter fading and hearts cracked open—was more than enough.

[darknessawaits28]

Shadows of a Silver Serpent 🐍〔Loki Laufeyson bounty hunter x Female reader〕

Hello again my lovies! I wanted to give thanks again to everyone who is liking this series, yall are awesome!! I love you all!! Here is part 3 to this story. As I said before in the previous story's, there won't be any changes to the storyline yet, the warnings are subject to change however. Thank you lovies for all your love and support, yall are amazing! Love yall! Enjoy! :3

Here are the links to the first and second part lovies: Shadows of a Silver Serpent Pt. 1 / Shadows of a Silver Serpent Pt. 2

Storyline (18+): Turns out New York City wasn't as safe as you thought it was when you moved there a few months ago. You eventually get caught up in a dangerous situation but are later saved by a bounty hunter (Loki Laufeyson). Although, something about you drew him in closer. It later becomes apparent that you are marked by the Xalvakar clan (alien race) to be the next breeding slave for the clans Vythar (king in a sense). Loki's guild orders him to kill you because they didn't want that alien race to procreate any more, due to their dangerous nature here on Earth. Other guilds have other plans in mind, wanting to kidnap you as a bargaining chip. While others want you simply because you are claimed as a breeding slave, to be used sexually and for their own pleasure. It is a crazy world that you live in. Will Loki live up to the task to keep you safe? Will he give in to his orders and kill you within seconds? Or will the cocky bounty hunter fall in love with you in the coming days. 【Storyline is subject to change, not set in stone】

Warnings: mentions of a boner, forceful grasping (nothing too graphic), cursing, mention of blood, etc. Viewer Discretion somewhat advised.

🗡Living Between Two Worlds 🌎 Pt. 3

Morning came quicker than usual, the sun shining along the tall buildings of New York City. A new day, and a new awakening for many of the citizens of the city. For you however, it was just the beginning of a long and treacherous road. 

“Ah, damn” Loki groaned as he shut off his alarm from his phone, sitting up from his bed to prepare himself for the day. It was to be a long one because in a couple of hours, his boss, Vixen, was going to come over to discuss the next steps in what should happen to you. He was hoping that she would allow for you to go home because those pheromones that you constantly released drove him over the edge. 

A deep sigh escaped Loki’s lips as he slipped out of the bed covers and slowly walked to his bathroom, pushing open the curtains to his shower and turning on the hot water. Once it was at a suitable temperature for him, he turned on the shower head and stripped himself of his pajamas. Quickly stepping in while shutting the curtains behind him, he allowed for the hot water to drip down his bruised body. 

“Mmm” he hummed softly, grabbing the bar of soap he had on a tray and began to wash his body with it. As he rubbed the soap along his body, his mind kept drifting to what he had done to you last night. He felt hungry, he wanted to taste every inch of you….wanted to hear your moans and fill your womb with his hot seed. 

“Ah” he gasped a bit, dropping the soap onto the bathtub floor. “What the hell?” he breathed out in utter disbelief at how he could think of such things. As he snapped out of this trance, he bent over to grab the soap, his eyes widening at his erect friend pointing straight in the air. 

"Fuck..." The word escaped him, breathless with disbelief. He swallowed hard, shaking his head. "She has to go. I can't have her near me. If she stays... I swear, I'll lose my mind."

“Mmm” a soft groan escaped your lips as you rubbed your eyes, seeing that it was morning. “Hmmm, man I kind of want to take a shower?” you groaned as you pushed yourself up from the bed, only then noticing the blanket draped over you.“Oh, how thoughtful of him to lay a blanket on me” You chuckled, getting out of bed and then proceeded towards the bedroom door to ask this ‘Loki’ if he had spare clothes to wear and a towel you could use to dry yourself after a nice hot shower. 

The minute you opened the door, you were startled by Loki’s glorious form right in front of you. “Jesus, at least knock!” 

“Hmphm, at least give me a chance to knock since you opened your door abruptly” Loki cockily spoke as he crossed his arms.

“Well, since you are here, I was going to ask if you by any chance have any spare clothes I could wear for now and a towel, because I want to take a quick shower.”

“Oh, sure, I think I got some spare pajamas that’ll fit you” he straightened his posture and gestured for you to follow him into his room. 

Following after him, you entered his somewhat bleak room. It was absent of color, life, and a woman’s touch to be honest. “Hmm, your room is quite interesting Loki.”

“I don’t know whether that was sarcasm or you being thoughtful of my plain room” Loki chuckled as he grabbed a simple black t-shirt and red checkered pajama pants. 

“Well I wasn’t trying to be sarcastic, it’s just your room is missing some life and color in it.” “I would honestly feel like I’m in a nuthouse if I lived in this room” you chuckled, your eyes widening at the sight of such a beautiful green clock with the symbol of a serpent on it just laying on his lounging chair. “Wow, okay, I take that back, this cloak is so fricken cool” you smiled, intrigued by such craftsmanship.

“Hey, hey, hey, don’t be touching things that aren’t yours” Loki huffed, straightening to his original height and closed his clothing drawer. “Here, I got some clothes for you and there are already towels for you in the bathroom.” 

“I wasn’t going to be disrespectful and touch your things Loki.” “Well, anyways, thank you for the spare clothes” you smiled, grabbing the clothing he had given you and then exited his bedroom. 

As you left, another sigh escaped his lips, a faint mist curling into the air—cold, almost unnatural. He didn’t notice. He never did. Instead, he pushed off the doorframe and stepped out of his bedroom, heading downstairs. His focus was on his phone, checking for a message from his boss about when she’d be coming over to discuss the plans for you.

After your shower, you proceeded down the stairs, noticing Loki sitting by his desk and typing away at his computer. “Are you always going to be on that computer?” “Take a break at least.”

“You hungry?” he questioned, ignoring your questions and concerns. 

“I mean, I don’t usually eat this early in the morning, but I would love for you to cook for me?” You smiled with a shrug.

“You, not eating in the morning? That’s not healthy” he mocked you a bit, turning around in his chair to face you. 

“Hey don’t mock me!” you growled.

“Well then don’t assume that I am always on the computer.” 

“I wasn’t assuming, I was trying to be nice and…oh forget it” you rolled your eyes. “Don’t worry about making me anything, I’ll figure out what to cook myself when I go to your fridge” you turned around and walked over to the stairs that lead downstairs.

Loki let out a slow, exasperated breath, not understanding why you were so emotional. But, it was to be expected because human females were always emotional. After all, it was in their biology. “Come now, darling, I asked if you were hungry, which means that I will be cooking you breakfast” he chuckled, standing from his chair and again appearing in front of you out of nowhere.

“Oh my gosh, stop doing that!” you jumped at his sudden appearance in front of you.

“I know, but I enjoy seeing you startled by my appearance” he laughed, making his way down the stairs and towards his kitchen. 

You shook your head at him, following directly after him and entered his interestingly well set up kitchen. “My, you must really like cooking.”

Loki let out a soft chuckle as he grabbed the eggs and bacon from his fridge. “Well, I wouldn't want to be cooking with inadequate cookware.” 

“Hmm I agree, but sometimes using pots and pans from your local Walmart or dollar store can really enhance the flavor of certain foods” you giggled, leaning over the island that was in the middle of the kitchen. 

“Ah yes, those stores, quite the experience I had when I went to them” Loki smiled, grabbing one of the pans that was hanging above him, washing it carefully and then placing it on the stove. Once the pan was on the stove, he turned on the gas, allowing for the flame to begin to heat the leftover water. 

“I'm curious, since you're an alien from another world, do you eat human food? Or does the guild that you belong to provide you with your…well alien food?” You questioned curiously.

Loki tilted his head a bit after your question, “What, do you think that I can't handle human food?”

“Well, no I was just simply asking because most of our foods is highly processed, filled with lots of fats and….possibly a lot of chemicals that could potentially kill us in the next few years” you shrugged, straightening your posture, and then walking around the island to stand next to him. 

“Oh a farmers market, that's fancy” you nodded, quite impressed that as an alien bounty hunter he would go to such places that any normal human would. 

“Oh yes, I forgot about that” he sighed softly, grabbing a small rounded butter holder that was beside the stove and using a spoon to scoop up some butter for the pan. “I try to go to the local farmers market to get certain foods and produce, but when I can't, I occasionally go to the supermarket.” 

“Yes, but sometimes they got good deals” he admitted, grabbing the holder of the pan and maneuvering it so the butter could evenly spread. “I do miss the food from my home world….so…I do sometimes request my guild to send an aircraft to my planet simply for the food.” “But asking for that request can be costly.”

“That's a shame, but I'm sure you get paid well if you can afford all of this and a house here in the city” you raised your brows, grabbing the carton of eggs and opening it for him.

“You're quite observant darling” Loki teased, grabbing two eggs from the carton you opened and cracking them in the pan. 

“I can be handy” you teased right back, closing the carton of eggs and walking behind him and towards the fridge. As you opened the fridge door, a soft aroma blew into the air and wafted towards Loki's direction. 

Loki's eyes widened at the strong and delicious scent that he breathed in. “Ah” he breathed heavily, turning his gaze towards you, his fangs protruding out of his mouth. “No..no…no..” he gulped, shaking his head as he tried to concentrate on cooking your eggs. 

“Mmm, bacon and eggs in the morning, haven't had that in a while” you smiled, closing the fridge door and approaching beside him, not noticing the way he was fidgeting.

“Y-Yeah….a well balanced breakfast” he managed to slip a few words past his lips while struggling to keep his composure. 

“You alright Loki?” You question, mistakenly placing your hand on his back.

Within a flash, Loki turned around, grasping you by your hips and pulling you in close. “Ah…ah…your scent is…..intoxicating y/n…” He groaned hungrily, his fangs already protruding, fully bared for you to see—sharp, gleaming, and eager. His eyes, once lighter, darkened into an abyss of desire, the intoxicating aroma you released pulling him deeper into his primal hunger. 

“Loki…..what……let go!” You gasped, a deep blush forming across your cheeks as you tried to pry his hands off you. 

“Ah, I want to taste your flesh…” he licked his lips sensually, slowly leaning in close to your face. 

With quick movements, you slapped the living daylights out of him, causing him to revert back to his normal self. 

“What…..oh shit….I'm sorry I-” Loki covered his mouth, pulling away from you as he tried to regain his composure. 

“I'm…I'm just going to go upstairs and get my phone…and ignore what just happened” you said with disgust laced in your voice, walking past him and heading upstairs.

As Loki stood there, he turned to face the stove, flipping your eggs to make sure that it didn't burn. “What the hell are you doing Loki, compose yourself” He murmured underneath his breath. It was bad enough that you were constantly releasing pheromones but for him to act out like that was no excuse. 

“Ah” you blushed deeply, grabbing your phone from the guest bedroom and proceeding downstairs to the living room. You had no idea what came over him to just grab you like that…it irked you…but…deep down…you felt…a warmth. 

Shortly after, Loki came strolling up the stairs with a beautiful tray full of breakfast. “Here you are y/n” he smiled softly, placing the tray gently on the coffee table.

Putting your phone beside you, you glanced down at the tray, your eyes widening at the sight before you. On the tray, it had the two wonderfully cooked eggs, along with five pieces of crispy bacon. Next to it, it had a warm cup of green tea and a small cup with a beautiful rose in it. “Oh wow, thank you Loki.”

“I wanted to apologize for my sudden outburst, it was not proper of me” He cleared his throat, adjusting his bounty hunter attire and walking over to his desk, not wanting to be any closer to you to not trigger another one of his outbursts.

“That’s okay Loki, at least you made it up to me with breakfast” you chuckled, trying to liven up the mood a bit. 

After you finished your breakfast, you lounged on the couch, watching a movie on your phone to pass the time. 

Loki on the other hand, was typing away at his computer, trying to get a head start on the next potential bounties that his guild had placed up. Yet, the sudden ring of a doorbell broke the silence between you two. “Oh that must be my boss” he groaned, standing up from his chair and heading down the stairs towards the front door.

“Well hello Vixen, long time no-”

“Shut up Loki, where is she?” A tall woman with dark skin spoke hastily as she pushed past him to head up the stairs.

“Make yourself at home boss” Loki rolled his eyes in annoyance at the lack of respect she had, but it was to be expected.

“Loki” James smiled as he bumped fists with him.

“Good to see you James, I’m glad to see that someone has manners.”

“Ooo no comment on that” James laughed as he entered Loki’s home and proceeded upstairs.

Sitting up from the couch, your eyes landed on a tall dark woman coming up the stairs and facing you. “Uh, hello?” you smiled softly.

“Ah, you must be the girl that Loki was referring to.” “Nice to meet you, sweetheart, I am Vixen” Vixen smiled as she approached you, sitting down beside you to get a closer look at what she was working with.

“Nice to meet you Vixen, I’m y/n.”

Vixen smiled as she lifted her hand and grabbed the back of your neck, her eyes changing to a soft pink color. “Hmmm, my, you are very saturated with pheromones.”

“Ah, c-can you not grab me like that….please?” You blushed, trying to pull away from her grasp but it was quite strong, was she an alien too?

“James!” Vixen shouted.

“I’m coming boss, don’t get your panties in a knot” James sighed as he came up the stairs and walked over to her. 

Loki headed up the stairs as well, and then noticed your discomfort. “Vixen, do you have to be so forceful?” 

“I am not being forceful Loki, I am simply doing my job in analyzing this girl’s pheromones and deciding what should become of her.”

“What? Are you going to kill me?” you panicked, pushing her away from you and standing on your two feet. 

“It depends on what my final analysis says” Vixen sighed at the way you pulled away from her. “James, can I have the apparatus please?”

Quickly as he could, James rummaged through his bookbag, pulling out the small needle that was connected to a decently sized apparatus. “There you are,” he said as he handed it to her.

Grabbing the apparatus, Vixen stood onto her two feet and walked over to you, “Now sweetheart, I need one of your fingers.” “Don’t worry, it won’t hurt.”

“Uh, listen, can I just go home please, I really want to get back to my life and-” you instantly went quiet when this ‘Vixen’ grabbed your right hand without your consent and pricked your index finger. “So you just grab one of my fingers without my consent huh?”

“Well if you would’ve cooperated with me, instead of asking a million questions, then maybe I could’ve asked for your consent sweetheart” Vixen smiled.

A deep annoyed sigh escaped your lips, pulling your hand close to your chest once Vixen finished with pricking your finger. “I was asking questions because it pertains to my life.”

“Hmm, that is true sweetheart, but….in a few seconds….we shall…determine what will-” Vixen bite the bottom of her lip at the sight of the results that appeared across the screen of the apparatus. “Loki, kill her.”

“What! No, no, no, wait a minute!” You gasped, stepping away from her and grabbing the closest object near you to use as defense. 

Loki's eyes widened at this sudden information, “Wait what?” He quickly approached his boss and snatched the apparatus from her hands. When he glanced down at the screen, his heart sank at the results. “Oh fuck” he handed Vixen back the apparatus and made a dagger appear out of thin air. 

“Loki please, wait a second!” You gasped, shutting your eyes when he slapped the object you were holding out of your hands, pushed you against a wall, and held his sharp dagger against your neck. 

“I'm sorry y/n, but I have my orders” he spoke with sadness laced in his voice. He didn't want to kill you, it went against his beliefs and training of not bringing harm to any human being. But, the real reason was because….something deep down within him….was falling hard for you. 

“Are the results that bad?” James spoke with curiosity, walking over to Vixen to see the results and raised a brow. “Damn, she's an Omega Lineage Carrier.” 

“Yes, that is exactly why we can't have her roaming free” Vixen handed James the apparatus and pulled out her cigarette holder and lighter. 

“What if we use her as bait though?” “She could potentially lead us to the hive mind, making it easier for Loki to wipe them out in one fail swoop” James proposed. 

“Yeah I could do that, if it means that you'll let me live” you worriedly spoke, opening up your eyes and stared deep into Loki’s eyes. Something about his eyes made you melt, causing another wave of pheromones to be released from your body.

“Ah” Loki groaned softly, the aroma wafting into his nose again, his fangs becoming sharper within an instant. "If we're keeping her, you'll have to figure out how to control the release of her pheromones."

Loki, within the second, pulled away from you, making his dagger disappear. “Understood boss” he nodded, walking away from you to calm himself down before he went ravenous on your body. He was a bit relieved however that his boss was going to allow you to live, but it was going to be a long road for you both now that you are going to be working for the guild.

“Hmmm” Vixen hummed while thinking about what James proposed, slowly taking a cigarette out of her holder, putting it away, and then lighting the end of the bud.

"Well, she could be useful……after all, an Omega Lineage Carrier could help us find all of the unwanted hive nests here in the city” Vixen blew smoke into the air.

“Dammit, I wanted the easier way out, but now I have a ton of paperwork to go through.” “Consider yourself lucky miss y/n, you're going to be working for us now.”

“Loki bring her up to speed on what she needs to do and make sure she has a separate account on your computer so we can transfer her funds.” 

“James, can you give miss y/n over here the collar” Vixen ordered as she sat down on the couch and pulled over a little tray to her that had some keys in it. Taking the keys out and placing it on the side, she tapped her cigarette, some of the ash falling into the tray. 

“On it boss” James nodded as he grabbed this aptly sized collar from his book bag and casually walked over to you. “Don't worry darling, I'll be gentle.”

You stood there, confused as ever to what was going on, but you too were relieved that you weren't going to be killed. “Okay” you whispered to James and lifted your chin up to give him access to your neck. 

As James began slipping the collar around your neck, Loki stood in the corner, his gaze locked onto him with a slight glare. He didn’t know why he felt this strange surge of jealousy—this protective instinct over you. There was no physical or emotional connection between you two, so why was he reacting this way?

His thoughts were interrupted when he heard you whimper. His body tensed, a jolt of something primal shooting through him as his fangs sharpened, ready to defend you. Almost like an animalistic instinct was awakening within him. “Easy, James,” he growled.

“I know, I know,” James sighed, trying to be as careful as possible. “And… there we go. Collar’s on and fully functional.”

“So, this collar would stop my supposed pheromones from releasing?” You questioned curiously. 

“In a way miss y/n, this collar has a controller that will allow the user to control the amount of pheromones you release.” “For example, right now, you aren't releasing any sort of pheromones due to the collar, but if I press the up arrow on this controller here, it will kind of open your pheromonal gate and fill the air with your sweet scent.” 

“Oh, I guess that's good in a way that I won't be attracting any unwanted aliens.” 

“Yeah this collar works wonders” James chuckled as he moved away from you to give you some space and placed the controller on the coffee table by Vixen.

James shook his head at the way Vixen acted, still amazed that she could run an entire guild with an attitude like hers. Quickly, he slung his book bag over his shoulder and walked over to Loki, giving him another fist bump. “You know my number, call if you need anything, okay?”

Vixen glanced over at Loki, noticing him intently listening while also being slightly on the defensive side. “Easy Loki, she's an asset, not another girl you can fuck” she chuckled, putting out her cigarette bud and then stood from the couch.

“If you have any other questions, contact James, you know his number Loki.” “Welcome to the guild sweetheart” Vixen winked at you before she headed over to the stairs.

“Come on, James, I have to get back to my office to start on that goddamn paper work” She groaned in anger. 

Loki nodded, giving James a fist bump back and proceeded to follow after him to see them out. 

Once the two left, you walked back over to the couch and sat down, trying to process all this new information. 

Loki soon came strolling up the stairs, a heavy sigh slipping past his lips “Well, I'm guessing this was a lot for you to process huh?” 

“Yeah, I am just still in shock that your boss would go straight to killing someone and not even think about helping them first” you recoiled slightly, shaking your head in disbelief 

“Heh, well you don’t know Vixen very well darling.” “She can be sweet at times, but she has her agenda to follow…..mostly due to her superiors above her breathing down her neck constantly.” 

“But that still doesn’t give her the right to just take someone’s life without looking at the alternatives first.”

Loki shrugged slightly, having already been used to Vixen’s personality and work style. “I wonder what time it is?” he questioned, walking over to his computer and checking the time.  “Huh, good” he chuckled, turning around and crossing his arms. “Do you want to go out with me?” 

“I’m sorry?” a blush creeped across your cheeks. 

"Not that kind of 'out,' darling. I meant going outside with me." "The farmer's market just opened. Would you like to join me?" "I need to pick up some produce anyway, so I thought I'd extend the offer."

"Sure, why not?" You chuckled, sitting up from the couch, grabbing your phone, and then pulling on your hoodie. "Will other people see my collar, by the way? I don’t want them to think I’m weird or something."

"No, humans can’t see our technology—besides you, of course." He chuckled. "They’ll only notice my pajama pants on you."

"Well, at least I can wear them better than you," you teased, walking towards the stairs with a sway in your hips.

Loki shook his head with a smirk, watching the way you swayed your hips as you walked away. "Don’t tease me, darling."

A short while later, you were at the farmer’s market, weaving through the crowds of people that swarmed most of the vendors. 

“Varian, is that you?” An older man shouted from his stall. 

"Hello, Sam. How are you?" Loki chuckled as he approached, offering a handshake. "How’s the wife and kids?"

"I’m good, thank you," Sam replied, shaking Varian’s hand. "They’re good too. My two boys are growing like weeds, and the missus... well, she’s still asking for that new flatscreen TV." He laughed. 

“Well, you had better get her one,” Loki laughed with him. 

Following Loki, you walked beside him, curious as to why he didn’t use his real name around everyday people. Eventually, you understood—it was for their protection. His true identity, his dangerous profession, and his species were not things anyone needed to know.

"Wow, these vegetables look amazing."

Sam, glancing over at you, smiled softly. "Well, hello there. Is this your new girlfriend, Varian?" he asked with a chuckle.

A deep blush spread across your cheeks when you heard Sam's words. "Oh, uh... well, he really isn’t—"

"Yes, she is," Loki interrupted, speaking proudly.

"Oh, I’m so happy for you, Varian. You finally put yourself out there."

"Indeed I did," Loki chuckled, his eyes soft as they turned toward you.

"Um, Varian, I’m going to check out the teas over there, okay?" You cleared your throat, rushing away to hide the blush that was rising inside you.

"Don’t go too far," Loki called after you, then pulled out his reusable bag and handed it to Sam. "I’m just going to pick out a few things, Sam. Gotta stock up."

"Sure, no problem, Varian." Sam grinned. "But I gotta say, she’s a keeper. Glad you found someone who can handle your crazy self."

"Yes, it was quite difficult to find someone, but I managed." Loki chuckled as he grabbed cucumbers, lettuce, tomatoes, and a few other vegetables.

As Loki was busy choosing what vegetables to take home, you were browsing the jars of teas in this quaint little stall in the corner. Without noticing, a decently handsome man approached beside you, also viewing the tea. “You come around here often?”

“No actually, my first time” you smiled to the man next to you, slowly reaching for the Early Grey tea in front of you.

“Oh first time?” “Well, you’ll definitely love it here, the people are amazing, the food is absolutely delicious, ah, if I could live here I would” he joked. 

"Heh, I mean, you could technically live here. I’m sure there are apartments around here you could rent." You shrugged softly, opening the jar of Earl Grey and taking a deep whiff. "Mmm, I love tea," you hummed happily.

"So do I." The man flashed a charming smile.

Another blush crept across your cheeks at the sight of his smile. "So, are you thinking about getting an apartment here?" you asked, trying to steer the conversation.

"Maybe, if it means I get to run into beautiful women like yourself."

"Oh, why thank you. But I don’t think I’m that beautiful to catch anyone’s attention," you sighed softly, closing the jar and placing it back in its spot.

"Don’t sell yourself short. You’re quite beautiful." The man chuckled, grabbing your hand without warning and pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

"Ah," you gasped, trying to pull your hand away but finding you couldn’t.

From a distance, Loki watched the interaction, his rage slowly simmering until it boiled over. In a flash, he was standing in front of the two of you, his eyes burning with fury. "Get your hand off of her," Loki growled, his grip tightening as he viciously yanked the man’s hand away.

"Varian!" You gasped, stepping back when you saw him grip the man’s hand.

"Argh, dude, let go of my hand!" the man shouted, wincing in pain as Loki squeezed his hand tighter.

"Why don’t you put your dick away and get the hell out of here?" Loki warned, releasing the man’s hand and watching as he quickly bolted. "I told you not to wander off." Loki growled at you.

"I didn’t wander off; I was literally in your line of sight. It’s not my fault men keep approaching me." You snapped back, turning towards the tea vendor. "Can I please get some Earl Grey and Jasmine tea?"

The vendor, still stunned by the interaction, nodded quickly and began filling glass jars with the teas you requested.

"You don’t know what human men are capable of." Loki’s voice was low with frustration. "I smelled that man’s lust over you from a mile away."

"It’s a public space. He wouldn’t dare do anything too rash." You rolled your eyes and grabbed your phone.

"He could’ve dragged you away at gunpoint and assaulted you in an alley."

"Well, he didn’t, thanks to you," you snapped back at him.

A deep growl escaped Lok’s lips at how naive you were, “How much is it?” Loki spoke to the vendor who finished preparing the teas.

“That’ll be 55 dollars sir” The vendor spoke with fear laced in his voice.

"I got it," Loki said, placing his reusable bag with the vegetables on the ground for a moment as he pulled out his wallet.

"No, I got it." You glared at Loki, opening your Google payment app and waiting for the vendor to provide the payment system so you could scan your phone.

With swift movements, Loki grabbed exactly 55 dollars in cash from his wallet and handed it to the vendor. "I told you, I got it." He smirked deviously, grabbing the jars.

"I said I got it," you sighed angrily, snatching the jars from him and stomping away.

"Thank you." Loki winked at the vendor, then grabbed his reusable bag and quickly rushed to catch up with you, despite your irritation.

"Y/n, come on, you know I’m faster than you." Loki chuckled, appearing beside you in a flash.

"Just leave me alone, okay?" You snapped, clearly still upset.

"Come on," Loki spoke softly, trying to coax you into calming down.

Ignoring his attempts, you pushed forward into the farmer’s market, unaware of two burly men trailing behind you and Loki.

[foxboyclit]

love me like a woman

In which Nydalla's sister gives him a lesson in girlhood.

very special thanks to @cyb3rmutt for co-writing this bit of Minisstra lore specifically <3

content warning for transphobia, incest, and noncon

Matron Vyrinn had many children. Most didn’t survive, which made Inara her luckiest daughter. Nydalla saw the abundance of other blessings Lloth bestowed upon her-special attention from mother, schedule teeming with invites to various events, and a wardrobe no short of immaculate. The sight of her stoked something burning inside him, a word somewhere between lust and loss, one that when slurred could easily sound like either.

Here, in their family’s chapel, Inara watches as Nydalla polishes the statue of Lloth. Perhaps he’s been working for hours, or the sconces are not fully lit, but if he steals a glimpse of her, she looks uncanny to the obsidian goddess-sharp eyes, cold, set features complemented by gentle curves and inviting breasts. Just how many flogs would that blasphemous thought earn him?

Every day, Nydalla is called to assist the priestesses in tidying the chapel. Inara demonstrates how an altar is properly kept, how an offering is properly gutted, and shows nothing but reverence during the sacrifice. Her devotion is beautiful. Lloth is beautiful. Nydalla would tear the city apart to feel an ounce of such.

—

Inara is enjoying herself at one of her many parties, and everyone else has turned in for the night. He’s about to do the same, when his hand brushes absentmindedly over a doorknob. 

It’s hers, because why wouldn’t it be, when she said in the chapel he had an eye for fine details. Surprisingly, it’s not locked, and the click of the turn is too soft for anyone to hear. A glance over the shoulder, a sigh of relief and he’s in, a thundering heartbeat the only sound in the empty room.

Inara’s room may as well be made of glass for how perfectly it reflects her. Every wall decoration and trinket speaks of good taste, trophies from hard-won battles peppered in like victims in an intricate web, all of it kept tidy as their Matron likes it. Being in her room always makes Nydalla’s stomach churn, and this time is no exception. 

An invisible thread pulls him to the wardrobe. Neat rows of outfits and accessories call out to him, and his arm is halfway extended when he stops himself. 

Isn’t this a sin? Lloth always weaved a drow’s fate with devastating accuracy, and if Nydalla were to be a woman, he would’ve been born as such. To tear such a delicate strand apart could lead to a far worse transformation. 

And yet reaching for one of Inara’s dresses felt more natural than a breath. His arm is still frozen in place as air returns to his lungs, and he finds the strength to tear his gaze away from the silk dress, only to have it caught on a glittering tiara.

It’s a small thing, gleaming silver warped into a delicate spider web with small diamonds punctuating its points. Simply elegant, just like its owner. It’s a smaller sin than the dress, easier to toss aside should someone walk in. Inara’s out late anyway, and Nydalla knows Lloth is keeping a closer set of eyes on Her priestess than some male. He lifts it with the care one might carry a black widow, and adjusts it atop his head. 

The tiara is both weightless and ten pounds of stone. Nydalla turns to his sister’s mirror and is met with a drow’s terrified expression. Something glows inside his chest, radiating through his face as he watches deep violet stain his cheeks. Despite the blasphemy, he feels closer to Lloth, like he was given a taste of the beauty She possesses. Nydalla fixes his hair into something close to a woman’s style, and his reflection is more right than it ever has been.

There’s a small voice screaming from the back of his skull, rattling about whip cracks and shouting apologies, if he’s lucky to not be sacrificed for this. Yet nothing can tear his eyes away from the girl staring back at him. If this is not what the Mother of Lusts wants, why would She make it feel so good?

It’s too much, the weight of the tiara, the interrogation in his own eyes, the warring voices in his head. Nydalla removes the tiara tentatively as he donned it, and flees the room.

—

He wants to say that was the last time he borrowed something from Inara, that he had the sense to keep himself out of her clothes, away from her mirror, that he shut out every thought of skirts flowing between his legs and the soft jingle of jewelry. He wants to be good, to not have this compulsion, but no matter how long he kneels in front of the altar or lets his blood drip into the offering bowl, Lloth does not answer his prayers to erase it. 

So he maintains this heathen ritual, sneaking in once Inara’s left and trying on her dresses, cinching a bodice around his torso to give him the delicate curves he should have. He learns how to style her outfits to better sell the illusion of a body deceptively soft, and the drow in the mirror looks more elegant, more dangerous with each rite. 

The progress makes him bold, and the woman in the mirror convinces him he’s more untouchable than he really is. The time between Inara leaving and Nydalla taking her place shortens. His calculations of allotted time for this ritual are done haphazardly. It really was a matter of time before he’d get caught. 

Nydalla’s adjusting the tiara in a bruise violet dress when Inara walks in. she makes no announcement of her presence other than the sharp thud of a door slam that sinks his heart below the floor. He covers himself, despite being fully clothed, as ruby eyes and a furious smile catch him like an expertly spun cocoon.

The minutes stretch themselves to infinities as Nydalla meets her gaze. Inara’s eyes are wide as his, unblinking, and Nydalla realizes this is the first time he’s seen her taken aback. She must have thought the same, for her posture straightens, her eyes darken, and she speaks in a tone that may very well be borrowed from Lloth.

“So this is what you do in your spare time.” She gives him a once-over that reasserts him to his place, a heretic little brother at the mercy of her whip. Nydalla’s halfway through babbling an apology when he feels a hand on his shoulder as she pushes him to a kneeling position. 

“You know, brother, you don’t look half bad for an og’elend–vith. How about this-”

 Nydalla has silently agreed to whatever she’s about to say, forcing himself to agree still as she pushes her skirt aside, “you make good use of your mouth, and I’ll keep mine shut. Do we have a deal?”

His desperation skids to a halt as his face is pressed up against her cunt-his sister’s cunt. He’s seen her undressed before but never this close, and of course she’s perfect, smooth deep violet skin covered in thick, soft white curls. 

It’s a sight he never should have seen. It’s all he’s wanted for years. In this moment he’d give anything to feel like her, wet and confident and in control, rather than the shameful ache between his legs.

Inara has no patience for his stunned silence, for she places a hand firmly atop the stolen tiara, the metal digging into his scalp. “Come on, you’d much rather do this for me than our mother.”

He answers with a hesitant kiss above her clit, her warmth and heady scent rendering him incapable of answering in any spoken word. It seems to suffice, for Inara runs her fingers through his hair, tangling them in the long strands as she pulls his lips closer. 

Nydalla mouths at her cunt desperately, unsure of what else there is to do, much less how he let this happen. Inara growls, and the hand in his hair sends a sharp pain through his scalp as she forcefully guides his inexperienced tongue.

He is entirely dependent on the instruction given through the hand in his hair and the sounds coming from her mouth. He forces his eyes shut and commits to mapping each spot that earns him a moan, and he lets out a small relieved sigh as he feels his lips growing more slick with arousal. 

“Don’t get too comfortable now, if you fail to make me come I’ll drag you to Mother like this.” She chuckles breathlessly. Matron Vyrinn’s voice echoes shrill in his head and crimson eyes sear into his soul. Nydalla’s tongue works more fervently, seemingly the correct move given how sweetly his sister’s thighs tense. 

Wet sounds of his work fill the room as Inara’s moans climb higher, and Nydalla tries not to think about the implications of his own meeting hers. If what he’s overheard is true, it’s a sign she’s close, and soon this will all be over. Disappointment floods through him rather than relief, and Nydalla prays she never comes and leaves him with this sick confusion. 

But she does, because what else would be the point of sparing him, and the only warning he receives is the fist in his hair tightening with bruising force as Inara claps her free hand over her mouth. Her cry is still loud enough to reverberate through his bones as Inara shoves him off and readjusts her skirt. He takes this as his cue to leave, and he’s halfway through changing back to his own clothes as Inara strides over.

 She crooks one long, perfectly manicured nail under his chin, forcing their eyes to meet.

 “Before you leave,” each word is balanced on a knife’s edge, “what do you say to your older sister, who was kind enough to make you a woman?”

Nydalla nervously licks his lips and cringes internally her lingering taste. Inara’s stare is iron, unyielding, a beautiful bright red that unravels his soul until it finds the answer they’re both looking for.

“Thank you, sister.”

[jgoddesstarot]

Pick-A-Pile: Family Dynamics: How Does Your Future Spouse Interact With Their Family?

👑Check out my masterlist to see all of my pick-a-card readings😊

✨ Visit my shops at Ko-fi.com or J.Goddess Tarot✨

🔮Disclaimer: This reading is for entertainment purposes only. Tarot readings are based upon my intuitive interpretation of the cards and about possibilities based on your current energy. Energy is forever changing and nothing is set in stone. Always remember, you have your own free will to make whatever decision you feel is best.

🔮How I read: I use a mix of tarot cards, oracle cards, along with my intuitive abilities of claircognizance, clairaudience, and clairsentience.

🔮How this works: Close your eyes and take deep breaths, pick the pile you are most drawn to. If you aren’t drawn to any pile then that’s okay, these messages aren’t for you at this time.

Pile 1

Tarot Cards: Death, 7 of Pentacles, Knight of Pentacles, Ace of Pentacle, 4 of Swords

Hi my captivating Pile 1's, brace yourself for a tantalizing journey through the vibrant tapestry of your future lover's family dynamics. Ready for the revelations?

First, let's enter a realm of transformation—a space where old realities crumble, giving way to new horizons. Imagine a grand ancestral mansion shifting its walls and corridors, changing its very essence. Such is the profound metamorphosis that has molded your future spouse's family. This change—whether it's the winds of fortune turning or migrating to new shores—has profoundly infused their essence, shaping their familial ties with a blend of nostalgia and acceptance.

Journeying deeper, we find a lush garden where every tree and shrub has been meticulously nurtured over the years. Here, your lover emerges as the devoted gardener, their hands lovingly tending to the familial roots, ensuring that bonds flourish and thrive. They appreciate the slow dance of time, understanding that the most profound connections are nurtured patiently, season after season.

Now, amidst this verdant expanse, stands a sentinel—a knight in shining armor, steadfast and unyielding. This is your partner, the unwavering backbone of their family, always present in times of need. Their feet planted firmly on the ground, they bring pragmatism and reliability to family affairs, ensuring that everyone feels safe and cherished.

But, oh! The story doesn't end here. Amidst the lushness, there's an aura of newness—a gleam of golden opportunities. Your future love is the trailblazer, the one igniting fresh traditions, the beacon guiding their clan to embrace novelty, all while cherishing their rich legacy.

Yet, amidst all this hustle, there's a serene sanctuary—a quiet spot where time stands still. Here, your lover retreats, understanding the sacredness of rejuvenation. They champion the balance between fervent family engagements and soulful solace, ensuring harmony flows through every vein of their lineage.

In wrapping up our delicious saga, delectable Pile 1's, your future love emerges as a potent blend of resilience, dedication, practicality, innovation, and tranquility. They are the heartbeat of their family, a force of stability and renewal. As the threads of destiny intertwine, savor this glimpse into the rich familial tapestry that awaits you

Pile 2

Tarot Cards: Ace of Swords (in reverse), Knight of Wands, 10 of Wands, The Chariot, 5 of Cups

Hey my sultry Pile 2's, fasten your seatbelts as we embark on an exhilarating voyage into the heart and soul of your future beloved, especially the intricate dance of their family dynamics.

Picture a serene moonlit night, where a secretive veil cloaks the stars. Just like that mysterious night, your future partner possesses an art of concealment, especially when family matters arise. They are the silent guardians, preferring to shield their emotions in favor of preserving familial harmony, ensuring no storm disrupts the tranquil waters.

Yet, beneath this gentle facade, a tempest of fiery passion rages. Imagine a blazing phoenix, soaring high and fiercely guarding its realm. That's your future lover when their family's sanctity is at stake. They're a spirited protector, ready to leap into action, driven by a blazing heart that might occasionally prompt them to leap before they look. But rest assured, their intentions are as pure as gold.

But oh, how the universe plays its dualities! This fiery phoenix also carries the weight of the world on its wings. They're the anchor, the one who stands tall amidst family storms, absorbing every thunder and lightning, ensuring no harm befalls their kin. Sometimes it's a labor of love, and at others, a duty they can't escape.

Yet, against these raging storms and burdens, stands a fearless charioteer—your future spouse, taking the reins of their family chariot, navigating through life's tumultuous terrains with unyielding focus. Balancing passion and responsibility, they ensure their family sails smoothly towards their shared destiny.

Amidst these tales of courage and resilience, there's a chapter of heartache. A past that's seen shadows of loss or perhaps unmet expectations. But it's these very shadows that have molded them into the beacon of hope, teaching them to find the silver lining even in the cloudiest of skies.

Drawing our thrilling escapade to its end, my enticing Pile 2's, we unveil a partner enveloped in layers of fierce protection, fiery passion, unspoken sacrifices, unwavering determination, and the wisdom of their past. Their dance with family is both intense and tender, replete with challenges yet underscored by undying love. While these cards are but whispers of fate, always remember: Destiny is a two-player game. Embrace the anticipation and trust in the cosmic dance of love and life.

Pile 3

Tarot Cards: 6 of Swords, 3 of Cups (in reverse), Queen of Pentacles (in reverse), Page of Wands, Knight of Swords

Ah, my captivating Pile 3's, let's embark on a tantalizing journey through the tapestry of your future spouse's family dynamics.

Picture a sailboat gently cutting through stormy seas, setting its compass toward tranquil waters. Your future beloved, it appears, has masterfully navigated their way out of family tempests. They've journeyed from choppy family ties to calmer connections, gracefully steering clear of conflicts to safeguard their peace.

However, beneath this serenity lies a whispered melancholy, like a solitary bird against a dusky sky. There's a quiet space between them and their kin, a distance that feels more emotional than physical. Perhaps the sound of clinking glasses and laughter during family feasts doesn't resonate with the same fervor. Yet, remember, this silence is their protective shield, a sanctuary carved from lessons of yesteryears.

Now, think of a warm hearth, radiating comfort. Curiously, this warmth seems elusive when it comes to their familial ties. It's not that they lack a nurturing spirit; it's just that they've found it challenging to channel it within the family's confines, perhaps holding back from the traditional roles of providing and caregiving.

But ah, there's a twist in our tale! Envision a vibrant flame, dancing with wild abandon. That's the spirit of your future spouse—unyielding, passionate, and bursting with curiosity. Their bond with their family might deviate from the norm, but it's fueled by a desire for a fresh, innovative approach. They're the wildflowers amidst roses, standing out with their unique, fiery essence.

Imagine a swift falcon, diving decisively to its prey. That's your beloved when faced with family matters—direct, unhesitant, and quick to address concerns. They don't let issues fester, choosing instead to face them head-on.

Drawing our thrilling escapade to its end, my enticing Pile 3's, we unveil a future partner who's gracefully danced with family challenges, displaying resilience, wisdom, and a fiery individuality. Their family song might not fit the traditional tunes, but it's undeniably rich in character and depth. Let's savor the symphony of these cards and relish in the anticipation of what's to come. After all, every note and rhythm sketches a piece of the fascinating enigma that is your future spouse.

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[lilacmingi]

ALICE IN WONDERLAND AU: JUNGKOOK’S ENDING

My works are 14+ ONLY. If you’re under 14 DO NOT interact with me or any of my works

Word count: 1,480

Pairing: White rabbit!Jungkook x fem reader

Note: There’s no taglist for the separate endings. If you haven’t read the series yet, you can find the intro here or find it on my masterlist which is linked at the end of the imagine

Every single one of them were amazing and beyond perfect, but your heart seemed to be pulled towards one of them in particular.

You thought back to when you saw Jungkook and how he was the first one you met even before falling down the rabbit hole and into Wonderland. Images of him ravishing your neck with kisses brought an intense heat to your cheeks as your eyes drifted over to him.

"You're all certain that you won't get angry?" You inquired before revealing your answer.

"We're sure." Taehyung smiled warmly. "Your happiness is all that matters to us."

"Go ahead. Pick one." Yoongi urged gently.

"I can see you already have someone in mind." Namjoon said. "So just say it."

You nodded and took in a deep breath. "I choose Jungkook."

Jungkook's face lit up and his bunny ears perked as soon as his name left your lips. Unable to contain his excitement, he ran up and embraced you in a night hug, momentarily lifting you off the ground.

"I love you, Y/n. I love you so much." He murmured while rocking the both of you back and forth.

"I love you too."

Lifting his head, he locked eyes with you, tugging your body closer to his.

"We're gonna be so happy together." He whispered as he inched closer to your lips.

As much as you wanted to kiss him, you knew there were six other people standing nearby.

Before you could stop Jungkook on your own, someone cleared their throat, causing him to pull away.

"Save that for the bunny cottage." It was Yoongi that spoke.

"Sorry." The tips of Jungkook's ears turned pink from embarrassment. "I got carried away."

"Well that settles it." Jin smiled warmly. "I suppose we should all go our separate ways."

"We all need to keep in touch." Jimin mentioned.

"I'm having a tea party tomorrow! You all should join." Taehyung piped up.

"You have a tea party every day. What's new?" Yoongi remarked.

"We can always find something else to do together. I promise we won't lose touch. I'll make sure of it." Hoseok assured.

"Me too." Jimin agreed.

"Alright. We should probably let these two get on down the road and stop holding them up." Namjoon said.

The boys pulled both you and Jungkook into an embrace, everyone saying their goodbyes and promising to meet up and stay in contact on a regular basis.

Giving a final wave to the group, you left Jin's castle and started making your way to your new home. Jungkook intertwined his fingers with yours, your feet shuffling along the cracked stone pathway that led away from the towering castle and out into the vast valley of Wonderland.

"You okay?" Jungkook tilted his head cutely.

"Yeah. Just nervous. This is a big change."

"You're happy though, right?"

"Yes. Very happy." You smiled. "It's a big change, but it's one that I'm looking forward to."

"Good. It shouldn't take us very long to get there."

"I'm so excited."

"Me too. I think you'll like it a lot."

A few minutes passed before you came upon a quaint cottage with blue bellflowers planted on either side of the front entrance and small clumps of moss growing on the roof making it look like a fairy cottage from a fantasy book. What you were seeing was nothing like what you had pictured.

Jungkook stepped forward and took it upon himself to open the door for you.

"After you, sweetheart."

The nickname made your heart thump as you kept your composure and stepped inside.

What you saw almost took your breath away. The interior was decorated cozily, setting a warm and comfortable atmosphere that made you feel right at home.

"Did you decorate this place yourself?" You asked, looking around at the small plants scattered about the living room area.

"I did." He grinned proudly.

"It's so beautiful."

"Not as beautiful as you." Jungkook's voice sounded from right beside your ear, his fingers brushing your hair back so he could trail kisses up your neck.

Your eyelids slid closed and you leaned back against him while simultaneously presenting more of your neck so he had more room to ravish you with his soft lips.

"I'm so lucky." He hummed as his hands slid around your waist.

Two weeks later

You stood at the stove flipping the last batch of pancakes, the warm scent wafting into the air and filling the small kitchen. A fond smile colored your features while you pulled cups and plates from the cabinets. You absolutely adored Jungkook's little cottage. It was cute, cozy, and the perfect size for the both of you to live in. The kitchen, though small, was equipped with all the necessities while taking up a minimal amount of space.

You rolled up the sleeves on Jungkook's shirt which you currently donned and plated the pancakes. The white dress shirt you wore fit him perfectly, though it was a little tight around the sleeves due to his massive biceps. However, the garment looked huge on you, the hem of it reaching your mid to upper thigh.

The faint sound of bare feet padding against the hardwood floors reached your ears moments before a pair of strong arms wrapped themselves around your waist.

"Good morning." A groggy Jungkook murmured, his morning voice sending a not-so-subtle shiver down your spine.

"Good morning, bun." You reached back to tousle his long hair which was no doubt a mess.

"You made pancakes? That's so sweet of you." He placed a kiss to your cheek.

"It's nothing." You fought back a smile, turning your head just enough to where Jungkook couldn't see you getting flustered.

His strong hands gripped your waist and spun you around to face him. It was then that you took notice of the fact that he didn't have a shirt on, leaving nothing to the imagination.

In the two weeks you had been living with Jungkook, seeing him shirtless wasn't an uncommon sight, but you still managed to get flustered every time you saw his exposed torso. It drove you crazy. His broad chest and tiny waist were always capturing your attention, drawing you in like a magnet.

When your eyes met Jungkook's, he smirked at you. It was then that you realized you were (very obviously) staring at his physique and you had been caught.

"Something catch your eye?" He inquired, quirking a sharp brow.

Your eyes avoided his which made him take your chin between his fingers, turning your gaze back to him. A mixture of desire and adoration swirled behind his darkening eyes.

"What are you staring at, beautiful?" He asked.

You responded with a meek, "Nothing."

"C'mon, darling. You can tell me. I am your boyfriend, after all." He spoke lowly, leaning in so close that you could feel his breath tickling your neck.

"You know what I was staring at." You responded.

He feigned innocence. "No I don't."

You swallowed.

"Why don't you show me?"

That cheeky little comment lit a fire in the pit of your stomach.

Two can play at that game.

Bringing your hand to his upper chest, you placed your palm onto his skin before slowly sliding it down the valley of his chest, one of his bunny ears twitching lightly in response. Your hand moved lower to his stomach, your fingertips trailing over his abs, causing his eyelids to flutter.

"I was staring at all this, big boy." You responded in a sultry tone.

That was all it took to make him snap.

He closed the gap between your faces and attacked your lips with his own, biting harshly at them before taking your bottom lip between his. Your hands flew up to his hair, grabbing handfuls of the long, inky strands, tugging on his locks every once in a while, eliciting small sighs and grunts from him.

Kisses with Jungkook were always dizzying and left you in a haze of bliss. The man was full of passion and never failed to remind you of that.

The tips of your fingers brushed against the base of his bunny ears, causing him to release a sigh into your mouth. Unable to keep them in one place for too long, your hands traveled down along his broad chest and across his torso, feeling every dip and curve of his toned body. In turn, he pressed you against the cabinets, caging your smaller form with his much larger one.

"Jungkook." You sighed out when your lips parted ways, your breaths coming out in shallow huffs.

"Mmm what?" He hummed, kissing you again.

"The pancakes are going to get cold."

"Why have pancakes when I have something sweeter right in front of me?" He murmured, latching his lips to yours once again.

You eventually got around to eating breakfast, just after a long and heated make out session.

Masterlist ᝰ

DO NOT steal, plagiarize, copy, repost, alter, or translate my works in any way

[violettduchess]

Ikepri Walter X reader? Pretty please?

A/N: Ah anon....this was such a spark that set off a veritable forest fire of ideas. Thank you for the ask. I hope you enjoy the result!

I also want to thank everyone who voted in all my Walter polls. You guys decided Walter has black hair, gray eyes, is tall and slender and wears glasses 💜

I have not read translations of Gilbert's route so apologies if this diverges from canon.

Walter (the court physician of Obsidian) x Reader

"Der Anfang" is German for: the beginning

WC: ~2k

Everything feels strange here. The dark castle walls waver like shadows in the pale firelight of the sconces. The carpeting underfoot is thinner than in Rhodolite's elegant palace. You can feel the grooves between the stone flooring as you walk, chamberstick in hand. You realize now the meager light of your little flame won’t do much to combat the darkness that seems to linger in the corners of Obsidian but it feels better than being empty-handed.

All you are looking for is a place where you can step outside and breathe freely. Ever since your arrival here, ever since him, you’ve felt like your lungs are being held within an iron grasp, a fist that won’t let you get a breath deep enough to feel steady. And all that shallow breathing has you spinning as you tiptoe down a winding set of stairs, fingertips brushing the cold walls. At the bottom is a wooden door and relief floods you when you press down on the iron handle and it opens easily.

Freedom.

You’ve wandered outside from a smaller side tower that opens onto a narrow earthen path. If memory serves, this will take you to the herb garden. Thankfully, you no longer need your chamberstick. The full moon glows, gilding the world in soft, silver light. Kneeling, you set it down on a small bench at the beginning of the path and continue by moonlight. A glance over your shoulder shows you the castle, dark and imposing as it stretches its pointed towers towards the sky. Is he asleep? He’s said he doesn’t sleep much and the dark circle under his crimson eye attests to that. What would he do, if he knew you were wandering outside the castle alone? Your body contracts in a shudder. Nothing good.

He hasn’t harmed you…..and yet his smiles are sharp, so sharp it feels like they could slice you as easily as a bladed weapon. And his eye…..there is no light there. When you stare into the depth of all that red, it feels like you’re staring into an abyss.

Red like a warning.

Red like danger.

Red like blood.

You reach the iron gate of the herb garden and let yourself in. Maybe you’ll be able to find some chamomile or lavender. Something to help calm the mind, keep your nerves steady. It’s nightfall, yes, but that luminous moon is doing her best to guide you.

It’s when you take a turn down the dirt path that you notice another figure kneeling there. Hearing your approach, the man turns his head and his face is colored by surprise.

“What on earth are you doing out here, Fräulein?” 

Walter, the court physician, wipes the dirt from his hands as he regards you, head tilted to one side. He’s a tall man, taller than Gilbert, with soft black curls which are just the slightest bit too long, brushing the starched collar of his white shirt, and intelligent gray eyes the color of mist when it rolls across hills and fields on a brisk autumn morning. They’re framed by round glasses which he has a habit of adjusting, even if they haven’t slipped down the bridge of his aquiline nose.

“I–I wanted to catch a breath of fresh air.”

“At this hour?”

“I could ask you the same question, doctor.”

He glances past you towards the garden gate, as if looking for something. Or maybe someone. His brow creases slightly and those gray eyes are a fog that obscures his thoughts, storm clouds that block the blue sky. Several seconds pass before he lets out a breath, his shoulders relaxing as he turns back to his herb gathering.

“Well, then you can make yourself useful." He gestures towards the plant he is currently kneeling in front of. “I’m gathering Agranise.”

You sink down beside him, looking at the many stalks of leafy green plants dotted with small red-yellow blossoms. The scent hits you now that you are near, something sweet yet bitter, like an orange just going foul.

“If I remember correctly, Agranise is extremely acrid. And poisonous if taken in large doses.” You glance at him and he nods in confirmation. 

“Ja,” he murmurs as he reaches forward, carefully plucking the dark green leaves from their stems. “But in small doses, it is a considerable tool for pain management.” 

You watch him at first, noting how careful his long fingers are, how exact, as he breaks each leaf as far down the stem as possible before putting them into a glass jar you had not noticed at first. It's nestled safely against the small wicker basket he’s brought along. Carefully you mimic his action, reaching for the plant and plucking a leaf free. You work in silence for several minutes, the only sound is the occasional rustle of foliage when the night breeze sweeps through the garden as if checking on you both.

It’s you who breaks the quiet.

“How sick is he?”

Maybe you shouldn’t ask. He may not even answer but there is no denying who you are gathering these potent herbs for. Walter’s hand stills for a moment just as his fingers clasp a leaf stem and you can feel the internal debate he has with himself as he considers your question.

“The care is…..palliative,” he finally answers. “He must drink his tonics and it keeps the worst of it at bay.”

You pause, sitting back on your heels as Walter leans forward. His profile reminds you of ancient busts you’ve encountered in museums, the ones of emperors and distant kings who ruled the lands before they were what they are today. He carries a quiet nobility to him, even if he isn’t titled. In the museums, you would spend a long time studying those sculptures, those faces, wondering what kind of people they really were, off the pages of history and in the flesh. You find yourself wanting to study Walter the same way.

Your gaze, so steady and patient, unnerves him and he clears his throat, turning away from you and your bright, intelligent eyes.

“Can nothing be done?” Your words are hushed, like moonlight filtered through a haze of fog.

He grows still again, his head tilting downwards. Part of him longs to unburden his heart, to scream into the night yes, yes there is but he won’t do it, stubborn man, he will not undergo the surgery that would save his very life. But he also knows his role as a part of the Obsidian court. And he knows Gilbert, knows the ease in which he snaps his fingers and ends a life he deems dishonest. Unworthy. Traitorous.

The doctor rises, a single elegant motion, setting the jar inside the basket and motioning for you to follow him. You do, down the ribboned dirt path until he comes to a corner of the garden that takes your breath away. Hundreds of white flowers, almost pearlescent in the moonlight, stretch up towards the sky. A sigh of wonder escapes you as you walk over, kneeling down to get a better look at them. Their petals are white, veined with glimmering silver, and the round center a soft, glowing lavender. The scent is as haunting as the sight of them, something darkly floral with a hint of a honey-like sweetness.

You look up at Walter as he sinks down next to you.

“I’ve never seen these before. They’re stunning.”

He nods slowly and you notice how his gaze takes in the sight of them. His mouth is curved in a slight smile, his expression relaxed in appreciation.

“It’s called Night Ambrosia. They are incredibly rare. Although native to Obsidian, I believe this garden is the only place in the entire country where they still grow.”

Somehow his face is even more arresting than the flowers laid out before you. 

“What happened to them?”

He sighs. “They are beautiful but they require vigilant care. They have very exacting needs, from soil acidity to light exposure to their water source.” He turns his head to meet your gaze. “It is tiring work to keep them alive. And for flowers that only bloom at night…..it is too much effort for most.”

“But you do it.” Your voice is hushed, something about the night and the garden and Walter’s soft, almost sad expression doesn’t allow you to speak above a whisper. 

“Ja.” And he turns his head to glance at the castle, a dark outline against the quiet night.  “Someone must.”

Gilbert.

Emotion tightens your throat like silken cords. He’s not just talking about the flowers, but about the prince he is so desperately working to keep alive. The one so many fear and would love nothing more than to see crushed underfoot, a flower petal under someone’s unrelenting bootheel. An image of Chevalier’s heavy navy and gold boots appears suddenly in your mind, sending a shudder like ice water down your spine.

“Are they poisonous?”, you ask, wondering just how far the metaphor between flower and prince goes. 

In answer, Walter leans forward and gently plucks one with his bare hand. You notice a thin white scar that cuts across the top of it and wonder what happened. Maybe someday you’ll find the chance to ask.

And then he surprises you, turning and offering you the delicate blossom, the one that looks like moonlight’s kiss made real. For a moment, you are lost in the soft, almost unearthly silver of his eyes, suspended in a space where they are all you can see, a beauty so devastating it feels like it may break your heart.

You take the Night Ambrosia from him, your fingers brushing against his. His skin is warmer than you would have thought and for some reason that knowledge sends a pulse of something unexpected through you, a collision of awareness and sensation. He feels it too. He must. Because you look away at the same time, severing the thread of connection. He clears his throat, rising unsteadily to his feet as he wipes his trembling hands hurriedly on his black jacket. 

Der Wolf beisst das Schaf um Kleinigkeit. The Wolf will find any reason to bite the Sheep.

Tonight has been a risk he should not take again. Not just for him, but for you as well.

“The hour is late, Fräulein. I believe it is best for us both to return to the castle.”

Your heart is rocking like a boat on the water, upheaved by a violent wind, but you manage to mask your fluster with a quick smile.

“Of course.” You start down the path but turn when he isn’t following you. “Doctor? Are you coming?”

He has knelt back down, busying himself by pretending to look through the various glass jars in his basket. “Go on. I need a moment to confirm I have gathered everything necessary.”

“Ah....well...then....good night.” Why is it hard for you to leave?

He waves a hand, not looking up. “Gute Nacht.”

You turn again, heading back to the castle, unaware of how Walter looks up when he loses the sound of your steps, his eyes following your back as you grow more and more distant, a figure shrinking into the darkness of night.

When you finally disappear from sight, he exhales slowly, removing his glasses to rub at his eyes, willing the unsettling feeling of interest to disappear. And somewhere in the back of his rational mind, knowing it won’t.

As for you.....you fall asleep that night with the lunar blossom on your nightstand, its argent petals echoing the afterglow of emotion your meeting with Walter has left across your heart.

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-writer @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @aria-chikage @redheadkittys @tele86 @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @rhodoliteschaos @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @queen-dahlia @aceuuuuu @scorchieart @bubblexly @joiedecombat

[xxwitchylanexx]

From the Keys to Your Heart

Rebirth Retold Chapter 6

The parade in Junon isn't until the end of the week so maybe a little side quest to Crow's Nest to kill the time.

This is my longest chapter yet, and you should reread chapter 7 cause the beginning has changed a bit to fit in this new chapter. Thanks everyone for reading! Feel free to comment and let me know what you liked, and if you feel like this fits our Cloud <3

Masterlist

Chapter 7

Side quest spoilers

*~*

Under Junon didn’t exactly embrace your group with open arms, but you’d take what you could get especially since the members were labeled as eco-terrorists. The mayor, a hardened woman from years being crushed under Shinra’s boot, turned a blind eye and pointed you in the direction of a cozy inn in the heart of the fishing town. You had your reservations: the glint in her stare were practically made of dollar signs, and how she sat at the entrance like she was waiting for them, not to mention the bounty on your companions heads could drastically increase the quality of life for her residents. But who were you to turn down her hospitality when the prospect of a real bed outweigh your reservations.

You were eager to walk along the uneven cement pathways, the stone was so worn down from decades of traffic that the path was nearly just gravel now, as you imagined what these houses, warehouses, and businesses looked like before they deteriorated to the crumbling patchwork structures they were now. The town was probably charming, maybe gentle, before Shinra installed gaudy support structures and the big steel plate above their heads, what once gave hope for a city metropolis now sucked the life and sunlight from the very heart of the under city. You could almost see it in your mind, cute vintage houses made of the finest dark wood, with olive shutters on the windows. Aesthetically pleasing open verandas that connected right to a shopkeeper’s house so they could run their mom n’ pop shop right outside their homes. An intricately designed harbor that really gave the town its spirit with top of the line boats to fish, after all Junon was known for its fishing.

Now those darling houses were patched with driftwood and corrugated tin, most houses had spiderweb cracks in more than half of the windows, and the shutters were long since abandoned. The shops were still open but the owners eyes were hollow and shaky on their feet, too weary from the day to day fight to keep breathing. The docks were in shambles, the planks throughout its entirety had more holes than wood and what was patched was half assed with whatever material they had on hand, but the most devastating aspect of Under Junon was the ships and the sea. Each vessel was anchored on the shore under Shinra’s order. The nets were moth eaten and moss grew along the sides where the boat met the water. The sea was polluted and greenish yellow particles floated within it, the air was smoggy and thick. Without their boats you assumed the people were going hungry. What once was a bustling port town was now the slums 2.0. Meanwhile Shinra turned a blind eye, the only ones hearing the townsfolk’s protests were the foot soldiers who operated the elevator.

You sat in the town square on the circular benches near the anchor they immortalized when they first founded Junon, it was the very first anchor they dropped on their first deep sea fishing voyage, that's what the plaque says anyway. Your inquiring eyes moved over to the colossal skeletal fossil of the towns greatest rival, The Terror of the Deep. Its maw hung open and its empty sockets bore into your own. Funny how their symbol of liberation, now foreshadowed their impending doom.

The sun had set beyond the horizon an hour or two ago. The others split apart to gather any potential info on where the guys in robes were going next or any details on the big event that Shinra was preparing for at the end of this week. You heard whispers, but nothing solid. However one thing seemed pretty clear from a rumor that everyone seemed to be repeating. Rufus Shinra was coming to town, and where the president goes the Turks follow.

A shrill scream pierced through the evening chill, and panic followed. “Help! Priscilla is in trouble!” You seen Cloud dart out of the inn, a hand firmly wrapped around the hilt of his sword. The others soon joined him in a circle, hovering over the narrow stone stairway that led to the docks. Please…. just don’t get involved… Your inner voice pleaded. Your head wasn’t in the game. Aerith’s teasing and Gabe’s implications weighed you down significantly. Your body was sore and tired from falling down a mine, sleeping on a rough rocky terrain, and riding chocoback for a whole day. Overall your head was foggy and sluggish, your edge was dulled and your instincts lagged behind.

But of course they were going to help, they always did, and despite every muscle in your body begging for relief, you hauled yourself off of the bench to follow them into danger.

*~* Who would’ve thought you’d save two people from drowning within two days, and why on this floating rock through space does no one else know CPR? You groaned, your shoulders slumping with the breath that left your body, as you stalked back up the stairs from the utter disaster of battle. You reeked of fish, and brine. Your clothes were wet from the slimy terror splashing in and out of the too warm sea. Your back ached from bending so far back that you almost fell over, all to avoid being smacked by a fish tail. You only wished you’d stabbed the overgrown goldfish harder. The only thing reigning in your fiery temper was the free room, all to yourself, with a shower and a laundry facility.

The inn was one of the only buildings that still held a calming warmth. You traced the pattern of the sage green wallpaper with a fingertip as you passed through the halls, taking time to admire the paintings of sea creatures cased in handcrafted golden frames.

You ascended the staircase to the next floor and rounded the corner at the top, walking right past a door that was left ajar thinking nothing of it before stopping in your tracks just past the frame as Cloud’s voice filtered past the doorway. His words were dry, almost emotionless, but if not for that underlying sadness you would’ve thought nothing of it and carried on.

“Was that another test?” You braced your weight alongside the wall, your palm brushing against the ridges and dips along the surface.

“What? No!” Tifa sputtered, her voice high and defensive, before heaving in defeat. “Why try to deny it. I guess it was. I’m sorry.” Your pulse quickened as the room remained silent the only thing to be heard was the rush of blood in your ears. You didn’t need to be inside to feel the thick tension that built between the two much like the twisting nausea that crawled inside your stomach. >Just how close are they?

Cloud huffed. “We’ll find time to talk, just the two of us. Figure things out.” Your nostrils flared, your esophagus began to burn as the bile worked its way up. This was none of your business.

Your feet carried you swiftly away from there, much like a mouse running from a cat, past the next door and stopped in front of the room designated to you. Your vision tunneled and your surrounding grew hazy as his voice replayed ‘just the two of us’ in your head. Your eyes stared blankly at the 203 on the doorplate. You could faintly hear your name being called, but you were unsure if it was real or just the quiet yearning of your heart that you were struggling to accept.

You closed your eyes and propped your head against the door, inhaling deeply to calm your rapid heart beat, and turned the handle of the door and slipped into the comfort of the rooms closed walls. Your lungs expanded freely without the eyes of your friends around, as you sagged against the door frame. It's none of your business. You reminded yourself as you tilted your head towards the ceiling letting your eyelids slide close.

You slowly peeled your eyes open to look around. This room was similar to the rest of the inn as far as wall style went, only this one was a rich red instead of earthy green. A queen bed, all done up in blankets of cream and tan, was pushed right up to the right side of the room. It was well lit with a square fixture on the ceiling overhead and a few table lamps. A round rug covered the wood and provided a layer of insulation from the cold creaking floor.

With a strangled groan you pushed yourself off the door and shrugged off your equipment, leaving it to fall haphazardly to the floor. Every muscle in your body burned as you lumbered over to the bed, your clumsy feet catching on the rug a few too many times. But every moment of pain was worth the relief you felt as your face nuzzled into the plush mattress and warmth flooded you as you buried yourself under the blankets.

Regardless of the pure exhaustion that plagued you, sleep had continued to evade you. Your head swam with the event of the day and thanks to Aerith’s little accusation yesterday you came to the conclusion this horrendous feeling must be jealousy, though if you admitted it you’d have to accept the fear and anger that’s welling inside you too. Gods you angry. Not at her, or Cloud, or Tifa, but yourself. How the hell did this happen? You don’t do feelings, and you certainly didn’t do romance. Seduction and infatuation, sure, but never love. It was a liability, a weakness, one could exploit if they wished. So where did it all go wrong?

It didn’t help that his room was right next to yours. Only the thin drywall between your two headboards separated you, and his thumped against the plaster rhythmically, his raspy grunts muffling through to keep your rapid thoughts circling the thought of him. Were those reps he was counting? Leave it to him to have a nightly workout.

You sighed, and mentally imagined as the conflicting emotions, the jealousy, the wishful thinking, the ghost of possible feelings, all the warmth and comfort, and pushed them all into a tiny metal chest at the deepest and darkest place that house all the other memories you kept locked away. You can’t be jealous because you don't care. You just needed to keep your distance and in a couple weeks you’ll be at the saucer and can put this whole fiasco to bed. A tiny murmur of sadness shined from the useless organ in your chest, which you quickly stamped down too. This will pass. After all you’ve gotten rather good at separating your mind from pain. You don't see how this was any different.

Once you did finally achieve the sweet release of unconsciousness you were submerged into the hideous atrocities of your childhood. Usually your subconscious could identify when you were reliving one, and change the course of the dream world, but after all of the challenges today- and yesterday- brought, your body and mind were just to exhausted. Your collective presence was pulled down into the sedation of lethargy.

It started back in the saucer. You had just won the last race, beating out the slimy asshole Chuck, and now you stood in the glamorous stables, a brush in hand and a treat in the other. It felt as if your head, or eyes, was vibrating as you ran the brush through your silver chocobo’s feathers. You heard sniffling, but kept your eyes on your bird. The last thing you wanted was to catch his attention. “No…please, stop…” Your pulse spiked, and blood ran white hot with fury. You set your brush down calmly, and assured the bird in front of you that everything would be okay.

But when you turned around to beat the shit out of the guy, you were suddenly clawing desperately at the gritty ground. Adrenaline flooded your brain as pure desperation clutched at your chest and constricted your airways. No… not here… Not again… Footsteps dug into the gravel and the ground under you vibrated. A group of men circled around you, four at least. The one closest to you gripped your ankle hard enough that it would bruise and began to drag you back into their makeshift circle. Tears fell rapidly, and your nose ran like crazy. You tried to focus on the taste of your own tears to distance yourself from the burning pain in your fingers as your nails cracked against the tiny pebbles and pieces of cement as you clawed at anything to get away.

You found that escaping was futile, so changed gears trying to kick frantically to open a chance to escape, all you needed was an ounce leverage. A small part of you just wanted to stop. Your lungs burned. Your fingers were bleeding. Your vision blurred. Your ears rang. Why fight it? There was no hope. You will die here.

A sick sadistic cackle seeped through the static. His gravelly voice, like an old muffler that rusted through where it should’ve connected to the carburetor, told the others to stop. You couldn’t make out his words, your consciousness was distorted like you were being held just beneath the surface of water, but his tone sparked fear in every fiber of your being. And like a match the embers of your resolve caught flame and blazed brightly once again. You kicked and screamed and scratched and even bit, as the other men shuffled around trying to grab whatever they could get their hands around to hold you down, but the moment you heard the clicking and shuffling of a belt coming undone you crumbled.

Your eyes filled with tears that refused to fall. Your mouth felt dry and your own cries, pleas, and begging sounded funny to your own ears. You searched for anyone, anything that might help. You knew hope was lost when your frantic gaze landed on the nosy middle aged woman in the window across the street. She held her silk curtains open with her fan, her cold impenetrable chocolate eyes watching you like it was the best entertainment she’d seen that night with no intent or sense of urgency to help.

Darkness pressed in on you until everything faded to nothing. Whether it be that you didn’t remember exactly what happened or if it was just so horrible that even your unconscious mind didn’t want to relive it, you would never know, but when you came to everything was red. No matter how many times you’ve relived this nightmare it always returns here. Your vision was streaked in crimson, bodies lay in piles around you. Some were intact, others were heavily injured, the rest were in pieces scattered around you. All of them in pools of their collected blood. Their eyes wide, still, and lifeless. Their expressions frozen as if they were screaming for their lives that never reached your cotton filled ears.

You caught an image of yourself in the rippling reflection in the puddle around your bare feet. You looked like an emissary of Odin himself. S/c skin smeared with blood, and every fiber of your awkwardly torn clothes soaked as well, and dripping down the planes of your thighs. Your sunken eyes were hollow, and lifeless beyond the flicker of wrath held within. Sobs convulsed through your tiny malnourished body and the rusted knife shook violently in your hand. A scream pierced your ear drums and everything began to shake violently. Pressure began to build and squeezed and—

You shot up from the mattress like you were struck with magic, gasping for a clear breath and clawing at the clothes that clung to your form. Loud knocking rattled the door, and a voice you weren’t entirely familiar with yelled at you from the other side. Your thoughts were far away when you stumbled to the door. You took a deep breath and collection your carefully collected facade before pulling the wretched door open. The ninja girl that you saved yesterday smiled widely at you, her lips moving a mile a minute but nothing reached your ears. You weren’t sure if you should consider her a bad omen or a breath of fresh air.

She barely gave you enough time to fix your hair and put your boots on before she herded you into Cloud’s room for weird introductions and strategy planning. Only to find out that the mayor did, in fact, rat you out. You couldn’t find it you to be angry with her though.

An engine roared to life just outside the inn, as Yuffie escaped out the rattling window. The obnoxious revving made your ears ring again and your head throb behind your eye. You’ve met some weird people while traveling with the gang but you never would’ve guessed Cloud had a biker stalker, and surprise surprise hes another soldier. You’ve been awake for all of an hour, and you were so weary you nearly said your goodbyes and parted there. If it wasn’t for that small masochistic part of you that was comforted by the chaos you would’ve been on the first chocobo home.

Once you all regrouped you discussed what you should do now. Shinra wouldn’t arrive until the end of the week when the parade was scheduled to begin. You had three days to kill, and it didn’t seem like a smart move to go topside until the day of. Barret and Cloud didn’t exactly blend into a crowd. So Barret sought out the mayor with a bone to pick as you kept to the back. You just felt so out of place. You didn’t belong with these people. Every piece of you just fought to stay upwards under the immense pressure.

Though here you were, listening as the mayor explained why she did it. She even gave him a portion of their bounty in exchange for the trouble, and the argument stopped there. She pulled her dry brown hair back into a tighter pony before returning her gloved hand to her hip. “Well, since you clearly didn’t have anything better to do, think I could out source you to work?” The mayor, Rhonda, spoke. Barrett nudged Cloud’s shoulder before shuffling in front of him. “The remainder of your bounty- I need it delivered to someone. I’ve already got a porter picked out too.” She whistled and a gray whippet dog came running before sitting back on his haunches at her feet. “This here’s Salmon. Since he’ll be the one making the drop, it’s your job to get him there safe.”

“Doesn’t seem like too much if a hassle, but… who exactly is this money for?” Barret rasped, crossing his arms over his chest.

“My son. Haven’t seen him in a spell, not since he left town… and never looked back. This gil is me washing my hands of him.” She mimicked hand washing to accentuate her point. “He’s a grown man. Can’t be clingin’ to his mom’s skirts- or her pocket book.”

“We’ll take the job, for a price.” Cloud said as he shifted his weight.

“Much obliged. Once you make it to the Crows nest, find Toby. He’ll make sure you get the reward. But if I find a single hair outta place on Sam, you won’t live to enjoy it. You keep my boy safe.” She said with a finger pointed at his chest. You scoffed, you hardly doubt that she would last a minute against Cloud, let alone you.

*~*

You decided that Barret was just a man made up of intense contradictions. He was loud, brash, quick to jump the gun, yet could be incredibly gentle, and cautious. He was as stubborn as he was loud and nearly six feet and four inches of hulking muscle. A walking intimidation, yet the first to go to bat for his people. His face, while moderately attractive, was made of sharp lines, and a strong jaw. His glare struck in many through the dark lenses of his shades, and his resting bitch face had people running for the hills. Not to mention the gargantuan canon grafted to his arm. He was both a fierce, loving, and protective father, and the paragon of terrorism- something Shinra monopolized on that.

So the scene unfolding just before you really struck a chord in you. You were never intimated by him personally, you had nerves of steel and skills to back you up, but to see all that muscle, all that bark, hunched over this white and grey mutt scratching behind an ear and cooing his promises to keep him safe with puckered lips like he was speaking to an actual child really dispelled all illusions of his tough guy persona.

“Don’t you worry. Any monster that wants to getcha is gonna have to go through me.” He gave one more scratch under the dogs chin then straightened out to his full height. Salmon, the dog, turned on his heels and scurried down the beaten and barren path that led away from the rotting stench of the sea town. You followed along at the back like a captured spy now held hostage.

There was no joy right now, your circumstances and inner mockery only intensified the emptiness that lingered, but you tried your hardest to focus on the changing terrain, the rocky footpaths slowly fading into something a little more green. There wasn’t much of point you discovered as the back of Tifa’s head beckoned your scrutiny. Every swish of her perfect brown hair ticked like a bomb under your skin just waiting for the clock to hit zero. Her motherly nature shined brightly and lessened Aerith’s concerns, and in that moment you wished you were more like her. Tifa could easily validate someone’s feelings while providing a soothing direction. You actually envied her ability to connect with people, something you struggled with, and it occurred to you that this may have been the first time you’ve ever viewed someone as competition, and the notion left you uncomfortable especially since you truly did enjoy Tifa’s company.

There was still hours of hiking left, and you didn’t want to stare daggers at her back for the remainder of it, so you picked up your pace and slipped between the two of them until you took up a place between the guys at the front. Out of sight out of mind, right? Thankfully for you, Barret was loud enough to drown them out, although being up here came with it’s own challenges. You tried to subdue the rapid thoughts that created the lingering weight that plagued your body, and resisted the deep seeded temptation to sneak a peak at the blonde man to your right. You kept telling yourself that this new stubborn obsession stemmed from curiosity, that’s why, no matter how many times you swiped away the words that formed behind your eyelids, the question always circled back to the forefront of your mind. Was Cloud and Tifa an item? A wistful sigh slipped past your bow shaped lips. You didn’t need to see him to know his eyes were on you, searching for a reason for your distress.

You saw his mouth open to say something out of your peripheral, but before he had a chance to voice his concern Barret was barking out a question, and his heavy gaze finally moved on both giving you a sense of relief and longing. “Hey, Cloud! Remind me, how old were you when you left home?” Fortunately, or maybe not, Barret’s inquiry also piqued your curiosity. You certainly didn’t need to know anymore about him, but the topic was a good distraction from the chaos brewing in your head.

“Fourteen.” He answered simply, his attention returning to the trail in front of you. “No, wait, it was spring so thirteen.”

Barret sucked his teeth a moment in thought. “Suppose that’s usual for small town boys like you. What’d your mom have to say?” As if you didn’t have enough problems rattling inside your skull, as the word mom hit your ears your heart squeezed painfully in your chest. You didn’t think about mothers a whole lot, specifically cause you didn’t really have one. Though now that you were thinking about it, it was hard not to wonder what his mother was like. She must have been a strong woman to have raised such a stubborn man. What would you have been like if your own mother had survived?

“Not much.” The words left his lips so casually as he shrugged. “Didn’t try to stop me- like you said nothing unusual about it. But…”

“But?” Barret badgered.

“Two-thousand gil. She offered me that. ‘Make a fresh start’.” You looked to your shoes to hide the yearning look on your face.

“Guess mom’s are the same, all over.” You scoffed inwardly. Yeah, if only that was true. The mother-like figure you had to endure was a far cry from a good role model. She hadn’t even provided the basic safety and shelter, at least not for free. In her eyes you were just a cash cow, and the debt you racked up just living with her was enough to keep you there forever if not for Sam.

“I turned the money down though. Didn’t need it. I was planning to enlist straight away.” You raised your head to sneak a glance at him for the first time since yesterday. The slant of his mouth inched upwards, a ghost of a smile, like he was recalling the memory. You wonder, did she worry about him? Was she sad to see him go? Was she lonely? It might be sick to wish someone to be sad, but for his sake you did. What kind of mother would she be if his absence didn’t bother her?

“But you still can’t help settin’ your price at two grand. Sentimental ain’t cha?” Barret wiggled his eyebrows at him, Cloud’s lack of response answered his question.

About two hours in your party approached the coast line, and your inner turmoil seemed to mellow out like the slow crashing waves against the rocky shoreline. You held your hand above your eyes as a make shift visor as you looked up at the scorching high noon sun. Something course rubbed along your calf had you casting your stormy e/c eyes down to the source. Red’s large golden eyes, albeit spotted with burning circles that swam as your eyes readjusted, peered up at you as his fur brushed lightly against your skin.

“Are you alright?” He asked, the timbre of his voice so smooth it did put your heart at ease, maybe a litter bittersweet but it was something nonetheless.

“Yeah.” You lowered a hand to ruffle the fur on his head. “I appreciate your concern, but I'm okay. I didn’t get much sleep.” Your gaze wavered from Red to Barret briefly as Barret belted on a “Okay, hear me out.” which usually meant trouble for the rest of you.

“What?” Cloud snapped, his patience for the hulking man nearly spent already. You cocked an eyebrow at Red as you gave him a toothy grin. You angled your head towards the men hoping that Red caught your drift. You sincerely enjoyed the banter and nitpicking between the two.

“Ya know how some parents stop their kids from leavin’ the nest? Claimin’ ‘it’s too soon’ or ‘they’re not ready’” Barret ranted waving his arms here and there to make a point. “Any excuse to keep them at home.”

“What about it?” The crease between Cloud’s eyes returned and his frown deepened.

“Loads of parents’re like that, but I told myself I’d be different.” His big meaty palm thumped at his chest right above his heart. “I’d never keep my little girl from flyin’! I don’t wanna clip her wings! I want ‘er to soar!” Both arms raised through the air, flapping childishly like a bird. Cloud scoffed with an exaggerated eye roll, the barely noticeable smirk not going unnoticed. Barret swirled around to get into his space. “I hear you scoffin’. You think I can’t do it?! You think I’ll keep er all to myself!”

Cloud stopped in his tracks and crossed his arms, his baby blues amusedly gazing over the hulking man. “Oh yeah.” You snickered.

“And that’s what scares me!” Barret erupted, his arms falling heavily to his sides. The two of them moving their feet once again. “As much as I wanna let ‘er fly, I dunno if I’ll be able to let go when the time comes! Maybe I’ll panic- get in her way, hold her down, all to keep her safe! Oh, Marlene! I wish you could be my baby girl forever!” You stared wide eyed at his hysterics. You couldn’t believe what you were looking at. Is he crying? You shot a look at Red to see if he was seeing this shit too. He heaved a heavy sigh, and shaking his head. He wasn’t nearly as entertained as you.

Soon the coast line faded and the path led you higher up hills, and up a rocky cliff past an old decaying boat, an old weather worn flag still lamely adorned the mast. The crumbling brittle ferns were replaced with lush leafy plants and full swaying trees the farther you got from Junon. It wasn't until you passed one of Chadley’s information towers that the gravel path ended and you came across patches of little yellow flowers. Each patch bloomed with different shades of yellow; some light like the sun, others deeper like the hues in Red’s eyes and your favorites were pale and light like the color of a Woodland chocobo or the spikes of his wild hair.

“Oh my sweet baby girl!” His cries took you by surprise, but the tears streaming down his cheeks really left you dumbfounded. This can’t be the same guy who blew up a reactor. It just can’t.

“What now?” Cloud snapped, his steady loss of patience over the day coming to it’s end.

“Your daddy… your silly daddy… he’s gonna…” Barret’s sobs were briefly interrupted as he sniffled wetly between deep shaky breaths. “He’s gonna fail you! Oh, I can’t let you go! I just can’t!”

“Barret, get your shit together!” Cloud snarled. “Marlene’s barely out of diapers. You got time!”

“Right, right. I’m just getting worked up over nothing! Yeah! She won’t be leaving me for awhile!” His sentence started a bit crestfallen before perking up towards the end.

That seemingly was the end of the conversation, but then a few minutes later as you were passing one of the beaten down chocobo rest stops you seen a wicked smirk form on Cloud’s face from the corner of your eye. “Then again…” He trailed off in a mocking tone. You couldn’t help but burst out laughing. Barret chastised him with a stern ‘Hey’ then the two of them turned to look at you as you doubled over in hysterics. It just caught you so off guard. You hadn’t seen Cloud really joke around, but this fucker was turning out to be a mischievous little shit just like Aerith.

You straightened up and took a deep breath to compose yourself. You reached out and pushed against Cloud’s arm with a wide smile on your face. “You’re such an ass!” His smile faltered as the light force made him take a step back before it changed into something more gentle, more intimate, and you quickly turned to Barret. He stood there frozen and quiet which you didn’t actually think was possible. The girls giggled along behind you, Aerith giving you a pat on the back and then you started moving again. “I wouldn’t worry Barret. After all you clearly know what’s best for her.”

“You mean it?” he asked. You nodded.

“Just look at now. You left her behind to keep her safe, even though I’m sure you’re missing her.”

“You’re right!”

“Also…” you snuck a glance over at Cloud before finishing your train of thought, “Just like Cloud’s mom when she offered him money, you can let her fly and still be the air under her wings. Support is everything.” You heard him sniffle again and you rolled your eyes. Gods he was so unexpectedly emotional. His steps thundered loud against the ground was your only warning to the crushing hug he enveloped you in.

He wrapped his arm around you from behind and squeezed you to his body, picking you up off your feet in the process. You squirmed in his embrace, kicking your feet trying to free yourself before you submitted to your fate. The girls came to your rescue, and tried to pull you free, each pulling on an arm. Aerith even tried to tickle him to get him to release you. When he finally set you down your eyes caught Cloud’s again. The gentle smile, and softened eyes made your chest warm and fluttery. You swallowed it down, and chalked it out to be lingering exhaustion, and stretched out your now sore back.

Salmon started barking from up ahead, and your hand dropped to the hilt along your back out of habit. You couldn’t see anything, but your ears trained on a rhythmic flapping sound, and the hairs on your arm stood up. “There!” You yelled. The others looked up and seen the giant winged fiends. Sandstorm Drakes. “Take cover!” You ducked behind a giant red tank as one of them cast aerora, and you cursed under your breath. You peeked over the metal tank as Cloud grabbed your arm and pulled you back down to cover. Heavy winds soared above you as your chest heaved with adrenaline.

“You okay?” He asked looking no worse for wear.

“Yeah.” You let the quiet settle you as you thought out a plan. You weren’t bad at aerial fighting, but in this instance you didn’t have any long range weapons. You could jump, but you doubted you get a good enough range to land any hits. If you could time it right to use the tank for height you should be able to reach. Cloud shifted besides you and another idea formed in your head as you registered the sound of his sword clanking against the metal tank. You did have materia. You gaze flicked to his, and a sly grin spread across your face. “I can give you an opening.” You could hear Barret screaming at the flying creatures as he shot at them and chime like music of Aerith’s magic hitting its mark. The screeching of the drakes continuously got louder and louder along with the increase pressure of the wind whipping around the battlefield ringing in your ears.

He gave a curt nod before jumping back out there. You creeped around the side of the tank and clutched at the bangle around your wrist concentrating on the green materia slotted into one of the chambers. The orb began to glow before you released the spell and aerora was cast on the closest drake. Its wings beat heavily against the current, but its protective aura faltered and disappeared. You jumped into the fray and scurried behind Aerith’s shield clutching your bangle as you prepared another spell.

A sharp cry pierced the sky as one fell to the ground with an echoing thump as Cloud pierced it in a upward arc. Your second spell landed much like the first however as it’s shield flickered out it became enraged and locked its eyes on Cloud’s falling form. It began to swoop and before you could fully think it through you raced across the land and jumped. Of course you wouldn’t reach its height on your own but as Cloud descended he held his blade flat on its side. As you gained height you planted your feet firmly onto the blade and pushed upwards giving yourself more momentum to gain altitude.

You pulled your sword free from its scabbard and angled back. As soon as the you were in range you plunged the sword into its chest. It’s screech pierced your ears and made them ring painfully the proximity disorienting you for a moment. You firmly brought one foot to its chest and kicked with all your strength to free your sword the movement adding an extra distance between you and the carcass. As fell you realized the fiend was following the same path down only a few feet beside you and there was no way to change direction or move out of the way before it crushed you. You sheathed the sword, the weapon only to cause more harm if you were land on it, and turned you body so you would land sideways. The impact will painful, but you’ll be able to roll away before the drake’s crushing weight would flatten you like a pancake.

Here it comes. You thought as you tucked your arms in before your body met the unforgiving ground. You bit your lip to contain the scream that died in your throat as your arm took the brunt of the impact. You rolled three times before coming to a halt.

You flopped your head back for a second to just process the pain shooting through your body, a warm heat radiating from your forearm. You took a few shaky breathes as the intensity faded. Nothing that a simple cure spell wouldn’t heal. You propped yourself back on the uninjured elbow to make sure everyone else was okay. Aerith dusted of the bottom of her dress, Tifa was messing with the straps of gloves, Barret was adding extra bullets to one of the fiends, Red sat back licking a paw, and Cloud was faced away from you slotting his sword back onto his back. Looks like no one else is hurt.

As the fiends broke down and return to the lifestream in ribbons of twirling luminescent greens you tuned in to the way the Planet welcomed them home. You always wondered why humans didn’t return to the planet the same way. Souls, yes, but the bodies are usually sent out to sea or buried, sometimes even cremated. You weren’t sure if other people could feel it the way you do, but it felt different when the two species returned. Fiends are warm and accepting of the change as if that was what they were born to do. Humans felt more complex, though it could be because you were the one to send them ‘home’. Some fought it, other times the strands felt empty or sad, or extremely angry, but no matter the emotion the lifestream was there to accept them, leaving their empty husks behind. You could only hope that people who leave this life to cross to the next, who died of natural causes, went more peacefully.

Does Aerith feel them too? It was a valid question. As a Cetra you imagined she could feel the lifestream better than you. Could she hear them?

The hand that was outstretched towards you came into focus as you blinked yourself back to reality. “You good?” Cloud asked as you took his gloved hand in your own.

As he pulled you to your feet a sharp pain blazed across your forearm. You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from reacting though his blue eyes flicked down to the offending appendage. You huffed as you regained your footing cocking your good arm on your hip to mask the throbbing. Damn thing is probably broken. “Why does everyone keep asking me that today?”

“That wasn't an answer.” He shot back as he scratched at the back of his neck.

You huffed and poked his forehead with a finger. Your eyes narrowing as you studied him. “You’re to observant.” You spoke low and smooth, then retreated from where you wished to be.

Salmon barked down the road and if the windmills, and tattered fences were anything to go by you were close to Crow’s Nest.

*~*

Cloud followed after Toby into the wooden walls of Crow’s Nest and down the rocky trail that led into the fortress. Toby rambled on and on though it all went in one ear and out his other, you consumed every little thing that raced through his head right now. He’d taken his eyes off you for a second as seven of you entered and in that second you were gone, and if he was being honest he wasn’t sure if he’d find you again.

Walking in he couldn’t help but notice the sturdy structure, safety was always his top priority. It was smart that they used the rough rocky mountain as part of their defense, he’ll give them that, but they needed a much gate and guard system. Then there was these sand bags piled up along the left wall, and he could only hope they weren’t there to hold up the wall— it wouldn’t surprise him though.

At the bottom Tifa and Aerith also broke off the main group to take a look around, and with some luck one of them would run into you. The gravel under his feet turned to smooth stone, albeit uneven, as he descended into the heart of the town. He paused to scan his surroundings, that’s what his excuse was anyway, but really he was searching for you. He relented before climbing up the stairs to the bar after Toby, Barret and Red close behind him.

He caught the gist of what Toby wanted. Fiends at the lighthouse, and Kyrie causing more trouble. He huffed and rolled his eyes, a hand landing on his hip in irritation. With Red’s nose and his annoyance directed at the wannabe merc they decided they should probably deal with this. They could set out in the morning, take care of it, then make their way back to Junon in time for the big event.

He didn’t spend another minute taking about it though, he was already down the stairs and looking for their lodging for the night. With that injury he thought that’d be the best place to start his search.

When that came up empty, checked out the cliffs that overlooked the sea. More often that not he’d run into you- on purpose, but he’d never admit that- on your own away from their make shift camp for the night basking in the quiet of nature. He liked to think it was the privacy you craved, much like himself, though when you were asked you said you just felt more relaxed under the open sky. But, now as he stared out and the sunset over the cliff side you were nowhere in sight.

He seen the flow of the skirt of Aerith’s dress before he heard her. “Looking for Y/n?” He turned to see her better at the pier just up the staircase next to him. Both of her hands were clasped behind her back as she swayed along with the wind, the wood creaking beneath her feet as she moved.

He didn’t hesitate, or grow embarrassed, this time. “Have you seen her?”

She skipped down the steps her smile growing in diameter as she stepped up to him. She opened her mouth to tease him, he was sure of it, before her brows wrinkled and a frown replaced her smile. “Now that you mention it, I haven’t seen her since we came in.”

“Right.” He nodded and mumbled a quick ‘Thanks’ before stalking off, with just a bit more gusto, to resume his search.

You’ve been acting strange since last night- no-before that. Whatever Gabe said to you was the beginning. You distanced yourself from everyone leading your chocobo behind the rest of them. You masked it with a charming smile and deflected questions, but he noticed. He always notices. The light didn’t reach your eyes as you joked around, and you didn’t even try to scold Barret for being obnoxious. He seen the way your movements were sluggish, how you stumbled on your feet as you hacked at the Terror of the Deep. He waved it off as exhaustion, so much has happened in just two days. Even he was wearing down. He hoped a good nights sleep was all you needed.

But you looked worse than just exhausted as you slumped over the door in the inn. All worry and doubt he felt from his conversation with Tifa disappeared when he seen you. You looked so defeated. The door the only thing keeping you on your feet as you stared vacantly at it. His chest tightened and he stumbled closer. He didn’t know what to do. Comforting people wasn’t exactly his specialty though when called out to you that seemed to help. His heart dropped to his stomach when you just shrugged him off and slipped inside your room leaving him to stare where you were just moments before. He warred with him self for a moment between knocking on your door or leaving you be, ultimately he turning back to his down and going inside with a slump in his shoulders. Had you even noticed that he called out to you?

He couldn’t sleep of course, not that he ever did anymore. Even the tiniest of sounds were enough to have him stirring, but last night he was filled with a restless energy. Every time he closed his eyes your crestfallen expression appeared. He tossed and turned for upwards of an hour before giving up, settling on some sit ups until his muscles ached and his eyelids drooped.

When the first rays of sunlight filtered in through his window everyone was herded into the room, and that’s when he started to think he’d done something wrong. You lingered in the back, you didn't offer any suggestions, you wouldn’t look in his direction at all. Every time he checked on you you had that same far off look glued onto your pretty face. He couldn’t think of anything he did to upset you, unless he creeped you out in the mines- and honestly he wouldn’t blame you. The timing just didn’t make sense though. You got along fine until you left the ranch. He spent most of the day agonizing over how to mend the situation, and frustrated that he was too awkward to know what to say.

Then out of nowhere you brightened up again, your laugh as breathtaking as the radiant smile on your face. Pride swelled in his chest and a heat rushed to his cheeks. He made you laugh. His heart still throbbed when he thought about the way your hand felt so warm against his upper arm as you pushed him playfully. He didn’t think you’d been listening to Barret’s nonsense either, yet there you comparing the knucklehead to his mom.

He really thought that would be the end of whatever was going on with you, but now he thinks he may have overstepped. He was just going to tell you your fighting was good as always or maybe something less lame when he held out his hand to help you up. But he saw it. Your lips pushed together in a thin line, your eyes slid shut, and if it weren't for his enhanced senses he would’ve missed the sharp breath that you sucked in. His eyes flicked down to your arm. Your arm tensed creating an unnatural shift of bone underneath the skin. He just stared dumbly at it. “Why does everyone keep asking me that today?” Playful tone and a clever deflection once again. Maybe he shouldn’t have pushed the issue. You clearly were hiding it from everyone, which made him irrationally angry. What you said next worried him. With a finger pressed to his forehead your whispered words cut sharply into him, “You’re too observant.” Your eyes cold and hardened, but he swears there was an underlying fear beneath the icy exterior and then he realized maybe you two weren’t that different.

You built this solid wall around yourself to keep everyone a safe distance around you never being aloud to cross the distance. You can’t get hurt if you never let anyone in but in reality you just cage yourself in. He did the same, only he used his broody nature and impassive strength. Until the plate fell he was able to do a job with no concern for the client, keeping a barrier between their problems and his feelings, now with this journey being so entwined with Sephiroth it was hard not care. Maybe that’s why he feels drawn to you. For the first time he wants be the one to reinforce your strengths. He was determined to reach you even if he had to break the damn doors down himself.

His hand threaded behind his neck up to scratch at his nape as he went re-climbed the steps to the bar taking two stairs at a time. He stalled at the top as a familiar remedy. The gentle and harmonious hum echoed through the open frame leading into the unfinished bar.

Melancholy and nostalgia filled him and constricted his chest like a vice. He ambled slowly to the wooden framing and settled himself against the smooth stone to watch the scene unfolding before him. He had expected Tifa to be the one playing this old song. Instead there you were. Sat straight on the black wooden bench your fingers gracefully pressing against the old piano keys creating the melody song he heard growing up in Nibelheim. The song took him back to his childhood bedroom listening intently to the girl, Tifa, next door practicing it at all hours of the day. You were the only one consuming his thoughts now, and what a vision you were. Your e/c irises were hidden behind closed eyelids. The smooth planes of your face looked relaxed, but dejected. His awestruck stare followed down the slope of your perfect button nose, and over the bow shape lines of your down-turned lips The low lighting from the lights strung above the both of your heads emphasized the highlight in your hair swayed back and forth around your bare shoulders in time with the glide of your fingers as you recalled each note meticulously from memory.

He glanced quickly around the bar finding nothing but empty seats around round tables. His legs brought him closer to you out of their own volition as if the very thought of you beckoned him closer. “Where’d you learn that?”

Your fingers faltered on the keys, and your body lurched in fear, a tiny squeak escaping your lips. Cute. “Son of a-” You took in a deep breath to calm yourself before the full weight of your glare was on him. “You’re the only one that has ever snuck up on me! Stop it!”

He laughed, the noise sounding odd to his own ears. “Sorry.” He scratched at his nape once again as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He propped Hardedge against the wall then closed the distance between you. He felt silly for lowering himself onto the narrow bench so slowly but he wanted to make sure you had no objections. The bench had just enough room to sit comfortably apart, but with a newfound sense of courage he slid closer to you, feigning ignorance to the available space, so the sides of your arms rest against one another. His pulse pounded in his ears and his hands grew clammy as they rested on his knees.

“I was at a ranch near Nibelheim. The owner’s daughter taught me the song.” You looked up at him with curious orbs. “You grew up in Nibelheim, right?” He nodded his head. “Tifa, too?”

His throat clenched at your inquiry. Nibelheim wasn’t something he usually talked about, the mere memories enough to dredge up a rapid river of intense emotions. Fear, hatred, devastation. He often found it to be a topic of great discomfort. It could've been the song that eased the wounds or possibly all the discussion of his mother this morning, but for the first time in a long time he wasn’t so hesitant to talk about home. “Yeah.”

You looked back down at your fingers that hovered over the keys. “You guys must’ve been close.” You mumbled.

He shrugged, “Not really.” He was hyper focused on the way your arm brushed against his as he readjusted. “I was… I’ve always been… like this.” Awkward, and unsociable. He wanted to say.

He hadn’t realized the difference in your height before now as he towered a head and half above you. His soft gaze falling down to your lips. It was enough that he’d have to lean down to—

“But, you guys seem really close now.” You peered back up at him through the loose strands of hair framing your face. He quickly turned his head to stare at the wall to hide the heat that was spreading under his skin.

“I guess…” His relationship with Tifa seemed to be rocky as of late, but he couldn’t deny she was important to him. “She’s like a sister.” His answered lamely as he turned his attention to the keys before him.

“Really?” The inclination of your voice pulled his eyes back to your own, the warm hue soothing the wave of anxious jitters he was experiencing. “I would’ve pegged you guys to be more than that.” You bumped the ball of your shoulder against his bicep.

“What? It’s not like that.” He quickly huffed. His reaction pulled another musical laugh from you, something he was slowly becoming addicted to he feared.

“If you say so.” You teased.

The tension in your body practically dissolved with his answer, and the sparkle in your eyes that he’d grown accustom to returned casting the once dull and emptiness back to the recesses from which they came. He relaxed and exhaled the bout of nerves that plagued him before he settled into the comfortable silence. You returned to playing the Nibelheim lullaby, the warmth of your arm rubbing against his taking precedence at the fore front of his mind, when he remembered why he was worried about you in the first place. He observed your facial expression at first looking for any signs of discomfort and when he saw none he moved his attention to the offending appendage. His frown deepened as he looked for any unnatural shift beneath your skin. It appeared to be fine. There was no bruising or swelling. Your movement was clean and precise. You must have snuck off to mend it in privacy, but even with healing materia it must be sore. “How’s your arm?”

Your e/c orbs narrowed slightly, your nostrils flaring as you exhaled sharply. He was actually beginning to like this side of you. You’ve been level headed and witty the entire time, along with being a good conversationalist and polite when speaking to anyone. So to see your temper flare and an attitude when this didn’t go your way was almost refreshing to him. Perhaps something was fundamentally wrong with him, or maybe a part of him took pleasure that he was the only one to see it. “Nothing materia couldn’t fix.”

He itched to press the issue further to see more of your fiery personality, but her erred on the side of caution. Your answer was satisfactory so he supposed he could drop it. He peeled his eyes from you, now slightly embarrassed he’d been staring for so long, and looked down to the keys on the old instrument. He let his own fingers slide over the naturals and pressing onto each note softly creating a different song he’d learned in Midgar. Your fingers slide off and landed in your lap. He could feel the way you gawked at him the weight of it nearly burning holes into the side of his head. He felt heat rush to the tips of his ears as you propped yourself up on an elbow to watch him.

“So Mr. Soldier, when on Gaia did you have the time to learn piano? Or was that part of your training too?”

He realized he never actually told anyone this, and the thought of sharing it with you made him feel exposed. Yet he wanted to share this piece of himself with you. “I got homesick… when i enlisted. I had a lot of time on my hands before I climbed the ranks.” Your bought your hands back to the ivory notes pressing down on a few to play a complementary part the song. The two of you sat together of upwards of an hour side by side playing a few different melodies you’d learned over the course of your travels.

You movements stilled and fingers hovered above the keyboard. You turned around, your back now facing the piano, and looked above to the sky through the holes in the ceiling. He too let the music die there and angled towards you. As you admired the sky he shamelessly stared at you. His chest tightening as his eyes trailed over the slope of your nose and glazing over the smooth strands of hair illuminated by the twinkling lights and rays of moonlight.

Your irises moved down to meet his own as a smile graced your lips. “Thank you.” You voice sounding smaller in comparison under the stars. “I feel lighter now.” His brows scrunched minutely as he briefly pondered your words. He didn’t have to chance to linger on the statement, though, your soft warm hand inched towards his. You gently laced your fingers through his and giving his a small squeeze before pulling away and standing up. With one more pat to his shoulder you walked towards the entrance. “Good night, soldier boy.”

He gazed up and the night sky hoping to find what you found so intoxicated by the moon, and he caught himself smiling. He didn’t know if your growing relationship was romantic or not, but he decided that he wasn’t going to shy away from it like he did with almost everyone. No, if he wanted to be the air under your wings then he too would bare his soul to you.

[morgantheblue]

City of Light: Domina. A Vampire the Masquerade Short Story.

Rating: R/M/18+

Minors DNI

CW: Blood, Dehumanization, BDSM, Discussions of Death, Lasombra attitudes toward Ghouls. Shadow-Play. Choking Dubcon. World of Darkness

This is the first part of a project I'm calling "City of Light." A Series of VtM short stories set in and around Paris in the year 2025. Some, like this first one, will be Horror. Some will be smutty. Some will be both. Some won't be either. I will endeavour to tag everything I can. But these stories will not be for everyone.

I will be posting these to Ao3 as well.

This first story features a Lasombra punishing one of her ghouls. It features heavy themes of dehumanisation, BDSM and also a scene involving rotten food. If any of that is too much for you, please move on.

City of Light: Domina

In which, a Lasombra punishes her Ghoul.

She looks down at the mud tracked in through the door. A tiny brown smear on the white marble, less than an inch from the mat. It is almost imperceptible. Almost. She sees it and her hands curl against her side. She turns her head, slowly. Her eyes track along the entry hall. The flicking tongues of flame that dance in their glass prisons cast strange shadows over everything, but she sees it, on hands and knees, scrubbing the floor with a black handle brush. She sees it’s naked arms shake with the effort of the task. She sees it shivering against the cold of her haven. She sees it keep its head bowed low. Obedient. Servile. Her eyes track back to the speck of mud. Imperfect.

It has no name; It lost the right to one years before. It has no face, its head is hidden behind a latex mask. It is locked with a heavy padlock at the back of its head. It has no voice unless she permits it. It toils in silence. It has only one mark of identification. An intricate number tattooed down the length of its naked back. It is number Three.

Her name is Flavia. But to Three, she is the Domina. And the Domina is displeased.

She relaxes her hands and takes a deep breath. She closes her eyes and feels the beast rouse, feels the gnawing unending hunger grow yet deeper. She feels the beast’s eyes in her mind. Feels its teeth at her ear. In her mind she almost sees it. A creature of shadow and blood snarling and snapping and, for now, forced back. The Beast retreats to the shadowy miasma at the edge of her soul.

She opens her eyes as her shadow convulses. It jitters. It fits. It bursts. She stands as still as stone as her erupting shadow curls into tendrils of inky black. She watches as the tendrils creep along the floor, she smiles as they climb lizard-like up the walls. She licks her lips as they slither forward. One after another the flames die. One after another the lights go out. Her eyes close again. When they reopen they are abyssal in depth and colour. She sees clearly. The darkness holds nothing from her.

She sees Three still scrubbing the floor. She wonders if it knows it has displeased the Domina. That its continued work is a feeble attempt to avoid what is to come. Or perhaps it is simply well trained. That it knows it has not been given the privilege of rest. She wonders how long it will scrub and clean and toil for her. She licks her lips and decides to test the theory another night.

The shadow tendrils retreat to her. Her eviscerated shade knits itself back together. She walks toward Three. Her footsteps ring on the marble, sharp and clear against the scraping of the brush. She stands two paces behind the naked Ghoul. She speaks.

“Stop.”

Its hands cease their work in an instant.

“Kneel”

It rises to its knees. It places its hands palm down on pale thighs. The brush between their parted legs.

She steps closer. She leans down over it. She whispers ice into its ear.

“Do you know why I snuffed out the lights, Three?”

“No, Domina” It said, in a voice louder and yet infinetly smaller than hers.

“In the dark I can hide your failure” She hisses. “You don’t even know you had failed me, do you?”

“No, Domina” It shakes as it speaks.

“Ignorance is no excuse, but don’t worry, you will learn.”

Before Three can reply, her arm wraps around its throat. Her elbow squeezes, she feels it go rigid. She hears it choke. She shushes, she coos. She fixes her black eyes on the bulging vein in its neck. It throbs against the skin.

She reaches down and picks up the brush. She turns it over in her hand, presses it against the smooth skin of Three’s stomach. The bristles are made of coarse hair, for scouring stains from the expensive marble. In Her hands they carve deep scratches that bubble with crimson rivulets. The scent hits her nose, she feels the beast lick its lips. Three shakes in her grasp.

“Stay still, or I’ll break your pretty neck.” She speaks with a voice as smooth as silk.

She squeezes with her elbow, it stops shaking. It locks up. She can smell its sweat, she can smell its blood as she drags the brush up toward its chest, slowly. Slowly. It lets out a strangled whimper, she runs her tongue over her teeth and feels the sharpness of her fangs. Her eyes fix on the bulging vein.

“I could feed, I could sink my fangs into you, drink deep of your blood. It would be so easy, so easy to drain you. Let those little thoughts slip away, let whatever remains of you fade into sweet oblivion…But even that would be too good for you. You failed me, tonight and before. That moment of perfect ecstasy will forever be beyond your reach, Three…”

“Please…Mercy…Mercy Domina…” It chokes out. Spittle runs down its mask, drips down onto the marble, pooling with the blood from its scratches.

“Mercy? I am Lasombra. I am the Abyss. Mercy is not a word I know…”

“Please” It gurgles pathetically.

She can hear it struggle for each breath. Struggle to stay still. Struggle not to cry out as the brush makes a carven mess of its torso. She presses deeper, blood weeps down its stomach, stains its skin. A canvas for the Domina. She lets the brush fall from her hands, it clatters to the floor.

What relief it brings is short lived, her fingers dig deep into the scratches. Sharp nails rake the Ghoul.

It can’t help itself. It Screams.

The Domina laughs.

She feels its warm blood coat her hand. She rips it back, crimson arcs into the dark, splatters on the ground with small, wet sounds. She releases her grip on it’s throat, but seizes its arm, drags it back.

It gasps, it whimpers, it squeezes its eyes shut. But there is no release. No freedom.

Not over. Not yet.

Her bloody hand traces a line down its bleeding torso, down to the crux of its legs. Dips between stained thighs. Stops.

She begins to laugh.

She raises her bloody hand to Three’s nose.

She lets them smell its blood.

She lets them smell its arousal.

“Was it the brush? The choking? The fear?”

Its words die in its throat. It just whimpers. She places a hand on its back, shoves it away from her and smirks as it cries out. She watches it whimper in the darkness. She stands over it and licks its shame from her hand.

The Beast purrs.

“Clean yourself up, then find me in the kitchen. You have twenty minutes. Do not disappoint me again.”

She walks away, tasting the blood on her lips. Stopping only once. Only when she hears two words, like the bleating of a sheep, in the darkness behind her.

“Yes, Domina…”

*********

The Domina places the apple amid the cornucopia of fruit in the bowl. It stands like the magnificent centerpiece of a gallery. It is surrounded by the bounty of her estate. They are the culmination of a decade of work. Tended to by loving, yet fearful hands. Her orchards and groves would make a Toreador blush given their beauty.

Apples and strawberries of beautiful ruby red, shining and ripe. Oranges that remind her of breakfasts in a life lived by another woman. Grapes that could make the finest vintages. Plums and peaches that make even her dead mouth water.

It almost makes her sad, knowing what she is about to do to them. Almost.

She stands, naked, in front of the counter. Her back to the door. She wants Three to see her as it enters. Wants it so see what she so often denies it. An eternal reminder. What it could have had, had it not fallen so short.

She hears the bell attached to the white door ring and allows herself a smirk. She hears two footsteps, a small gasp. A stop. She doesn’t turn to look.

“You may look, Three.”

“Thank you, Domina.”

She says nothing, picks up the bowl and turns. Three stands in the door, it is still naked save for its mask. Its body has been cleaned, its wounds no longer bleed, but the marks are clear. They will not fade for some time yet. Good. Let it wear them as a badge of shame. Let it remember the price of failure.

It doesn’t matter how small the failure is. How tiny the speck of dirt on their record. She has been tested just the same and she has excelled. She has gained all that she denies to her servants. There can be no second chances among the Magisters. Three and its companions will pay for their failure until she finally tires of them. It is lucky she finds scars beastly. It is lucky she does not decorate its face with more than a mask.

“Hands and knees.” She says and gestures with her head.

It obeys.

She snaps her fingers, points to a spot in front of her and watches it crawl. A half smile forms on her red-wine lips. It crawls toward her thinking what, she wonders? That all is forgiven? That she will treat it to the fruits of the estate? To the taste of her body? To pleasure? To bliss?

Foolish.

She holds the bowl out in front of her, fingers curled over the edges, brushing against the fruit. Moonlight spills through the windows, her shadow fractures into four. She smiles a smile so sweet it can rot teeth. She looks down, Three stares up. Its eyes visible through the mask. They are wet with fear, exhaustion, need. The teeth of its mouth zipper press into its trembling lips.

“Are you hungry?”

It nods.

“Your words, use them.” Ice edges her voice.

“Yes, Domina.”

She closes her eyes and once more the beast stirs, but this time she feels its gaze and nothing more. Her divided shadow splits yet further. It curls around her in thick ropes of darkness. She lets a sigh escape her lips and a shiver run up her spine. They crawl up her legs, they tickle. They tease. She feels a heat, she feels sparks across her deadened nerves. She lets the shadows play. She lets herself moan. She knows the torment it must bring, to watch and be denied.

She opens her eyes, they are black as the shadows embracing her. Her grin widens, widens, her mouth hangs open and her slick tongue plays over her bottom lip. The shadows slither and crawl down her arms. They dance over her fingers, they swarm over the bowl.

They touch the fruit.

She laughs.

Red fades to brown, orange rots to green. Skins shrivel, dry and crack open. Mold blooms The sickly sweet miasma of decay hangs in the air. She knows the scent and knows it well.

She places the bowl down, the beautiful display a rotten half-soup now. As her shadows pleasure her, she watches the hope die in Three’s eyes. She pushes the bowl toward them with her left foot.

“Eat” She orders.

It obeys.

It dips its head into the fetid soup. It slurps filth and chews rot. It chokes on mold and gags on decay. Its hands squeeze closed. She can smell when its nails break the skin. She places her foot on the back of its head, presses its head down into the bowl. Its cry is drowned out by the muck.

“You are a failure. You were a failure the day you said you’d never betray me. You’d never be strong enough to survive. You are a Ghoul. Your only job is to serve and survive on the refuse of your betters.”

She lets out another long moan as a shadow finds a deliciously sensitive spot.

“I’m sure you lie to yourself, you say this is for your own good. That you will be happy like this. Free from choice. Free from hunger. A fiction. You exist because I find you amusing, Three. But one day? One day I shall tire of you, and you will feed my orchards.”

She presses down further. It squeals like a stuck pig. She leans down. She can smell its fear, above the stench of decay and rot.

“You aren’t a pet, you aren’t a workhorse. You’re a toy. My Rose? She is something to be treasured. You? You are to be used then discarded. And if you fail me again? You’ll find out just how quickly toys can be broken.”

She lifts her foot from its head and steps back. She watches.

It keeps eating.

She smiles.

The shadows dance.

When the meal is done, it raises its head from the bowl, but it does not look at her.

“Thank you, Domina.”

“What for, Three?”

“For the meal and for the lesson. I won’t fail you again Domina.” Its voice is weak, nauseous.

“Yes you will. But you are welcome.”

Before she can speak again, the bell rings once more. She turns her gaze to the kitchen door. Another Ghoul stands there. She has no idea which one it is. It is also naked. Also masked. It clutches a sheet of paper in its hands. It shakes with fear.

“Domina, please forgive the intrusion…” It stops. Only now seeing the shadows pleasing its Domina.

“Continue.” She hisses.

“Your Rose, she sends a message, something terrible is happening in the city. Infernalism, Domina.”

She sighs. She snaps her fingers. She feels the shadows retreat. So it seems the City of Light had more on its plate than Thin Bloods and Hunters. She glares at the trembling Three, then at the Ghoul in the door.

“Have Five prepare my outfit, have Twelve bring the car. Lock this one in the Cage, then clean up the mess. And when I return? If I find a speck of filth anywhere in this house, you’ll all be punished.”

She steps past Three. She strides through the door.

Behind her, two voices echo the same words.

“Yes, Domina.”

[piastrixpole]

chapter 2

pairing: oscar piastri x carlos sainz

genre: written, love island au

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Just before what Oscar can visualise being a perfectly timed ad-break for the viewers back home, the type that will leave Lando slinging together an impressive variety of swear while Max sniggers fondly, he can vaguely hear the host of the show announcing to everyone already inside the villa "Please welcome, our next boy, Oscar!" He's been standing off to the side, out of sight of the girls and the main camera set-up. The sun seemingly growing in intensity, the heat rolling off the stone pathway beneath his feet. A producer with a headset leans in, giving him the final rundown for his entrance, like this is some sort of grand debut.

He feels the weight of it all pressing down on him—the cameras, the lights, the knowledge that millions of people are going to watch this moment unfold. The reality of it hits him again, hard. He's about to walk out there, meet the girls, make his choice, and lock himself into the reality TV ride he'd never planned to be a part of.

"You're up next, Oscar," the producer says, giving him a quick thumbs-up. "Just walk out, introduce yourself, and when they step forward, you'll pick one of the girls to couple up with."

It's a simple process really. Oscar nods, swallowing the nerves. He's been through it all before in the prep, but nothing really prepares you for the moment itself. His stomach flips, and he wonders for the hundredth time how he ended up here. Oh right, Lando.

The producer gestures him forward, and Oscar takes a deep breath, stepping into the light as the cameras start rolling.

"Alright, mate," he whispers to himself, trying to channel any sense of calm he can muster. "You've got this."

Without coming across as overly self assured, Oscar knows he's good looking. He's never been the guy who commands all the attention in a room, but he's aware of his appeal, however limited it may be. Decently tall, with a natural athleticism and that scruffy, boy-next-door vibe, he's heard enough compliments over the years to know he's not exactly hard on the eyes. But standing here now, in front of five stunning women who seem to have been plucked straight out of a fashion magazine, he feels strangely out of his depth.

Oscar steps into the villa courtyard, blinking against the brightness as his eyes quickly adjust. The sun is relentless, and he's immediately hyper-aware of the cameras, all trained on him. His heart thuds in his chest, nerves mixing with the surreal nature of the moment. The girls are lined up in front of him, standing side by side, each one radiating a confidence that's both intimidating and captivating.

“Girls, this is Oscar,” the host announces, his smile sharp and charming in a way that leaves Oscar unsettled. There’s something subtly menacing about the man’s aura—like he’s in on a joke that Oscar hasn’t yet caught onto. It’s disarming, and yet Oscar can’t deny the host’s appeal, like a Venus flytrap waiting to snap shut.

That’s Fernando Alonso for you. Only he could embody such a strange blend of charisma and threat with terrifying precision. Even Oscar, who barely dabbled in social media and wasn’t exactly the target demographic for reality TV, knew about Alonso’s legendary rise to fame on the early seasons of Love Island . The man had cultivated the role of national villain so well that people still loved to hate him. Or maybe they just loved him—until, of course, he encountered a tall Australian with a perpetually kicked-puppy expression. The pairing had seemed impossible at first, a disaster waiting to happen, yet somehow, it worked. Years later, they were one of the few couples from the show that had gone the distance, and now, Alonso was hosting the show that had built his empire.

Oscar shifts under the weight of Alonso’s gaze, suddenly all too aware of the cameras. He clears his throat, offering a tentative, “Hey mate.”

“Oscar, welcome to Love Island .” Alonso’s voice is smooth, almost too smooth. “As you can see, two of the girls have already coupled up—Maxine with George, and Alex with Carmen—but now it’s your turn. You can pick any of the girls who step forward for you.”

He tries not to look too stiff as he walks toward them, feeling the weight of both the girls' gazes and the eyes of his future audience back home. He can already imagine Lando and the lads in the pub, pint glasses in hand, laughing at his discomfort, probably giving a running commentary as he approaches the line-up.

Oscar swallows hard, his gaze sweeping over the girls lined up across from him. They look effortlessly stunning, each one a vision of confidence and beauty. It feels strange, almost wrong, to be standing here in front of them, waiting for someone to step forward. He’s not blind; he knows they’re all attractive. But standing here, knowing he’s being evaluated just as much as he’s doing the evaluating, makes the whole thing feel like some surreal dream he hasn’t quite woken up from.

His pulse quickens as he tries to gauge the situation. He’s been dreading this moment since the day Lando dropped the bombshell, but now that it’s here, he just hopes someone steps forward. Because the alternative—being left standing there like a fool on national television—would be the kind of humiliation that not even Lando could laugh off.

As Oscar’s eyes drift over the girls, it’s Maxine who catches his attention first. She stands at the far end of the line-up, an aura of quiet confidence enveloping her like a second skin. Unlike some of the others, who either fidget or smile with an open eagerness, Maxine remains composed, her expression a mix of cool indifference and amusement, as if she’s already several steps ahead of the situation. Her dirty blonde hair is pulled back loosely, strands framing her face in a way that feels deliberate, yet effortlessly undone, catching the sunlight in muted tones of gold and ash.

Maxine’s features are striking, sharp but undeniably captivating. There’s a subtlety to her beauty that isn’t loud but impossible to ignore once noticed—a strong jawline, high cheekbones that could cut glass, and eyes the colour of stormy skies, cool and assessing. She exudes a calculated calm, the kind of person who reads the room before she speaks, always thinking three moves ahead. And there, right at the centre of it all, is the septum piercing, a silver ring resting just beneath her nose, adding an edge to her otherwise serene expression. It’s the sort of detail that feels like a quiet rebellion, a marker of individuality in a world of cookie-cutter beauty.

Her body language tells a story of its own. Standing with one hip cocked, she seems entirely at ease, her muscular build evident in the lines of her arms and shoulders. Scattered across her tanned skin are small tattoos—delicate, but not insignificant—tiny flashes of black ink trailing down her forearms like whispered secrets. Oscar catches glimpses of them as his eyes trace over her: a constellation near her wrist, a minimalist dagger on her bicep, and something abstract curling around her elbow. Each piece feels intentional, as if they hold meanings only she understands.

Maxine’s wearing a black bikini, simple yet commanding in its own right, the dark fabric standing out starkly against her skin. There’s nothing overtly flashy about it—no frills or patterns—but somehow, it manages to elevate her presence even more. It frames her physique perfectly, accentuating the firm lines of her muscles, her athletic build unmistakable. She’s not the tallest girl, but there’s a strength in her posture, a kind of groundedness that makes her seem larger than life in this moment.

Charlotte stands in the middle of the line-up, a presence that feels both grounded and effortlessly radiant. Her caramel brown hair cascading in soft waves down to her shoulders, catching the light as it frames her face. There’s an undeniable warmth about her—like the first hint of sunlight after a long, cold winter.  It’s not just in the way her gold-flecked green eyes sparkle when they meet his, but in the easy, almost glowing smile that she wears. The warmth she radiates is disarming, a welcoming glow that feels like the gentle warmth of sunlight on your skin.

There’s something about the way Charlotte carries herself, too. It’s relaxed, open, almost inviting, like she doesn’t feel the pressure of the cameras or the weight of the moment. She's on the shorter side, but carries herself with a confidence that makes her presence larger than her height would suggest. There’s nothing loud about her, yet she draws attention in an easy, natural way. Her toned body is the product of someone who cares for themselves without obsessing over perfection. There’s a certain strength in her frame, a gracefulness in the way she stands, relaxed yet poised, exuding the kind of energy that draws people in without needing to demand it.

Her red bikini contrasts sharply against her sun-kissed skin, the vibrant colour making her stand out even more among the group of girls. Small, delicate gold chains adorn her neck and wrists, catching the light as she moves. The jewellery is understated but elegant, like everything about her—intentional but never overdone. The slight glint of the gold against her skin seems almost reflective of her personality, bright and warm, but not overwhelming.

As she watches Oscar, her lips part slightly in a smile that’s both inviting and curious. There’s something playful in the way she tilts her head ever so slightly, eyeing him as though she’s sizing him up, but without any malice or judgment. It’s the kind of look that makes you feel like she’s already deciding whether you’re worth getting to know, and Oscar can’t help but feel the weight of her gaze.

Her smile broadens a little as their eyes meet, the sunlit warmth of her presence even more palpable now. She doesn’t seem nervous like some of the other girls, more curious and intrigued, like this moment isn’t overwhelming to her at all. There’s an openness in her posture, an easy confidence that suggests she’s comfortable in her own skin, content to see where the day takes her. She exudes a kind of groundedness that balances the inherent intensity of the situation—a rare calm that stands out among the nervous energy of the others.

Oscar feels a brief pang of discomfort under her gaze, not because it’s critical, but because it’s so genuinely interested. It’s as if Charlotte is the kind of person who, without saying a word, can make you feel seen. Her presence is soft, but there’s an undeniable brightness about her, a warmth that seems ready to envelop you if you’re lucky enough to be let in. Oscar can already tell that Charlotte, with her golden aura and curious eyes, is someone who might be harder to forget than he first expected. Oscar feels the weight of her gaze linger just a little longer, the connection momentary but enough to make him shift slightly on his feet. Charlotte, with her sun-like aura, seems both approachable and slightly elusive, like she could pull you into her warmth but might keep you guessing all the same.

Lily stands on the opposite end of the line-up to Maxine, her presence exuding a quiet confidence that feels both playful and composed. Her soft black hair cascades down in loose curls that frame her face and fall effortlessly over her shoulders, the kind of natural, textured look that invites attention without trying. The dark strands shine subtly under the light, catching a gentle gloss as she shifts her weight from one foot to the other. She’s shorter than many of the other girls, but it adds to her charm—there’s a sprightliness about her that makes her feel nimble, light on her feet, like she’s never standing still for too long.

Her athletic build is toned and firm, her body speaking of strength and balance, but not in a way that feels too rigid. It’s more like the product of someone who finds joy in movement, who feels at home in their own skin. The sea-green bikini she’s wearing hugs her body just right, its cool tones contrasting against her warm, honey-toned skin, like the colour of ocean waves lapping gently against a golden shore. The bikini isn’t flashy, but there’s something about its understated simplicity that enhances her natural grace, making her stand out without the need for anything extravagant.

Her brown eyes, deep and rich, sparkle with a teasing light. There’s a playfulness there, a hint of mischief, like she’s always ready with a quick quip or a sly comment, but never in a way that crosses into immaturity. It’s the kind of energy that feels magnetic—she doesn’t take things too seriously, but there’s a sharpness in her gaze that suggests she’s always paying attention, always aware of what’s going on around her. She watches Oscar with those eyes now, curious but with a glint of challenge in them, like she’s sizing him up, but in a fun, almost flirtatious way.

Her lips curve into a small, knowing smile, not too wide, just enough to hint that she’s amused by all of this—the setting, the situation, maybe even by Oscar himself. The smile isn’t shy or timid; it’s the kind that’s carefully placed, as if she’s letting him in on a private joke only she knows. As their eyes meet, Oscar can feel the warmth of her gaze, but also the spark of something more, a subtle suggestion that Lily is the kind of girl who keeps you on your toes, who might playfully push your buttons just to see how you react.

There’s an ease to the way she carries herself, her posture relaxed but confident, like she’s not intimidated by the spectacle of it all. In fact, she seems to be enjoying it, leaning into the absurdity of the situation with a kind of light-hearted amusement. Her whole presence feels like a balancing act—playful but grounded, teasing but never cruel, the kind of person who could laugh with you, at you, but still make you feel at ease.

As Oscar watches her, he can sense that she’s not the type to fade into the background, even if her energy isn’t as loud as some of the others. There’s something refreshing about her; she doesn’t seem overly concerned with impressing anyone, but the confidence she carries and the hint of humour in her expression make it clear she doesn’t have to try. She’s someone who can pull you into her orbit without effort, and Oscar finds himself intrigued by the teasing mystery in her eyes, wondering what exactly she might have to say once the games begin.

Carmen stands tall, exuding a natural grace that makes her feel almost statuesque among the other girls. Her dark brown hair, thick and glossy, falls in soft waves that cascade over her sun kissed shoulders, catching the light in a way that brings out subtle shades of chestnut and mahogany beneath its surface. Her skin, a deep, warm bronze that speaks of long days under the Spanish sun, glows with a healthy vibrancy, the kind of complexion that doesn’t require enhancement—it simply is, effortlessly beautiful. Every inch of her seems to glisten with a sheen of confidence that radiates from within, like someone who knows exactly who she is and has made peace with that.

Her bikini is a deep, luxurious shade of plum, a colour that clings to her body with an understated elegance, as if designed specifically for her. The rich hue complements her bronze skin perfectly, creating a striking contrast that feels both bold and subdued at once. The fabric, though simple in its design, seems to drape over her curves with a natural ease, highlighting her toned figure without shouting for attention. Carmen doesn't need embellishment; her presence is enough to command the room. The quiet confidence in the way she carries herself draws you in—she doesn’t seek out the spotlight, yet it finds her anyway.

Her green eyes are sharp and discerning, their colour a vivid contrast against her darker features. They don’t dance with the playful energy of the others, nor do they glitter with excitement or interest as Oscar approaches. Instead, there’s a calm, almost distant quality to them, like she’s assessing the situation from a step removed. It’s not that she’s uninterested—there’s a respect in the way she watches him, a quiet acknowledgment of his presence—but it’s clear that Carmen is not here to be impressed. There’s something more grounded in the way she looks at him, as though she’s seen all of this before and isn’t easily swept up in the surface-level theatrics.

Standing near the middle of the group, Carmen is one of the taller girls, her long, toned limbs giving her an almost regal posture. She holds herself with a kind of maturity that separates her from the more youthful energy buzzing around her. Her body is strong, her muscles lean and defined, but there’s a softness to her as well, a natural curve that speaks to a life lived fully, without obsession over perfection. She is comfortable in her skin, a woman who knows her worth and doesn’t feel the need to prove it. Her confidence isn’t the kind that demands validation; it’s quiet, self-assured, like she’s made peace with herself and the world, and nothing here—least of all a reality show—will rattle that.

There’s a certain elegance in the way she stands, the way she moves, that suggests she’s accustomed to being noticed, but not necessarily for her beauty alone. There’s a depth to Carmen, something that feels more complex than just surface charm. She’s respectful, offering Oscar a polite nod as their eyes meet, but there’s no flirtation, no eager smile. Instead, her gaze holds steady, composed, like she’s letting him know that she’s here, but she won’t be offering more than what she deems necessary. If there’s any intrigue on her part, she’s careful to keep it hidden beneath the layers of calm self-possession.

Oscar can feel her presence even before their eyes meet, a subtle force that makes him aware of her without her needing to say a word. And when she does look at him, it’s with a measured gaze that, while not dismissive, doesn’t seek connection either. It’s almost as if she’s waiting to see what he brings to the table, knowing full well that she’s in control of her own fate.

Logan’s the final girl. Reminiscent of sunlight breaking through the clouds on an early summer morning. Her long, honey-blonde hair tumbles over her shoulders in soft waves, catching the light as if spun from golden thread. There's a natural ease to the way it moves, like it was meant to be tousled by sea breezes. She looks like she could have stepped straight out of a postcard—an all-American dream girl with a touch of the ocean about her, the embodiment of a Californian or Floridian summer.

Her blue eyes are the colour of a clear, open sky, sparkling with a brightness that speaks of optimism and an open heart. There’s something vulnerable about them, a softness that contrasts with the confidence radiating from some of the others. But beneath that quiet exterior, there’s a kindness, a warmth that draws people in without her even needing to say a word. Logan’s eyes are the kind you get lost in, not because they’re demanding attention, but because they hold so much depth—like a hidden world of thoughts and emotions she hasn’t fully shared yet.

Her skin is sun-kissed, dusted liberally with freckles that sweep across her cheeks and nose like the remnants of a long, playful day spent under the sun. It gives her a youthful, almost innocent look, one that hints at a carefree spirit, but there’s a certain nervous energy in the way she holds herself—like she’s trying to find her place in the middle of all this chaos. Her fingers fidget slightly with the seashell necklace resting against her collarbone, its tiny, white spirals an understated but personal touch. It’s the kind of necklace you’d imagine her collecting piece by piece during summers spent by the beach, a reminder of who she is and where she feels most at peace.

Her baby blue bikini clings to her skin with a soft, seamless fit, accentuating her athletic frame without feeling showy. It’s simple, unassuming, the same shade as the ocean on a calm day. It fits her perfectly, as if it’s part of her, a second skin that she wears with an effortless grace. Logan’s body is toned but not intimidatingly so—she has the lean, lithe build of someone who’s spent hours in the water, surfing or swimming, moving naturally with the rhythm of the waves. She looks like she belongs in the sea, like she could dive in at any moment and disappear into the depths, re-emerging with salt on her skin and sand between her toes.

There’s something undeniably inviting about Logan’s entire demeanour. She stands a little apart from the others, not out of arrogance, but perhaps out of a lingering uncertainty, like she’s not entirely sure where she fits in just yet. But despite that, there’s a friendliness to her, an openness that makes her approachable. The edges of her mouth curve into a soft, easy smile—one that seems more nervous than cocky but is no less genuine for it. She glances at Oscar as he steps forward, her eyes flicking up and down with a curiosity that’s free of judgment, more inquisitive than calculating.

Logan’s presence isn’t loud or demanding, but it’s there, quietly radiant, like the last golden rays of sunlight before the day slips into dusk. She’s the kind of person who seems both grounded and fragile at the same time, someone who navigates the world with a blend of optimism and underlying anxiety. There’s a slight tension in her posture, a hint of nervous energy she’s trying to keep under control, but it only adds to her charm. It makes her seem more real, more human in the midst of all the artificial glamour.

As she stands there, freckles catching the light, seashell necklace gently swaying with the rise and fall of her breath, Logan is a picture of calm beauty, laced with a quiet storm of emotions just beneath the surface. She’s radiant, yes—but also real, the kind of girl who doesn’t need to try to shine. She simply exists and does.

Oscar stands there, feeling his pulse quicken as the host, Fernando, shoots him a sly smile. “Alright, girls,” Fernando announces, his voice carrying across the villa with practiced ease. "If you’re interested in coupling up with Oscar, now’s your chance to step forward."

Oscar’s heart hammers in his chest. This was the moment—this was the part that had replayed in his head a hundred times in the days leading up to this. He braces himself, trying to stay calm, but the tension is unmistakable. For a split second, nothing happens, and then Charlotte moves. Her golden-green eyes flicker up at him, curious, and she flashes a beaming smile that instantly eases some of the pressure weighing on his chest. Charlotte carries herself with a warmth that feels like a breath of fresh air—she’s all sunshine and friendliness, like she’d make this whole experience less overwhelming. For a moment, he wonders if Charlotte’s steady, approachable nature is exactly what he needs right now.

Before he can fully process Charlotte’s choice, Maxine steps forward next. She doesn’t rush. She waits, watching the others, her cool gaze slipping over Oscar as if she’s already sizing him up. Then, with deliberate ease, she steps forward. There’s no hesitation, just a measured confidence that feels both natural and practiced. Her movements are smooth, almost feline, and as she meets Oscar’s eyes, there’s the slightest curve to her lips—an unspoken challenge, daring him to choose her. Maxine is the type who knows exactly what she wants, and she’s clearly decided that he fits that mould. He swallows, the intensity of her stare almost palpable, but there’s no denying her appeal. She could definitely keep me on my toes, he thinks, feeling a mix of admiration and apprehension.

And then, almost hesitantly, Logan steps forward. There’s a brief flicker of nervousness in her sparkling blue eyes, but it’s quickly replaced by a soft smile. She moves with a kind of quiet confidence, the seashell necklace around her neck swaying slightly with each step. Logan’s honey-blonde hair falls in loose waves around her face, and as she steps into the line-up with the other two girls, there’s something about her presence that feels more… natural. She’s radiant, yes, but there’s a softness to her, a vulnerability that mirrors the unease Oscar feels himself. It’s comforting, somehow. She’s just as nervous as I am, he thinks, feeling a strange sense of relief.

Oscar’s gaze drifts between the three of them—Maxine with her bold intensity, Charlotte with her warm, sunlike glow, and Logan with her quiet but genuine energy. His mind races, but he knows he needs to make a decision. Shifting his weight uncomfortably, he feels the weight of the decision press heavily on his shoulders. There’s far worse situations to be in. Three women—all stunning, all interested. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t prepared for this moment, but being here, under the intense sun with the world watching through countless camera lenses, it felt completely different. His heart thumped harder than he expected, a sudden awareness creeping in that whatever he said next would set the course for his time on the show.

Fernando stands there with that unsettling grin, like a predator enjoying its prey’s discomfort, and Oscar can’t help but feel the rising pressure. He glances at the girls, their faces each revealing a different expression—curiosity, confidence, a little playful challenge.

His mouth feels dry as he clears his throat, trying to push past the nerves. "Uh... wow," he mutters under his breath, his voice barely audible. He glances up again, taking in each of them—Logan, Charlotte, Maxine—and the decision weighs on him more heavily than he thought it would. "This is definitely tougher than I thought."

Fernando chuckles, clearly revelling in Oscar’s visible discomfort. "Take your time, Oscar. Who do you want to couple up with?"

Oscar lets out a slow breath, trying to gather his thoughts. Okay, think. Who do you want to spend your first days with? He flicks his gaze to each girl, weighing his options.

Maxine. She's the bold one, sharp and confident, with her calculated demeanour and piercing eyes that seem to size up everyone in the room. There’s something undeniably striking about her—like she’s used to getting what she wants and won’t hesitate to take control of any situation. She’s magnetic in her own way, but there’s also an intensity to her that makes Oscar pause. It’s a bit intimidating, if he’s honest. Would she be too much for him to handle? Or maybe exactly what he needs to snap out of his comfort zone? He considers her for a moment, feeling the weight of her gaze on him, but something holds him back from fully leaning toward her.

His eyes slide over to Charlotte. She stands with a playful spark in her eyes, a teasing lightness to the way she holds herself that makes Oscar feel like being with her might actually be… fun. There’s a casual warmth to her that isn’t forced, and he gets the sense that she could help him navigate this whole situation without making it more awkward than it already is. But as much as he likes her easy-going energy, something inside him hesitates. Would their dynamic have enough depth? He wasn’t sure yet.

And then there’s Logan. She’s looking at him with those ocean-blue eyes, her long, honey-blonde hair catching the light like it was made to be in front of the camera. There’s something softer about her compared to the others, more open but with that slight undercurrent of anxiety, like she’s not entirely sure how she ended up here either. There’s a relatability to her nervous energy that resonates with him, and something about that quiet vulnerability draws him in. He can see a kind of kindness in her that he hadn’t noticed before. Logan doesn’t try too hard, doesn’t need to—her beauty is natural, effortless, and there's a warmth that makes him feel a little more grounded.

She seems real, he thinks, and that’s important. Logan’s smile is nervous but genuine, and something in him eases when he meets her eyes.

Oscar takes a deep breath, forcing himself to stop overthinking. It’s a game, after all, but one with real emotions at stake. He glances at Logan once more, her freckled face glowing softly under the sun, and the decision suddenly feels clear.

"I’m going to couple up with…" He pauses, casting one last look at the girls. His gaze settles on Logan. "Logan."

A soft smile spreads across her face, and Oscar feels a weight lift from his chest as she steps forward to meet him. The tension in the air shifts slightly, and for the first time since this whole ordeal began, he feels like maybe—just maybe—things might work out alright.

The host claps his hands together, “Logan it is! Congratulations guys, we have a new couple - Oscar and Logan.”

Oscar grins sheepishly at Logan as they stand side by side, and while the cameras are still rolling, he lets himself breathe a little easier. For now, at least, one decision’s been made, and it doesn’t feel like the worst one he could’ve picked.

As the other girls step back into line, Oscar turns to Logan, a soft smile on his lips. She’s still standing beside him, her blue eyes sparkling with a mix of nerves and excitement. The other girls are chatting quietly, but it feels like the world has narrowed down to just the two of them for a brief moment.

“Hey,” he whispers, his voice low, trying to be subtle. “Nice to meet you.”

Logan’s smile widens slightly, and she tucks a strand of her honey-blonde hair behind her ear. “You too,” she whispers back, her voice soft but warm. “Guess we’re in this together now.”

Oscar chuckles lightly, feeling a small sense of relief wash over him. “Looks like it.”

Before they can say much more, Fernando steps forward again, drawing everyone’s attention back to him. “Alright, folks, we’ve still got two more boys to meet,” he announces with his signature smirk. “Let’s bring them out.”

Oscar and Logan exchange a glance as the air in the villa seems to shift, the tension rising once again as the first of the final two boys is introduced.

The villa doors swing open, and in walks Pierre, his tousled brown hair perfectly styled, his face carrying that unmistakable French charm. He strides confidently, scanning the girls lined up before him. His eyes land on Charlotte even before she steps forward for him, and after a brief moment of deliberation, he steps forward with a grin.

“Charlotte,” he says smoothly, his voice carrying a soft accent. “I’d like to couple up with you.”

Charlotte beams, clearly pleased with the attention, and steps forward to join Pierre. Oscar watches as they move to stand together, their energy already easy and natural, a comfortable pairing. He glances at Logan, who catches his eye again and raises an eyebrow, her expression playfully curious about what’s to come.

Fernando barely gives them a moment to settle before announcing, “And now, for the final boy… Daniel!”

The doors open again, and in walks Daniel with a swagger that screams confidence, his broad grin and easy-going nature immediately drawing attention. His eyes sweep over the group, lingering on Maxine. Oscar notices George tense slightly, but Daniel doesn’t hesitate.

“Maxine,” Daniel calls, flashing her a playful smile. “I’m stealing you.”

Maxine’s lips curl into a sly smile, and without hesitation, she steps forward, leaving George behind. There’s an almost predatory grace to her movements as she joins Daniel’s side. George, for his part, looks momentarily deflated but quickly pulls himself together.

Fernando steps back in, his voice calm but teasing. “Well, George, that means you’re coupled up with Lily.”

Lily steps forward with a playful wink toward George, trying to ease the awkwardness of the situation. George offers her a small smile in return, doing his best to hide his disappointment. The pairing isn’t ideal, but Oscar can see Lily’s laid-back, teasing nature helping to soften the blow.

As the new couples fall into place, Oscar glances down at Logan once more, and she meets his gaze with a soft smile. It feels like everything’s shifted in a matter of minutes, the dynamics between the group already changing. But as Logan stands beside him, Oscar feels a flicker of something new—a quiet relief, like maybe, just maybe, they’ll be alright together.

Fernando surveys the newly formed couples, a satisfied grin stretching across his face. “Alright, everyone, this marks the end of our coupling ceremony!” His voice carries the kind of energy that makes it impossible not to feel excited, and he glances at each couple, letting the weight of the moment settle in. “Now that you’re all paired up, it’s time for you to get to know each other a little better.”

He gestures grandly to the villa. “Enjoy the sun, the drinks, and of course, each other’s company! You’ll be living together, and who knows—some of you might even find love. Or at the very least, a good time!” His wink sends a ripple of laughter through the group, easing some of the initial tension.

As Fernando steps back, signalling his departure, Oscar can’t shake the sudden realization that sinks into his bones: there’s no going back now. He’s in it, fully immersed, and all he can do is ride the wave until he’s either voted out or finds a way to navigate this strange new world.

He glances at Logan, who’s watching him with an encouraging smile, her blue eyes sparkling with a mixture of excitement and curiosity. Maybe, just maybe, this won’t be so bad after all.