#diamond fork

[cranberryspringart]

So I was watching the original twilight zone, there's an episode that's near beat for beat the part of diamond is unbreakable were mikitaka is introduced and rohan's house gets burned down.

[carnivart-core-archive]

Been in a state where I've wanted to change my sona for a while - so new main fursona time !! (My main non-fur-sona is stuck as is for a while) I've become a pink fiend as of late so ,,, pink non-specific-lemur

[gender-euphowrya]

running across whales in gacha games is so fucked like. how am i seeing someone on nikki with a fully evolved event outfit on day 2 of the fucking event

[krshush]

Good MORNING, everyone! It is a very busy early day for me as we play catch up on several things we'd missed on account of a bad start to the year! But ALSOOO. IN AFKJ IT'S BNUUY BOY DAY AND HE ALREADY CAME HOOOOME TO MEEEEE 🎉🎉🎉

[todays-xkcd]

It's a real accomplishment to mess up a ravioli recipe badly enough that the resulting incident touches all four quadrants of the NFPA hazard diamond.

Ravioli-Shaped Objects [Explained]

[A 4x4 grid of squares. The columns are labeled: Eat with a fork, rest your head on, puncture and slurp, install in your phone. The rows are: Ravioli, throw pillow, Capri Sun, bulging lithium battery. Each row has an image of each respective item above the title, with the words “Home Sweet Home” on the throw pillow, and “Fruit” on the Capri Sun.]

Ravioli, eat with a fork: [green] [Cueball sits on a chair in front of a table with a jar of sauce on it. He is eating from a plate from ravioli.] Cueball: ''Nom Nom Nom''

Ravioli, Rest your head on: [red] [Cueball is lying down on a couch with ravioli smooshed on his head and the couch. Ravioli bits can be seen on the ground] Cueball: Eww.

Ravioli, puncture and slurp: [yellow] [Cueball is slurping from a ravioli through a straw. In front of him is table with two plates, presumably with ravioli on them.] ''Slurp''

Ravioli, Install in your phone: [red] [A phone is shown with bits of ravioli sticking out and tomato sauce is dripping out.]

Throw pillow, eat with a fork: [red] [Cueball sits on a chair in front of a table with a jar of sauce on it. He is poking with a fork at a throw pillow covered in tomato sauce.] ''Poke poke''

Throw pillow, rest your head on: [green] [Cueball is looking at his phone and is lying on a couch. His head is resting on a throw pillow.]

Throw pillow, puncture and slurp: [red] [Cueball is sucking on a straw that is inserted in a pillow.] Cueball: Aw man, this one is empty.

Throw pillow, install in your phone: [red] [A phone is shown on a throw pillow that has the words “Home Sweet Home” partially obscured.]

Capri Sun, eat with a fork: [red] [Cueball sits on a chair in front of a table with a jar of sauce on it. He has stabbed a Capri Sun on a plate and is now splattered with juice.]

Capri Sun, rest your head on: [yellow] [Cueball is looking at his phone and is lying on a couch. His head is resting on a Capri Sun.] Cueball: Honestly kind of comfortable.

Capri Sun, puncture and slurp: [green] [Cueball is drinking from a Capri Sun through a straw.] ''Sluuurp''

Capri Sun, Install in your phone: [red] [A phone is shown to be squishing a Capri Sun. Juice is trickling out.]

Bulging lithium battery, eat with a fork: [red] [An explosion bordered by 4 skull and crossbones.]

Bulging lithium battery, rest your head on: [red] [Cueball is looking at his phone and lying on his couch. His head is resting on a smoldering battery.] Cueball: This fire hazard is uncomfortable.

Bulging lithium battery, puncture and slurp: [red] [An explosion bordered by 4 skull and crossbones.]

Bulging lithium battery, install in your phone: [green] [A phone with a bulging back, presumably from the bulging lithium battery. The phone’s screen is cracked in the center.]

[solxamber]

Platonic heartslabyul with fem!Yuu who managed to memorize ALL the rules because she hyperfixated on it. It's a new universe so why not study their customs?

it ended up gender neutral, hope that's okay!

Memorizing the Queen's Rules with Heartslabyul

Ace Trappola

At first, Ace thought your ability to quote the rules on demand was a joke. Then, it became the bane of his existence.

"Hey, it’s not a big deal if I sneak just one tart out of here!" he’d say, already halfway to the door.

"Rule #142: No pastries shall leave the premises of the tea party unless explicitly authorized," you’d insist, crossing your arms and blocking his path like an unyielding wall of justice.

Ace groaned dramatically, throwing his head back. "Why do you even know that? Who memorizes all the rules?!"

"Someone who doesn’t want to end up collared for your nonsense."

He tried to get clever, testing your limits by bending obscure rules. Once, he brought a banana to a tea party.

"You realize Rule #53 bans bananas at tea parties, right?"

Ace stared, mouth agape. "That’s not real. You’re making that up."

"It’s real. Page 47 of the rulebook," you replied with a satisfied grin.

At that moment, Ace realized he could never outsmart you. Begrudgingly, he admitted, "You’re terrifying. I’m never crossing you."

Of course, that didn’t stop him from trying to prank you. But the look on his face every time you countered him with the correct rule was priceless.

Deuce Spade

Deuce was equal parts impressed and intimidated by your encyclopedic knowledge of Heartslabyul law.

"Wait, so… Rule #317 says I can’t use my left hand to pour tea unless it’s Tuesday?" he asked, staring at the teapot like it had betrayed him.

"Correct. It’s Wednesday, so put it down," you replied, barely glancing up from your notes.

Deuce’s determination to follow the rules skyrocketed thanks to you. He started coming to you for advice on everything.

"Is it okay if I use a spoon to eat this tart instead of a fork? I don’t want to mess up!"

You paused. "Technically, Rule #223 says forks are preferred, but spoons are acceptable if no forks are available."

Deuce sighed in relief. "Thanks, prefect. You’re like my personal tutor for dorm survival."

He became your staunchest supporter, often citing your knowledge to back up his own actions. When Ace tried to sneak an extra tart, Deuce would immediately shout, "Rule #142! You can’t do that!"

"Juice, no one likes a snitch," Ace grumbled.

"I like them," you said, giving Deuce a thumbs-up.

Deuce beamed.

Trey Clover

Trey found your obsession with the rules both amusing and endearing.

"You’re the first person I’ve met who rivals Riddle’s knowledge of the rulebook," he said one day as you adjusted the spacing between roses in the garden.

"Someone has to uphold the standards," you replied, squinting at a rosebush. "This one’s two centimeters too close to the other."

Trey chuckled, leaning against his spade. "You know, not even Riddle notices stuff like that."

"Then it’s a good thing I’m here," you said matter-of-factly, pulling out your measuring tape.

Trey quickly realized you were also a fantastic mediator. Whenever Riddle’s temper flared, you calmly cited rules to de-escalate the situation.

"Rule #405: forgiveness is encouraged for first offenses," you’d say, placing a hand on Riddle’s shoulder.

"Fine," Riddle would huff, storming off.

Trey gave you a knowing smile. "You’re a lifesaver."

Cater Diamond

Cater thought you were hilarious. Your ability to recite rules on command made you a walking meme in his eyes.

"So, you’re like, a human rulebook?" he asked one day, phone in hand.

"Pretty much."

"Say something rule-y for my Magicam!" he said, already recording.

You rolled your eyes but played along. "Rule #98: no singing at tea parties unless the Queen of Hearts requests it."

Cater doubled over laughing.

He constantly teased you about your rule knowledge but secretly found it impressive. Anytime he needed an excuse to get out of trouble, he’d turn to you.

"Uh, is there a rule that says I can skip cleaning duty if my phone dies?"

"No, but nice try," you replied.

Still, he loved having you around, especially when you used your rule expertise to put Ace in his place.

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle was in awe of you.

"You’ve memorized all 810 rules?" he asked, eyes wide.

"Of course," you said, shrugging. "Why wouldn’t I?"

Riddle’s respect for you skyrocketed. You became his unofficial right-hand person, often helping him enforce the rules.

"Rule #327 clearly states that tea must be brewed at exactly 96 degrees Celsius," you said during one tea party.

"Exactly!" Riddle exclaimed. "Finally, someone understands!"

You were the only one who could occasionally talk him down when he went overboard.

"Rule #512 says punishments should fit the crime," you reminded him gently.

Riddle adjusted his gloves, looking sheepish. "You’re absolutely correct. As always."

He even started consulting you for rule interpretations, trusting your judgment implicitly.

"Do you think Rule #600 applies here?"

"Only if you interpret it broadly," you replied.

"Brilliant," Riddle said, nodding.

To him, you were a paragon of order and discipline—a perfect addition to Heartslabyul.

Masterlist

[bi-writes]

What if 👀 what if we see when john proposes to the missus (is it too soon 😭) 🤩 they also live in my mind 24/7 you’re 🫵🏻 gonna be drowning in my asks

the key turns in the lock, nice and smooth this time. john oiled it before he left—he wanted this when he came, some sort of reminder that his hand has been here, in this house, so branded into its integrity that even the hinges no longer creak because he's made his nest here. (18+)

when he swings open the door, he doesn't recognize the sight.

you're sitting at the kitchen table with a sour expression on your face. there's a candle lit in the center, only one since the other has melted, so much so the wax is pooled underneath it next to the roast that's long since cold on its serving platter. there's glass of wine in front of you that's nearly empty, and a bottle within reach just as light.

john sucks on teeth a little as he drops his duffel bag by the door. the sound makes you flinch, and when he drops heavily into the seat across from you, he doesn't even react at the velvet box that sits on the table.

instead, he picks up his fork and starts to serve himself.

your eyes flick up to look at him, but he's too busy piling up meat and potatoes onto his plate. he takes off his hat and tosses it onto the table, and you scowl at the sight—you complain over and over again about that filthy fucking hat, and he has the nerve to set it down on the table like he's the one that's been working all day on a roast, molten chocolate lava cake, and tender mashed potatoes.

"you're late," you say. your voice croaks, hitching with your swallowed-down emotion. john takes his gloves off, tossing them beside the hat, and when he starts to undo the latches on his tact vest, you pick up your steak knife and pierce it right through the oak table. "don't you dare put that shit on my table."

"our table."

"oh, now you wanna chime in?"

john runs a few hands over his face. he looks tired. his beard is scruffy, more than usual, and the darkness under his eyes is heavy. his eyes aren't as bright as they normally are around you, and you find the tension in his shoulders to be especially wound. you don't care what he's gone through to get back to this table. maybe he fell out of a helicopter. maybe a bullet whizzed past his head and nearly splattered his brains. you don't fucking care—john price is sitting in front of you and eating the food you made and pretending like everything is just fine.

he laughs. it's humorless, but it angers you anyway. he's condescending; it's in his nature. when you question the way of things, when you try to put your foot down—you would punch him, but he'd ease out of the way, effortless, and it would annoy you greatly. then he'd probably take your wrists and pin them behind your back with one hand, and he'd smile doing it, because he's so much bigger than you, so much stronger. he kills people for less, it takes no effort to stifle the woman that shares his bed. everything is funny to him—everything is cute.

asshole.

"where'd you find tha'?" john asks. he doesn't look at it, but you know what he's talking about. you pick up the velvet box and pop it open. the ring blinds you. it must be at least three carats, a gorgeous thing, surrounded by a halo of smaller diamonds around the band. it glitters, stunning, and if you were a stupider woman, you would've been wearing it already, but you're not.

"i found it when i was going through your shit," you spit at him. you tip your glass back and swallow down the rest of your wine. it goes down hot. "packing it for you."

"we goin' on a trip?"

"you certainly are."

john clicks his tongue and tilts his head to the side. he finally brings his eyes up to meet yours, and he brings a hand up to scratch at his beard.

"not leaving."

you laugh, too, smiling, bitter.

"i wasn't asking, john. but if you don't want your stuff, whatever. i'm sure it'll burn just fine."

john shoves his plate away from him, scooting his chair back. you expect him to get up, to come towards you. you expect him to grip you by the throat and bend you over the table so he can fuck you next to the extravagant meal you've made, but instead he huffs as you hear his belt buckle clink.

"what the fuck are you doing?" you scoff. john hums, grunting low, and then you watch with parted lips as he spits into the palm of his hand and lowers it. it's only a moment before he sighs deeply, a wet slick, slick, slick following the movement of his arm. "are you fucking serious?"

"mmm..." john clenches his jaw. "'s been awhile, love." he cracks his neck as he moves it from side to side, fixing his eyes on you as he moves his arm a little quicker. your lips tremble angrily, but you can't help the way you shift in your seat. your free hand plays with the hem of your skirt, and he rolls his shoulders back, licking his lips. "show me."

"fuck you."

"in a minute, love. show me."

you're shaking with anger. it's hot in your chest, making you buzz, but it doesn't stop your hands. it doesn't stop them from feeling over the collar of your blouse before you carefully undo the top buttons. john relaxes as he watches the fabric fall loose, and he hums knowingly when you drop the blouse and unclasp your bra.

your tits fall with a bounce. you're ashamed at how easy it is, to fall right back into the place you swore you would never go again. john groans, moving his chair back further, and you squeeze your thighs together as you watch his thick hand tug at his rigid cock with more and more of a chaotic rhythm.

"come 'ere."

"no."

"come here," john mutters. he says it in that way—that way you know that he won't ask again. he won't have to.

you stand on doe legs. they wobble, and you use the table as leverage, and when you make it in front of him, john pushes you until you're sitting on the edge of the table, right next to his half-eaten plate and his dirty gear. you flinch as he stands, stepping between your thighs, and you kiss as the tip of him presses against your drooling cunt. your legs rise, knees hooking around his hips, and john licks over his teeth as he keeps stroking himself.

"we've been over this," john growls. "haven't we, sweetheart?"

"i hate you."

"this is mine," john says into your ear. "your cunt. this house. this food—it's mine, and you know tha'. you love puttin' up a bloody brawl, i know tha', love, so i take it, but you won't be rid of me until i'm dead, y'hear tha'?"

"fuck you—"

"ugh—" john hisses. "gonna make me fuckin' come, love—"

john laughs through breathy moans when he feels you're wearing no knickers. sopping, pretty pussy just waiting for him—in his house, with his girl, the one that's about to have his name.

"john—"

his grip on your thighs is bruising as he pushes into you. just the tip, just enough to drive you insane, just in time for him to spill inside of you and fill you with a dizzying amount of cum. hot, sticky, messy—john's never been very good at cleaning up his messes. he seems to like it that way. he seems to like it ruined and overstimulated and begging.

he presses his forehead to yours, grunting as he pushes further inside of you. you'll ruin the wood underneath you being so wet, but john will fix it.

"when are y'gonna learn?" john murmurs. "hmm?"

"john..."

there is no john without you. you could run, but he'd find you. you could change the locks, but it wouldn't stop him from coming home. you could throw all of his things out, burn them, shred them, bury them, but he has no real ties to anything as trivial as things. john is a fixture in the air here. he lives in the wood that makes up the house. he's in your breaths that taste like cigar smoke. he's inside of you, hot, in the bruises that line your collarbone and your thighs and your hips. john is a rigid, immutable hook that is dug so far into your fleshy insides that it would be suicide to remove him from yourself.

he's a weed you cannot rid yourself of. you pick him out by the root, but he always comes back.

he kisses you like that—tits out, cunt drooling, engagement ring tossed aside just out of reach. you think he meant for you to find it. either as a result of your morbid curiosity or your temper tantrums—john probably figured whichever came first would be good enough.

he would never propose to you. you know this.

why the fuck would he ask you about something that's already a given?

in the morning, you're alone with your thoughts, watching the ring sparkle in the early sunlight. your hand is rested on his chest, moving with the gentle rise and fall of his breaths. you turn your hand over and stare at the thing—you aren't someone who's into material things so much. you appreciate them, but something about this new reality of yours makes you stare a little harder at the diamond, question the clarity just a little. you hope it made a huge dent in that wallet of his; you hope he gritted his teeth a little when he handed over his card.

you'll make his bank account weep. you're mrs. john fucking price.

[iamthatonefangirl]

sweet - bucky barnes x reader

word count: 1.5k based on this ask. disclaimer: not tagged as nsfw but brief mentions of nsfw topics. a/n: pure unadulterated, tooth-rotting fluff to make up for what I did to y'all last night.

~~~

when he looks at you, all he sees is light. a beacon. a way home.

you're an angel, his angel, a perfect being that surrounds him in eternal comfort and love and trust. pure happiness wrapped into a bundle of beauty and warmth.

he would fight to the ends of the earth for you. he would kill for you. he would see himself turn into the darkest version of himself if only it made you happy, even if only for a fraction of a second. he would do it without hesitation and without regret.

because that smile on your face means more to him than anything else on this planet.

the flowers he brings you every Saturday morning before you wake up, just to see you smile.

the kisses he plants all over your face every morning and every evening, so the first and last thing he sees every day is that smile of yours.

maybe it's not healthy that all his self-preservation instincts go out the window when it comes to you, but he doesn't care.

he'd rather preserve your happiness.

you're everything to him.

~~~

you've never had a man this enamored with you.

the way he treats you like the most expensive and most beautiful diamond in the world. the way he treats you like every word out of your mouth is his own personal gospel. the way he never fails to be so interested in your interests, in hearing what you have to say, in being near you all the time.

you weren't used to the attention at first. you almost wondered if you were being love-bombed.

you weren't. you'd just found the man who intended to spend the rest of his life by your side, making you smile.

he wanted nothing but the best for you, so he always made sure to treat you to nothing but the best.

you were sure to do the same for him.

~~~

you begin to stand from the couch where you're sitting wrapped up in one another, a show you've seen a million times playing out on the screen.

"where are you going?" he whispers in your ear, rubbing a hand up and down your arm.

"I'm going to make dinner, baby," you tell him and place a peck on his lips.

"no. you sit, I'll cook," he tries. he hates to make you lift a finger when he could be the one doing it.

"I want to make you dinner, baby. you've been gone, let me do this for you?" you ask, giving him a soft, hopeful smile.

his heart just melts at the sight, the way your eyes look into his, and he's done for, every time.

"are you sure?" he pushes, brushing his nose up against yours.

"yes. I'm sure, Bucky," you tell him, giving him another kiss, and standing. "you rest."

he doesn't want to let go of your hand as you walk away, but he does anyways.

even if you're doing the heavy lifting now, he'll make it up to you.

once dinner was near prepared, he came to join you in the kitchen, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. "need me to set the table?" he offered.

"let's sit on the couch? don't want to spend another minute away from you," you admitted to him with another gentle smile on your face.

the fire burned brighter in his heart.

"me neither."

you ended up back on his lap as he laid on the couch, your legs crossed over his on the sofa.

"baby, let me move, you need to eat," you told him, turning your head to look at him and giving him those puppy dog eyes.

"no. want you right here," he mumbled, keeping his hands on your waist, holding you close.

"aren't you hungry for the lovely dinner I just made you?" you tease.

he pauses for a moment, considering your words, grumbling as he deliberates.

you laugh a little to yourself and adjust enough to bring your fork to his lips.

"there. problem solved," you smile, and he smiles back at you, amused by your solution. he loves it all the same. if you want to feed him, he'll damn well let you.

~~~

one day in the midst of winter, you come down with a nasty cold.

the minute you realize it, you tell him you're going to sleep on the couch.

"oh hell no, you're not sleeping on the couch," he protests immediately. "why would you want to do that?"

"I don't want to get you sick," you tell him in your nasally, congested voice. it's disgusting. he doesn't care, he loves it anyways.

"you know I physically can't get a silly little cold," he laughs, pulling you in to embrace you. "you're not sleeping on the couch."

"I might wake you up if I can't sleep, or if I have a coughing fit, or-"

"and why would that bother me?" he prompts, laughing a little and smiling at you. "how are you supposed to get better if you don't let me hold you, let me love on you, baby?"

his words hit so deeply you can't help but smile and shake your head at how sweet he sounds.

"come on. I'll take you to bed, and get you your favorite snacks, and make you soup..." he tells you, walking you to the bedroom, "...and I'll spend all week with my mouth between your thighs if that helps you, yeah?"

he's like a dream come to life. as he sits you in bed, helping you change out of your clothes and into one of his oversized t-shirts, you can't help but wonder how you got so lucky.

"I love you, Bucky," you tell him so earnestly, as though you've never said it before.

"I love you too, baby. you know what, screw going to the store, I'll have it delivered so I don't have to leave your side..."

~~~

is it too early to buy a ring? he wonders.

a century ago, you'd have been married already, obviously. but that was then, and things were different now.

what was different was that he didn't feel that sense of obligation to get married. no, he just wanted to marry you so he could officially call you his for the rest of his life.

you'd had the discussion before that you were interested in getting married. "one day," you'd told him.

but he wanted to make sure.

so one morning as you sat in bed together and drank your respective beverages, he brought it up.

"are you still interested in getting married?" he asked you, carefully analyzing the look on your face to gauge your immediate reaction.

you took a pause, trying to hide the little smile that appeared on your lips. of course he noticed it. he would never miss one of your smiles.

"yeah, baby. I am."

"and you're, like... ready?" he asks. "because I think I am."

you quit trying to hide your smile as your turn to look at him directly.

"I'm ready."

and there's his confirmation.

~~~

no way was he going to give anything away.

for weeks, he grilled your closest friends about what kind of ring you'd like. he knew you'd tell them, and no way was he about to buy a ring without making sure it was exactly what you wanted.

he did the right thing and took their advice, checking with them before buying it.

he didn't want you to know when the proposal was happening. so for two more months after he bought the ring, he waited. obviously, you knew it was coming, but.. he wanted to make it a surprise.

you made sure to have your nails done at all times, just in case.

he had always been the type to take you out on a date every week or two. that's what you deserved.

for this one, he went a little nicer than usual. took you to a restaurant on the water, a little further away from home, where you could watch the sun go down as you ate.

it was a full moon. a beautiful, clear summer night. you looked so gorgeous in the soft dress you wore, the color complimenting your skin so well.

he kept it low-key, only having a photographer on stand-by.

he was so excited.

so after you ate, he took you down to the balcony nearing the beach.

he got down on one knee, popped the question-

and there it was. that smile, accompanied by you jumping up and down, yelling "yes!" over and over again. you reached for him and kissed him before he even stood, before he even slid the ring onto your finger.

it was the beginning of the rest of your lives.

"I promise you, doll, I'll spend every minute for the rest of our lives making you happy," is what he told you as he held your hand, now with a shiny ring on your finger, watching as it glistened under the light of the full moon.

and that's exactly what he vowed to you on your wedding day, too.

~~~

masterlist

join my tag list

bucky tag list part 1: (send an ask or dm to be removed)

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[urno1luv]

Birthday Sex

karina bday post who else cheered🥳

summary: you want to make you girlfriend, karina, happy by giving her gifts on her birthday and trying to learn new skills to surprise and please her

tags: karina sits on your face (we all dying oms😵), sub reader, (soft) dom karina, you're kind of getting used as a toy here🫂

men and minors dni tank yeww

karina insists she doesn’t want anything.

like she really means it. no big plans, no expensive dinner, no party. just you and her and a normal day. but you? you weren’t having that.

she works too hard, gives too much, and acts like she doesn’t need anything in return, but you see her. you see how she lights up at the smallest gestures, how her fingers twitch when she passes cute rings in shop windows, how she pretends to be fine when she’s exhausted but leans into your touch like she’s starving for it.

so you planned everything. quietly. sweetly. not over-the-top, but enough to make her feel cherished.

you wake her up with soft kisses and a mug of tea, sit beside her on the bed as she blinks up at you, confused and already a little bashful.

"baby..." she mumbles, voice still raspy from sleep. "what is this..."

"happy birthday," you whisper against her cheek. "today you’re mine. i’m gonna take care of you all day."

she groans, hiding her face in your neck. "you didn’t have to-"

you shush her gently, pouting slightly. "but i wanted to."

you pull her into a warm bath and wash her hair for her, massaging her shoulders until she sighs like her whole body’s letting go.

you lay her down after and paint her nails while she giggles, trying not to ruin them by fidgeting too much.

you make breakfast (her favorite, perfectly done) and feed her bites between kisses until she’s pouting and saying "i can feed myself!" but still opens her mouth every time you hold the fork out.

you gift her a little velvet box, sliding it across the table while she’s still sleepy from food and affection, and she blinks at it like it might explode.

"baby..."

"open it."

"you said no gifts-"

"i lied."

inside is a thin gold ring. tiny diamonds. soft and delicate, just like her hands. her mouth falls open. she touches it like it’s breakable. "you didn’t have to..."

"but i wanted to," you say again, taking her hand and sliding it onto her finger. "looks better on you than in a box, don’t you think?"

she’s too stunned to speak. her ears are pink. her eyes are glassy. and when she looks at you, she just shakes her head like she doesn’t know what to do with all this love.

but then she pulls you into her lap, arms wrapping tight around you, face hidden in your shoulder. "you’re gonna make me cry..."

"that’s okay," you murmur, kissing her hair. "you always take care of me. let me take care of you today."

and she does. slowly. hesitantly. but fully.

she lets you spoil her with little trinkets from stores you pass, lets you drape your jacket over her shoulders when it gets cold, lets you hold her hand so tight your fingers tangle.and you’re gentle about it, at first. kissing along her thighs like they’re sacred, hands gliding over her skin like you’re learning it all over again.

you’re whispering the whole time, soft little things like “so pretty,” “you deserve everything,” “can’t believe you’re mine,” and she tries to act unaffected, but her breathing gives her away every time.

and now it’s late. the soft golden lamp glows against her skin, her legs tucked up in your lap as you sit together on the bed. karina's ring catches the light as she reaches up to brush her fingers along your jaw.

"you really went all out today," she murmurs, eyes flicking between yours and your lips.

"i told you i would," you whisper. "you deserve it." her thumb traces the corner of your mouth.

"yeah?" she says, voice low. "you still feel like spoiling me?" you nod. instantly ( maybe too fast), and karina smiles at that. "okay," she breathes, leaning in, pressing a kiss to your cheek, then your jaw, then lower.

"then take this off," she tugs gently at her own hoodie you’re wearing, "and lie back."

you blink at her, heat already rising to your face. you know that tone, gentle but firm, commanding without being cruel. it sends a thrill down your spine every time.

karina shifts, guiding you back against the pillows with ease, her fingers ghosting over your sides. she climbs over you, knees encasing your shouldes as she lightly sits in your chest, her hair cascading down in a dark waterfall.

"touch me," she says, taking your hands and sliding them under her skirt, her milky skin warm, soft, bare beneath.

"but slowly. i want you to take your time."

and so you do.

you trace the curves of her waist like you’re memorizing a map, looking up at her for a shred of approval. kiss her thighs like they’re sacred. every time your touch lingers, she hums in your wanted approval, her head thrown back.

"you're doing so well," she breathes, guiding one of your hands between her thighs, so that your hand cups her pussy.

"right there. just like that."

your heart is pounding. you’ve never seen her like this- so open, so in control, so trusting. she’s trembling a little above you, but it’s not nerves, it’s want. she’s letting herself need you.

and you want nothing more than to give her everything she asks for.

"... do you like this?" you whisper, shy and hesitant. rina leans down, pushing your hair from your sweaty face.

"i love it," she sultrily whispers back, before removing her lacy panties and lowering herself on your face, grinning at the shock and the light blush coating your face. "i want you to eat me out, properly."

"and i don’t want you to stop," she murmurs against your lips. "make me fall apart for you." she purses her lips once she sees the expression on your face. "don't worry, y/n. i'll guide you through it."

you nod, following her as she instructed you to lay your tongue flat so she could feel good, her moans filling your ears up. karina grips your hair, rocking her hips back and forth as she told you through loud moans to touch her tits, and your hands reached up slowly to massage her heavy breasts, her slick increasing in amount telling you you were doing a good job.

you decide to help her too, sneaking one hand back down to help karina get off, slowly easing your middle and ring finger in, and your tongue flicks at her clit, lips wrapping around and sucking.

your other arm snakes around her waist and rina clamps onto your head, her thighs acting as a headlock as she screams your name out loud (the neighbours are definitely going to think she was being murdered).

and when she comes undone in your arms, body trembling, ring glinting as she clutches you tight, you hold her through it, steadying her, kissing her through it. you adore her through every second.

by the end of you're both finished, she’s flushed and breathless and stretched out in your bed like the painting you’d hang over your heart if you could, and you’re beside her, arms around her. you didn't mind her giving up trying to teach you and just deciding to use your face if it meant being trapped between those thighs, you thought, stroking her hair back as she mumbles something you can’t quite catch.

"what was that?"

she nuzzles into your neck. "best birthday ever." you grin up at her, pressing a kiss to her temple.

"you'll say that next year too."

[p0orbaby]

Guy Fawkes Tesco Dissociation

summary: leah flirts with you, your sister isn’t too please by it

warnings: none

a/n: thank you to the anon who so kindly came up with this idea!

word count: 1.7k

-

You’re standing in the post-match hospitality suite trying to decide if the grey thing in the buffet tray is mushroom risotto or porridge that’s lost the will to live. The consistency is tragic. Congealed at the edges like it’s nursing trauma. Some rogue sprig of parsley sits on top, wilting like a garnish trying to convince you this sludge had aspirations once. You haven’t eaten anything that wasn’t either beige or pre-wrapped since you got here, and now you’re just holding a tiny wooden fork as if it’s a weapon. It’s one of those eco-friendly ones that splinters if you so much as look at it sideways—useless for food, perfect for passive aggression.

The whole lounge smells like disinfectant and faint victory—sweat, floor cleaner, and that metallic hum of a commercial fridge you’re pretty sure is struggling for life. Poor thing. It’s making that low groaning sound, like it wants to die but knows it can’t until the Lionesses are done selfie-ing with extended family.

There’s too much fluorescent lighting. That kind of overhead buzz that makes everyone look vaguely jaundiced. Too many footballers, too many PR girls in patent heels, too many conversations happening in that specific register where everyone’s pretending they’re chill but secretly vibrating with caffeine, adrenaline, and the knowledge that they’re about to be Instagram-tagged into oblivion. Everyone’s leaning too hard into the whole ‘just happy to be here’ thing. Even the champagne flutes look nervous.

You’re mostly here for moral support. And maybe a selfie. You’ve mentally drafted the caption twice—some tasteful mix of “so proud” and “she smashed it” with just enough cleavage in the frame to remind people that yes, you’re here supporting family, but no, you haven’t lost your edge. But also, selfishly, because the England women are hot. Like, disproportionately so. It’s suspicious. Someone should investigate.

“Let me guess,” a voice says behind you, low and amused. “You’re not here for the mini sausage rolls.”

You turn slowly, like a woman who’s watched enough true crime to clock tone, timbre, intent. You assess voices like others assess threats: slowly, carefully, always with an exit strategy. It’s Leah Williamson, living, breathing, taller than expected. That particular kind of tall that still manages to make you feel like you’d look better if you stood up straighter. Skin clear like she exfoliates with diamonds and filtered air. She’s wearing her England tracksuit half-zipped, no lanyard, like she doesn’t need it, like access is implicit. Hair up in a way that suggests zero effort and maximum effect. Like she got ready in two minutes and still managed to look like a Vogue cover. The kind that goes viral.

You blink. “What gave it away?”

She grins, eyes flicking down, then up. A practiced sweep. Not sleazy. Just clinical. “Your face is saying ‘get me out of here,’ but your outfit says you knew you’d be looked at.”

She’s not wrong. You’re wearing the blouse that gaps slightly when you breathe too deeply. The kind of outfit you wear when you want to seem chill but also low-key devastating. Your trousers are high-waisted and aggressive. Your earrings dangle like punctuation. Everything was intentional, even if you’ve lied to yourself about that three times already.

You sip the cava that’s slowly going flat in its flute. It tastes faintly of metal and regret. Like someone once promised it’d be champagne and then quietly backed out. “I like being looked at.”

She steps forward, just enough that you clock her scent—Le Labo Santal 33. Predictable. But still effective. Like rich girl pheromones. Every lesbian in a Soho House bathroom has worn it at least once. She wears it like it’s never been cliché. Like it was made for her skin.

“I like looking.”

You tilt your head. “Do you flirt with everyone who loiters by the catering?”

“No,” she says, completely serious. Not playing it for laughs. Just laying it out. “Only the ones who look like they’d let me.”

You laugh. You weren’t planning to. You’re not easy. You’re just—bored. Entertaining this. She’s entertaining. Her confidence is that particular brand of athlete-casual, like she knows she could outpace any awkward silence if it dared to challenge her.

She watches you, eyes flicking again to your mouth. Slow, deliberate. “You’ve got lipstick on your glass.”

“I always do. Bad habit.”

“I could help you fix it.”

Your eyebrow lifts, automatic. “Are you offering to drink from the other side or lick it clean?”

“Dealer’s choice.”

You hum. “Bit forward.”

She shrugs. One shoulder, casual. “Bit honest.”

“I’m older than you, you know.”

She grins. Not fazed. Not even slightly. “You say that like it’s not hot.”

You turn slightly, lean against the wall, tilt your head like you’re studying her for a project you don’t intend to finish. You’re playing now. Not because you want to win—just because you like the shape of the game.

“What’s your type?”

She takes a second. Bites her lip. Not nervous. Just drawing it out. Like she knows timing is half the seduction.

“Right now?” Her eyes scan, slow and obvious. “Blouse open one more button than is strictly necessary. Earrings from Mejuri. The kind of face that’s used to getting what it wants and the attitude to match.”

You glance at your reflection in the door of the fridge. She’s not wrong. You adjusted that button in the lift. Told yourself it was because it was warm. Not because you wanted attention. From someone. Anyone. Apparently, this is who you got.

She steps in closer. Not touching. Just close enough that you can feel her attention like a spotlight. “Name?”

You sip again. Don’t answer.

She tilts her head. “You’re mysterious. That’s sexy.”

“Don’t push it.”

She leans in, voice dropping just slightly. Low enough to feel like a secret. “If I pushed it, you’d know.”

You almost choke on your cava. This girl. This baby-faced, cocky, post-match swaggering captain is throwing out one-liners like she’s seducing her way through a Netflix original. You don’t even know if you’re annoyed or impressed. Possibly both. Probably both.

“Do you work in media?” she asks, suddenly, sharp as a cuticle knife.

You shake your head. “No.”

“PR? Events?”

“Closer.”

“So not here for work.”

“No.”

“Just for fun?”

You give her a slow, unreadable smile. The kind that’s been mistaken for consent, for challenge, for foreplay. “I was invited.”

There’s a flicker behind her eyes—barely anything, but you catch it. A recalibration. You’ve nudged her off script.

“Ah,” she says, tone smoothing out like a hand over a silk dress. “Important, then.”

You nod. Ambiguous. Let her fill in the blanks. You haven’t said who. You’re not planning to. Yet.

She nods towards the glass doors, out to the lower tier where discarded pints sweat on plastic ledges and the pitch glows radioactive green. “Came for the game, stayed for the overpriced alcohol and emotional turbulence?”

“I stayed for the company.”

“Oh yeah?”

You glance at her, deliberate. “Wasn’t expecting this, though.”

She smirks, something feline curling at the edge of her mouth. “Happy surprise?”

“TBD.”

She pauses. Thinking. You watch her do it. It’s almost charming—like catching a model doing Sudoku. She’s calculating the angle. How much charm. How much cheek. Whether to go full throttle or ease off the accelerator.

She chooses both.

“I could give you a better tour,” she says. “Not the literal kind. More… you and me. Somewhere less fluorescent. Less beige carpet. Better soundtrack.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Do you do this a lot?”

She shrugs, effortless. “Only when it’s worth it.”

“And I’m worth it?”

“Oh,” she says, stepping into your space with the grace of someone used to getting the last word, “I think you might be a little dangerous.”

“And that’s a good thing?”

“It’s a great thing. For a night. Maybe two.”

You’re just about to deliver a line—something glib, maybe filthy—when a voice cuts the air like a dentist’s drill against enamel.

“Leah?”

Both your heads turn. And there she is: Grace Clinton, blinking at the scene like she’s just stumbled into a deleted scene from Sex/Life.

Her face spasms into an expression somewhere between disbelief and acute spiritual distress. “What the hell is this?”

You smile. Angelic. Like you’ve been caught volunteering at an animal rescue. “Hi, Gracie.”

Leah does a visible double take. “Wait—Gracie?”

Grace’s stare ricochets between you like a hostage negotiator. “That’s my sister.”

Leah looks at you.

Then at her.

Then laughs.

Then freezes.

“Wait, what?”

Grace throws her hands up, righteous as a preacher mid-sermon. “You were hitting on her!”

Leah’s eyes widen like she’s been offered ketamine at brunch. “You didn’t say your sister was hot.”

Grace looks like she’s about to throw up. “Why would I say that? That’s revolting. Are you okay? Do you have a head injury?”

You lift your cava flute like a toast. “To be fair, she was extremely flattering.”

Leah’s still short-circuiting. “This is… not what i was expecting.”

Grace stabs a finger in her direction like she’s summoning a demon. “Stop trying to seduce my family!”

“She flirted back!”

“She flirts with everyone! She flirts with lollipop men and the guy from DPD. It’s chronic. It means nothing.”

You shrug. “Not nothing.”

Grace groans like her soul’s leaving her body. “I need to be exorcised. Or euthanised.”

Leah rubs a hand over her face, suddenly aware of the PR disaster unfolding in real time. “This is going to be so awkward at camp.”

“You think it’s going to be awkward?” Grace gestures wildly, borderline unhinged. “Imagine me, stuck in midfield, watching you eye-fuck my sister from the touchline.”

“Language, Grace,” you say gently, like you’ve said it a hundred times before. A calm, familiar reprimand. Not scolding—just reminding. A soft nudge from someone who changed her nappies and taught her to spell ‘definitely.’

Leah turns back to you, a grin twitching at her mouth like it’s trying to behave. “So… about that better tour…”

“Jesus Christ!” Grace howls.

You grin, all cheekbone and implication. “She’s very protective.”

Leah grins back. “You’re very tempting.”

Grace’s voice goes up an octave, full banshee. “I hate both of you!”

Leah doesn’t flinch. “You gonna tell your mum?”

“Oh, I’m telling everyone.” She’s already got her phone out like she’s reporting a crime. “Group chat’s open. You’re getting dragged.”

Leah leans in, low voice, warm breath. “Still time to sneak out the fire exit.”

You drain the last of your cava and smirk. “I’ll drive.”

And somewhere behind you, Grace wails.

Perfect.

[guiltyandashamed]

headcannons: breakfast in bed

You woke up early one morning, the House of Lamentation still cloaked in quiet. With a spark of mischief and affection, you slipped into the kitchen, determined to brighten the brothers’ day before it even began. You cooked carefully, remembering each of their favorites and set the trays with care, adding a small flower to each for charm. Walking up the stairs, you couldn't wait to surprise them with breakfast in bed.

Lucifer

Wakes up the moment you enter the room, already halfway sitting up, like he hadn't really been sleeping.

Eyes scan the tray, coffee, perfectly crisp bacon, fruit slices arranged like art. Something flickers in his chest. You went out of your way for him.

“You didn’t have to do this,” he says, but the way he reaches for the coffee immediately says thank you.

He eats slowly, savoring every bite, occasionally watching you with a thoughtful look.

He's already planning your own breakfast platter to pay you back, the thought of you waking up, eyes hazy and on him, makes his heart beat a little faster.

Mammon

Doesn’t wake up at first, tangled in blankets and snoring softly. You nudge him and he cracks one eye open.

“Huh? What’s all this?” He blinks, then sits up fast. “Wait—you made this for me?”

Turns red. Won’t stop grinning. Tries to act casual but is clearly glowing.

“I mean, obviously ya wanted to spoil yer favorite, I get it,” he says while stuffing pancakes into his mouth.

Sneaks you bites off his fork, purposefully spilling maple syrup on the corner of your lip so he can wipe it off and taste it.

Leviathan

You have to knock first or he panics and thinks it’s a raid.

When you come in with the tray, he turns pink instantly.

“Wh-what? Breakfast in bed? F-for me?!” He practically short-circuits.

Accepts it like you just gifted him a signed limited edition figure.

Eats in his tub in his hoodie, murmuring, “I’m not worthy…” between bites, but finishes everything.

Afterwards? He invites you under the blanket to watch a cozy anime about food and refuses to let go of your hand.

Satan

He’s already half-awake reading, but blinks when he smells cinnamon.

“Is that... for me?” he asks, sitting up as you walk in. He’s surprised, then immediately moved.

Watches you with soft eyes while you set it on his lap. “You thought of all my favorites,” he notes.

Compliments your cooking, then makes a mental note to do something thoughtful for you in return.

Eats quietly, then pulls you down beside him with a hand around your shoulder. “Let’s just stay like this a while.”

Asmodeus

Gasps like you just brought him a diamond necklace.

“Darling! You’re spoiling me!” He fans himself dramatically before taking your hand and kissing it.

Takes photos of the tray, himself, and then one of both of you smiling with food between you.

“This is so romantic. We should do this every weekend. Or every morning. Forever.”

After eating? He pulls you into bed and insists on feeding you bites in return. Possibly shirtless. Definitely flirty.

Beelzebub

The smell wakes him before you even get to the door.

You find him sitting up, hair messy, eyes wide with that sleepy, hopeful look.

“Is that… for me?” he asks, already moving to make room.

Devours the breakfast—but not too fast. He paces himself so he can enjoy it and say thank you properly.

Between bites, he offers you some of his toast, just in case you wanted some.

“No one’s ever done this for me before,” he says quietly. “Thank you.”

Belphegor

Grunts when you wake him. Tries to roll over.

You place the tray near him, and when he catches the smell, his nose twitches.

“For me? Not Beel?” he mutters with a smile, peeking at the tray through half-lidded eyes.

Pulls it into his lap with a yawn, leans into your shoulder while he eats slowly.

Doesn’t talk much, he’s too sleepy, but rests his head against yours.

Later whispers, “You keep doing stuff like this and I might never get out of bed”

[em1i2a3]

The Moon Song

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x Fem!Reader!

Summary: When you and Bob return from your rehearsal dinner for your wedding tomorrow, you both decide that it is time to finally practice your slow dance and settle on a song.

Warnings: Pure Fluff, and nice intimate moments, Talks about the future, Y’all it’s so sweet that it’s cavity inducing to be honest.

Author’s Note: I loved the idea that reader and Bob procrastinate for so long that they are literally making these decisions the night before the wedding, just seems like something Bob would do. I thought it would be a cute little blurb piece, cause this weekend there are some pretty heavy updates coming from the Bob o’sphere lol, and I need to ease that tension by starting with this fluff lol. I hope y’all enjoy this little piece <3 (Also, Happy RAF!)

Word Count: 3,017

The door to your shared apartment clicked shut behind you, and both you and Bob let out a long sigh at the exact same time, not even trying to hide the slight exhaustion that laced the breaths.

Your clutch landed on the little table beside the door with a dull thumb as you reached up to tug your earrings out, wincing a little at the ache in your lobes from how the weight of the jewelry pulled at them throughout the night. You didn’t try to take off your heels just yet, but your feet were already screaming for relief.

Behind you, Bob shifted his weight from one foot to the other, slowly loosening the collar of his black button up. The quietness of your apartment wrapped around you both like a blanket, giving you a breath of real air after hours of wine refills, clinking forks, and polite interrogations.

The sound of your shoes echoed down the hallways as you and Bob made your way towards your bedroom.

“That was so much small talk,” You muttered, trying to unzip your dress before realizing–for the second time tonight–you couldn’t reach behind you properly to do it. You let out a frustrated exhale and added “I’m sorry about my cousin, by the way. She was relentless…If it wasn’t for my aunt distracting me, I would’ve stepped in sooner.” Bob shrugged as you reached your bedroom door.

”It wa–wasn’t that bad,” He said gently, “Especially for it being our fi–first meeting.” You smirked and glanced over your shoulder at him.

”Well, you made a good first impression. I just wish they weren’t so pushy with you, and maybe they would actually let you finish a sentence instead of jumping in for you.” Bob reached out and took your hand, his large fingers wrapping around yours, giving them a small squeeze.

”We li–literally will never se-see them again after this anyways…There’s also a reason wh–why I didn’t meet them before tonight, right?’ You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up your throat.

”Yeah…I guess you’re right as usual.” You gave his hand a squeeze back, “You know how I am, though.” He nodded, bringing your hand up to his mouth–the diamond of your engagement ring catching in the dim light–his lips brushing against your knuckles as you stepped into the bedroom fully.

”Al–Always on the defensive for me…Ju–Just like I am for you.” You smiled, feeling the warmth blooming in your chest as the two of you paused in the center of the room, bathed in soft amber lamplight. The chaos of the evening started melting off your shoulders.

Then Bob grinned and said, “Now, turn around for me. I wanna help my fiancée un–undress one last time before I can say she’s my wi–wife.” You rolled your eyes, letting out a small laugh.

”God, you’re so sentimental tonight.” You joked, but you still turned anyway. His hands were on you instantly. They were steady and unhurried as they found the golden zipper of your short white dress, fiddling with it for a moment before guiding it slowly down your back, his fingertips skimming your spine. The fabric fluttered down your hips and pooled at your feet. In one quick movement he knelt to unbuckle your heels next–one, then the other–thumbs brushing against your calves like he wanted to remember how your skin felt tonight, of all nights–on the eve of your wedding day.

When he stood up again, he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss between your shoulder blades, then another at the top of your spine. Then another one near the nape of your neck.

“You looked be–beautiful in that dress tonight, by the way,” He said, his voice muffling and vibrating against your skin. You let out a little laugh as you turned to face him, your chest pressing against his.

”You’ve said that ten times tonight.” He smiled, eyes half-lidded as he leaned in and kissed your lips.

”El–Eleven including this time.” You sighed and kissed him again, softer now, allowing your lips to linger against his, before pulling back.

”Mmm…I love you so much.” He bumped his forehead against yours.

”I kn–know,” He whispered, “I love you too.” You smiled, reaching up to help him undo his tie, the cool fabric sliding loose with a soft hiss before you slipped it from around his neck and let it drape carelessly over the footboard. You didn’t stop there.

You glanced up once–his eyes were on you, heavy-lidded–before your fingers moved to the buttons of his shirt. One by one, you undid them. Each pop of a button revealed more of him. The line of his sternum. The slow rise and fall of his chest. The very faint dusting of light brown hair that trailed downward from the center of his ribs. The faintest pink scar near his left collarbone. All of him–warm, familiar, and yours.

And as each new inch of skin appeared, you leaned in and kissed him—soft, slow, sweet.

A kiss just below his collarbone.

Another near the center of his chest.

A final one low on his ribs.

Each one paired with whispered sweet nothings:

“So handsome.”

“Tomorrow I get to call you mine forever.”

“You’re everything to me.”

Bob stood still and quiet beneath your affection, his chest rising with every breath, eyes fluttering shut as his hands rested loosely at your waist.

When you finally stepped back, you did so slowly–eyes trailing over him one last time before giving him space to finish undressing.

You peeled off your sticky bra and underwear, reaching for the soft, worn t-shirt of his that always ended up in your drawer no matter how many times he looked for it. It still smelled faintly like cedar and fabric softener and the faintest trace of him.

You tugged it over your head and pulled on your cotton sleep shorts, the ones that rode up your thighs just a little too high for modesty but were impossibly soft and broken in from so many washes. You raked your fingers through your hair and gave it a twist into a bun.

When you turned back around, Bob had finished changing. His black dress shirt was now a forgotten memory in the hamper, and in its place: those loose grey sweatpants that always hung low on his hips and that godforsaken navy blue t-shirt. The one that clung to his shoulders and arms, fitted just enough to be devastating.

You stared.

Groaned.

“Oh my god,” you muttered, dragging a hand down your face, “You change out of that hot button-up and then put something even hotter on? Bob, how you torture me.”

He laughed, scratching the back of his neck like he couldn’t quite believe you were talking about him like that. “St–Still not used to me being in something fitted, hm?”

You stepped toward him, swaying your hips a little just because you could, and reached up to playfully tug at the hem of his shirt. “Never. And I don’t think I ever will be. It’s always a wonderful sight.”

You kissed him again, slower this time–more lips, less breath. Your hand splayed across the center of his chest, feeling the firm, steady beat of his heart beneath your palm.

He let out a low, soft moan into your mouth. Just a small one.

Enough to make you feel like you could melt into the hardwood.

When you pulled back, both of you a little flushed and breathless, Bob leaned his forehead against yours again. “Le–Let’s make some tea and relax together, hm?”

You nodded, and as you turned toward the door, he gave your butt a playful tap.

You gasped and looked back at him, eyebrows raised.

He had the nerve to look innocent, “Just giving yo–you a little love tap of encouragement.”

——————————

The kitchen was dim and glowing when you reached it, lit only by the under-cabinet lights and the golden cast from the hallway lamp.

You moved automatically, hips brushing each other in the small space as Bob pulled two mugs down from the cabinet–your favorite one with the little chip in the rim, and his black one with the faded NASA logo. The kettle was already humming on the stove, steam beginning to whisper from the spout.

You hopped up onto the counter while he reached for the tin of ginger peach tea you both loved. He spooned loose leaves into the steeper, the soft clink of metal against ceramic the only sound for a moment.

You pulled your phone from the pocket of your sleep shorts and opened your Spotify, immediately tapping into the playlist you’d been building in slow, indecisive spurts over the past few months.

“first dance???????”

The title said it all.

And now–tonight–you were scrolling through it with a dull ache in your stomach. Too many ballads. Too many lyrics about heartbreak or metaphors that felt too heavy. Everything either felt choreographed or too raw.

Behind you, Bob poured hot water over the tea, the scent of ginger and an array of mixed dried fruits beginning to warm the air. The kitchen slowly filled with that calm, earthy sweetness you always associated with late nights and deep conversations. He set your mug beside you, but you barely registered it.

Bob said something–something quiet and offhanded, voice soft and low–but you didn’t catch it.

”Hm?” You murmured, still staring at the list of songs, scrolling more and more down the list. He shook his head, smiling.

”Nothing. Yo–You’re busy.” You finally looked up from the screen, locking your phone and putting it beside you.

”No, I”m sorry. Go ahead and repeat what you said.” You said gently. He picked up his mug, leaning beside you on the counter, his free hand coming to rest on your thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze.

”I just said…We don’t ne–need to stress out about picking the perfect song…We’ll be fine.” He reassured.

“Bob…” You sighed, setting your hand over his, “We have not really been blessed with the skill of being rhythmically inclined.” He let out a soft huff of amusement, the corner of his mouth twitching up.

“So we sway ar–around a little bit for a few minutes…” He said, voice low, warm. “As long as I’m with yo–you, nothing else matters.” He pulled his hand from your thigh to reach for your mug of tea and held it out to you, like he was presenting a peace offering. “Now… drink yo–your tea and relax a bi–bit.” You took the mug with a sigh, exaggerating the frown on your face as you wrapped your fingers around it and brought it to your lips. The steam brushed your cheeks, warm and soothing, as you took a slow sip–sweet, herbal, grounding.

But when you looked over the rim of your mug, Bob was watching you with that expression. The one that said he knew exactly what you were thinking before you said it.

He shook his head and sighed, low and fond. “Alright…” He murmured, dragging out the word with performative defeat. “Let me go grab my sp–speaker, and we can go through a few songs…”

Your lips curved up immediately, hope fluttering in your chest. “Thank you.”

He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your forehead–soft, slow, lingering. “On–Only I would do this for my future wife.”

You let out a small, genuine laugh, “I’m honoured.” You replied quickly, watching as he turned and padded out of the kitchen.

Moments later, he returned, speaker in hand. He turned it on, the soft hum and flash of blue light indicating it was connected. As he returned to his space beside you, you unlocked your phone and handed it to him.

Bob opened the playlist, scrolling with one thumb while the other cradled the speaker against his hip.

“Pl–Plainsong by The Cure is great…” He said thoughtfully. “But do we really wanna be on that da–dance floor for five minutes?”

You smirked, sipping your tea. “Okay, you’re right…Let’s aim for something a bit shorter.”

Bob chuckled and scrolled again, brow furrowing slightly in concentration. “Yo–You’ve got so many songs on this pl–playlist. How the hell are we gonna decide?”

You shrugged, tapping your finger against your mug. “We whittle it down until we’ve got a top five…Then try dancing to them?”

Bob sighed, resigned. “Alright…” You leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek before he could spiral. His skin flushed pink almost instantly under your lips.

You lost track of time after the fifth or sixth song.

What started as a forty-track playlist and a long list of indecisiveness had finally been whittled down to something manageable—five songs. Five contenders for the first dance of your lives. By now, your mugs were long emptied and pushed aside on the counter, forgotten in the warmth of focused decision-making and the lazy comfort of each other’s presence.

Bob leaned his elbows on the counter beside you, scrolling through the final list. “Okay…” he exhaled. “We’ve got—it down to five songs. Which one do you want to start with?”

You hummed, stretching your arms above your head with a quiet groan. “Let’s do Sea of Love first.”

Bob offered his hand to help you down from the counter, steady and warm as always, and you took it without hesitation. Your bare feet touched the tile floor with a quiet sound, and a soft click followed as he pressed play.

The song drifted in gently—delicate and dreamy, like something meant for twilight and candlelight and hands held close to the chest.

Bob stepped toward you, and you met him in the middle of the kitchen. His hand found the small of your back while the other cradled yours carefully in his own. You rested your free hand just beneath his shoulder, fingertips grazing the curve of his bicep, your body sinking easily into his.

The music wrapped around you both like steam curling through warm air. You moved together in small, uncertain sways–barely even dancing, really. Just shifting with the rhythm. But it felt right.

He looked down at you, cheeks tinged with color, his eyes soft.

“Wh–What do you think people usually talk about when they’re actually doing th–this?” he asked quietly.

You let out a breath of laughter, gaze flicking upward to meet his. “Probably mundane things… I hope.”

He smirked, eyebrows raising with mock seriousness. “Did we lock the doors? Di–Did we invite too many guests?”

You laughed a little harder at that, your hand tightening lightly in his. “How long do we have to be here before we can go home?”

He chuckled, dipping his head close, his nose brushing yours. “I’ll start pr–preparing conversation starters in the morning.”

His hand moved slowly, absentmindedly, up and down the small of your back–just enough to soothe, enough to ground you. You leaned into him a little more, letting your cheek brush his collarbone, feeling the rise and fall of his breath beneath your palm.

After a quiet moment, you whispered, “Do you think Sentry’s going to come out tomorrow?”

His chest lifted with a deep inhale. “Ye–Yeah. Probably,” he said softly. “I do–doubt he wouldn’t. I’ll be so ov–overwhelmed with happiness, he’ll definitely be taking the wheel at so–some point.”

You tilted your head back to look at him. “I think my extended family will be very surprised to meet him.”

Bob gave a short breath of laughter and kissed your forehead with a smile that barely concealed his nerves. “We’ll really be ma–making memories at that point.”

You held him closer, letting your fingers trace slow circles along the fabric of his shirt, and for a moment, it was just the music, the warmth of his body, and the quiet in-between.

And then the next song began to play.

You hadn’t even realized the first track had ended.

It came in slow, barely there at first–soft, careful guitar strums like someone thinking out loud, hesitant and full of longing. The vocals followed, almost whispered, harmonized gently by a second voice that lingered like a ghost. The whole thing felt like standing outside on a rooftop under a navy sky, wrapped in a blanket, forehead pressed to someone else’s.

Your breath caught.

Bob’s hand stilled against your back, and neither of you said anything.

The song continued–gentle strings winding under the fragile weight of each lyric. It wasn’t polished. It wasn’t theatrical. It sounded like two people trying to hold a quiet moment in their palms and not break it.

You slowly looked up at him.

His blue eyes were glassy in the low kitchen light. Not crying–just brimming with tears that were threatening to escape.

“This one…” He said softly, voice barely above a whisper, “Fe–Feels like us…Wh–What is it called?” You coughed slightly, clearing your throat from the lump that was beginning to form.

”It’s called The Moon Song.” You replied, smiling a bit. He held you tighter, his thumb brushing a slow arc over your spine.

”It’s perfect…”

And without saying another word, the two of you swayed together in the center of your shared kitchen as the soft voices wrapped around you like the stars themselves had come inside to listen.

[urcoolgf]

GOOD MORNING

pairing. husband¡rafe && reader

content. fluff

summary. your husband, rafe, loves spoiling you in the morning (&&, of course, every other second of the day)

you roll over with a quiet groan, reaching your hand out in attempt to pull your husband closer, but instead you felt only the soft sheets. you open your eyes to find his side of the bed empty, and the quiet melody of My Girl by The Temptations playing from the kitchen. leaving the warmth of your bed made you realize you were only wearing a t-shirt and panties.

quietly, you walk out of your shared bedroom towards the kitchen as the song's volume becomes louder with the proximity. with a soft smile, you peak around the corner of the kitchen wall to find your husband cooking something delicious smelling while softly humming along to the tune of the song playing from his phone that sat on the island.

rafe looks up from his pan as if he sensed your eyes on him, and his smile widens. his bright blue eyes staring right into yours like they held the key to everything.

“good morning, beautiful. sleep well?,” he asked before looking back to his pan to make sure whatever he was cooking didn’t burn.

“mhmm,” you reply as you walk over to him and wrap your arms around his torso from behind him. you stand on your tiptoes to press a gentle kiss on his neck. he turns his head and gives you a quick kiss on the top of your head, taking in the scent of your dark curls.

“m i like this song,” you say as you release your hold on him, and sit yourself on the island counter next to some fruit in a bowl that you’re assuming is part of breakfast.

“whatcha making?,” you ask before popping a grape into your mouth, looking back at him.

“french toast,” he turned his head to smile at you.

"my favorite!," your smile softened. you looked down, playing with the diamond and pearl that adorned your ring finger, wondering how you got so lucky.

"mhm, only the best for my girl," he replied, quickly flipping the bread in the pan to reveal the other side which was the perfect golden brown color.

"has anyone ever told you you're the best husband in the world, rafe cameron?," you asked jokingly.

"my wife has told me once or twice, but y’know i'll always welcome more," he smiled and you rolled your eyes—those eyes that drove him crazy in the best way possible. he swore he could stare into your eyes for the rest of his life and be content.

the next song comes on in shuffle, Those Eyes by New West. very fitting rafe thought to himself. as he placed the last piece of french toast on the serving plate, he turned the stove off, and set the plate on the island next to you and the fruit. he then spread your thighs to stand right between them and give you a more proper good morning.

he placed his hands on your bare hips as he leaned in, and whispered against your lips.

"God this just landed right in my lap didn't it?," he smirked, and finally your lips connected. the kiss was passionate and slow, as if he had to savor every second in fear this was a dream and he would never get to feel your lips against his ever again. your fingers ran through his short, soft hair. the hair he immediately buzzed off after you commented (just once) on buzzcuts being “hot”. he pulled away ever so slightly to admire you again. your pupils were blown, and your lips were wet and slightly puffy. rafe looked down your body. his hands eventually finding their way to the hem of your panties, just playing with them. he had no further intentions right now—he just wanted to look at you.

"what is it?," you asked with a playful smile, your warm breath brushing against his face.

"my perfect wife. can't believe i'm yours 'n you're mine," he said before kissing you again. this kiss was soft and full of love, and over way too soon you thought. rafe gently picked you up off the island to set your feet on the tile. he moved away for a moment, grabbing two plates from the cabinet and forks from the drawer. he handed you one of each before pouring you a cup of coffee, and adding milk and sugar just how you liked.

he poured his own black coffee and set both the mugs on the table as you grabbed what you wanted from the spread on the island and headed to the table. you sipped on your coffee, made perfectly you thought, while you waited for him to grab his food and sit down.

"let's eat baby," he said with a smile. he watched you take the first bite of your french toast—his chin rested on the backside of his hands propped up by his elbows on the table, his blue eyes went wide, hoping he did a good job for you.

"it's perfect, rafe," you smiled.

"yeah? you're perfect," he replied quietly, smiling to himself as he began to eat, wondering how life could get any better.

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© URCOOLGF. est. 2025

[rosachae]

sell your soul, not your whole self | sophia laforteza

⁍ song: afraid - the neighbourhood ⁍ requested: yes! thank you anon. ⁍ genre: twilight au. slowburn! fluff, angst. vampire!sophia, telepath!sophia, good old 'i can read everyone but you'. ⁍ a/n: this is part two. please click here for the first part. this fic is set in 2004 around the time of the first movie. sorry for the delay in getting this out! ⁍ w.c: 19k ⁍ warnings: mentions of blood, death, illness. ⁍ synopsis:

y/n swore that forks froze over the day she left. when she returned six years later after a death in the family, she realized that nothing had changed. same old fog, same faces, same silence tucked between the trees. at least, that was until she met sophia laforteza. beautiful, aloof, and strangely out of place in the cold little town. when sophia offered to help fix up her brothers car, she soon realized she was in for more than she bargained for.

part two

‎you didn’t know what you expected after sophia’s confession in the woods, but it certainly wasn’t this.

when you came down the stairs the next morning, the last remnants of sleep still pronged through your system and your legs ached from the amount of walking you did through dirt and bark the night before. you were already wracking through your brain the different ways you’d be able to make it through your third week at forks high without having a car to drive, dreading needing to take the bus or god forbid walk through the rain. 

just as quickly as you sprung up at the sound of your alarm, however, you froze. the last thing you thought you’d see was her. standing just before the front door at the bottom of the stairs, her arms crossed over her chest. jaehyun stood beside her, a friendly grin on his face. 

you did a double take. then a triple. maybe even a forth. 

she hadn’t noticed you at first. actually, scratch that, you know she did. she very well probably heard you the second you groaned at the feel of cold air hitting your skin when you ripped your blankets off of yourself. she probably heard your grumble when you almost tripped over the cord to the box computer in the corner of your bedroom. if her words from yesterday meant anything, she heard everything. well, except for your thoughts. perhaps that was for the better. 

if she knew what you were thinking then, you probably would have dropped dead on the spot. 

the second your foot hit the last step, she turned around. 

sophia looked even better than usual, if that was possible. she wore a white blouse with the buttons undone halfway down just enough to reveal a sliver of toned stomach, a denim skirt that showed off long legs, and black boots that stopped just below her knees. a brown fur lined leather jacket draped around her shoulders, guarding her from a coldness she couldn’t even feel. but it was her face that really did it.

when her eyes met yours, the ghost of a smile tilted the corners of her lips. not wide nor dramatic, just a small, easy curve. it was almost as if she was happy to see you, if that was something she even allowed herself to be. in that moment, you forgot how to breathe properly. perhaps it was just for show, with jaehyun standing just an inch to her right. but you felt it in your chest anyway.

truth be told, you were surprised she even used the front door after the events of the night before.

‎ 

at some point, you found yourself sitting beside sophia in a wide clearing where the grass whispered in the wind and the sunlight filtered through the trees in scattered beams, soft and golden, catching on her skin until it shimmered like a thousand tiny diamonds. she let you look at her. she always had this impossible beauty, something effortless and slightly unreal, but in that moment, with petals drifting lazily through the air and the world gone still around her, you could’ve sworn you were looking at something divine. she wasn’t looking at you, her eyes were tilted toward the sky, following the slow drift of clouds, but she felt your gaze like a pulse against her skin. eventually she turned her head, just slightly, until those golden eyes met yours, steady and unguarded, like the weight she usually carried had slipped off without her noticing. she spoke softly, but every word filled the space between you.

“nineteen twenty-two,” she said, and for a second, the number felt like a thread pulling you both back through time. “i was eighteen when insung turned me. i was already dying. pneumonia. he found me in a sanatorium in some forgotten corner of the philippines. he was passing through after the war, just traveling, i think. maybe looking for something. maybe trying to forget.”

“how old is he?”

sophia smiled, but there was something ancient behind it, something that didn’t quite belong to the girl who looked barely older than you. “far older than me,” she said. “centuries, probably. he doesn’t like to say. but i was the first of us. then came daniela. his mate, yejin, was third.”

“mate?” you asked before you could stop yourself, your eyebrows furrowing. 

she hummed. “he met her during the korean war in nineteen-fifty-one. yejin was a nurse. the base had just been hit by a bomb that should have killed her instantly. he saved her, too.”

“so… they’re mates because he changed her?”

”they’re mates because they fell in love.” she speaks with a kind of faraway tone, as if she was recalling insung’s memories like they were her own. in some way, they probably were. just another caveat of reading into people's minds when thoughts were too loosely unguarded. then a frown of her own crossed her pretty face. “it’s almost tragic, don’t you think?”

“what?”

“our hearts stopped beating the minute we died, yet somehow, he found the one that would make him whole again. pity he had to curse her soul forever just for a semblance of humanity.”

you didn’t know what to say. so you said nothing. something told you her feelings on vampirism were complicated. truthfully, you didn’t want to ask too much and risk ruining the comfort she’d fallen into. 

she continued after a beat, her words hanging through the silence by a thin thread. 

“yoonchae was the latest. there’ve been others, here and there, but for most of the last decade it’s just been the five of us.”

she paused, eyes drifting back to the sky, lashes catching the sunlight like threads of gold. the silence stretched, not awkward, but full. like something living between you. it clung to the air, light and heavy all at once, like a breath held too long.

“can they all read minds like you?” you asked, your voice quiet, like anything louder might disturb the delicate balance of the moment.

she shook her head slowly, the movement small but certain, her mouth settling into a line that looked almost reluctant. “no,” she said, barely above a whisper. “just me. even then…” her gaze returned to you, sharper now, more focused, like she was trying to see past your skin and into the bones of you. “i can’t read you.”

your chest tightened. “is that why you’ve always asked me what i’m thinking?”

she didn’t look away. “yes.” another breath passed. then, quieter, she continued.  “what’s on your mind right now?”

you didn’t hesitate.

“you.”

‎ 

your heart still hammered when you remembered the way her face changed. just slightly, but enough. it was like something inside her had exhaled, some quiet tension uncoiled, like your confession had reached a place in her no one else could touch. for a second she looked almost human. and then the moment passed, delicate as glass, and she stood without a word. she took you home in silence.

‎ 

you said goodnight to jaehyun, the man half asleep on the couch with a book splayed across his chest, the tv humming something low and distant. he gave you a lazy wave without looking up, muttering something about leftovers in the fridge. you mumbled ’thanks’ and climbed the stairs slowly, still carrying the weight of her eyes in your chest. but when you opened your bedroom door, you stopped cold.

she was already there.

sophia stood by your window, the curtains pushed aside just enough to let in the pale moonlight. it carved soft shadows along her features, turned her into something both unreal and impossibly solid. she didn’t turn around when she spoke.

“i didn’t want to leave. not yet.”

“you could’ve just walked in the front door with me.”

you stood there, watching her watch you, the space between you humming like a wire pulled too tight.

“are you staying?” you asked.

she nodded once. “if you’ll let me.”

you stepped closer. “you don’t sleep.”

“no.” she tilted her head. “but you do.”

you slipped past her and into the bed, feeling the exhaustion settle deeper in your bones now that she was near. she lay down beside you a moment later, her movements weightless and careful, as if she was afraid of breaking something. maybe not you, maybe just the quiet.

she didn’t close her eyes. she lay still, on her back, one hand resting near yours on the blanket, not touching but close enough to feel the coldness radiating off her skin.

after a few minutes, you spoke. “you’re just gonna watch me sleep?”

“maybe,” she murmured, a soft smile playing at the edge of her lips. “if you let me.”

your breath slowed. her presence wrapped around you like fog, quiet and constant, and even though she didn’t move, didn’t say another word, you felt her there with every heartbeat.

you were asleep before you could ask her what she was thinking.

‎ 

you’re torn from your thoughts when jaehyun turned to face you too, the movement slow, like even that took effort. for a second, you almost didn’t register what he was wearing. not until the dull navy of his uniform caught the morning light slipping in through the window. your heart sank.

the shirt was neatly buttoned, his badge pinned to his chest like always, but the fabric hung a little looser around his midsection than it used to. he still looked pale, the kind of pale that didn’t come from the weather, and one of his hands hovered near his ribs like he was still trying to hold himself together from the inside out.

your brows pulled together before you could stop them. “jae, what are you—”

he lifted a hand and waved you off with a smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes.

“it’s okay, y/n. i’m feeling much better.”

he said it like it was nothing, like he hadn’t spent the past day drifting in and out of sleep on the living room couch. but you saw the tightness in his jaw, the way his voice caught for just a second too long. you didn’t believe him. you opened your mouth to respond, questions on the tip of your tongue, seconds away from triple checking. but he cut you off before you could do anything when he turned to look at sophia. 

“i don’t know why you didn’t bring sophia around sooner. she seems like a nice girl.” jaehyun grinned, still leaning against the wall like his ribs didn’t hurt at all. “and hey, it’s awfully kind of you to drive y/n to school.”

drive…?

the word hit you like a delayed echo. as realization settled in, a warm flush crept up your neck and fought its way across your cheeks. you hadn’t even thought that far ahead.

sophia answered before you could. her voice was soft, melodic, almost too polite. “it’s not a problem, sir.”

“sir?” jaehyun chuckled, looking far too pleased with himself. “i could get used to that.”

you groaned under your breath and rolled your eyes. without thinking, you clutched your bag tighter and moved on instinct, barely aware of what you were doing. you brushed past them, reached for sophia’s shoulder, and gently (though with a clear urgency) nudged her toward the door and out of the house at an almost comically fast pace.

“okay, that’s enough of that. bye jaehyun~”

you didn’t look back, but you could practically feel the smugness radiating off of him as the door clicked shut behind you.

stepping outside into the cold, you were hit with a biting chill that sank straight through your clothes. the air fogged with your breath the second you exhaled, a thin mist curling up into your face. a shiver ran down your spine.

that was, at least, until you realized you were still holding onto sophia’s arm in a grip just shy of iron. heat flushed your face as you quickly let go, dropping your hands to your sides before shoving them deep into your pockets. you tried to ignore the way your body reacted, the spark that jumped through you just from being that close to her.

if she noticed, she didn’t say anything. if she was bothered, she didn’t show it.

instead, she looked at you with a kind of quiet, undivided attention that made your breath catch. her gaze never wavered. it was soft, unreadable, but steady in a way that made you feel like the only thing in her line of vision was you.

your eyes dropped to her lips before you could stop yourself. they were glossy, like always, catching the dull grey light just enough to make your stomach flip. you looked away, fast.

“driving me to school?” you asked, the words coming out clumsy and too loud in the still morning air. you cringed the second you heard yourself.

sophia shrugged. then, without another word, she started walking, her steps light and precise as she carefully avoided the small puddles of rainwater scattered across the porch.

“why not.”

if you’d been paying closer attention, maybe you would’ve noticed the way she slowed her pace. how her posture shifted, just barely, senses attuned to you. ready to catch you, to steady you, if your foot so much as slipped on the wet wood.

instead, you were too busy rolling your eyes. “did you have to call him ‘sir’? i’m never going to hear the end of that one.”

“he cares for you deeply. i think that deserves respect,” she said simply, her voice light and soft.

it still caught you off guard, how nice her voice sounded. it was like hearing the most beautiful chord in a chorus for the first time. clear, warm, unexpected.

she continued after a beat, an almost amused tone lilting her voice. it didn’t take long for you to realize she must have been reading his mind on the other side of the door. “besides, he’s funny. he’s already planning ways to embarrass you when you get home.”

you groaned. you could already see it. his smug face, the annoying quips, the way he’d drag it out for days just because he could.

you’re again drawn from your thoughts as you watch the girl beside you. instead of heading for the sleek silver volvo parked by the curb, sophia turned and walked toward the garage. you stood there, confused, watching as she crossed the driveway and stopped beside the old blue chevrolet truck. she moved to the passenger side, pulled the heavy door open with a loud, familiar creak, and looked back at you.

her eyes met yours, calm and expectant.

you blinked. “what are you doing?”

“driving you to school,” she said, like it was obvious.

your eyes narrowed. “okay, you can stop fucking with me.”

you stared at her, deadpan. the two of you had only just gotten the engine running. it coughed to life, sure, but in no universe was that thing road safe yet. you weren’t even sure if all four tires were properly fitted. the brakes? questionable. the seatbelts? probably decorative.

but sophia only nodded once, slow and deliberate, her voice calm and final.

“get in.”

no room for questions. no hint of hesitation. just that steady look and the open door. waiting.

you hesitated. then you moved.

you inadvertently swallowed as you stepped under her arm, close enough to catch the soft scent of her perfume. something sweet and earthy, grounding in a way that made your chest tighten. she closed the door behind you as soon as you settled in.

you flinched when, in the blink of an eye, she was gone from your side and suddenly in the driver’s seat. one second she was holding the door, the next she was turning the key in the ignition like she’d been there the whole time. you didn’t think you’d ever get used to that.

and then, somehow, low and behold, the truck started. the engine sputtered to life like it had simply been sleeping, and sophia shifted into reverse with calm precision. you turned to her, wide eyed.

the truck was driving.

“wha— are you serious? when the hell did this happen?!”

“when you fell asleep.”

you stared at her, jaw slack. “you mean to tell me we could’ve had this truck fixed two weeks ago?”

“yes.”

flabbergasted didn’t even begin to cover it. “wha— why—”

sophia almost answered. the words hovered at the back of her throat, ready to spill. she wanted to say that insung asked her to keep an eye on you. that she was supposed to make sure you didn’t tell anyone what you saw in the woods. that getting close to you had been part of the plan.

but maybe, somewhere deep down, it wasn’t about that anymore. maybe she just wanted to keep seeing you.

she said none of it.

instead, she kept her eyes on the road as the blue chevrolet rolled down the driveway, moving smooth and free for the first time in six years.

“stop talking,” she said softly.

and so you did.

__

sophia kept her eyes forward, her fingers resting lightly on the steering wheel as the truck rolled smoothly down the long stretch of road in the direction of the highschool. the trees blurred by in a wash of green and gray, and though she appeared calm on the surface, her thoughts stirred restlessly beneath the stillness.

you sat beside her, quiet now, your presence humming in the space between you like a frequency only she could hear. it should have been a peaceful drive, uneventful, maybe even pleasant.

it was in that silence she let her mind wander to the week she was away. 

‎ 

she hadn’t meant to stay away that long. at first, she only meant to give herself a day. a few hours, even. enough time to quiet the ache in her throat, to stop her hands from shaking, to think clearly. something cracked open in her chest, something she hadn’t felt in so long it was almost unrecognizable. she was afraid.

the moment she smelled your blood, all she could hear was silence. complete and unbearable. it wasn’t the usual stillness that came with immortality. this was louder, crueler. it swallowed every thought and filled the space with instinct. it had taken everything in her not to reach out and touch you. not to sink her teeth into the soft skin of your wrist where the blood still beaded. she remembered the shape of your mouth when you winced, the furrow between your brows as you shook your hand out, thinking it was nothing. and maybe to you, it was.

but to her, it was everything.

bloodsinger. the word rang in her skull like a bell.

she drove. she vanished into the trees and didn’t stop until the scent of you had faded, burned away by wind and moss and damp pine. by the time the sun fell, she was already home. locked in the quiet of their glass house, tucked away in the thickest part of the woods where no one could find her unless they knew exactly where to look.

home. if you could even call it that.

the place had always felt like a monument to all the things they tried to forget. too beautiful, too hollow. high ceilings, clean lines, walls made of glass and quiet wealth. the kind of house that was meant to feel lived in, but never truly was. a house made for pretending. she could see her reflection in every surface. the pale curve of her jaw. the stillness in her face. the monster hiding beneath the skin.

for days, she didn’t move. didn’t speak. she sat near the massive window overlooking the edge of the cliff, watching the fog roll through the trees. she didn’t even turn on the lights. she didn’t want to see herself.

she hated this. all of it.

she hated what she was. hated the thirst that lived in her throat like it owned her. hated the way her body betrayed her. hated that no matter how much she tried to build herself into something soft and good and calm, she would always be this. a thing. a threat. even to you.

especially to you.

what scared her most wasn’t the blood. it wasn’t the hunger, or even the way she could still smell you in her hair. it was the way her chest tightened when she thought about you. the way your voice echoed in her memory. the way she had started to look forward to seeing you, even when she tried not to. that kind of hope felt like a mistake. something dangerous.

scared. the word didn’t belong to her. not anymore. not since the night she died, lungs filled with blood, body burning with fever, insung’s face the last thing she saw before everything went dark. she didn’t remember the pain. only the silence that came after. the cold. the hunger. the stillness.

and now here she was, a century later, scared of a single human. scared of your laugh, of your kindness, of the way you had looked at her when you handed her a wrench like it was some kind of gift. scared of what it would mean if she let herself stay. scared of what she would do if she didn’t leave.

so she stayed home.

she let the days pass. she didn’t tell insung. she didn’t even tell yoonchae or daniela. she let them assume she needed space, which wasn’t unusual for her. they gave it. 

it was yejin who finally asked. 

one of the cruelest truths about being a vampire, sophia had come to understand, was not the thirst or the isolation, but the simple fact that she would keep going while everyone she ever loved withered away. time did not touch her the same way it touched humans. for them, it passed gently, then swiftly, then all at once. for her, it just stood still. it watched. it waited. and it took.

she learned this lesson many times over, in many painful ways, but none hurt more than losing her mother.

her mother had been everything to her. gentle and fierce, full of stubborn love. the kind of woman who held the world together with a quiet strength, whose hands had always been warm no matter how cold the house had gotten in winter. she remembered the curve of her mother’s back as she worked in the garden, the lull of her humming in the early mornings, the softness in her voice when she called her by name.

as a newborn, she had no control. the thirst ruled her like a tyrant, leaving no room for thought, no space for love. it took everything she had to stay away, and even more to watch from a distance.

her mother sat beside her grave every day for weeks. she never cried in front of anyone else, but sophia had seen her there, shoulders hunched forward, fingers tracing the engraved letters like they still held warmth. she spoke to her sometimes. told her about the neighbors. about the flowers that refused to bloom that spring. once, she even brought sophia’s old cardigan, the one she used to wear on rainy days. she folded it carefully and laid it on the grave like it might protect her from the cold. sophia stood in the trees, just far enough away that her scent wouldn’t reach. she stayed still for hours, letting the bark dig into her palms to keep herself grounded.

her mother died there, not long after. the townspeople said it was heartbreak. she passed peacefully, slumped against the headstone with one hand resting over her heart. she could have stepped forward. could have spoken. could have touched her. but she didn’t. she couldn’t.

the hunger had been too loud. too sharp. even with every ounce of love in her, sophia knew she wasn’t safe. not then. not around the person who mattered most. and so she stood there, unmoving, as her mother’s heart beat its last. she stayed until the sun came up, and by the time the light touched the tips of the gravestone, she was already gone.

perhaps that’s exactly why she connected with yejin, the woman who lost her own son in the korean war when he was sophia’s age. yejin was the closest thing she had to a motherly figure. it was perhaps for that same reason, too, that the woman knew she wasn’t okay. 

she didn’t knock. didn’t call out. she just came into the room like she always did, quiet and steady, moving with the kind of ease that came from decades of knowing someone too well to ask for permission. sophia didn’t look up. she didn’t have to. she knew that scent, that presence, the careful stillness yejin always carried with her, like she never wanted to disturb anything she didn’t have to. hell, she could hear her thoughts, the way they flickered between worry and concern. 

“something’s wrong,” yejin said eventually, her voice quiet but unwavering. “and it’s not the usual kind.”

sophia didn’t answer right away. her jaw tensed. her gaze didn’t move. her hands, tucked against her knees, stayed perfectly still.

“i can feel it coming off you like static,” yejin added, softer now. “like it’s eating you from the inside.”

sophia closed her eyes. the words caught in her throat, tight and jagged. she hadn’t meant to let it show. not to anyone, and especially not to her.

“y/n’s blood,” she said. “it hit me like nothing else ever has.”

yejin waited.

“i’ve hunted beside humans before. i’ve cleaned wounds. it never mattered. but hers—” sophia shook her head, jaw clenched. “i couldn’t breathe. i couldn’t think. i wanted to tear through her. and at the same time, i couldn’t bear the thought of hurting her.”

she didn’t have to say it aloud to know the others would hear. every one of them. yoonchae, somewhere on the first floor pretending not to listen. daniela, probably frozen mid page in a book. and insung, in his study, already piecing together the implications before the words had even finished leaving her mouth. nothing would ever stay secret living in a house of vampires. 

“she’s my bloodsinger,” sophia said at last. 

“you should have told us sooner,” yejin said gently.

“i didn’t want to.”

“why?”

“because once i say it out loud, it’s real. and if it’s real, it becomes a problem. and if it becomes a problem, the volturi find out.”

yejin frowned. she shook her head, her lips pulling into a grim line. “you shouldn’t even be thinking about the volturi. you’ve done nothing wrong. i fear you’re getting too far into your own head that you’re driving yourself crazy worrying about issues that may never come to pass.”

sophia’s eyes finally tore away from the window and instead to the woman beside her. when she speaks her voice is quieter now. “perhaps. but i thought i could handle it. i thought it would pass. i’ve never felt anything like this. i don’t want to scare her. i don’t want to become the thing i try so hard not to be.”

yejin placed a hand gently on the back of her shoulder, grounding her.

“you are not that thing,” she said. “you’ve proven that to yourself, over and over. this doesn’t change who you are.”

sophia said nothing.

yejin gave her a moment before she continued. “but if you want to keep her close, if you want anything real, you will have to steady yourself. this feeling will not go away. you will have to live with it. learn to carry it.”

she wanted to argue. wanted to insist that distance was the only safe choice. but she didn’t. because even now, even after days of silence and self loathing, she still couldn’t stop thinking about you. the way you smiled when you spoke. the warmth of your skin when your hand brushed hers. the way your blood had made her want to rip herself in half just to keep from losing control.

for the first time in days, sophia nodded.

‎ 

“what’re you thinking about?” you asked, the silence between you broken. 

her focus snapped back to the present. your heartbeat echoed in her ears like a metronome, steady and maddening. it was always like this now. the way your blood moved under your skin, the warmth of it, the way it called to her. her memories were no longer at the crux of her mind. now, it was you. only you. 

last night, she’d laid beside you just to see if she could do it. if she could be close without caving to the pull. she stayed perfectly still, every muscle locked, eyes fixed on the slow rise and fall of your chest. the scent of you pressed in around her like fog. sweet. sharp. unbearable. there was a moment, brief, where her hand hovered just inches from your neck. she could hear your pulse there, strong and exposed.

when your question registered fully, she nearly laughed. not from humor, but from disbelief. she almost confessed the only reason your brother’s car was fixed in record time was because she needed something to stop her from losing control. something to keep her from becoming the very thing she hated most. anything to keep her from drinking you dry.

the thought stuck to her like poison. thick and corrosive, eating away at what little self control she had left.

instead, she hummed. 

“why aren’t you scared of me?”

you thought about it for a long time, weighing the words on your tongue. then you offered a small shrug. 

“you’ve given me no reason to be.”

it was maddening. confusing. it felt almost bizarre, this romanticised view. it unsettled her, the ease of your trust. like you were seeing something she didn’t believe was there. some gentler version of herself she didn’t recognize.

if only you knew what it took for her to keep still beside you. what it cost her not to pull over right now and press her mouth to your throat, just for a second. just to taste.

you said she hadn’t given you a reason to be afraid. if you only knew how many she kept hidden.

but of course, if only you knew what your words did to her. how they softened something sharp in her chest. how, for a split second, they made her feel like less of a monster and more of a girl. just a girl, looking at someone who trusted her without question. someone with eyes so open, so achingly sincere, it made her want to believe she was good.

sophia clicked her tongue against her cheek, trying to shake the feeling off before it could settle.

“you should be.”

__

the parking lot was loud with thought.

sophia heard it the second she pulled in. flickers of boredom, caffeine crashes, the low buzz of unfinished assignments. someone was trying to work up the nerve to talk to their crush. someone else was imagining a fight they’d never have. it was all familiar noise, a background hum she’d long since learned to ignore.

but the second she stepped out of the driver’s seat, it changed.

she was used to being watched. used to the shift in atmosphere when she entered a space. the way minds scattered from innocent curiosity to something sharper. her expression didn’t change. she kept her gaze straight ahead, her walk measured and light, like the earth barely held her.

you, on the other hand, were visibly spiraling.

you weren’t used to this. not the staring. not the way conversations dipped when you passed. not the sudden, quiet pull of attention toward your orbit. you’d never been invisible, but you’d always managed to fly just low enough that no one ever really looked.

until now.

you stepped out of the truck and circled around to her side, your pace steady but your pulse uneven. sophia didn’t need to glance at you to feel it. your shoulder brushed hers for half a second, and your heart gave you away.

you walked beside her like it was normal. like this wasn’t the most attention you’d gotten all year. your bag swung loose from one shoulder, your hands stuffed in your jacket pockets, your mouth pulled tight at the corners. every nerve in your body felt like it was vibrating.

she listened to the flood of thoughts crashing around you. the confusion. the judgment. the curiosity. but yours stayed silent. still unreadable. all she could track was the rhythm of your breathing and the deliberate evenness of your steps.

“they’re really staring,” you muttered.

“they’ll stop eventually,” she said.

“you think so?”

“no.”

you laughed, short and under your breath, but it slipped past your teeth before you could catch it. it made something shift in her chest. she didn’t look at you, but she heard it. felt it. wanted to hear it again.

“you always make an entrance like this? or is everything just confused why you wear skirts during winter in forks.” you asked as the two of you reached the doors.

“i usually don’t bring anyone with me.”

“besides your sisters.”

“besides them.”

across the lot, daniela leaned against her convertible with yoonchae beside her. both of them staring, less than subtle in the way they stood stiff. dani’s eyes narrowed. yoonchae tilted her head, unreadable as ever. sophia didn’t flinch. just glanced once and hummed low in her throat.

“they’re mad,” she said, eyes still ahead.

“why?”

“because now they know i told you what i am. and telling you means they can’t pretend anymore.”

you nodded like it made sense. like you were in on something bigger than you were. but the truth was, you didn’t understand. not really. you hadn’t even met her sisters yet. and now they were staring at you like you were already a problem. the last thing you wanted was to start off on the wrong foot. to be resented. to be the human who made things complicated.

you forced yourself not to look. not to shrink under the weight of their stares. you kept your eyes on sophia instead. the sharp line of her profile. the way she moved through the halls without flinching, like none of it touched her.

she didn’t slow down, didn’t change pace. but somehow, she stayed beside you the whole way. like she’d decided, without question, that if anyone had something to say, they’d have to get through her first.

somehow, it made the stares all the more bearable.

at least, that was until lunch.

you were sitting with lara, megan, and manon at your usual table, the one tucked near the back where the light didn’t hit too hard. your tray sat mostly untouched. manon had already stolen half your fries. megan was flipping her water bottle upside down over and over, like the steady rhythm might distract her from the obvious. lara sat leaned back with her arms crossed, legs stretched beneath the table like she was bored by the mere act of existing.

you knew what was coming before anyone said a word. megan, of course, broke first.

“so,” she said, dragging the syllable out until it lost all meaning. “how long have you been secretly dating the school’s most terrifyingly hot girl?”

you didn’t look up. “i’m not.”

“you dirty little liar.”

lara let out a soft laugh through her nose. “you’re blushing.”

“no i’m not.”

“you are,” manon said, deadpan. she reached over and stole another fry like it was part of the conversation. “it’s freaking me out.”

you sighed, shoulders already tense. “we’re not dating.”

megan leaned forward, elbows on the table, her voice dropping just enough to sound conspiratorial. “but she did drive you to school.”

“yeah,” you said, trying to keep it casual. “my brother’s truck works now.”

lara raised an eyebrow. “how convenient.”

“we’ve been trying to fix that thing for weeks,” you muttered. 

“hot and good with her hands,” lara mused, staring at the ceiling. “god really doesn’t play fair.”

“do you think she could fix my microwave?” manon asked. 

“she probably could,” megan said, nodding. “and she’d do it without blinking. then she’d walk away in slow motion while a storm rolled in behind her.”

you groaned. “you’re all insane.”

“we’re just observant,” megan shot back. “you’ve been here for like five minutes and suddenly sophia laforteza’s playing chauffeur? please. even mr. alberts did a double take when you walked in together.”

“did you see his face?” manon added. “he looked like he saw god. or like… a tax audit.”

lara shook her head, ignoring her friends. she levelled you with a firm look, one that pushed for ‘no bullshit’. she uncrossed her arms, an appraising hum tearing from her lips. “you’ve got everyone curious. not that i blame them.”

you shifted in your seat, hyper aware of the glances still being thrown your way across the cafeteria. some subtle. some not. you caught someone whispering and felt your stomach turn. you weren’t used to this. not the attention. not the speculation. not the feeling of being dragged into someone else’s orbit and forgetting how to find the ground again.

“we’re just friends,” you said quietly. “she’s just being nice.”

lara leaned over and rested her chin on her hand, watching you like she could read something on your face that you hadn’t said yet. too focused. too steady. not teasing anymore. it made your skin prickle in a way that felt different than before. like she was trying to pin something down. or maybe waiting for you to.

“what?” you asked, your voice lower than before. quieter.

lara shrugged, like the question hadn’t surprised her. “nothing.”

you didn’t believe her.

megan tapped her water bottle against the table, breaking the weird lull. “okay, but, hypothetically… if you were into her, and she was into you—”

“she’s not,” you interrupted.

“uh huh. anyway. if,” megan continued, undeterred, “would that mean you’re, like… off limits now?”

you blinked. “off limits?”

manon raised a brow. “what is this, a game of tag?”

megan waved a hand. “you know what i mean. the dramatic declaration kind. no one else can flirt with you now because you’re spoken for. or… silently glared at by a girl with cheekbones that could commit war crimes.”

you looked at her flatly. “no one’s spoken for.”

lara leaned in a little closer, voice smooth. “good to know.”

you glanced at her. and something in your chest shifted. not in the same way it did with sophia. not even close. but lara was looking at you differently now. not in a just teasing way. not exactly. there was something else behind her eyes. something unreadable.

you opened your mouth to say something, anything, but manon interrupted.

“i just want someone to glare at me from across a parking lot and make me feel violently safe. is that too much to ask.”

“so true,” megan said. “and maybe carry me around like a sack of flour if i break my ankle.”

“romantic,” manon said.

“i have layers.”

lara sat back again like nothing happened. like she hadn’t just looked at you like she wanted to be the one walking you to class. she stretched her legs out again, arms folded, unreadable. but her smile lingered.

you poked at your food, your thoughts a mess. sophia was nowhere in sight. hadn’t been since the start of the school day when she walked you through the halls as if nothing was different. and now lara was looking at you like maybe she was waiting for her chance.

you weren’t sure what to do with that. you weren’t sure what any of this meant.

‎ 

after school, the air smelled like wet pavement. the kind of afternoon where the sun had already given up by midday, swallowed whole by clouds, the sky still weeping from the downpour that started around seven and never really stopped. everything felt damp. slower. like the town itself was waterlogged. you stepped outside with your backpack slung half off one shoulder, head down, footsteps dragging. the halls had felt heavier today. tighter somehow. like every conversation curved in your direction, even when your name never left anyone’s mouth.

you spotted the truck almost immediately.

sophia was already there. she stood with her hands buried in the pockets of her fur-lined brown jacket, the collar of her blouse turned up against the breeze. seeing her again still sent a chill down your spine. it was disorienting, almost. how everyone looked at sophia and only saw her beauty. the way her long legs crossed as she leaned against the truck bed, black boot tapping idly against the wet pavement. she was stunning. the kind of stunning that made people stop mid sentence, like they’d seen something divine or dangerous. like medusa, but lovelier.

then there was you. wrapped in a coat that wasn’t much to look at, something plain and oversized. yet somehow, she found her way to you. it felt unreal. doubt crept in, quiet and slow, tugging at your thoughts until you had to press your lips together just to keep it from spilling out.

she wasn’t looking at you. not directly. her eyes lingered somewhere across the parking lot, above the roofs of cars, distant and unreadable. but you knew. somehow, you knew she caught every step you took. every shift in your breath. the exact moment your heart picked up pace the second you saw her.

you started walking toward her, only you didn’t make it far.

“hey,” lara called from behind you, voice easy, like she’d just decided it was worth the effort. “wait a sec.”

you turned.

she strolled up with that same confident slouch, hands shoved in her back pockets, hair catching the light like it didn’t care who noticed. her gaze flicked to sophia, then back to you. something sly in her smile. something effortless.

“you doing anything this weekend?” she asked, casually, like the question barely mattered.

“uh,” you said, blinking. “i don’t know. maybe?”

lara tilted her head slightly. “dawn of the dead is playing in port angeles. new one. zach snyder, fast zombies, lots of blood. looked stupid in the best way.”

you huffed a soft laugh. “you inviting me to a horror movie so you can pretend not to get scared?”

“nah,” she said, grin widening. “inviting you so you can pretend not to get scared.”

you rolled your eyes, but your stomach fluttered anyway.

lara shrugged. “it’s whatever. just thought it’d be fun. better seats than that trash theater by forks hospital. and i don’t really like going with people who talk during movies.” she paused, then added, like it was nothing, “you don’t strike me as someone who does.”

you hesitated. your eyes darted back toward the truck.

sophia hadn’t moved. but she wasn’t ignoring you, not really. her posture shifted, just barely. her head was still tilted away, but her body faced the truck now, angled subtly toward you. her eyes hadn’t landed on you yet, but they would. you could feel it. like a thread pulled taut between the two of you, waiting.

lara noticed the pause. didn’t push.

“you don’t have to decide now,” she said, cool and unconcerned. “just… let me know.”

you nodded once, slowly. “i’ll get back to you.”

she offered one last tight lipped grin and turned away, already halfway across the lot before you could think of anything else to say.

you took a breath and headed back toward the truck. when you got close enough, sophia finally looked at you.

her gaze tracked slow and deliberate, starting from the ground up, like she was seeing all the pieces of you and weighing each one. her expression didn’t shift. not even a little. unreadable. not cold, not warm. just… distant.

you paused beside the passenger door. she didn’t open it. didn’t move to help you like she had that morning. no soft glance. no reaching for the handle before you could. just silence. you climbed in on your own. the door creaked as it shut behind you, and she got in a beat later.

the engine rumbled to life. within a matter of moments, the blue chevrolet was cruising down the long roads of forks away from the high school. 

for a long while, the drive was quiet in a way that didn’t feel peaceful. the kind of silence that filled every inch of space between you like fog, thick and hard to see through. the kind of silence reminiscent of the first drive back from the hospital after jaehyun’s attack. it wasn’t comfortable. not like the stillness that fell over you in the clearing and her presence felt like safety. this was different. tight. brittle. the kind of quiet that pressed against your ribs and made it hard to breathe right. neither of you spoke. neither of you looked at each other. the only sounds were the low rumble of the engine and the occasional hiss of the tires over wet asphalt. you didn’t know what she was thinking, and she couldn’t know what you were. but something about the air told you she was doing everything she could not to ask.

sophia broke the silence first.

“you should have said yes.”

the words came quiet, but not uncertain. like she’d been holding them in her mouth the entire drive, rolling them around until they lost their sharpest edge.

you didn’t answer right away. your gaze was fixed on the blur of trees outside the window, your fingers fidgeting with the frayed seam of your jacket sleeve. the heater was on low, barely warming the truck, but your palms still felt clammy.

“what?” you asked, even though you’d heard her.

her eyes stayed on the road. she didn’t flinch.  “lara. you should have said yes. she likes you.”

you turned to look at her, but she didn’t meet your eyes. her grip on the steering wheel was steady, too steady, like she’d rehearsed every word and was determined not to let them slip out wrong.

you scoffed under your breath, not quite amused. “is that just your educated guess, or did you read into her, too?”

for a second, she didn’t say anything. her jaw tightened, just slightly. one hand lifted from the wheel to rake through her hair, slow and deliberate, before settling back in place. her fingers flexed once, then stilled.

“her thoughts are loud,” she said. “annoying. all day she thought of the same thing. your smile. your laugh. sitting in a movie theatre with your hands locked together. what you would look like beneath her.”

her voice stayed calm, but her jaw clenched at the end. you caught the flicker of something behind her eyes before she looked back at the road.

your stomach twisted. “you don’t seem too happy,” you said, careful but firm. “why’re you trying to encourage me to go?”

she exhaled through her nose, slow and shallow. another long beat stretched between you, thick and sharp at the edges.

“because she’s human.”

the words landed like a stone tossed into a still lake. nothing loud, but they rippled through everything.

you stared at her. she didn’t elaborate.

you sat with it, trying to understand. trying to translate what she wasn’t saying out loud. the way her shoulders had gone rigid. the way her voice had softened like she was speaking through a wall of glass.

you shook your head, brow furrowed. “what does that have to do with anything?”

she didn’t answer right away. instead, she eased the truck over to the side of the road, letting the tires crunch softly against the gravel until the engine hummed low beneath you. outside, the world was quiet, boxed in by trees that swayed slightly in the wind, tall and unmoving like they were keeping watch.

then she turned toward you, the movement fluid but deliberate, like she was bracing for something. her left hand stayed locked on the steering wheel, knuckles pale from the tension she refused to release, while her right arm reached behind you, resting against the top of your seat. it brought her close, too close, and though the space between you was small, the weight of it was enormous.

your breath hitched in your throat, not from the nearness but from the look in her eyes. it was the most emotion you had ever seen from her, intense and unguarded, flickering like a fire she hadn’t meant to let you see.

“everything, y/n,” she said, her voice sharp and steady, even though her jaw was set like she was biting back something worse. “it has everything to do with it. lara is human. she could give you a future. one with light in it. one where you get to grow old and fall in love and fight over furniture and apply for student loans. you could date. go to college together. get sick and recover and be happy. you could live your life without looking over your shoulder.”

you blinked, confused, the back of your neck prickling.  “sophia,” you said, your voice soft. “why are you saying all of this?”

she inhaled slowly, the sound too heavy to be casual. then, after a beat, she let it go. “you’re my bloodsinger, y/n.”

you stared at her, your lungs tightening like they’d forgotten what to do.

“i’m drawn to your blood in a way that defies logic. i crave it. i crave you. i can’t think when i smell it. i can’t breathe right when you’re too close. i have wanted to kill you more times than i will ever admit, and not because i want to hurt you, but because i want to feel your blood inside me like it belongs there. like it would make me whole.”

her eyes flickered down, and you followed her gaze to the base of your throat. when you swallowed, she saw it, and her expression twisted into something almost pained.

“you have no idea what it takes for me to be near you,” she continued, the words almost a whisper now. “what it costs me to sit in silence and pretend like the only thing i’m thinking about is the weather.”

then she turned away. her arm slipped from your seat, her shoulders curling inward as she settled back against her side of the truck like she couldn’t stand to be that close anymore. she stared at the dashboard as if it held all the answers she didn’t want to give.

“but my want to protect you,” she said quietly, “is stronger than anything else.”

you sat in silence, your heart racing. something in you trembled, not with fear but with something else entirely.

“now i’m scared,” you said.

she nodded once, not looking at you. her hand shifted slightly, as if she was about to open the door and leave before she could make things worse.

but you reached out and caught her shoulder, your fingers gentle but sure.

“but not of you,” you said, the words falling like truth. “i’m scared of you shutting me out because you think you’re no good for me. i don’t want lara, sophia. i never did. i want you.”

her breath caught, but she still wouldn’t look at you.

“you shouldn’t,” she whispered.

“but i do.”

the silence that followed felt heavier than anything either of you had said. she didn’t move. neither did you. her eyes stayed forward, locked on nothing, like if she just stared hard enough the moment might pass on its own. but it didn’t.

you were still holding her shoulder. you could feel how tense she was beneath your hand, like her body was caught between instincts. like she wasn’t sure if she wanted to run or stay exactly where she was.

you didn’t speak. instead, you let your fingers slide down, slow and careful, until they hovered just above her wrist. she didn’t pull away.

“sophia,” you said, barely above a whisper. her name felt fragile in your mouth. “look at me.”

she hesitated, then turned.

when her eyes met yours, something shifted in the air. the look on her face was unreadable, all soft edges wrapped in fear. but it was also open. more open than you’d ever seen her.

you leaned in first. not all at once, just enough for your forehead to brush gently against hers. she inhaled sharply, but she didn’t back away. her eyes closed for a second, like the weight of being that close was something she had to hold with both hands.

you didn’t kiss her then. not yet. you waited. you let her feel you there, warm and steady, letting her decide if it was too much.

when your nose grazed hers, she tilted forward. just a little. just enough.

her lips met yours with a softness that almost didn’t feel real. tentative, searching, like she was afraid to touch you too much. you kissed her back with the same care, your hand coming up to rest lightly against her jaw, fingertips brushing the edge of her cheekbone.

she moved like she was learning you in real time, every shift of her mouth restrained and delicate, like too much pressure might break the moment wide open.

but just as your heart began to steady into the rhythm of her, she pulled away.

slow. reluctant.

she blinked once, then twice, like she was trying to reorient herself. her breathing was shallow, and she wouldn’t meet your eyes now.

“i can’t,” she said, the words barely holding together. “if i stay in this too long, i’ll want more. and if i want more, i won’t know when to stop.”

you stayed quiet, your heart still pounding, your lips still tingling from where she touched you.

“i don’t want to hurt you,” she said again, like that alone explained everything.

you didn’t press her. you just watched her, still and quiet, giving her the space she needed even if you didn’t want to.

and she stayed there beside you. trembling, but still choosing not to leave.

__

the days began to fold into each other. weeks passed, then eventually three months.  there was a steady rhythm to the mornings that started before you even noticed it. sophia would already be outside your house, the keys to your blue truck in hand as she turned the ignition. she still insisted on driving your brother's chevrolet, even though her volvo probably handled much better over the forks roads. the sound of the trucks familiar hum always told you it was time.

she drove you to school every day, and it became part of your routine. some mornings the car was quiet, the only sounds the soft engine and pelting rain. those were the moments when the world seemed still, like the empty space between the pages of a book you wanted to keep reading.

other days she played music, strange and beautiful songs in languages you didn’t know. sophia hummed along sometimes, her voice low and steady blending with the melody. you never asked her to stop because the sound felt like a secret just between you two.

your favorite days, however, were the ones when she told you stories from her past. stories about her mother, a woman she loved deeply, both in life and beyond. the way she spoke of her carried a quiet reverence, like those memories were treasures she held close even now.

she’d tell you about gabriela, a stray dog who used to wander near her childhood home. sophia’s voice softened as she described the little dog’s stubborn loyalty and the way she’d curl up beside her on cold nights.

then there were stories about another vampire she once knew, part of a distant coven in olympia. he had taught her the basics of mechanics, patiently showing her how things worked. sophia’s eyes would light up as she recalled the wild tale he shared about single-handedly taking down a tank from the inside during world war one. those stories made you see a side of her you never expected. one that was fierce, curious, and deeply connected to a history much older than you could imagine.

those drives with sophia became the small thread that held your mornings together.

she started walking you to class. just a few steps inside the doors, nothing dramatic. your friends noticed. everyone noticed. but no one said anything until the day she sat down at your lunch table. it was a tuesday. she walked past your usual spot like she wasn’t headed there at all, then doubled back and sat right beside you. your friends froze.

megan’s hand jerked suddenly and her water bottle slipped from her fingers, hitting the floor with a sharp clatter. her eyes were wide and frozen in shock. manon’s mouth hung open, caught between disbelief and surprise. she looked like she was searching for words but couldn’t find any. lara stared at sophia as if she had just seen a ghost sitting down at her grandmother’s kitchen table. her eyes were wide and unblinking, filled with a mix of awe and confusion. no one spoke for five long seconds.

then sophia said, “hey,” simple and calm like this was the most normal thing in the world.

the tension broke slowly, awkward and uneven. your friends tried to pretend it wasn’t strange but everyone knew something had changed. things never went back to how they were before.

every day she sat with you. sometimes she talked. sometimes she didn’t. but she always looked at you first, like she was checking to see if you wanted her there. and every time, you nodded.

she still brought you to the clearing. that space remained yours alone. the grass always felt softer there, like it remembered your weight. sometimes she read to you. sometimes she let you nap against her shoulder in the sun while she traced lazy patterns into the dirt with her fingertip.

you didn’t kiss again. not yet. but the weight of that first one lingered between you, soft and unspoken. though you did come close.

‎ 

you were in jaehyun’s garage, standing near the open hood of the blue chevrolet. well, pretending to. your eyes were on her. sophia moved around the space with quiet focus, crouched by the front tire she was replacing. you’d hit something in the road on the way home, a clean, brutal pop that made your stomach drop. you remembered groaning in frustration, muttering something about your cursed luck and the fact that the truck had only just been fixed.

she’d just laughed, low and amused, already rolling up her sleeves.

but this time was different.

a month ago, she’d fixed the entire truck in a single night while you were asleep, vampiric speed and precision making it easy. now, she moved slower. deliberate. she handed you a lug nut with a slight grin and asked for the socket wrench like she didn’t already know exactly where it was. she took her time brushing past you, checking things twice. you weren’t sure if it was for your benefit or hers.

“just want to enjoy this,” she said casually, barely looking up.

you didn’t need her to explain. you felt the meaning in your chest before it ever reached your head.

you handed her a tool without her asking, and she looked at you with that soft, barely there smile. it made your pulse skip.

then came the moment you weren’t expecting. she’d just finished tightening the bolts, stood up, and stepped closer without warning. her hands found the workbench behind you, boxing you in.

your breath caught, heart stuttering. the only sound was the faint ticking of the cooling engine and the distant rustle of trees outside. her eyes searched your face for something, quiet but intense, like she was memorizing everything before it could change.

you weren’t sure who leaned in first.

but instead of pressing a kiss against your lips, she leaned in and let her lips brush gently against your cheek.

it was soft. unexpected. the kind of moment that felt heavier than it looked, like it carried the weight of a thousand unsaid things. her hand lingered near your hip, not quite touching, but close enough that you felt her there, steady and quiet.

you didn’t speak. neither did she. but you felt your face grow warm, the skin where her lips had touched tingling like it had caught sunlight in a place that rarely saw warmth.

when she pulled back, her eyes met yours for just a second too long. then she turned back to the truck like nothing had happened, and you were left standing there, breath held in a chest that suddenly felt too small.

‎ 

then came the dinner.

she didn’t make a big deal of it. she mentioned it offhandedly in the car, her voice low, careful. said she wanted you to meet her family. said they’d been asking about you. she didn’t say why that mattered. she didn’t need to.

of course, you said yes. the memory of meeting her family for the first time, minus insung, clung to your mind like a tune you’d never forget.

‎ 

the house was unreal. towering windows stretched from floor to ceiling, letting in sharp slices of pale light that made the air feel colder somehow. outside, ancient trees leaned close, their branches brushing against the glass like they were trying to whisper secrets inside. the whole place looked like something out of a dream or a carefully crafted movie set. 

sophia walked beside you up the long driveway, her steps steady but a little less guarded than usual. you noticed she was talking more, laughing quietly at things she might have brushed off before when others were around. it felt like you were seeing a side of her only reserved for moments like this, away from everyone else.

“you holding up okay?” she asked, glancing over with a quick tilt of her lips. something reminiscent of a smile, but not quite.

you nodded, trying to keep up. “yeah, it’s just… a lot.”

she hummed. “yeah, it can be. my sisters can be a bit much sometimes, just so you know.”

you smiled back, feeling some of the tension slip away. “thanks for the warning.”

she shrugged, then glanced back at the house. “don’t let them scare you off. they’re harmless… mostly.”

there was something warmer in her voice, a softness you hadn’t heard before. the sharp edges around her seemed to dull just enough to make the space between you feel less heavy.

when you reached the door, sophia stopped and looked at you again. “ready?”

you took a breath and nodded. she pushed the door open and stepped inside, the quiet pulling you both in.

the floors gleamed beneath your feet, polished so smooth they reflected your steps. the walls were painted in muted shades that made the rooms feel quiet and serious, like they held memories you weren’t meant to touch. there was an almost invisible weight in the air, a mix of beauty and something just beyond reach. it was like stepping into a different world, one where time slowed and everything felt sharper and colder at once.

you caught your breath, trying to take it all in without seeming like you didn’t belong. every detail pulled you in. the way the light caught on the glass ornaments, the faint scent of something old and clean, the silence that felt heavy but not empty. 

yejin was the first to find you, stepping softly from the shadows of the hallway with a smile that felt like sunlight breaking through the cold. she moved with an easy grace, her eyes warm and kind as she reached out a hand, gentle but sure.

“you must be y/n,” she said quietly, voice soft and steady like a calm breeze. “sophia’s told us about you.”

there was no judgment there, only something comforting, like being wrapped in a blanket after a long day. yejin’s presence eased the tightness in your chest without trying too hard.

“welcome,” she said, her smile widening just enough to make you feel seen, not just another visitor passing through.

sophia stayed close but didn’t say much, watching you both with something almost like relief. yejin’s kindness was a quiet reminder that maybe this place, with all its sharp edges and cold light, had pockets of warmth hidden beneath.

“come,” yejin said, motioning gently toward the living room. “make yourself at home.”

sophia knew the worst was yet to come when you’d meet her sisters.

yejin led you quietly down the long hallway toward the kitchen. the kitchen was striking, ultra modern and almost too perfect, with sleek, polished surfaces that gleamed under the soft lights. it looked untouched, as if no one ever really cooked here. not a single pot or pan left out, no crumbs or spills. just an immaculate space that felt more like a showroom than a place people lived in. and there, in this spotless room, stood insung, daniela, and yoonchae.

daniela stood near the counter, her eyes bright but cautious. she didn’t rush to fill the space with words or energy. instead, she observed quietly, taking everything in before deciding what to share. there was something reserved about her, a quiet strength beneath her careful smile. yoonchae leaned against the doorway, calm but watchful. her presence was steady and quiet, like she understood more than she let on. when she looked at you, it felt like she was reading the room without needing to say a word.

sophia’s shoulders tensed for a moment as you were introduced. you caught the flicker of something in her eyes. a warning, perhaps. 

“this is insung,” yejin said softly. “he’s the one who keeps everything together.”

insung looked up and nodded at you, his voice warm and steady. he smiled, the kind that lit up his handsome face. “we’ve met. it’s nice to see you again under much better circumstances.”

your mind flashed back to jaehyun’s room in forks hospital, where insung was his attending doctor. now that you thought about it, perhaps insung was to thank for your growing relationship with sophia. he was calm and steady, the kind of man who carried the weight of everything without showing it. now, watching him move around the kitchen, stirring a pot of alfredo sauce with careful hands, it almost made you laugh. you couldn’t remember why you felt so suspicious of the man when he was here in this moment making you dinner.

“daniela,” yejin added, motioning towards the latina girl standing by the counter.

daniela offered a small, polite smile, her dark eyes flickering with a quiet curiosity that made you feel like she was quietly weighing you up without judgment. her long, dark hair fell in soft waves around her face, framing delicate features that held an effortless elegance. 

“it’s nice to meet you,” she said quietly, choosing her words carefully.

then yejin turned to the lurking korean girl by the doorframe. “yoonchae.”

when yoonchae spoke up, her voice was soft and hesitant, barely louder than a whisper. you remembered sophia mentioning she was the newest in the family, still learning to adjust to everything that came with this life. a quiet pang of guilt settled in your chest as you stood there, knowing yoonchae was still getting used to feeding only on animals. if sophia’s words about the scent of your blood held any truth, it had to be a difficult change for her. a constant reminder of what she was missing, what she was trying to avoid.

“hello,” yoonchae said simply, her steady eyes meeting yours with a calmness that felt both reassuring and distant at the same time. there was something fragile in her presence, like she was holding herself together carefully, balancing between who she used to be and who she was becoming. it made you want to reach out but also reminded you to be careful. this was a family full of silent struggles hidden beneath their composed faces.

you felt sophia’s grip on your arm tighten just slightly, a silent reminder of what her family meant. the weight of their presence, the lives they carried with them. they were different from each other, but together they made this house feel alive in a way that was almost overwhelming.

dinner was strange and elegant. the room was quiet in a way that made you wonder who was actually eating and who was just pretending. someone asked if you liked the music playing softly in the background, and you realized it was the same song sophia had hummed in the car the day before. the melody lingered in the air, familiar yet mysterious.

daniela and yoonchae slowly began to warm up to you. daniela more easily than yoonchae, who kept her distance carefully, standing far enough away to avoid the risk of your blood scent reaching her. it made you feel both welcome and painfully aware of the invisible lines drawn between you.

later, when daniela was telling a particularly embarrassing story that had you laughing quietly, sophia quietly slipped away and took you to a quiet room with old records and long curtains pulled halfway closed. you guessed it had to be her bedroom.

the first thing you noticed was that there was no bed. no mattress. instead, there were rows and rows of cds and books lining every shelf, most of which were unfamiliar to you. the space felt intimate and strange, like a secret sanctuary built from memories and forgotten sounds.

you sat on the floor together, your backs resting against the cool wall. soft orchestral music filled the room, the kind of sound that wrapped around you like a slow, steady breath. sophia didn’t say much, but she didn’t need to. the silence between you spoke volumes, comforting and unspoken.

‎ 

after that night, daniela and yoonchae started sitting with you at lunch. they didn’t ask. they just appeared one day, elegant and terrifying, and took the two empty seats like they belonged. your friends didn’t ask questions. they didn’t dare.

you watched them try to act normal, try not to be obvious, try not to whisper when daniela smirked or yoonchae laughed softly at a joke no one else caught. it was chaos in the most controlled way possible.

and somehow, through all of it, sophia stayed steady by your side. in the quiet, in the noise. in the in-between. the months passed like that. simple. strange. unreal.

you stopped trying to make sense of it. it felt like falling into something deep. something warm, dangerous.

you weren’t sure you were ready to climb back out.

__

you were alone. the house felt too big when it was this quiet.

it was a friday night, and somewhere in the background, the muted roar of a high school football game buzzed through the tv, voices rising and falling with each shift of the score. jaehyun turned it on before he left, a half hearted attempt at filling the room with sound, like it might keep the silence from creeping in too fast. he laughed softly, told you not to wait up, and promised it was nothing serious. just a late patrol on the reservation. someone called in a sighting, probably another bear. he said it the way he always did when he didn’t want you to worry, casual and light, like it was routine, like it wasn’t a thing that pulled him away from the dinner table before he’d even touched his food.

you didn’t ask too many questions. not because you weren’t curious, but because you’d learned to recognize the look in his eyes when something was bothering him. he didn’t lie, exactly. he just kept the weight of things to himself. so you nodded. you let him go.

and now here you were.

the blanket you’d pulled off the back of the couch was bunched around your waist, not quite doing its job. a book lay open in your lap, forgotten somewhere between chapters. your feet were tucked beneath you, socks worn thin at the heels, toes curled against the cushions. the living room was dimly lit, the only glow coming from the soft flicker of the television and the small table lamp near the far wall. the shadows stretched long across the hardwood floors, catching on the corners of furniture, making everything feel stretched and slow.

outside, the rain had started again. soft at first, just a murmur against the roof, but it grew steadier by the minute. you could hear the water trickle down the gutters, the occasional spatter of wind pushing droplets hard against the windows. the air inside was warm, but the kind of warm that clung to your skin and made the stillness feel heavier, like the house was holding its breath.

your thoughts refused to stay put. they drifted, restless, circling around all the things you didn’t say when jaehyun left. around the silence he carried in his shoulders, the way he winced when he thought you weren’t looking. but mostly, they circled around sophia.

you hadn’t seen her since this afternoon. even though she’d told you she was going hunting and that she’d come by before the night ended, it didn’t stop the way your mind kept returning to her. wondering where she was now. wondering what she looked like in the dark, with moonlight cutting across her skin like silver. wondering if she’d think of you when the woods went still and all she could hear was the rush of wind and her own breath.

you imagined her moving through the trees like a ghost, quiet and sure, golden eyes cutting through the dark. you imagined her scenting the air, picking up trails no human could ever notice, her body moving like a thing built for the hunt, all strength and grace and restraint. but even in those thoughts, the violent ones, the ones that should have scared you– she never frightened you.

what scared you was how much you missed her.

not in the way you missed people who left for a day or two. this was different. this was the kind of ache that made time move wrong, that made every hour stretch too long, that made you glance at the window even when you knew she wasn’t there yet. you’d grown used to her presence, to the quiet way she existed beside you, never too close, but never far enough to forget. she didn’t fill the room, she haunted it. like a song you could almost hear if you listened hard enough.

your eyes drifted to the window again.

nothing. just trees swaying in the wind, branches wet and heavy. the porch light glowed dimly, casting golden circles onto the soaked wood.

you reached for your phone, checked the time.

still early. still waiting.

you told yourself it didn’t matter. you told yourself she’d come when she could. but you didn’t believe it. not really.

and the thing that scared you most, more than whatever jaehyun might have run off to, more than the shadows clawing at the corners of your vision when you stared at the window too long– was the thought that maybe sophia wouldn’t come at all. maybe this time, she’d let the silence stretch just a little too far.

maybe you’d be alone for more than just tonight.

so when the knock came, sharp and deliberate against the front door, you didn’t think.

you got up, book sliding off your lap, blanket falling around your ankles as you padded across the hardwood floor. your socks made no sound. the house felt still in that strange, suspended way it always did right before something happened.

you crossed to the door, hand already reaching for the knob. you didn’t check the peephole. you opened it.

and everything stopped.

he was standing there.

the man standing at your door hadn’t changed at all. the vampire from the woods, the one who had thrown jaehyun like he was made of nothing, the one who had lifted his head with blood dripping down his chin and stopped only when something in the forest howled loud enough to rattle your bones, was now just a few feet away, solid and terrifyingly real. he looked exactly the same as he had in that clearing. his frame was too tall, too thin, stretched in a way that seemed unnatural, like something that had been put together by mistake and left that way on purpose. his arms hung loose at his sides, long fingers curled just slightly, like he hadn’t decided yet whether to use them. his coat clung to his body, soaked through from the rain, the fabric hanging heavy and dripping in slow, deliberate lines onto your porch. dark hair stuck to his forehead in wet clumps, and his skin, even under the low porch light, looked pale enough to pass for bone. but it was his face that made your stomach twist. something about the sharp angles of it, the way his cheekbones caught the light, made you think of broken glass left too long in the sun. his eyes were the worst part. they weren’t glowing the way they had been in the woods, but the color was unmistakable. a deep, rotted red, the kind that didn’t just look hungry but ancient in its hunger, like it had been starving for something more than blood. and when he saw you, really saw you, his expression shifted. it wasn’t surprise exactly. it was recognition, and something darker threaded just beneath it, something that told you he remembered everything.

you saw it hit him. the shift in his expression. the way he tilted his head just slightly to the side, lips curling like he was trying to decide whether to smile or bare his teeth.

“well,” he said, voice low and almost amused. “look at that. i knew i remembered something.”

you reacted on instinct. tried to slam the door shut.

but he was faster.

his hand snapped out, catching the edge of the door before it could close, shoving it back with a force that made your shoulder jolt from the recoil. you stumbled backwards as he stepped inside like the threshold meant nothing.

“the girl's scent was all over the woods,” he said, eyes sweeping across the room like he was cataloguing every corner. “every rock. every branch. she tried to cover it, but not well enough. and then i found yours.”

he turned to face you fully now, slow and deliberate, the weight of his gaze making your skin crawl.

“imagine my surprise when i realized you weren’t just a bystander,” he continued, voice curling with something sharp. “no, you’re something else. something closer. the one she’s trying to hide.”

you backed away without meaning to. one step, then another, until your heel bumped into the edge of the coffee table.

“she’s not here,” you said. you tried to sound firm, but your voice cracked halfway through.

his smile deepened. “i know. but you are.”

you reached for your phone without thinking, your fingers fumbling toward the edge of the coffee table where you’d left it earlier, but you never made it. before you could even register the space between you, he was there. one moment he was standing by the door, still and watchful, and the next he had crossed the distance like it didn’t exist at all. his hand closed around your wrist with a brutal kind of precision, fingers locking down hard, cold and unrelenting, and the pressure was instant. it wasn’t just firm, it was cruel. you felt the pain bloom sharp and sudden beneath your skin, something deep giving way with a sickening twist that shot white-hot up your arm. your phone slipped from your hand and clattered uselessly to the floor as your knees buckled slightly under the shock of it. he didn’t let go. his grip only tightened for a second, like he was testing how much you could take, and then held steady, his eyes watching your face with detached interest while your breath hitched and your body fought not to cry out. the pain throbbed through your wrist in waves, pulsing in time with the panic flooding your chest, and all you could do was try not to let him see how much it hurt.

“you’re not very smart,” he said, and this time the amusement had slipped away, replaced by something colder. “but you’re brave. i’ll give you that.”

he tilted his head again, the movement small and strange, like a bird studying something it didn’t quite understand, then leaned in close enough that you could feel the cold of his breath against your cheek. his voice dropped, quieter now but more pointed, laced with something that felt like genuine curiosity wrapped in malice. 

“what is it about you that’s got her playing protector? what makes you so special?” the words slipped between his teeth like they tasted wrong on his tongue.

you couldn’t answer. your mouth wouldn’t move, your thoughts were all noise, and your heart pounded so loudly in your chest it felt like it might shatter your ribs from the inside. you couldn’t think, couldn’t speak, barely even breathed.

then something changed. a flicker of tension ran through him, almost imperceptible at first, but then his body went still in a way that was unnatural even for something like him. his eyes shifted, unfocused, as if he’d just heard something from a distance only he could make out. 

he loosened his grip on your wrist, not out of mercy, but distraction. his head turned slightly toward the hallway, toward the dark stretch of night beyond the porch. it was already too late.

wood splintered inward, the frame buckling in a violent rush of sound and motion, breaking apart so fast you barely registered it until fragments hit the floor like scattered bones. the room seemed to lurch with the force of it, the air pulled from your lungs as the pressure shifted. and then sophia was there. she moved like she had been carved from the storm outside, every inch of her soaked through, rain dripping from the ends of her hair where it clung in dark strands to her cheeks and jaw. her clothes were heavy with water and streaked with mud, but there was something else too, something darker smeared across her sleeves and collar, something that hinted at the violence she had already passed through to get here. her chest rose and fell in sharp, measured bursts, her eyes locked on the vampire with a focus so absolute it made the space around her feel colder. she wasn’t wild. she wasn’t shouting. she didn’t bare her teeth or let her hands shake. her fury wasn’t loud, but it was consuming. it lived in the set of her jaw, in the precision of her steps, in the way her entire body radiated a promise that she would not let him leave this room whole. it was not chaos. it was not panic. it was the kind of fury that only came from something ancient, something honed, something that knew exactly how to destroy.

“step away from her,” she said, her voice not wavering for even a second. it was low and calm, steady in a way that cut straight through the tension.

her eyes locked onto the place where his hand was still wrapped around your wrist, and in that instant, the temperature in the room seemed to drop. his fingers tightened, either out of spite or instinct, and this time the pain was immediate and brutal. it surged up your arm once again like fire, hot and blinding, and before you could stop yourself, a cry tore free from your throat. small, raw, and involuntary. the sound cracked the silence in a way nothing else had. your knees buckled slightly, vision going white at the edges, and you felt the bones in your wrist shift under the pressure like they were beginning to give.

sophia didn’t move yet, but you saw it in her eyes, the way her expression darkened. something in her snapped, quiet and final, like a wire pulled too tight. she wasn’t just furious now. she was poised. ready. seconds from becoming something unstoppable.

“so this is what you’re protecting?” he said, voice low and almost amused, but thin at the edges. “you’re willing to die for her?”

sophia didn’t blink. “no,” she said, her voice sharp and unyielding. “i’m willing to kill for her.”

for the briefest second, something in the vampire faltered. not much. not enough to make him let go. but enough that his stance shifted, enough that his head turned toward her just slightly.

“you shouldn’t have followed me here,” he said, and though he still sounded sure of himself, there was a crack in it now.

sophia’s eyes narrowed. her voice dropped even lower, almost a whisper. “you shouldn’t have touched her.”

then she moved. but, only a second too late.

in one brutal motion, he shoved you backward with a force so sudden and unforgiving that your feet left the floor. the room spun, a blur of movement and pain, and your body slammed into the wall with a sickening crack that stole the breath from your lungs. your already shattered wrist folded beneath you at the wrong angle, bones splintering even further under the pressure. your shoulder crashing through the narrow pane of glass on the wall, a mirror. it shattered around you, cold and sharp, a single shard slicing deep into your skin and embedding itself beneath your collarbone. the pain was immediate, staggering. and then your blood hit the air.

he turned toward you like something snapped loose inside him. his head tilted, nostrils flaring, and for a moment, he looked rabid. eyes darkening, jaw tightening, his entire body tensed like he was preparing to lunge. he looked at you the way a starving thing might look at its final meal. 

but sophia was already there.

she slammed into him before he could move another inch, her body a blur of force and fury. they collided in the center of the room with a sound that cracked through the air like thunder, raw and deafening. the floor groaned under the weight of it, wood splitting in jagged lines beneath their feet. your lamp exploded behind them, shards of lightbulb scattering across the floor like sparks. your breath caught in your throat, shallow and ragged, as you watched them twist together, all limbs and teeth and fury, moving too fast for your eyes to keep up. she didn’t hesitate. she didn’t hold back. her face was carved into something ruthless and unrecognizable. this wasn’t the sophia who walked you to class. this was something else.

he clawed at her, snarling, trying to get past. she drove him backward, slammed him through the wall. glass rained down.

he was strong. but she was stronger. and she was angry.

his hand caught her arm, sharp and sure, twisting hard, but she let him. she leaned into it, let the momentum pull her just enough to pivot, and then her elbow came up hard into the hinge of his jaw. the crack of it was deep and solid, like stone breaking under pressure.

he hit the floor with a sound that felt final.

she didn’t pause. not even for breath. she was on him before his body settled, knees pinning his ribs, one hand locked in the collar of his coat. her weight held him down, steady and unrelenting, her body curved over his like a storm still gathering.

her face hovered inches above his. her breath ran hot between them. strands of wet hair clung to her cheek, stuck by rain. her eyes burned gold through the dark. her teeth were bared, not in warning, but in promise.

“if you ever come near her again,” sophia said, her voice coiled with something that didn’t belong to this world, something colder and older than the rain still dripping from her sleeves, “i will end you.”

he didn’t flinch. didn’t speak. the corner of his mouth twitched, but whether it was mockery or instinct didn’t matter. in one fluid, unnatural motion, he tried to shove her off of his body and lunge forward. not at her. at you.

your body was still slumped against the wall, pain pulsing through every breath you tried to take. your wrist throbbed with a hot, raw ache that made your vision swim, and the shard of glass beneath your collarbone pulsed like a second heartbeat. you tried to move, tried to push yourself upright, but everything inside you felt too heavy, like the impact had pressed you into the floor and left you there to wait.

all you could do was watch.

sophia was on him before he could make space between them. she didn’t shout, didn’t make a sound, just moved with the kind of speed that didn’t seem possible. the air seemed to bend around her as she struck. her hands found him with perfect precision, one at his jaw, the other braced at the back of his skull, fingers locking down like she had done this before, like she had practiced it a thousand times in her head while waiting for the right moment.

she twisted with her full strength, her entire body moving with the kind of force that didn’t belong in something shaped like a girl. the sound that followed didn’t belong in a living room. it was hard and brutal, like stone shattering. like something hard like marble snapping apart under pressure that had built too long. there was no blood. no gore. just the clean, echoing crack of something that had never been meant to break, breaking anyway.

his body dropped first, folding inward at her feet, limbs buckling in a way that made it clear the life inside him– whatever twisted, wrong thing had been animating him– was already gone. his head followed half a second later, slipping from her grip and landing with a weighty thud that shook the floorboards beneath it.

she didn’t look at him. didn’t spare the remains a single glance. she let his head fall like it meant nothing, like it was exactly what she had intended from the start.

the room was silent. not the kind of silence that comes from quiet, but the kind that follows something catastrophic. like the house itself had been holding its breath and was now waiting to see what would happen next.

sophia stood there for a long moment, her clothes clinging to her like a second skin. her eyes were fixed on the space where he had been. her expression didn’t change, but something in her posture shifted, like whatever had been coiled tight inside her had finally been released.

then she turned to you.

her gaze found yours instantly, cutting through the dim light like it had been trained there all along. she crossed the room with steady steps, the wreckage of the fight scattered around her feet, glass and broken wood crunching beneath her boots as she moved toward you.

she didn’t speak, not right away. she just knelt beside you, careful.

“i’m here,” she said, barely above a whisper.

and for the first time since the knock on the door, your body began to believe it was safe to breathe again.

she didn’t move right away. her thumb traced the edge of your cheekbone, featherlight, like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to touch you yet. her other hand hovered just beneath your elbow, steadying you without pressing too hard. she was trying to be gentle, trying to be careful, but her eyes kept shifting. you noticed the way they darted across your face, then lower, like she was tracking something she didn’t want to see.

then she saw it.

the blood.

her gaze dropped to your shoulder, to the place where the glass had broken skin and left something jagged behind. she went still. the kind of still that didn’t belong to anything human. her breath caught, quiet and shallow, and for a moment she just stared. her fingers moved instinctively, brushing closer, and when they came away stained red, she stared at them like they didn’t belong to her.

your blood was warm against her skin.

something inside her shifted. not visibly, but you could feel it. the air between you grew tight, almost electric, and her eyes darkened at the edges. she looked at her hand again, then back at your face. her expression didn’t change much, but her body had. her spine straightened just slightly. her shoulders locked. there was a tension now in her jaw, in her neck, in the way her teeth pressed together behind her lips. she was holding something back. fiercely.

she didn’t breathe in again. you realized that after a few seconds. she was forcing herself not to.

you could tell how hard it was. her hands had stopped shaking, but only because she wasn’t letting herself move at all. it would have been easy for her to lean in. too easy. the scent of you was everywhere now, filling the room, thick in the air between her fingers. it wasn’t just the blood. it was you. the heat of your skin. the way your pulse still beat beneath the surface. everything about you called to her.

but she stayed still.

her body was quiet and closed off, like she had thrown a wall up around herself, one built from willpower alone. you watched her jaw flex again, a small motion, barely visible. her throat moved once. and then again. her eyes flicked down to your collarbone, where the glass was still buried, and then back up to your face.

she blinked. slow and controlled.

“you’re bleeding,” she said, and her voice was quiet. too quiet. not from fear, but from focus. it sounded like she had pulled each word from the center of a storm.

her fingers brushed your arm again. steadier this time. not because the hunger was gone, but because she had chosen not to let it win.

she was still choosing. every second.

and even though you could feel how close she was to slipping, she held herself back for you. completely. entirely. because she would rather fall apart piece by piece than ever risk hurting you.

the room tilted. not sharply, but in a slow, disorienting way, like the floor was drifting out from under you inch by inch. sophia’s face moved closer, her hands cupping your cheeks again, firmer this time, trying to keep you here.

“stay with me,” she said. her voice trembled now, only slightly, but you caught it. she was scared. she was trying not to show it, but it was there in her eyes.

you opened your mouth to say something. you weren’t sure what. you didn’t get the chance.

everything pulled back. the light in the room dimmed, not because the lamp flickered, but because your body couldn’t keep up anymore. your heartbeat thundered in your ears once, twice, and then it faded beneath a rising hush. the edges of everything softened until even her face didn’t look like a face anymore. just light and shadow and warmth.

you wanted to tell her you were okay. that you’d be fine. that she didn’t have to worry.

but the words never came. the last thing you felt was the press of her fingers against your skin.

then everything went dark.

‎ 

‎ 

you wake to a strange kind of quiet, the kind that doesn’t feel peaceful so much as suspended, like the whole world has pressed pause around you and is waiting to see what happens next. the ceiling above you is a dull white, too bright in some places where the overhead light reflects against the sterile paint, and too shadowed in others where it gathers into corners like dust. the air smells clean in that oddly suffocating way hospitals always do, a mix of antiseptic and something older that clings to the back of your throat like memory.

your eyes don’t adjust right away. your body feels heavy, as if your limbs were stuffed with sand, and the muscles in your neck protest when you shift your head even slightly to the side. everything aches, but not sharply. it’s a dull, muted kind of pain, like your body hasn’t fully decided whether it’s finished being scared yet. your wrist twinges beneath the weight of a cast or a brace or maybe just thick gauze. you can’t quite tell.

for a moment, you forget where you are. or maybe you’re hoping that it’s a dream, that if you close your eyes again, you’ll wake up in your own bed, tucked beneath blankets that still smell like rain and soft detergent. but then your gaze lands on the edge of the IV stand, the pale blue curtain pulled halfway around your bed, and the machine beside you humming in a slow, even rhythm, and it all comes back.

the hospital.

only this time, you’re the one in the bed.

you’ve been here before, but not like this. last time, it was jaehyun in this room, half conscious and pale with bruises pressed into his ribs like fingerprints. you remember sitting right where he is now, curled in a chair that didn’t recline, your legs going numb after too many hours in the same position. you remember counting his breaths. memorizing the beeping patterns on the monitors. trying to stay awake because closing your eyes felt too much like giving up.

and now here you are, on the other side of it. wrapped in layers of hospital linens, muscles still stiff from whatever drugs they gave you, head pounding like something’s still trying to shake loose. your mouth is dry. your lips are cracked. and the silence of it all feels colder than it should.

it’s not just the shift in roles that rattles you. it’s the sheer stillness. the vulnerability. the quiet realization that someone else had to carry you this time, that someone else sat through the night not knowing if you’d wake up.

you drag in a breath that doesn’t quite fill your lungs. your eyes drift, slow and unfocused, and then they find him.

jaehyun. sitting at your bedside, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped loosely between them like he’s trying not to wring them out. he’s wearing the same hoodie he always reaches for when he doesn’t know what else to do with himself. the one with a small tear at the sleeve and faded lettering on the chest. his hair is a mess. he looks like he hasn’t slept. he also looks like he hasn’t moved since you were brought in.

you shift slightly, and it’s enough. his head snaps up.

“y/n?”

his voice sounds strange in the quiet. too loud, but too careful. like saying your name too hard might break something.

your eyes meet, and the relief that floods his face is immediate and overwhelming. he exhales, all at once, like he’s been holding his breath for hours.

“jesus. thank god. i didn’t know when you’d—”

he cuts himself off, leaning forward, one hand reaching for yours instinctively but hovering just before he touches it, like he’s still unsure if it would hurt you. his eyes are glassy. the kind of glassy that comes from sitting in too many waiting rooms without answers. the kind that makes you want to say something to comfort him, even though you’re the one lying in a hospital bed.

“you scared the hell out of me,” he says, quieter now. “you really did.”

your throat feels like it’s full of gravel, but somehow, your voice finds its way through.

“what happened?”

jaehyun hesitates. and that’s when you know something’s wrong. not just the kind of wrong that ends in stitches and gauze, but the kind that leaves invisible bruises on the people who weren’t even the ones bleeding.

he leans back, scrubs a hand over his face, and says, “they think it was an animal. must’ve broken into the house. you were lucky. they said it could’ve been worse.”

you watch his expression closely. the crease between his eyebrows. the way his mouth doesn’t quite settle after he speaks. he’s trying to convince you, but you can see it. he doesn’t believe it either.

and neither do you. not when the memories filter back through your mind. images of the vampires red eyes, the way sophia saved you.

you glance past him, toward the corner of the room, where the shadows gather more tightly. and there she is. sophia. curled in the hospital chair, still and silent, pretending to sleep. your heartbeat skips. but you don’t say her name, not yet. not with jaehyun still sitting there, looking at you like he might fall apart if you say the wrong thing.

you just squeeze his hand. lightly. enough to let him know you’re still here. still trying. still breathing. and for now, that’s enough.

“thank you,” you say.

he frowns. “for what?”

“for being here.”

he lets out a slow breath. something in his shoulders loosens. “always.”

the door creaks open just enough for a sliver of warm light to slip through. a nurse leans in, her voice gentle, practiced, the kind you’ve heard before in long hallways and late nights.

“just checking in,” she says with a soft smile. “i’ll come back in a bit.”

jaehyun nods without turning. “thank you.”

she disappears with the same quiet she came in with, and the door eases shut behind her. jaehyun stays still for a moment, then stands with a quiet breath, his knees stiff from sitting too long. his eyes flick toward the corner of the room, just briefly, like he’s checking for something he already knows.

“i’ll give you two a minute,” he says, voice low. he lingers in the doorway, hand resting lightly on the handle. “she hasn’t left your side. not once.”

his words land like something soft and solid in your chest. they settle there.

and then he’s gone.

you turn toward the corner, a second away from gently calling her name. but her eyes are already open. wide and gold, catching the light from the window in a way that makes them almost unreal. she must’ve heard everything. your voice, the nurse, the quiet shift in the room when jaehyun stepped out. or maybe she never stopped listening in the first place.

she sits perfectly still, legs folded beneath her, arms tucked around herself like she’s holding something fragile inside her chest. she doesn’t speak right away. just looks at you, expression unreadable, like she hasn’t yet decided what emotion she’s allowed to show. the sharpness she usually wears like armor is still there, but beneath it, there’s something else. a tension pulling at the corners of her mouth. a tightness in her jaw. nerves, maybe. guilt, definitely.

she looks good. impossibly good. even in this ugly, overlit hospital room with linoleum floors and stiff curtains and the scent of disinfectant still lingering in the air. she looks like she doesn’t belong here. like something carved out of a different world entirely, dressed in shadows and softness. her hair is loose around her shoulders, her jacket draped over the back of the chair. and yet her posture hasn’t relaxed once.

you stare at each other for a second too long. then her gaze shifts, just barely, to your wrist, wrapped in bandages, resting on top of the blanket like it doesn’t belong to you. her lips part like she wants to say something, but the words get caught in her throat. you can see it. the flicker of emotion tightening behind her eyes. fear. maybe shame.

you open your mouth first.

“sophia.”

the sound of her name does something to her. not visibly, not at first, but you see the way her throat moves when she swallows. like the weight of hearing you say it is almost too much.

she stands slowly, quiet as ever, and crosses the room in three unhurried steps. when she reaches your bedside, she doesn’t sit. she just stands there, close enough to touch, far enough to hold back. her hands curl slightly at her sides like she doesn’t trust herself to get too close.

“you’re okay,” she says, finally. but her voice is tight. cautious. like she’s still trying to believe it herself.

you nod, slow. “thanks to you.”

she shakes her head, barely. “you got lucky.”

you blink at her. “is that what we’re calling it now?”

she flinched, just slightly, and then her eyes met yours again. this time she doesn’t look away. and you can see it, clear as anything. the nerves. the guilt. the panic she’s trying to keep buried under all that stillness.

“i should’ve stopped him faster,” she says, voice low. “i should’ve gotten there sooner. he touched you.”

you watch her, heart aching, because you know what it cost her to say that. what it’s still costing her to stand here and not reach for you. to keep that part of herself locked up tight because she’s still scared of what it would mean to let it out.

you reach for her hand. slowly. carefully. your fingers brush hers, and she flinches again, not from you, but from herself. like she’s afraid she might break something just by touching it.

“i’m so sorry,” she swallowed, the words catching at the edges like they had claws.

“you came,” you said, barely a whisper. “that’s more than enough.”

she didn’t answer right away. her eyes stayed on you, locked like they didn’t know how to look anywhere else. it was the kind of look that felt like falling and being caught all at once. like she was afraid you might disappear if she blinked. like you were the only thing in the room holding her together.

“i would always come back,” she said. “i will always come back for you.”

you swallowed hard. your throat was tight, and your chest hurt in a way that had nothing to do with your injuries.

“sophia...”

she shook her head slightly, like she already knew what you were going to say and couldn’t bear to let it come first. then she stepped closer, just barely, enough for the shadows to shift around her, enough for her voice to land between you like something irreversible.

“i love you.”

the words didn’t feel soft or gentle. they felt raw. exposed. like they’d been ripped out of her, unpracticed and desperate and real.

you blinked, stunned. “what?”

“i love you,” she said again, more certain this time, like she couldn’t un-say it even if she tried. “i’ve tried not to. i’ve tried to stay away. but i can’t. i love you. completely. horribly. every part of me is yours, and it terrifies me.”

you didn’t realize you were crying until the tear slipped over your cheek, slow and silent. your hand moved before your brain could catch up, lifting shakily from the blanket, reaching up until your fingertips brushed the curve of her face.

she leaned into your touch like it hurt to resist.

“i love you too,” you whispered.

and for a second, neither of you breathed.

the air between you shifted, quiet but full. it felt like something had cracked open in the middle of the room. something too sacred to name. not a declaration. not a promise. something older. something that had always been there, waiting for the right moment to be seen.

her eyes closed. her hand came up slowly, covering yours.

you didn’t know what tomorrow would look like. or the day after that. but right now, in this too-bright hospital room that smelled like bleach and fear and hope, she was here.

and that was enough.

then she leaned down, slow and careful, like she was afraid the moment might break if she moved too fast. her face hovered just above yours, close enough that you could see every detail. the soft curve of her mouth. the flicker of gold in her eyes. the tension in her jaw that hadn’t quite let go, like part of her still didn’t believe this was real.

she didn’t kiss you right away. she just looked at you, like she was memorizing something. like she needed to be sure this was allowed. this close, you could feel the cool of her breath against your skin. the weight of the moment settled around you like fog, heavy and quiet.

then, without a word, she sank into the chair beside your bed. the same one jaehyun had been in only moments before. her hand never left yours.

she kissed you. not rushed. not messy. not like the world had just tried to end.

her lips met yours with a kind of reverence, like she’d been holding the feeling in her chest for so long it had started to fray at the edges. the kiss wasn’t desperate. it wasn’t loud or wild or filled with panic. it was steady. certain. like she needed you to know this wasn’t just adrenaline or fear or some fleeting, storm-tossed thing. it was quiet and patient, like she had all the time in the world to learn you this way.

her hand rose to your jaw, fingers cold but touch impossibly gentle, and she tilted her head just enough for the kiss to deepen. not in pressure, but in intention. the kind of kiss that asks a question and offers an answer at the same time.

you kissed her back like it was the only thing keeping you grounded. like every slow brush of her mouth against yours stitched something back together inside you. like you could still feel the echo of her voice in your head, saying she would always come back for you.

you kissed her like she was the reason the world kept going.

because maybe she was.

__

you’re sitting on the bed of the blue chevrolet, legs curled beneath you, good hand cradling the paper cup yejin handed you before the game started. it’s warm now, not hot, the cocoa inside starting to cool with the breeze. the air smells like wet moss and mountain wind, thick with the memory of rain. it’s been a month since you left the hospital. your wrist is still splinted, sore in the mornings, but healing. everything is healing. slowly. awkwardly. like you’re still remembering how to live in your body again.

the clearing stretches out before you, slick with light. the sky is all deep blue and streaks of dying sun, clouds barely clinging to the edges. someone brought bases. someone else dragged out old gloves and bats. you’re not sure who started it. maybe daniela, maybe insung. but now they’re all playing.

you watch them blur through the trees, flicker across the grass like light itself. not human. never human. not even pretending to be. sophia's hair whips behind her as she chases a fly ball like she was born to move like this. her laughter breaks the air sharp and sweet, a sound you never thought you’d hear from her. it sends something through you. warmth. disbelief. maybe even hope.

she’s changed. not all at once. not in the big ways. she still watches the world with those heavy eyes. still carries her stillness like armor. but you see it now, in the way she teases daniela when she misses a catch. in the way she glances at you between plays, just for a second, like she’s checking if you’re still watching.

you are. you always are.

the others treat you gently. careful around your wrist. careful around your space. daniela offered you her jacket when the wind picked up. yoonchae brought extra pillows to prop against the truck bed so you wouldn’t ache by the time the sun dipped. insung gave you a small nod earlier, almost approving. maybe you’re part of it now. maybe not fully. maybe just enough to stay.

you sip from the paper cup and let the quiet settle.

it’s strange, you think, how this became your life. vampires playing baseball in a clearing like a dream someone forgot to wake up from. you, sitting in the bed of your brother’s old truck, splint wrapped tight around your arm, watching sophia run like the wind answers to her. if someone had told you this six months ago, you would’ve laughed. or cried. maybe both.

now, it feels like the only version of peace you understand.

your eyes find sophia again. she’s up to bat. daniela’s pitching. the others are scattered across the field, ready. sophia leans forward, eyes sharp, grip firm.

then crack. the sound splits the air. the ball rockets up, vanishes into the sky. you can’t even track it. she doesn’t wait. her body moves like instinct, like music. one base. two. three.

home.

and then she’s not on the field anymore. not even a blur. just a rush of wind and the flicker of a grin before her hands are on the edge of the truck bed and she’s vaulting up beside you.

you don’t have time to react before she leans in, one hand catching the side of your face, the other bracing against the metal, and her mouth meets yours.

it’s not slow. not shy. but not hungry either. just sure.

when she pulls away, her smile is crooked. you don’t know if she’s breathless, or if it’s just the way she looks at you now. like you’re the only thing she lets herself want.

you reach up with your good hand and tug her jacket until she stays close. the others are still laughing in the distance. the clouds stretch wide above you. the night hasn’t fully arrived yet.

you’re not sure what’s coming next. not exactly.

this, you think, blinking against the quiet between your heartbeats. this would be your normalcy.

at least for now.

part two

[kirbmey]

— s1!jayvik headcanons (＞×＜)

synopsis: viktor and jayce need the help of a new investor to keep up with their research and fall in love with his daughter <3

tw: suggestive, reader is an spoiled brat, established!jayvik, not canon obv, jayce’s lowk pathetic, reader calls her father “daddy”, viktor takes the lead, choking mention if u squint, etc.

s1!jayvik who, with sky’s help, managed to find an aristocrat in piltover who was willing to meet with them and talk about hextech.

s1!jayvik who attend to your maybe-too-big mansion to discuss terms with your father while having dinner, and you were there too (๑╹ᆺ╹)

s1!jayvik who were known all over topside for being a pair of handsome inventors and curiosity peeked trough you, fixated on meeting them.

s1!jayvik who expected your father and your father alone, jayce shy at your presence and viktor already staging ways to approach you later.

s1!jayvik who, while dinner occurs, don’t fail to notice your cute curls and your lipstick a beautiful shade of crimson, you just playing a fool even though you knew you caught their eye the first second they stepped inside your house.

s1!jayce who’s mesmerized in the way your lips wrap around the fork to take a bite, on how you push your long hair aside while drinking, maybe even how your necklace decorated your throat, thinking his hand would look better (ʃᵕ̩̩ ᵕ̩̩⑅)

s1!jayce who feels the real shame every time he has to excuse himself to your father because he didn’t really paid attention to what he said. such a silly boy :(

s1!viktor who’s a lot better at hiding his lustful gazes, having the investment a priority; after getting the accord, he can worry about how he’ll get under your garments.

s1!viktor who actually listens and actually eats something at the dinner.

s1!viktor who notices deeper details about you, the moles all over your skin, the number of little diamonds your ring had, the way one of your eyebrows was thinner than the other (how your breast almost spilled out of your white dress), you know, deeper details ♡￫ܫ￩♡

“so, I need to make sure my money is sent to smart hands, gentlemen, can you show me anything about this hextech thing?” your dad spoke in a deep voice that echoed the grand dining room, contrasting with the soft violin playing on the background.

“of course! we brought tons of sketches and studies and analysis and—” jayce implied excited, always happy to talk about the project of his life, being interrupted by viktor’s skinny hand on his shoulder while the other one passed a notebook to your father.

“that’s all you’re actually interested in, sir.” he declared with a thick accent, it made you curious to know where it belonged to.

s1!jayce who anxiously plays with viktor’s brace under the table, tracing its shape while shaking his leg, looking adorably concerned.

s1!viktor who caresses the big hand that toyed with the metal around his calf and knee, circling motions over his knuckles to calm his partner down.

your father didn’t seem to really trust the idea brought to the table, the implication of magic clashing with his ideals. therefore you leaned closer to him, head against his shoulder as you read the notebook as well, noticing viktor’s neat handwriting.

“oh, daddy, isn’t this just so so so interesting?” you voiced with a honey sweet tone, locking his arm with your own.

“look, portals to quickly travel between regions? imagine all the money piltover would make, all thanks to you investing in ‘em.” you murmured now, locking eyes with viktor, who was smirking at you subtly, jayce too nervous to even hear what you said (◕︿◕✿)

“hmm, still, darling, magic?” your father questioned with a slight disgust in his voice, putting the papers down and sighing while massaging his mustache.

“wasn’t piltover the city of progress? this really seems like progress to me…” you looked at him with a pout plastered on your juicy lips. “i think leaving old stigmas and taboos behind is really… progressy.”

s1!jayvik who watch you leave towards the gardens after making your father deal with them a crazy amount of money with just some puppy eyes and sultry voice.

s1!jayvik who catch a glimpse of your white nightgown covering the grass of said garden while you sat down, playing around with a stray cat, it almost seemed like you were waiting for them.

s1!jayvik who approach you after viktor insisted, to thank you, and maybe have an intimate conversation with you, too.

“thank you for interfering, my lady, if it wasn’t for you we would’ve left empty handed.” viktor confessed while siting down on the stone bench under the white pergola where you sat, the moonlight highlighting your angel-like features, leaving his cane on top of said surface.

jayce sat down in front of you in the floor with some distance, legs crossed and arms propped behind him, tilting his head to the side when he noticed how you scooted closer to him and blushing to this right after.

“well, it wasn’t charity, you know.” you murmur in a sweet tone, curling your hair around your manicured finger as you stood on your knees, taking support from jayce’s thick thigh to end up facing viktor from above, as if you were worshipping him.

the skinnier man scoffed at this, noticing how your cheek rested now against his inner thigh, how your hair fell down your exposed back as jayce held your hand to take place in the empty space next to you, mimicking how you rested your head to stare at you, viktor caressing his now not so put together hair in a way he seemed to be accustomed already.

“then, what is it that you desire from us in exchange, little angel?” he questioned with that accent that you started to fall in love with, his thin fingers coming down to hold your chin, making you look up to him.

“mmm, i dunno…” you feigned hesitation, reaching jayce’s handsome face to scratch behind his ear slowly, noticing how he didn’t comply, such a puppy. “maybe take me to your laboratory and show me your advances from time to time.” you pouted when you felt his thumb smudge some of your expensive lipstick away.

“wouldn’t want you two forgetting about me.” you confessed before taking said thumb between your lips, looking up to him. jayce took your smaller hand between his, inhaling your cherry scented hand cream before peppering kisses all over it.

“we would never forget about you, bunny.” he said softly against your skin, caressing your cheek while you kept on sucking viktor’s finger, adverting your gaze to him now. “you can come over anytime, maybe we can make you find science more interesting.”

viktor chuckled before emptying your mouth and leaving jayce’s hair be, gaining a whine from both of you. “so it is settled, we’ll see you tomorrow at the academy, correct?” he asked while taking his cane to stand up from where he sat, motioning his hand to order jayce to do the same.

you imitate their actions, tidying your hair before grabbing their holding hands with yours, standing on your tippy toes to leave a noisy smooch against their cheeks, decorating them with the granate of your lips. “you most definitely will, gentlemen.”

s1!jayvik who don’t notice how your father stared at the whole play from the beginning, shaking his head on disappointment at you; always playing around with men.

s1!jayvik who walk towards their ride in silence, jayce still inhaling your lingering scent and the soft of you lips against his cheeks, viktor trying to not think too much about the growing boner you gave him (*_ _)

a/n: i’m obsessed with this setting, part 2 maybe? (*^ω^)

— masterlist.

[prettygirl-gabi]

Title: “Sealed with a Ring”

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 1,267

Fandom: UConn Women’s Basketball

Summary: After secretly eloping a year ago, Paige and Reader have kept their marriage under wraps, but anniversaries and memories are to good not to share...

Paige and I had never been the type to do things traditionally.

Our love story started in a way that felt effortless, like the universe had been waiting for us to finally meet. Four years together and a year secretly married, we were as solid as ever, even if the rest of the world didn’t know.

And honestly? We liked it that way.

Our elopement had been quiet, intimate, and perfect—just us, a small ceremony with our closest friends and family, and matching simple bands that had symbolized our commitment long before we’d made it official.

But of course, Paige being Paige, she had still surprised me months later with a stunning diamond ring.

“For when you want something a little flashier,” she’d said, slipping it onto my finger before I had a chance to argue.

I had worn it, but never in the traditional way. It was either looped onto a delicate gold chain around my neck or sitting comfortably on my left middle finger. It kept people from asking too many questions, and since no one suspected we were already married, it was easier that way.

Still, Paige was patient. She never pushed, never questioned why I wasn’t ready to show off what was already ours.

Until today.

It was our first wedding anniversary.

Four years together, one year of marriage, and not a single regret.

Paige had planned a perfect day—brunch at our favorite spot, a cozy afternoon at home watching old highlights of each other’s games, and now, a quiet dinner just the two of us.

“You’re staring,” I teased, setting down my fork as Paige’s eyes lingered on me.

She smirked, twirling her wine glass between her fingers. “Can’t help it. My wife is beautiful.”

Heat rushed to my cheeks, even after all this time. “You’ve been calling me your wife all day.”

“Because you are,” she said simply, reaching for my hand across the table. “And I think it’s time the rest of the world knows it too.”

I knew what she meant before she even said it.

She wanted us to finally share our rings. To stop hiding.

To be seen.

I swallowed, glancing at my hand where my band rested snugly against my skin. I wasn’t afraid of people knowing. It was just… ours. Private.

But when I looked up at Paige, her expression soft and patient, I realized something.

I wasn’t scared of sharing.

I just needed the right moment.

And what better time than now?

“Okay,” I said finally, squeezing her hand. “Let’s do it.”

Her eyes lit up, and before I knew it, she was pulling out her phone.

The Instagram story went up within minutes.

It was a simple photo—our hands intertwined, matching wedding bands gleaming under the dim lighting of the restaurant. The caption?

One year married, four years of love.💕

We didn’t think much of it.

But the internet did.

By the time we got home, social media was in shambles.

TikTok was exploding.

Fan edits popped up within minutes, clips of us laughing on the court, walking together on campus, sharing subtle touches during interviews—all set to emotional background music.

One video had nearly 500k views already, with the caption:

PAIGE AND Y/N WERE MARRIED THIS WHOLE TIME?!??

The comments were even wilder:

• “THEY’RE WIVES? NO ONE TALK TO ME.”

• “I KNEW THOSE MATCHING BANDS MEANT SOMETHING.”

• “This is the greatest plot twist in UConn history.”

Instagram and X weren’t much better.

Our post was reshared thousands of times, with people dissecting every little detail. Theories ran wild—how long had we been married? Who knew? Did Coach Geno officiate the wedding? (Spoiler: No, but the idea was hilarious.)

Even the WNBA’s official account got in on the fun, commenting:

Well, well, well… look who decided to tell us. Congrats, you two.

Paige was lying on the couch, scrolling through her phone with a giant grin while I sat cross-legged on the floor, watching the chaos unfold.

“This is insane,” I muttered, watching another TikTok fly past my screen.

Paige chuckled. “You’re the one who agreed to post it.”

I sighed dramatically, flopping against her legs. “Yeah, yeah. I just didn’t expect people to react like this.”

Her fingers ran through my hair, soothing. “Do you regret it?”

I turned my head to look up at her, taking in the way her blue eyes softened.

“No,” I admitted. “I think I like it.”

She beamed. “Good, because there’s no going back now.”

The next morning, the media frenzy had only intensified.

Even our teammates were clowning us in the group chat.

Icey B: Y’ALL REALLY JUST DROPPED THAT AND WENT TO BED????

Hey Arnold: I BEEN KNEW but I’m still screaming.

Z²: Not y’all making it sound like a press release 😭 “one year married, four years of love” lmao.

Sar bear: Geno is gonna have QUESTIONS.

P boogs: 🤷🏼‍♀️

I laughed, tossing my phone onto the bed. “Our teammates are so dramatic.”

Paige flopped onto the mattress beside me, her arm draping over my waist. “They love us. The fans love us.” She kissed my temple. “And I love you.”

I sighed happily, turning to bury my face in her neck. “Love you too, Mrs. Bueckers.”

She hummed. “Say that again.”

“Mrs. Bueckers,” I teased.

Paige grinned, tightening her hold on me. “Best thing I’ve ever heard, Mrs. Bueckers.”

And just like that, the whole world knew.

But at the end of the day, it didn’t change a thing.

Paige was mine.

I was hers.

And that was all that mattered.

---

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-Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

-prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️