#figured out maybe i just make you uncomfortable

[thesvnandthemooon]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤

a/n: this is a story i wrote + published on wattpad (user: thesvnandthemoon). i recently finished writing the last chapter and i love it so much i decided to post it on tumblr as well (my first fic i’m posting here hehe)

summary: natasha romanoff x female!reader. based on the movie “the notebook”; you’re allie, nat’s noah

warnings: none! :) (i think. if you find any, let me know!)

word count: 5.8k

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5

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They say one summer can change everything — you never thought it would be yours.

In hindsight, you won't be able to say when exactly it all started, but it must've been at the town's annual fun fair. Popcorn and fried dough, old carnival rides and duck ponds, neon signs and bells ringing.

You come reluctantly, dragged along by a friend who insists it'll be fun (and then proceeds to ditch you after meeting some guy at the hot dog stand). You don't expect much — just the usual: sticky cotton candy fingers, cheap thrills, and a fleeting distraction from the monotony of summer evenings. What you don't expect is her.

Green eyes and a black bomber jacket that looks way too warm for a hot summer day, her red hair in a loose braid. Bruised knuckles, painted in all shades of blue and purple, and a faint scar above her left eyebrow. She's leaning against the side of one of the booths, a cigarette dangling from her lips. For a moment, your eyes get stuck on her. But when her gaze meets yours, you turn back to the shooting gallery in front of you.

It gives her the opportunity to let her gaze linger on you, sharp and assessing. It's not the kind of look that makes you uncomfortable — if anything, it's curious, like she's trying to figure you out. Her eyes trail from the sundress you're wearing to the smudge of sunscreen on your wrist, then back up to the necklace that glints against your skin as you lean forward to aim.

Your fingers curl around the grip with a mix of hesitation and focus. In front of you are bright red and yellow circles, each one suspended on a flimsy wooden board. Some are shaped like ducks, others like stars, but they all feel impossibly far away.

The gun's plastic body feels awkward in your hands, too light to mimic the real thing, but you pull the trigger anyways. Just as expected, you miss, the dart-like projectile whizzing softly as it flies past the target.

You miss one shot. Then two. Then three.

Natasha, deciding she's had enough of seeing this pretty girl embarrass the hell out of herself, stomps her cigarette out with the heel of her boot before approaching you. She steps up next to you, the sound of her boots quiet against the pavement. You turn your head, a frustrated look on your face that doesn't waver even when she smirks. Without a word, she grabs the fake gun from your hands.

"Let me show you how it's done", she says, her voice low, just for you. She doesn't wait for your response before taking aim.

With a quick flick of her wrist, she hits the first target, then the second, then the third — each shot landing perfectly. You huff quietly as you watch her, trying to hide that you're somewhat impressed by this stranger's skill. She's not even showing off, just doing what she knows best.

It makes you wonder who she is. You don't know her, despite this town being quite small. You'd remember her, you're sure of that. She seems like the kind of person who'll float around your head like a little faded cloud until the day you die.

When she looks at you again, you quickly clear your throat and force a small, teasing smile. "Not bad", you say. "Now let's see if you can do that blindfolded."

Natasha smirks, her eyes glistening with amusement. I like her, she thinks, handing the plastic gun back to you. She feels a spark deep in her bones. She doesn't want to let it fizzle out.

"How about you let me take you on a date first? Then, maybe we'll talk about you blindfolding me."

"Wow", you muse, suppressing a small smile. This is dangerous territory, flirting so shamelessly with someone you probably aren't allowed to have. The odds would be against you. However, nobody said you can't have a little fun. "A marksman and bold. Lucky me."

"You don't know the half of it", she says, raising an eyebrow. She nods at the targets in front of you. "Come on, your turn. Let's see if you're a visual learner."

You adjust your grip on the gun and aim once more, feeling her eyes on you. There's something predatory about the way she studies others, like she's waiting for them to slip up, but there's also a hint of something softer underneath. In that moment, it's reserved for you.

Right before you pull the trigger, she leans in and whispers: "Hit the target and you're going on that date with me."

For a moment, you consider giving it your best.

You could take the shot. You could make it. But for some reason, the thought of it feels too simple.

The projectile misses the target by a wide margin. Natasha frowns, her arms crossing in front of her chest. You turn around and your eyes meet.

"Guess I'm not ready for that date yet", you say.

"I'm starting to think you're making this harder on both of us", Natasha mutters, giving you a look that's somewhere between amusement and frustration. "Good thing I'm stubborn."

"Half of this town is stubborn", you say, unimpressed but equally intrigued. This woman seems determined to take you on a date, and honestly, you like the thought of being pursued so actively. But you're convinced your family is more stubborn than whoever she is.

"If you think this is stubborn", Natasha says, her eyes glinting in the afternoon sun, "you haven't met the real me yet."

Your lips twitch into a small smile at the sheer confidence in her voice. It's attractive, in a way, but also riling you up. You can't tell her why you're so adamant about saying no, so pushing her away is your only choice. Deep down, however, you know you'd say yes in a heartbeat if you weren't such a coward. And maybe she realizes that, too.

"Let's assume I say yes", you challenge. "Then what? You think a few hours with you will change everything?"

"Maybe it won't change anything", she says, though she's convinced it will. With Natasha, it always does. "But something tells me you're the kind of person worth taking that risk for."

Her words make you hesitate. She watches your expression fall in a way that makes her frown.

"You don't know me", you start carefully.

Before either of you can say anything else, you hear your name being called. Your friend comes hurrying back, this time with a peace-offering bag of popcorn. She gives you an apologetic grin and tugs at your arm. You avoid Natasha's gaze as you let her lead you away.

You don't expect to see her so soon again, but maybe that's just your luck.

You're on the ferris wheel. Natasha spots you a few gondolas away, lost in thought, your friend talking to someone on the phone.

She's used to being reckless, but not in order to impress other people. This time, it's different.

You caught her attention. You made her ask you out on a date. You said no.

Maybe she should give up. She doesn't even know what this will be, after all — a fling? A quick flirt? A one night stand, perhaps?

It could end up being nothing. Something about the way you looked at her earlier makes her believe otherwise, though. She can't give up so soon.

As the wheel slows to let others on, Natasha stands up and carefully grips the framework on the sides of the gondola. She stands on the small seat for a moment, balancing her weight, before she begins climbing to where you are. She moves expertly, ignoring the gasps of a few onlookers.

You look up when she reaches your gondola, and your friend almost drops her phone. Gaping, you stare at her.

"Are you insane?", you finally ask, reaching out to steady her. She slides into the seat next to you, loose strands of red hair fluttering around in the wind.

"Say yes to that date", she says, "or I'll jump."

You ignore the stunned look your friend gives the two of you. Sighing, you realize that this woman has managed to chip away at your resistance with ease. You didn't want to say no before, to be fair, but you felt like you didn't have a choice.

You still don't. You just decide to ignore that fact.

"At least tell me your name."

"Natasha", she says, smiling.

You tell her your name as well. You spend the remaining ten minutes of the ferris wheel ride in uncomfortable silence, trying to escape the stares of both Natasha and your friend.

. . .

The date goes better than expected.

She takes you to a diner, where she talks the owner into letting you stay after closing hours. With the door locked and the lights dimmed, your focus is entirely on Natasha. She was charming before, but it doesn't compare to the way she's treating you now.

You twirl the rose she handed you between your fingers, noticing that someone has carefully removed all the thorns. This town doesn't have a flower shop, you quietly remind yourself.

"It's nice here", you say, your eyes scanning your surroundings very briefly. Checkered tiles, a jukebox, red vinyl booths. Chrome finishes on tables, counters and stools, and milkshakes with cherries on top. It's like a place straight out of the 1950s. "Can't believe I've never been here before."

"You're here often?", she asks, dipping the end of her straw into the whipped cream and licking it off.

"Every summer. I'm visiting my grandparents."

A hum forms in her throat. You smile faintly, catching her eye.

"I've never seen you here before", you eventually say, stealing a dollop of her whipped cream with your own straw. She doesn't complain. Her smile widens instead.

"Looks like this town does have its secrets, after all."

You soon figure out that Natasha's different from the other people you've gone on dates with before.

She makes you laugh. It spills out of you before you can stop it, surprising you.

She's all bruised knuckles and scarred hands, hinting at a grittier life — she's not polished or sheltered. Instead, she's resilient and strong and self-assured.

Her presence feels electrifying. Every brush of her fingers against yours sends shockwaves down your spine.

When you exit the diner, you pause. You don't want to leave, and neither does she. Her hand touches yours meaningfully, and she lingers — just enough to make you pause. Her eyes search yours, her confidence softening just enough to feel like a plea. It's intoxicating, the way she makes everything else disappear. The moment feels unhurried, deliberate, like a silent question.

Are we on the same page?

You should turn around and go home. Your family is probably wondering where you are.

Instead, you let her pull you into a kiss.

For Natasha, it's more thrilling than climbing a ferris wheel.

. . .

You're used to keeping secrets, but this one is your favorite so far.

Natasha is a force that keeps drawing you closer. Before you know it, you're sneaking out of windows and hiding behind corners of buildings. Her lips seem to be getting softer each time you touch them with your own.

You meet again on a Friday night, this time in the quiet of her car. An SUV, surprisingly, one that you wouldn't have assumed would be hers.

"You seem more like the pickup truck type", you tell her, a genuine smile on your face.

"That's insulting", she replies, smirking, and starts the car. "Tell me where you want to go."

You can't think of anything, so you shrug. You let her surprise you. With her, everything seems to be a surprise.

Natasha doesn't appear to be in a hurry. She handles the steering wheel with calmness, a sense that, no matter where you end up, it'll be a night to remember.

In the end, the silent streets take you to the outskirts of town. An old sign reads Sunset Drive-In. The parking lot is almost empty, save for a few cars littered across the place. The screen stands tall and cracked against the backdrop of dark trees. Neon lights, once-vibrant and now dead. It feels like a place lost in time.

"Here?", you say, trying to conceal your amusement.

"Trust me, it's better when no one else is around."

She parks the car in the middle of the lot, far from the old speakers that still dangle from rusted poles. A breeze sweeps through your hair when you step out of the car and follow her. She pops the trunk, revealing a blanket that she uses to cover the hood. Side by side, you sit down.

You both stare up at the starry sky, feeling each other's presence. Her hand touches yours.

"Not what I expected", you admit, glancing at her. She smiles.

"I told you it'd be different," Natasha replies. She leans back against the windshield, folding one arm behind her head. The soft hum of the old projector flickers in the background. "But you can't say it's not romantic."

"Never said it wasn't."

A black and white movie starts to play. Your smile widens and you laugh quietly.

"Is everything about this place old?", you ask.

"Apart from us? Probably."

You hum in acknowledgment and nod, watching the scenes in front of you slowly flesh out into a full story. Your hand slides across the blanket, fingertips touching hers. She takes your hand and holds it in her lap. Her calloused fingers trace your knuckles, one by one, repeatedly.

Occasionally, you glance at her. You shift closer to her on the hood, so your sides are flush. At some point, she wraps her arm around you and you rest your head on her chest. Her heartbeat is steady and grounding in your ear. You allow yourself to close your eyes — you haven't been focusing on the movie for a while now, anyways.

Natasha's lips brush against your hair, lazy and soft. You turn your head to press your cheek against the fabric of her shirt. She smells like leather and mowed grass, perfume and something faintly metallic. It's the trace of a life lived on edge, so very different from how you were brought up.

What you remember from your childhood are two things: the inability to choose for yourself and the knowledge that you're safe and protected.

Money was never an issue, and neither were security or stability. But with it came rules — endless, unyielding rules about how to act, what to say, who to be. Every choice predetermined, every step carefully calculated.

Who are you taking to prom? Who's taking you to prom? What dress will you wear? What will you study? What kind of life are you aspiring to have someday? Kids, no kids?

Don't drag your family's name into the mud. Don't even think about doing this your way. Your grandmother would be so disappointed. You'll ruin your future.

Quiet voices in your head, echoing past questions and letting the hollow pit in your stomach grow again.

Automatically, your head turns. You breathe Natasha in. For a moment, you dare believe she might be the freedom you've been wishing for.

The movie plays on, its lights flickering across the parking lot. Sometimes, the screen goes dark, pulling you into the darkness as well. The stars above you seem brighter than ever, twinkling sympathetically.

Then, the end credits start rolling. You glance at Natasha, realizing she's been looking at you.

"Enjoyed the movie?"

"It's old", she simply says. You smile faintly.

"Not a fan?"

Her hand starts drawing circles on your shoulder, your arm, your side. You exhale to suppress a quiet laugh.

"There's exactly one thing I liked about it", she says meaningfully. It makes you want to kiss her.

Unfortunately, the moment is ruined when some drunk guy starts yelling at his girlfriend. She yells back. Then, glass shatters. A high-pitched 'what did you do to my fucking car??' rips you out of your moment of contentment.

The shouts echo through the nearly empty parking lot, piercing through the quiet night air. Natasha's arm around your shoulder tightens when the man jumps out of his car. He's clearly drunk, standing there unsteadily and waving his arms. His girlfriend yells once more.

You sit up slowly, Natasha following in suit. Her jaw tenses as she watches the fight — she looks like she's about to spring into action. Something sharp flickers in her eyes, alert and calculating, and it sends a jolt of attraction through your body.

Again, you quietly wonder who she really is. She doesn't show much of herself. But something about her promises an escape from everything else.

"You okay?", she asks. The arm that's lazily draped over your shoulders gives you a squeeze. Her eyes, however, stay glued to the offending couple.

"Yeah", you confirm. You lean into her subconsciously. She feels like stability in a world that's falling apart.

Her gaze doesn't leave the scene until the couple's fight fizzles out. A car door slams, tires screech against the gravel, and the lot falls silent again.

Natasha exhales and her shoulders relax as she looks back at you. The intensity in her eyes softens. "Sorry about that. Not exactly the ending I had in mind."

You smile faintly, unsure what to say. The bubble you were in moments ago has popped. Instead, you're surrounded by darkness and the sound of crickets. Her green eyes search your face in the darkness.

"Do you want to head back?", she asks after a beat. You shake your head so quickly you even surprise yourself.

"No." You pause, watching her carefully. "Unless you want to?"

Her lips curve into a small smile, the tension melting away. "Not a chance." She nudges your shoulder gently, coaxing a laugh out of you. "I know a spot. If you're up for it."

You quietly decide your parents can wait a little longer.

. . .

You tell Natasha about everything.

She tells you about nothing.

You're in her car, tucked into the backseat. You're leaning against the car door and your knees are pulled to your chest. The milky moonlight bathes your features in a gentle glow. It makes it hard for Natasha to focus on what you're saying, but she tries her best.

"They're strict", you begin, absentmindedly playing with the laces of your converse. "It's hard to explain. I guess it's how they were brought up, which doesn't excuse things, but whatever. When I date someone, it's not without their approval."

Natasha trails her fingers down the length of your shin, leaving a pleasantly tingling feeling in their wake. She's grown increasingly comfortable around you.

"They're rich, too. Like, really fucking rich. It's crazy." You pause. "I don't even know. I guess I'm trying to say that this — whatever it is — won't be easy."

Her eyes find yours, green and steady. She rests her hand atop your shoe, her fingers tracing the laces.

"You're still here", she says. "Guess that says something."

You smile weakly. You haven't thought about it that way yet, but she does have a point — despite everything, you're here. In her car.

You reach out to grab her hand and intertwine your fingers. Natasha leans in closer, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. Her skin is pale in the light seeping in through the window behind you.

"When do you have to go home?", she asks. Something needles at your chest as you realize how that question makes you feel. Despite being an adult, you're acting like a teenager with a curfew.

Cheeks warm, you shrug. "An hour?"

"That's not much", Natasha points out. "We'll have to make it count."

"Or you kidnap me", you suggest, half-joking but also half-wishing she'd take you up on the offer. But she just smiles and shakes her head. Her hands push your legs apart as she crawls in between them.

As your eyes meet hers, you can't help but wonder how you ended up here — how everything in your life seemed to collide with this moment, with her.

"Can't imagine you being on the run, if I'm honest." She leaves a quick kiss on your lips. "You'd miss the AC and the fancy espresso machine."

You cup her cheek with one hand. You coax her into another kiss, a firmer one this time. Her hand, resting on your hip, slowly slides under your shirt. Her warm palm feels electrifying against your skin.

"You don't know me that well", you mumble yet again. You dive into another kiss. "Maybe you will one day."

Natasha looks at you. Something unspoken passes between the two of you. Your thumb grazes the faint scar below her jawline.

"I'd be thrilled", she replies, her voice softer, then kisses you deeply. Her tongue pushes past your lips. Her hand moves higher until her fingertips brush under the fabric of your bra. Rain starts pattering against the fogged up windows, quiet and steady, but you don't notice it happen.

Instead, you cradle Natasha's face. You taste the beer you had earlier on her tongue. It's mixed with something uniquely hers. You let her in, completely, and you suddenly find that you don't care about the consequences anymore.

. . .

She takes you to a small house by a lake.

It's afternoon when she suddenly shows up. You're not entirely sure how she managed to find your grandparents' house, but she did — she's right here, leaning against the gate with her back turned to you. Her red braid is a pattern against the smooth fabric of her black leather jacket.

You'd be thrilled to see her if it weren't for your grandfather walking past the kitchen window.

Your heart leaps into your throat. With one swift movement, you sling your bag over your shoulder.

"Be back soon!", you call out as you rush through the door, letting it slam shut behind you. You don't wait for a response — you don't want to risk it. Instead, you hurry to the gate and push it open with a quiet creaking sound. Natasha glances at you and smiles.

"You're insane", you whisper harshly, grabbing her arm and yanking her away from the gate. You glance back at the house. The kitchen window is empty for now, but it won't stay that way for long.

"Nice to see you, too", she says, a smirk on her face. She lets you drag her along without protesting. "What are you so worked up about?"

"Are you being serious? You were supposed to pick me up at the diner, not here! They could've seen you!"

"Yeah, yeah." Natasha frees her arm from your grip to take your hand. She's so utterly at ease that it makes your chest tighten.

What's it like, not caring about anything or anyone?

It's a thought you don't dwell on. Natasha spins you toward her, her free arm encircling your waist. Before you can process what's happening, her lips are pressed to yours. Firm but soft, a lingering taste of mint on them.

You let out a soft noise and wrap your arms around her neck, momentarily forgetting about the looming risk of being caught. She smiles against your lips and slowly pulls away.

"Now", she says, leading you down the sidewalk and toward her car, "let me take you somewhere."

"Where?", you ask as she unlocks the car. She doesn't answer, so you sit down and buckle up, the scent of her leather jacket surrounding you. The engine of the car hums to life. You reach out to tap the back of her hand. "Nat, where are we going?"

"I thought you liked surprises."

"I do", you reply and glance out the window. The winding road, shaded by towering oak trees, takes you past lush gardens and monotonous picket fences. A neighborhood that screams uniformity, but to you, it's nostalgia in its purest form. "I'd still like to know. Finally taking me up on that kidnapping-offer, maybe?"

Natasha smiles. Her hand moves to yours thigh, just barely brushing under the hem of your skirt. "Just be patient. You'll like it, I promise."

Her skin on yours makes you feel warm in a way that has nothing to do with the summer heat. You put your hand on hers, squeezing lightly to distract yourself. It doesn't work.

"I'm curious", you say. The pad of your thumb finds a scar on the side of her hand and you start tracing it.

"Patience", she repeats. She looks at you and smirks. "How much time do we have this time?"

You hesitate before eventually telling her the truth. "A few days. I told my parents I'm staying at a friend's house."

"Lying to your parents for me already?"

A red flush blooms on your cheeks. "Don't let it go to your head."

You drive past the slow life of the town you're in. A post office with a fading American flag fluttering outside, a little café where locals sip coffee, a general store. You spent years exploring everything on your bike and getting to know every nook and cranny.

Eventually, you reach the more rural part of town. Natasha drives down a hill and brings the car to a stop. Grass brushes against your bare ankles as you step out of the car.

In front of you, you spot a small house that's nestled into the landscape like it belongs there. It's surrounded by swaying trees and green grass, the summer sun making everything look like straight out of a children's picture book.

Your breath hitches for a moment. Your hand touches the hood of the car for a moment, grounding you.

"Is this...?"

"It's mine", Natasha confirms. She grabs a suitcase and joins you. A few strands of hair have escaped her braid, curling slightly. "I bought it a while ago. Just, you know. For someday."

You inspect the house. It's small, unassuming. Completely unlike the modern apartment you'd imagined her retreating to whenever she wasn't with you.

You love it.

"Someday?", you ask, glancing at her.

She smiles and averts her eyes. There's something vulnerable to her. "I just thought...maybe one day, I'll need a place like this. Away from everything. Away with someone."

You're not sure how to respond to that, so you don't. Every word you consider seems to fall short.

You fall into step with her, following her up the creaking wooden steps of the porch. The door swings open quietly. Natasha, red-cheeked for the first time since you've met her, quietly admits that she oiled the hinges.

You barely hear what she says. The house, albeit minimal and almost spartan inside, feels like a memory.

A mattress on the floor. A table with mismatched chairs in the kitchen space. A few boxes, some overflowing with blankets.

You absently adjust a few books on the bookshelf, pushing them backwards so their spines are aligned. Natasha's silent, not daring to disrupt the silence.

She doesn't tell you that you're the first person she's ever brought here. She doesn't have to.

"It's cozy", you murmur. You faintly hear the gentle thump of the suitcase as Natasha sets it down. "You've been here before?"

"A few times." She tucks her hands into the pockets of her jeans and watches you explore. "Don't expect too much. There's no WIFI, no cable. Not exactly a five-star getaway."

"No WIFI?", you tease, picking up a ceramic mug that's sitting next to the sink. It's patterned, chipped at the top — so ordinary it makes you smile. "How will I survive?"

Natasha smirks. Her hand finds yours and she leads you to the back of the house. Through a sliding glass door, you reach a small porch. Beyond it, a lake stretches out, its surface shimmering in the sun. A hammock swings between two trees, a bed of wildflowers underneath. It smells like grass and cedar.

The warm breeze washes over you. You breathe in the air and let it seep into your system. Out here, the rest of the world seems very far away.

"It's beautiful", you finally say.

"It is", she says quietly, her gaze never leaving you. You look at her when you feel her fingers intertwine with yours. The sunlight softens her sharp features into something gentle and fragile.

You reach out and brush some hair behind her ear. The light touch of your fingertips against her skin is enough to make her relax.

Natasha puts her hand on yours, keeping it pressed against her cheek for a moment. Then, she nods at the hammock.

"Come on", she says. "Let's see if that thing still holds."

. . .

The days are a blur.

You sleep on the mattress on the floor, one with a dip in the middle that pulls you together by dawn. The bedsheets, soft and worn, have a faded floral pattern on them. Morning light streams through the windows.

You wake slowly when the warmth of the sunlight hits your face. Natasha's arm is draped over your waist, her breath hitting your neck. Sometimes, she wakes before you. She kisses your shoulder and pulls you closer.

You eat sitting on the table, legs idly swinging over the edge. The table wobbles slightly, but it's nothing a folded napkin can't fix. Natasha stands next to you, her hair unbrushed and falling over her shoulders in auburn waves. Her voice is quiet and raspy when she speaks. The faintest hint of a Russian accent is present, making you wonder about her more than ever.

You still don't know much about her. She's a mystery you can't solve, but you're dangerously close to promising yourself you'll spend your entire life trying to.

You share your coffee from the chipped mug that you found sitting next to the sink. You steal bites of food from her plate. You bask in the warmth that's ever present in this little house.

The rest of the day, you're mostly outside. Staying indoors doesn't seem to be an option in a place like this. You enjoy the butterflies, the sun, the lapping of the lake far too much.

Natasha finds a canoe behind the shed that's next to the lake. It's old and doesn't look like it'll keep you above the water, but Natasha insists it's still seaworthy. To your surprise, she's right — the canoe, paint peeling and wood scuffed, stays afloat.

She rows you to the middle of the lake. Her muscles flex under her shirt as she pulls the oar. You sit behind her, legs dangling over the side, and enjoy the view.

When she suggests you go swimming, you give her a skeptical look. But the redhead has gotten up already, her shirt peeled off to reveal a black bra underneath. Scars crisscross her skin in a startling blend of old and new — some pale and softened with time, others pink and raw. A past she's never spoken of. You know better than to ask.

Her jeans follow. The canoe rocks precariously as she jumps. When she comes back to the surface, her hair is slicked back and water drips from her face. Natasha looks happy, unbothered, and it pulls at your heartstrings.

You ignore the plea of your body to stay warm and dry. Instead, you take your clothes off as well and join her in the lake. Water, cold and refreshing, envelops you. Her hands find your waist and you meet her lips with yours.

After this, you start bathing in the lake every day. You run around the house naked, lake water dripping on the floor and Natasha's laughter trailing after you.

Corners and hallways offer little moments of intimacy. Her body feels warm against yours. You let your hands run over her sun-kissed skin, her lips pressing against the side of your face. Natasha's hand trails down your front and dips between your legs. You're hers entirely.

At night, you curl up on the mattress. Hair damp and skin sunburnt, you feel like the season has claimed you. You've soaked up the joy of summer, and from now on, nothing will be able to compare to this.

Not everything is perfect. As you spend so much time with her, you realize that Natasha and you clash like fire and ice — two forces that shouldn't mix but somehow do.

It's the little things and it's the bigger things. Jackets left in random places, or arguments caused by different ideas of what comes next. Somehow, you're both curious about the future — but you also avoid that topic as much as you can.

You try bringing it up. Gently, carefully, as if not trying to scare away a wild animal. Your head on her chest, the pads of your feet pressed against her calves. Her heartbeat is steady in your ear. You close your eyes and speak, asking her what she thinks.

Natasha is not one to hesitate. This time, she does.

You have no clue why. You don't know that her job requires her to be able to up and go at any given time. You don't know that her life, unlike yours, is fragile and unstable. You don't know that she doesn't want to drag another person into this mess.

There's just one issue: Natasha has fallen in love with you.

It was meant to be a fling. A quick summer flirt. Just a pretty girl to make her days less lonely in this strange, unfamiliar town.

She couldn't have possibly known you'd end up meaning so much to her, but here you are — all messy hair and sweet smiles, burrowing your way into her chest as if you were always meant to be there.

This transition from casual to everything but happened way back. She never noticed it happen. And now, she's in love.

It's the kind of love that takes root deep inside you. It doesn't always fit into neat plans or pretentious families, and it's not always easy, but you both try. Some days, trying is easier than on others.

The days are a blur, and they're a dream as well. But dreams don't last forever.

[vigilxntesht]

𝙠𝙖𝙣𝙜 𝙨𝙖𝙚 𝙗𝙮𝙚𝙤𝙠 𝙭 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 — a night to remember

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ 𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 — kang sae-byeok x female reader

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩 — 1k

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚 — this is for @belliexpog !!🤍

𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙮𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙚

after a long day, you come home expecting silence, but instead, you find sae-byeok waiting, candlelight flickering around her. she’s never been one for romance, but tonight, she’s trying. and that means everything.

you trudged up to your doorstep after a long, exhausting day at work, the cool night air weaving through your hair. the rhythmic crunch of the pavement beneath your feet was the only sound accompanying you in the quiet of the night. you sighed, already picturing your girlfriend, kang sae-byeok, curled up in bed like usual, fast asleep by the time you got home.

rubbing your tired eyes, you unlocked the door, anticipation of seeing her warming you despite the chilly breeze outside. you unlock the door and step inside. while taking off your coat, you call out from the hallway.

“sae, i’m home!”

silence.

frowning, you kick off your shoes and make your way into the living room—only to stop dead in your tracks.

the entire room is bathed in the soft glow of candlelight, flickering shadows dancing across the walls. in the middle of it all stands sae-byeok, a red rose in her hand, her expression unreadable.

she shifts uncomfortably, eyes darting to the floor as she fidgets with the sleeves of her sweater. “...hi,” she mumbles, voice barely above a whisper.

your breath hitches as you took in the scene, heart pounding with disbelief. she has done all this? for you?

sae-byeok has never been the type for grand gestures—she’s awkward with affection, hesitant, always unsure of how to express what she feels. and yet, here she is, standing in the middle of a room she’s carefully decorated, waiting for you.

your mouth falls open.

“i… uh, i’ve got dinner ready.” her voice is soft, tinged with uncertainty and your heart swells. there she stands, a little stiff, hands clasped in front of her. her eyes dance around the room as if she’s bracing for your reaction. your gaze traces her features—the adorable, countless freckles on her cheeks, her messy hair that she always wears so effortlessly… but tonight, there is something more: a hint of vulnerability. a hint of nervousness that makes your heart ache for her.

“you made all this?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

her cheeks flush a little as she nods, stepping forward, but her eyes don’t meet yours.

“i, uh… wanted to do something nice for you. i know i’m not good with… the usual romantic stuff, but…i thought this would be okay?” she trails off, waiting for your response.

your lips curl into a smile.

“i love it,” you reply, your voice tender. “i love it so much.”

her eyes shift slightly, a look of surprise flickering across her face. “really?”

“really.” you say, stepping closer to her. “i love that you did this for me. it’s perfect.”

you can the see the walls around her starting to ease, her posture softening as she lets out a small, relieved chuckle.

“i wasn’t sure if you’d like it. i, uh… wasn’t sure if i was doing it right,” she admitted, her voice still small but now filled with more warmth. you gently reach out to touch her arm. she looks down at your hand for a moment before she lets out a small breath and meets your eyes.

“i just… i wanted to give you something special.”

you smile. “you’ve already given me something special by just being here. i don’t need anything else.”

for a moment, you both stand there, simply looking at each other. then, sae-byeok smiles—a small, hesitant smile, but it makes your heart flutter all the same.

“okay… but maybe we can eat now?” she says with a quiet laugh. you chuckle and nod as you sit down at the table, but not before pressing a quick kiss on her cheek. the warmth of her skin lingers on your lips. she shuffles off to the table, her steps a little too quick, as if she can’t quite figure out where to put her nervous energy. you can’t help but smile at how endearing she is.

the table is perfect. the dim glow the candle casts soft shadows, and the food—well, the food is certainly… interesting. it’s the most random combination of food you’ve ever seen. sae-byeok has never been much of a cook, and it shows. you look at the assortment of dishes that don’t go together at all: some overcooked, others with a strangely questionable texture. but as you look closer, realization hits you.

every single dish is something you’ve mentioned loving in the past.

she remembered.

she settles across from you at the table, still fiddling with the hem of her sweater, unsure of what to say. you can’t help but laugh softly, breaking the silence.

“you know, you don’t have to be so nervous around me.” you say, reaching out to intertwine your fingers with hers. “i’m your girlfriend. i’m not going anywhere. you’ve got me, always.”

her hand squeezes yours tightly. “i’m… glad. i just want to make you happy,” she says, her voice soft.

“you already do.” you whisper.

there’s a long pause before she finally speaks up again, her voice quieter than before. “i… i like being with you. a lot.”

you lean forward, planting a sweet kiss on her lips. she relaxes into the touch.

“thank you for tonight,” you whisper against her skin. “it means more to me than you’ll ever know.”

she smiles—an unguarded, genuine smile that makes you blush. “i’m just glad you like it.”

and so, the night passed. the two of you sat there, savoring the quiet comfort of each other’s presence. there were no grand speeches, no sweeping gestures. but in that simple moment, sae-byeok’s efforts felt so much more meaningful than any of those things. and in that stillness, you realized she had already given you all you could ever want.

and it was perfect.

[earlysunshines]

secret rhymes - 44. ???

a/n: written part seems a bit short but shits gonna be brewing (i think) also the last name for lauren rhymes with the last name of an evil man i know so like. shit i just make up ppl based on my Enemies omfg…

you shouldn’t be doing this. you should be on your way to hybe right now to tell hanni that yujin solved her “problem” with her girlfriend. you shouldn’t have lied in the first place, really.

still, you’re out your dorm with something slightly presentable because you can’t show up looking like a bum to see the girl who dumped you over a year ago.

fuck. you think as you walk toward the cafe. fuck.

there's a growing worry about whether or not you'll be caught out with her, knowing that there's a bit of attention on you due to your popularity. it doesn't matter, you tell yourself, it'll be over quickly.

you walk in and the cafe is quiet other than the clinks of cups, conversation, and buzz of the espresso machine. scanning the room, there's a familiar figure that sits in the more secluded corner. you order a latte in hopes that it'll give you some good luck.

when the time hits 3:05, you sit in front of lauren, catching her by surprise. she looks more mature now, prettier (as much as you hate to admit), but there's a familiarity that weighs the air with too much left unsaid. you don't let any of it bother you, not yet.

"you look good," she says first, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

you exhale slowly, offering a polite nod. "thanks."

she hesitates for a moment, fingers tapping against the table before she speaks again. "I missed you."

you grimace. the words hang between you, waiting for something—acknowledgment, maybe. but you only lift your cup to your lips, taking a sip before setting it back down.

"how are you and your boyfriend?" you ask, voice even.

she lets out a soft laugh, shaking her head. "still together."

of course. you nod again, as if it doesn't matter—because it doesn't.

"what do you want? and why are you in seoul?" you ask, tone vicious.

she traces her nail along the rim of her glass. "for work. i do modeling on the side."

the irony hits you, and before you can stop yourself, you let out a laugh.

"what?" she asks, tilting her head.

"that's so fucking ironic. you bashed me for doing music and now you're a model. are you playing with me?" you respond, though it 's not hard to believe that she is a model; she's pretty, it's not hard to see that. hating her guts doesn't erase that either.

she smiles, that same practiced, self-assured curve of her lips. "it's different. modeling is just a side thing for me. I'm still focused on my degree and getting a stable job. you know, something secure." she takes a sip of her drink, keeping eye contact.

it's backhanded, but you don't react. you simply nod.

"right." you say, your tone light.

you don't owe her anything—not a reaction, and definitely not an explanation. whatever this meeting was supposed to be, it's clear now that it isn't for closure. maybe just curiosity on her end. for you? it's just a reminder that some things are better left in the past; you should've seen hanni instead.

lauren places her chin on her palm, giving you the same look that she'd give you before a kiss or something more. you feel your heart sink and there's a strange, uncomfortable churn in your stomach.

"you look really good after all this time. all that fame did you good." she says, smirking. "it's no wonder I spent all that time with you. i really do miss it."

you freeze, unsure of how to respond.

she chuckles and reaches over, tucking a piece of hair behind your ears before sliding her finger down your cheek.

"you're lucky, you know?" she continues, "i can't believe you made it this far. maybe I should've reconsidered."

you scoff. "don't you have a boyfriend? stop acting like this."

"i always liked to tease." she grins, not fighting back when you put your hand on hers to aggressively push it back. "your reactions were always great—cute."

what are you still here for? you groan at her response, narrowing your eyes at her. she seems to be scanning you, looking for every emotion you feel through your eyes and twitch of your features. it's scrutinizing, and it urges you to bring the meeting to a close.

"i don't know what you wanted, or what you gained from this," you begin, standing up. "but if it was to make me feel bad again, then fuck you. and if you really thought you could coax me back into your life—you're a fucking idiot. i honestly don't want to hear from you again, don't contact me or anything."

her reaction consists of a mere chuckle, plus a shit-eating grin. you bite down on your back teeth and scoff again at her before leaving. you've never had a more confusing—and frustrating—interaction with her. what was the point? for her to bash you discretely? you tell yourself not to get worked up by it, but it made your blood boil.

—

masterlist ; previous - next

taglist ! @namojoon @ly-gushka @layonaiguess @artrizzler19 @yerimbrit @sixflame438 @nwjnsloona @saysirhc @nimnia @somedaydream @trovao-penguins @modanisgf @c-yerim @starstruckgoateepuppy @tzuyusdoughnut @kaypanaq @peranoo @haerinkisser @electronicluminarycoffee @yoohtonyy @secretcessy @keiji-jin @awkwardtoafault @syronns @linnnsworld @inybits @ynwrites

[gain-stuff-eat]

who, may i ask, are you growing these love handles for, hm?

they're so luscious, filling my hands, you've made all this fat so easy to grab with your constant eating and endless stuffing

you are the very picture of excess and indulgence

don't think i haven't noticed all that snacking you've been doing, the constant grazing, the multiple meals, the huge portions, the increasing amount of delivery orders that show up all times of the day and night

you're insatiable and your body shows it

it's obviously not an accident, what you're doing to yourself. you clearly enjoy it. i doubt you thought you'd get this out of control... oh, you liked that? pointing out your uncontrollable appetite, the fact that you can no longer resist this hedonistic lifestyle you've spiraled into?

you're craving more right now, in fact, aren't you?

why don't you just go ahead and eat? we both know that's all you want to do anymore. all you think about. eating and stuffing until you can't move, and masturbating until you fall asleep. then waking up and doing it all again with even more food than the last time maybe because you can't help yourself. it's not your fault it keeps taking bigger and bigger meals to reach that fullness you constantly crave

gluttony looks so good on you

so much decadent fat. it spills and undulates off your frame. don't you feel so heavy? doesn't it feel so good? you wobble and jiggle with every step, no wonder it's hard to think about anything other than food

it's so easy to grab all this pudge because your shirt doesn't even fit. hadn't you noticed your gut hanging out? or has outgrowing clothes become so normal you don't even notice? with the way you stuff your face i'd be surprised if anything in your wardrobe fits. but the fabric strains over your softened, expanding body and reminds you to keep eating too, huh? you like how it feels a little uncomfortable, fits a little poorly, draws eyes to your growing figure

it makes you want to eat

i can tell because you started touch and feel your belly at just the thought, even though i can tell you ate not that long ago with way you can barely move, how you've beached yourself

you're so greedy

but that's okay because you chose this for yourself. you wanted this. you conditioned yourself to get this fat, you've pleasured yourself to the fantasy, after each massive stuffing, and now the reality is you crave this feeling. glutting yourself, getting heavy, the constant bliss of being in a bigger body all the time because food just taste too good and you only want more of it

don't be shy, go ahead and play with your belly. there's so much it, it's impossible to resist. press a finger into your navel, revel in how you've transformed yourself through your appetite alone

speaking of, better get yourself something to eat soon

you're starting to get hungry again

[nyxs2]

Ma Meilleure Ennemie (pt 12/?)

It's almost impossible not to be seduced by Silco's words, especially when they echo the conviction you thought you had overcome. Perhaps the truth is that you never changed; perhaps, deep down, you are just as monstrous as he is.

Silco x fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+, MDNI)

Word Count: 9,2K

Warnings: smut, resolved sexual tension, fingerfucking, vaginal fingering, public sex, allusions to squirting, exhibitionism, possessive behavior, slight hints of reader's threats, Silco being a manipulator, allusions to kidnapping and torture, Silco being bad with feelings, Silco POV

Set before the events of Act 2 of the first season of Arcane.

Part 11

Powder.

For a moment, the world stopped.

The unmistakable blue hair was longer now, braided into two plaits that draped over her shoulders. Her face was slightly older, touched by the first signs of adolescence, but it still carried the undeniable traces of the little girl you once swore to protect. The same little girl you had watched from afar countless times, making sure she didn't get herself into trouble.

The past clashed with the present like a punch straight to the gut. You wanted to cry and throw up at the same time.

She looked about twelve, maybe thirteen now. The confident posture, the curious gaze—everything about her hit you like a slap to the face, leaving your defenses in ruins. You tried to swallow down the sudden rush of emotions, but your throat felt locked tight. You stood there, staring at her, lost in your own shock for longer than what could be considered normal.

"You look like you've seen a ghost."

Her voice was clear and firm, but you didn't respond. You couldn't. You were frozen, your eyes locked onto this impossible vision.

Powder.

Every single detail about her yanked you into an avalanche of memories and emotions. The resolve you had rebuilt to start your search for this so-called Jinx, the simmering resentment and complicated feelings toward Silco—all of it suddenly felt insignificant. Nothing else seemed to matter anymore. Nothing except the fact standing right in front of you: She was alive. 

Powder was alive. 

And she was here.

"Sorry little one, what?"

"You look like you've seen a ghost." Powder repeated, tilting her head to the side, her braids swaying with the motion. Her eyes narrowed slightly, as if trying to remember something. "I know you. You're my dad's company."

The statement hit you like a punch—more precisely, a punch from Vander's cast-iron gauntlets. Dad. The word echoed in your head, churning something deep inside you.

"Dad?"

Your voice came out a pitch higher, shrill with sheer disbelief. That didn't make any sense. Dad? It couldn't be. The only figure you had ever associated with that title for her was Vander. Until you remembered a small detail, one that the shock had momentarily erased from your mind.

"You're talking about Silco?"

She nodded as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, and at that moment, you wanted to slam your head against the nearest wall. Even though you had already considered this possibility from the start, having it confirmed now was still a little unsettling.

That bastard Silco, the one turning your life upside down, messing with your thoughts, and taking up more and more space in your mind, was the guardian—or worse, the adoptive father—of the girl you had been searching for since returning to Zaun. It felt like the universe was conspiring to make your life even more complicated.

"Yeah, I keep him company... hm... we're friends?" The sentence came out awkwardly, your voice sounding much more like a clumsy question than a confident statement. Perfect. Now you looked like an idiot in front of the girl.

"Silco having friends?" She laughed—a loud, genuine sound that echoed through the space, making you even more uncomfortable. "That's a good one! So, you're heading to his office to keep him company again, huh? Is it like... a meeting?"

You furrowed your brows, tilting your head slightly as you finally stopped to analyze the situation as a whole. Was it just your imagination, or was this girl interrogating you?

"You could say that." you replied in a neutral tone, trying to sound casual.

"Hm..." The girl tilted her head, now looking you up and down with undisguised curiosity. "You're the prostitute."

If you weren't already shocked enough by the whole sequence of events, that sentence would have made your jaw hit the floor. However, your body still reacted. Your eyes widened, your mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, your cheeks started to burn, and every inch of you desperately longed to dig a hole and bury yourself in it. Oh, great. Just great. Now even the kid knew you were sleeping with Silco. Perfect. Zaun might as well organize a whole procession in your honor at this point.

"Wait, do you even know what that word means?"

"Prostitute? Of course, I do! People pay you, and you keep them company. Simple." She shrugged like it was the most normal thing in the world while you stood there, even more horrified. "Sevika told me."

"Oh, God..."

"How much do you charge? 'Cause Silco went crazy when you disappeared, so I'm guessing you must be pretty expensive." She took a few small steps toward you. "Come on, spill it. How much?"

Before you could open your mouth to respond—or do anything at all—a deep, unmistakable voice echoed through the room.

"Jinx."

You never, ever thought you'd be grateful for Silco's arrival, but there you were, letting out a sigh of relief at the sight of his imposing figure standing in the doorway. He was motionless, his face carrying that same cold, indifferent expression as always, but his eyes were locked onto the two of you.

"What did I say about interrogating my guests?"

"You said I wasn't supposed to do that. But I was curious!" Jinx crossed her arms, pouting defiantly. "I wanted to meet her somehow since you wouldn't even let me get close when she was with you."

"Jinx." His tone was harsher now, enough to make her step back, though she didn't lose that air of petulance. "Go to your lab and do something productive with your time, since you seem to have plenty of it to waste."

The girl huffed, casting one last look in your direction before leaving—almost as if she were engraving your face into her memory—muttering something about adults being "so boring."

When Powder's—no, Jinx's—footsteps finally faded down the corridor, the silence left behind felt heavy, suffocating. It was as if the air in the room had thickened, becoming almost impossible to breathe. You, who had been frozen in place until now, finally allowed yourself to meet his eyes. But Silco was already staring at you, his gaze locked onto yours in that way he always knew how to do.

There were so many things you wanted to say, sharp words ready at the tip of your tongue, and even more things you wanted to do to him. But none of them seemed to make sense anymore. Not after seeing Powder there, calling him father. Not after realizing what he meant to her. How you wished that insane theory had been wrong.

That girl had already lost a father once. And if you tried to take her away from Silco in any way, she would hate you until the end of time. As much as you wanted to protect her—from this place, from that damned manipulator who stirred such conflicting feelings in you—something about the thought of hurting Powder stopped you.

Suddenly, none of the plans you had spent sleepless nights crafting made sense anymore.

You had been so pessimistic about this whole Powder being Jinx thing that you half expected to be terribly wrong. But you were right.

"Come with me." Silco's voice shattered the tense silence lingering between you both. He sounded so casual. "I believe you came for a meeting."

It wasn't an invitation—it was an order. As always, he didn't wait for your response. He was already turning away, walking with slow, deliberate steps toward his office. But there was an insinuation in his words that you picked up on immediately. He had heard the entire conversation. He had been there, watching, as he always did—only stepping in when he deemed it necessary.

With a resigned sigh, you shook your head, trying to clear your thoughts before following him to the office door. The emotional rollercoaster of the day had drained your strength, but giving up wasn't an option. Not now.

Your steps were cautious, almost hesitant. You moved lightly, as if each movement could trigger a hidden trap, despite having entered this room countless times before. Walking into Silco's office always felt like stepping into a predator's den.

Silco said nothing when he entered. He went straight to his desk, rummaging through something without so much as a glance in your direction. Meanwhile, you remained near the door, your mind at war with itself. Part of you wanted to charge at him—accuse him, yell, demand answers. The other part wanted to simply wait, to absorb what was happening and decide the next move carefully.

The problem was, you no longer had a plan. Everything felt like it was crumbling beneath your feet, and now, all that was left was to improvise.

You were so lost in your own thoughts that you didn't notice when he got closer. His presence was almost silent, like a whisper in the dark. When his hand lifted toward your face, your reaction was instinctive. You pulled back quickly, like a wild cat sensing a threat, your eyes locked onto him with a mix of distrust and surprise.

"You're bleeding."

It wasn't a question, nor a statement of concern. It was simply an observation, a fact he had noticed and was acknowledging. That's when you saw what he was holding. A white handkerchief, folded with precision, rested in his hand.

Your fingers brushed against your forehead, exactly where the metallic monkey had struck you. You felt the warm, damp surface, and when you pulled your hand back, you saw the red staining your fingertips. Curiously, you hadn't even realized you were bleeding, much less felt the cut open or the blood trickling down. Maybe it was the adrenaline, or maybe the emotional turmoil was dulling the physical pain.

"I didn't know you liked playing nurse." you teased, attempting to ease the discomfort with a touch of sarcasm. Your eyes studied him briefly, trying to decipher the reason behind his gesture. It was unsettling. Silco—the man who never hesitated to get his hands bloody, both literally and metaphorically—was now standing there, offering to clean your wound.

"I don't want more blood staining my carpet." His voice was cold, razor-sharp. "That would be inconvenient."

You rolled your eyes despite the icy tone of his words. You knew it was a lie. If the only issue was blood on the carpet, he would have just tossed the handkerchief at you and been done with it, instead of bothering to clean the wound himself.

His touch was surprisingly gentle, and you felt your shoulders gradually relax. It was strange—unsettling, even—to have Zaun's most notorious crime lord tending to a superficial wound, one that, ironically, had been inflicted by the very child he had chosen to take in.

"That would be inconvenient, but deliberately hiding your daughter isn't." Your voice came out firm but measured, as if testing the limits. You knew Powder wasn't his daughter, but Silco didn't know that you knew. Keeping up the illusion of ignorance seemed like the safest choice for now.

He paused for a split second—almost imperceptibly—before continuing to dab the cloth against your skin.

"I believe I've already told you that there are things that do not concern you."

"Oh, of course." you shot back, a dry chuckle escaping your lips. "Because you're so good at keeping secrets. Nothing you do ever reaches the wrong ears, does it?"

The smile he gave you was barely perceptible but utterly devoid of warmth. More of a silent warning than an act of camaraderie. "Watch your words, dove. Some doors, once opened, cannot be closed."

You crossed your arms, ignoring the implicit threat. "And some questions, when avoided, only make the answers more obvious."

For a moment, silence settled over the room, so thick that you could hear both his breathing and your own. He resumed cleaning the wound with the same deliberate care, but something in the air had shifted. A new tension, heavier now, as if the two of you stood on opposite sides of a chessboard where every move had to be calculated with precision.

"She is none of your concern." Silco finally broke the silence, his voice low, nearly a whisper, yet weighted with finality.

"But I deserve to know." you countered, your voice carrying a boldness that bordered on reckless. "After all, I'm fucking her father."

The reaction was immediate. Silco's hand, which had been holding the cloth, pressed down harder than before, drawing an involuntary shudder from you. The pain was sharp, radiating through your body, and when you instinctively tried to pull away, his other hand was already in motion. Strong fingers clamped around your jaw, forcing you to stay still despite the throbbing discomfort. His gaze burned like liquid fire—freezing you in place even as a wave of heat crashed over you from the sheer force of his intimidation.

"I warned you to be careful with your words."

You finally fell silent. The pain and the implicit warning in his gestures were enough to shut your sharp tongue—at least for now. You knew you had crossed a line with your words, but something about the way he reacted made part of you want to push even further. Not out of pure provocation, but to understand just how far he was willing to go to protect what he held so dear.

The grip on your face gradually loosened, but not in a comforting way—it was deliberate, almost cruel, reinforcing his dominance over the situation. Even so, you forced yourself to remain quiet, swallowing the bitter taste of wounded pride as he finished tending to you with mechanical efficiency.

Your eyes studied him with curiosity. Silco had that neutral, almost cold expression, his jaw tense, his hands moving as naturally as breathing. It wasn't hard to imagine that he had cleaned blood countless times before—his own or someone else's. This wasn't new to him; it was routine.

When he finally stepped back, dropping the bloodstained cloth onto the worn wooden desk, the tension between you didn't fade. He exuded authority, even in silence. With a quiet grunt, he settled into his chair but didn't bother looking at you right away.

"Stay away from her." His voice cut through the silence like a sharp blade. No raised tone, no dramatics, yet it carried a weight that made it impossible to ignore. "I won't say it again."

"You think I'd be capable of doing anything to her?"

Before you even realized it, your steps had carried you closer. You stopped in front of the desk, leaning slightly over it, using the surface for support as you studied him. Silco lifted his chin to look at you, his heterochromatic eyes locked onto yours. That gaze was a mix of exhaustion and irritation, but above all, he didn't seem the least bit impressed by your boldness. There wasn't even a flicker of discomfort in his expression.

"If I thought you were a real threat, we wouldn't be having this conversation right now."

Before you could respond, he pulled the revolver from his holster with an unsettling calm, as if the motion was as casual as adjusting his tie. The weapon gleamed under the greenish light of the room, heavy and deadly, and he placed it on the desk with a sharp clack. The barrel was pointed directly at you—a tangible reminder of his quiet threat.

"She is off-limits. Understood?" His voice was unwavering. "So don't make me punish you for your insistence on this matter."

An image flooded your mind, vivid as if it were happening at that very moment. Silco in the shadows, watching. His eyes sharp and cold, finger always near the trigger, studying your every move as you interacted with Powder—no, with Jinx, as he preferred to call her now. It was evident that Jinx put him on the defensive. No matter what the two of you had built together—a contract, a twisted relationship, an intimacy that wavered between his absolute control and your calculated provocations. There were limits he would never let you cross.

Perhaps she was his only weakness, the one point where he allowed no concessions. And maybe, just maybe, that was precisely why he was so determined to draw that invisible line between you now.

For now, you decided to comply with the order. There was no need to raise suspicion—not yet, at least. Either way, reaching Powder without Silco knowing seemed more like a matter of opportunity than skill. A new plan was beginning to take shape in your mind: make the girl trust you enough to... well, what came after that was still a mystery. That was a problem for the future. Right now, the focus was on softening Silco's suspicion, regaining the privileges he had stripped away, and paving the way for your next move.

"How was it with Singed?"

Silco's voice cut through the silence as he picked up a document from a neatly stacked pile on his desk. His tone was so casual it almost made it seem like the previous conversation hadn't happened.

"Did he say anything different?"

"No." You replied, stepping away from the desk. With a heavy sigh, you pulled out a chair and sat down, hands resting on the armrests as you observed Silco. "For how much longer will I have to keep seeing him?"

"For as long as necessary."

He didn't even lift his eyes to you, his long, precise fingers flipping through the pages before him with an exaggerated concentration—almost as if he were deliberately ignoring your presence.

He knew exactly how to get under your skin.

"But—"

"No buts." 

Silco cut you off before you could finish the sentence, his voice firm yet calm, like the sound of a door closing with a muffled slam.

You felt your teeth clench. His response was sharp and final, and the obvious disinterest as he remained buried in his paperwork was almost a provocation. Frustration mingled with the tension already hanging in the air, and you had to control yourself not to let it show just how much it bothered you.

"This is getting ridiculous." you muttered, more to yourself, but deliberately loud enough for him to hear.

This time, Silco lifted his eyes. For a moment, they gleamed with something between exhaustion and annoyance, and you realized you had managed to get a reaction out of him.

"Ridiculous would be allowing you to continue questioning my decisions." His reply was quiet but carried the weight of a veiled threat. "You're here to serve a purpose, not to negotiate the terms of it."

You opened your mouth to argue, but something in his gaze made you hesitate. It wasn't fear—you weren't foolish enough to fear him in that way—but there was a line that even you knew better than to cross. Besides, the fact that he had used the word "purpose" made you feel strange... though irritated would be the best way to describe your current emotions.

So instead of retorting, you simply leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms. "As you wish." you murmured, unwillingly, but making it clear that you weren't satisfied.

It felt like an eternity passed in that uncomfortable silence between you. The only sound was the breathing of both of you, an almost synchronized melody, but heavy with a tension that filled the room like toxic gas. Silco didn't look at you directly, keeping his focus on his work. You had clashed before—many times—and ever since you had woken from the coma your own body had imposed on you, these exchanges had become more frequent. However, something had been different in the past few days. Colder. Distant.

In fact, ever since that morning when the two of you had slept together, he seemed to have closed himself off, and it had remained that way for the past three weeks. It was as if something inside him had cracked—or hardened. He no longer touched you the way he used to, nor were there the sharp, biting remarks that had once been a part of your dynamic. Even when he announced that your privileges had been revoked, he did it as if he were informing just another subordinate.

You didn't fight the decision at the time. There was no point in waging a war with a predetermined ending.

Now, everything was methodically controlled. He summoned you to his office, yes, but the interaction was cold, almost clinical. You spent hours by his side, yet you felt more like a piece of furniture than someone he shared even the slightest warmth with.

Maybe he was still angry. At you, at everything. When Silco was angry, everyone felt it. His rage was a living presence, infecting any space he stepped into. It was impossible not to notice his foul mood, especially because it made him unbearably meticulous and unbearably critical.

Of course, deep down, you knew it was your fault. If you hadn't run away, none of this would've happened. But you didn't regret it. Not one bit. Why should you? There was no room for regret in your mind. Still, something inside you longed for this phase to pass.

You wouldn't admit it, not even under torture, but you missed it. You missed the Silco who responded to your provocations, who played along with that spark of something you couldn't quite name. You missed the Silco who looked at you with those eyes full of intention, leaving the impression that, no matter how cold and unpleasant he was, he wasn't completely impenetrable.

You shook your head slightly, pushing the thought away. No, you didn't miss it. And you would keep denying it until the very idea was suffocated by the same oppressive silence filling the room.

The sound of his sigh cut through the silence, long and heavy, as if carrying the weight of something too burdensome for the world to bear. It was the only sign that he was finally giving in to the tension accumulating in the air. Then, Silco slowly turned his chair, his narrowed eyes fixed on you. That gaze was nearly unreadable, but you could sense an intent behind it—something he had kept buried for weeks.

"I believe you should know who ordered your kidnapping." His voice had lost some of its usual harshness, softening just enough to sound like a command disguised as a request. "I want the names."

Ah, of course, there was also that.

All these weeks since you woke up, he had never brought it up. Never pressed you for information or questioned your involvement. It was unsettling, actually. You had expected a meticulous interrogation, sharp questions about who you were, why this had happened, and who was behind it. But he did none of that.

Silco had treated the kidnapping as an insignificant detail, almost as if... he already knew something about it. About you.

That thought had always lingered in your mind, but you never dared to voice it. Still, the lack of distrust only made the situation more unsettling.

"You won't be able to reach them." Your voice was firm—not just a statement, but a fact. "You have no power in Piltover, Silco."

As expected, he didn't seem remotely irritated by your defiance. On the contrary, there was a predatory calm in his eyes, as if he were already two steps ahead, anticipating your every reaction. He rose from his chair with that calculated elegance only he could manage, the sound of his boots against the floor filling the space as he approached.

When he stopped beside you, Silco leaned in slightly, tilting your chin upward with the touch of two fingers. A light touch, yet one that exuded authority—though, somehow, it still held a trace of gentleness. He tilted his head, his eyes piercing into yours as if he could rip the answers straight from your soul.

"Don't burden that pretty head of yours with such details. Just give me the names."

The tone was undeniably authoritative, but there was something in the way he spoke—that unwavering confidence, as if every word was a promise of an inevitable future—that made you hesitate. You stepped back slightly, not out of fear, but out of instinct, like someone who recognized they were standing before something far greater than they could control.

You knew Silco ruled Zaun with an iron fist. His eyes were everywhere, his spies in every alley, and his orders were rarely disobeyed. But Piltover was a different story. You knew that, you were sure of it... or at least you thought you were.

"There was a secretary, maybe an assistant, I don't know. Cayden. From what I remember, he was sponsored by the Hoskel family."

"Anyone else?"

"He was the only one in a higher position that I knew of."

"Good." Silco nodded, as if he had already calculated everything in his mind, and turned calmly toward the window, hands clasped behind his back. "You're dismissed."

His words set off an alarm inside you, an immediate sense of danger that made you rise from your chair before you even realized it. "You're not planning something, are you?" Your voice came out sharper than you intended, but he didn't seem to notice—or care enough to respond.

Silence. A crushing silence.

You clenched your fists, abandoning any attempt to keep your composure. "You do know the Hoskel house is on the Piltover Council, don't you? If you try anything, it'll lead to retaliation. Zaun doesn't stand a chance against Piltover, and we both know it!"

Still, Silco didn't turn around. He remained by the window, staring down at the streets below as if his vision alone could shape the future. But you saw the way his shoulders tensed slightly at your words. He wasn't the type to tolerate doubt about his authority or power. No. He truly believed that Zaun not only could stand against Piltover but that it would one day surpass it.

Great. Not only was he egotistical, but he was delusional too.

"I said: you're dismissed."

You glared at him, hesitating for a moment. Every fiber of your being told you to push further, to insist—but deep down, you knew he wouldn't change his mind. Not now. So, against your will, you turned and walked toward the door, trying to contain the anger burning inside you. But just before leaving, you stopped, your hand hovering over the doorknob.

"This isn't your fight, so think carefully about what you're willing to risk for it." You paused, letting the weight of your words linger in the air. "You've already done enough damage to Zaun."

Silco's Pov━━━━━━━༺༻━━━━━━━

Silent treatments, in general, were a foolish strategy with Silco. 

First, because ignoring someone like him was practically suicidal. Second, because for a silent treatment to be even remotely effective, Silco would have to actually want to interact, to feel the urge to speak, or at the very least, to sense a need to break the silence. And that was nearly impossible. Silco wasn't known for being friendly, much less for enjoying idle conversation. He simply didn't have the time or the patience for it.

In the life he had chosen, friendships were dangerous luxuries—sharp knives that could pierce his back at the first opportunity. He knew this better than anyone. Trust was not something Silco handed out carelessly. Not anymore.

But with her, the rules seemed different.

It had been three days since their last encounter in his office, when the atmosphere had taken a tense turn. She had chosen a childish, prideful approach—complete denial of any words or gestures directed at him. And strangely enough, it worked. Silco, who would normally ignore such behavior without a second thought, found himself stewing over her silence as if it were a new kind of torture.

Not that he intended to do anything to fix the situation.

Both of them were far too stubborn to be the first to give in, each waiting for the other to break. Silco knew she was expecting something more—perhaps an apology, or at the very least, a kinder gesture than the way he had been treating her for the past few days. And maybe... maybe he should offer her that.

But how could he possibly mask his discontent?

He was already grappling with his damn confusing feelings ever since that morning in his bed, the unease of his men regarding her presence, and now this unexpected meeting. Everything he had meticulously planned had been derailed by an encounter he had worked so hard to avoid—her and Jinx, face to face.

The interaction had been brief, almost insignificant, yet it left an undeniable mark.

What truly caught his attention wasn't her behavior itself, but the way her shock seemed to overflow—something disproportionate to the situation. It was natural for her to be surprised, maybe even uncomfortable, but there was something in that look.

It wasn't just curiosity or apprehension. It was as if she were standing before someone she knew—someone from her past. Her expression was heavy with recognition. A recognition that made no sense.

Silco had done his homework, as he always did. He knew every detail of her past that could be known. She had no connection to anyone in Jinx's circle—not now, not before. Their worlds had never crossed, at least not in any way he had access to. And yet, there was something in the way she had reacted that shattered all of that.

As if she were staring at a ghost.

Silco didn't like gaps. He didn't like unanswered questions. He knew that information was the most powerful weapon, and in Zaun, where alliances were fragile and betrayals abundant, knowing more than others was the only way to stay alive. But for now, he set the questions aside. There was still time to investigate and uncover whatever the hell that woman was hiding—because, clearly, she was hiding something.

For now, however, he had other priorities. Like, for example, planning a kidnapping.

Marcus, as always, had hesitated. It was almost pathetic how much that man needed to be reminded of his place—and, more importantly, of the place he could lose. Silco knew exactly which buttons to press. He made sure to refresh the anxious Enforcer's memory about his imminent promotion to Sheriff, a position Marcus desired almost as much as he feared losing it.

Marcus's rise had been carefully orchestrated by Silco, and the thread holding him up was thin. Just as Silco had lifted him, he could just as easily let him fall.

The veiled—yet undeniably clear—threat was enough. Marcus accepted the orders reluctantly, but Silco knew the man would comply. He always did. He was the kind of man whose ambition was matched only by his fear, and Silco knew how to exploit both with precision. Now, it was just a matter of waiting. In a few days, Marcus would have information about this Cayden, and then the next move could be made.

The second priority stood before him, leaning against the railing of his room's balcony. She seemed oblivious to his presence, her gaze fixed on the frantic movement of The Last Drop below. The pulsing lights and muffled voices filled the space, but she remained detached, lost in her own thoughts. She didn't even turn to acknowledge him when he entered.

She was doing it on purpose, of course.

Silco slipped a hand into his pocket, fingers brushing against the cold metal of the piece he had brought with him. It was a fine, delicate chain, made of pure gold, its links so small and flawless they almost seemed unreal under the light. The pendant, a small drop with a translucent lilac stone, caught the light in soft shades of purple and pink. Under the neon glow of the bar, the stone's shimmer seemed to pulse, almost resembling the hue of Shimmer itself.

Silco moved closer, his steps silent. When he stopped behind her, his chest nearly brushed against her back, and he could feel the slight tremor in her breathing. She didn't turn, but he noticed the subtle way her shoulders tensed.

With a careful movement, Silco lifted the chain, his fingers working with precision as he draped it around her neck.

He fastened the clasp with ease, but he didn't pull his hands away immediately. His fingers lingered near her skin, the warmth of it radiating toward him as the soft brush of his knuckles grazed her nape. There was something about that closeness—something intimate, something electric. He felt her body tense, as if she were fighting against the urge to yield to his touch. And he knew he could break that resistance.

But for now, he held back.

"Buying me with jewelry won't work, Silco."

"I know that." he replied, a faint smile playing on his lips—one that carried more intent than words. "But I made you break your silence, didn't I?"

When she didn't retort, Silco slowly moved to stand beside her on the balcony. He leaned against the railing with his arms crossed, his gaze drifting over the view below. Like her, he observed the club beneath them. It was a busy night.

Drink orders were being served at an impressive speed; groups formed and dissolved as people drank, smoked, or indulged in Shimmer. Some danced in the midst of the crowd, while others leaned against the walls, conversing in hushed tones that couldn't rise above the pounding music and flashing neon lights.

To most, it was the image of unrestrained chaos. To Silco, it was organized—and profitable.

"You know, a long time ago, this place was just a bar." he said, his voice low, tinged with a nostalgia so faint it was almost imperceptible. "Nothing special. Just a place for people to drink and forget their troubles for a while."

Silco leaned against the railing, his elbows resting on the polished metal, his gaze fixed on the restless crowd below. The music filled every corner, pulsing, reverberating—like a second heartbeat.

"It was a different time, a different world." he murmured, his voice low, weighted with something that almost sounded like longing. "But it had that—"

"Familiar feeling?" her voice cut in, finishing the thought, and Silco turned to her, slightly surprised.

He nodded slowly, acknowledging her insight.

"Vander had that feeling."

For a moment, something shifted in her posture. Her eyes seemed to lose focus, as if her mind had been pulled into a distant memory.

"You knew Vander?" Silco asked, his voice curious but laced with caution.

She gave a humorless, almost bitter smile. "Who didn't? He was the Protector of Zaun."

"I'll admit, Vander protected Zaun in his own way." Silco spoke like someone who had already chewed and digested every word before letting it out. "But he let our city stagnate, dove. He kept us trapped in a place where we could never evolve, never rise above the filth and misery we were forced to live in. He allowed Zaun to remain in Piltover's shadow, clinging to an empty promise of peace, one that could be broken in an instant if those above decided it."

Silco didn't look at her immediately, but he noticed the exact moment she turned her head, finally facing him for real. He could feel her gaze—a mixture of irritation and something else, perhaps a sliver of understanding. It wasn't the kind of attention he sought, but it would do.

"Vander did what he thought was right." she said, firm but lacking the vehemence that might have made the defense stronger. "He kept the Enforcers away."

"A temporary solution to a long-term problem."

He countered with cutting precision, leaning against the railing. His fingers drummed against the metal surface for a brief moment before stopping abruptly. He looked down at the sea of people in his club, moving as one pulsing, living organism.

"Humans have this instinctive fear of what they can't fully control." Silco continued, his voice taking on a near-philosophical tone. "Zaun isn't a city that bends to standards. It shapes itself according to necessity. It evolves, adapts. And that is exactly what makes it so unique... and so untamable."

Silco let a smile slip. Subtle, almost imperceptible—but he knew she would notice. She always noticed. Ever observant, she picked up the smallest details, even when she pretended not to care. He had meant every word he spoke. This wasn't a rehearsed speech or some manipulation; it was conviction. It was that certainty that kept him standing, even in a world that seemed determined to crush him. He believed in it the way a dreamer believes in an impossible dream.

"That's why those above treat us as unworthy of their attention. It's not just arrogance. It's strategy. It's their way of cementing their own fear. Because the moment they acknowledge us as a threat, something shifts. That idea spreads, grows, seeps into the fabric of society. They know it. They know that all it takes is a single spark to turn dust into flame."

It might have been just an impression, but there was something in her eyes that Silco noticed immediately. Beneath the mask of indifference she insisted on wearing, there was a glimmer—subtle, yet unmistakable. A flicker of something he recognized as interest.

"So, they ignore us. Treat us as irrelevant, invisible." he continued, advancing carefully, like someone who had just discovered fertile ground. "And little by little, that idea takes root inside us. We start to believe it. Believe that we are small, insignificant. That we are incapable of changing the world. And so, we accept the role they assign us."

Maybe he had touched something within her. Not much—just a spark, tiny, almost insignificant. But sparks, in the right hands, could turn into devastating wildfires. And Silco had always known how to wield the right words at the right moment.

He moved again. Silco positioned himself behind her, claiming the space with the ease of someone who already knew it was his by right. His hand slid to her waist—firm, but unhurried. The other reached for her chin, gently forcing her to look down at the club below once more.

"If a simple bar can change this much..." Silco's voice was low, almost a whisper, right at her ear. "Imagine what a city could become. Our people deserve more than just scraping by on the margins of what they could be, don't you think?"

He paused, letting his words hang in the air like a devil whispering temptations.

"We are a threat, dove."

She took a moment before responding.

"Peace imposed by force crumbles within days, Silco."

"Ah, but that's where Piltover, and you, are mistaken." Silco's voice dripped like smooth poison. "Peace is not the end. It's a convenient illusion they peddle to maintain control. What builds a lasting future isn't forced peace, it's well-cultivated fear. Piltover only respects what it cannot crush. They only yield to what makes them tremble."

Silco leaned in even closer, his lips brushing lightly against the curve of her ear. He noticed immediately how her skin reacted, the way it prickled under his proximity. It made him smile. Not an ordinary smile, but that slight curve of his lips—pure triumph.

"When they look at Zaun and see not a shadow, but something that threatens everything they have, that's when they'll recognize our true strength. We are not a dream of equality. We are the nightmare that will drag them from their throne."

The silence between them was filled with the music of the club. She was thinking, perhaps analyzing the logic in his words.

"Piltover is a fortress. A direct fight would be suicide."

Ah, she still resisted—at least in words. But her body, well, that was a different story. He felt it when she leaned in, the movement almost imperceptible, as if unconscious. The warmth radiating from her was tangible, a sharp contrast to the cold tone of her words.

Silco knew how to read the signs; her internal conflict was obvious. He could see how her morality wavered on a tightrope, caught between what she believed was right and the irresistible pull of his vision—of him.

Silco let his lips glide along her neck, tracing a slow, deliberate path. He placed light kisses and left marks where his teeth grazed the soft skin.

"And what's your suggestion, dove?"

She swallowed hard, the sound almost inaudible, but Silco felt the tension in her body when he pressed his lips against a strategic spot—right where her heartbeat pulsed the strongest. The way it quickened made him smirk against her skin. With one hand, he pulled her closer, eliminating any space between them.

"There's something both cities have in common." she finally said, her voice slightly unsteady but firm enough to catch his attention. "Their system of government. Piltover's councilors are the counterparts of Zaun's chem-barons. Both maintain their power through greed, through control. If you want to take Piltover, the only way is to destroy them. From the inside out."

Silco's eyes gleamed with interest. He pulled his lips away from her skin, but not before leaving a very visible mark there. His hand, however, remained firm on her waist, anchoring her in place.

"Elaborate."

"If you were to die, Zaun would fall into chaos. The barons would devour each other in an endless war for the position you left behind. People would be lost in that frenzy of violence, some driven by fear of dying, others by the thirst to kill. All of them desperately searching for something, a symbol, an idea that could give them hope."

The hand that had once held her chin now trailed down slowly, exploring the contours of her body, fingers tracing along her figure with a calmness that felt out of place for the feverish moment they were in. Silco felt it when she tilted her head back, granting him access as she took a deep breath, trying to compose herself.

"And?"

"And then, someone would become that symbol. It wouldn't matter whether it was through peace or through fear. They would become something for people to believe in, an icon, an idea. And ideas..." she paused, her eyes fluttering shut, her lips parting just enough for a quiet sigh to escape. "Ideas are stronger than any power you could ever hold in your hands."

He moved closer, pressing her body against the railing of the balcony. The tension between them was palpable—every movement, every ragged breath filling the space like a silent duel. Her head tilted back even further as his lips found her neck once more. She let out a deep sigh, her fingers tightening around the cold metal railing as if it were the only thing keeping her anchored.

"Control the masses." she whispered, as if handing him a truth she knew he couldn't ignore. "Only then will you have your throne."

Silco's hand paused, his fingers hovering just a hairsbreadth away from the hem of her skirt, the anticipation of his touch a palpable, throbbing ache in the air between them. His other hand slid up her side, his palm cupping the soft swell of her breast, his thumb brushing teasingly over the hardened peak of her nipple through the fabric of her top. Silco could feel the way her heart raced beneath his touch, could hear the way her breathing grew more and more ragged with each passing second.

He nipped at her earlobe, his teeth tugging on the delicate flesh, his tongue soothing the sting with a slow lick. 

"How sure are you of this, dove?"

At the same time, Silco's hand slid a fraction of an inch lower, his fingers dipping beneath the hem of her skirt, the tips brushing against the bare, vulnerable skin of her thigh. He could feel the heat of her flesh, the soft, silken texture that made him crave more.

"More than you think."

Silco felt a surge of triumph as he noticed her legs shifting, her thighs parting slightly to grant him access. It was a small concession, a subtle invitation. He didn't hesitate, his fingers sliding further beneath her skirt, his fingers trailing over the smooth, supple flesh until they reached the apex of her legs. He could feel the heat radiating from her core, could sense the way her body trembled and ached for his touch. And as he slipped his fingers beneath the lace of her panties, Silco groaned at the feel of her, hot and slick and ready for him.

"Where did you learn such...things?" Slowly, almost teasingly, he traced the outline of her slit through the fabric. "Such dangerous, subversive ideas about power and control? Tell me, who put these notions in that clever, wicked head of yours?"

"At the Institute."

Her voice came out slurred, as if plucked from some distant corner of her already foggy mind. He didn't interrupt, nor did he rush her. He knew the value of well-placed silence.

"Piltover..."

She finished, her voice almost trailing off at the end. The answer hung in the air like an involuntary confession, and Silco felt the impact of it like an electric current running down his spine. Silco made a low, approving sound in the back of his throat as she blurted out her response, her guard clearly lowered by the haze of lust that clouded her mind. He filed away the information for later use.

He pushed the scrap of lace aside, slowly, almost reverently, Silco slid his fingers through her clit. He could feel the way her body clenched and fluttered around the sudden intrusion, could sense the way she struggled not to grind herself down against his palm, to ride his hand like a wanton creature in heat.

But even as he pleasured her, even as he felt her body start to tense and coil around him, Silco couldn't shake the dark curiosity that gnawed at him. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear.

"And what other things did you learn at that... Institute, dove?" he breathed, punctuating his question with a particularly hard, deep thrust of his fingers.

"I... I don't remember..." Her voice came out broken, a barely audible whisper, as her hips began to move against Silco, as if seeking an instinctive rhythm, something she couldn't control. "Everything was confusing..."

Then she turned her face toward him, her eyes red and bright, as if holding back tears she wasn't sure she wanted to let fall. The pleasure evident on her face seemed intertwined with something else—something deeper, darker. It was regret, he realized. Not the kind of regret that came from conscious choices, but the kind that grew from wounds that never quite healed.

"Please." she begged, her voice shaking. "I don't want to remember this."

For a moment, Silco didn't answer. He just watched her, his eyes roaming over her face, and he recognized that look, that mixture of pleasure and pain. It was all too familiar—he'd carried it so many times himself over the years. "You don't want to remember." he murmured, his voice low, like a secret shared only between the two of them. "But running away from it won't erase what happened." His tone wasn't consoling. It wasn't gentle, but it wasn't cruel either. It was... direct. Ruthlessly honest. "However I can help you forget, at least for now."

He brought his fingers to his mouth, making a show of licking them clean, of savoring the taste of her arousal on his tongue, a heady, intoxicating blend of sweet and salt and something uniquely, devastatingly her. Silco groaned softly, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment as he savored the taste, committing it to memory.

Then, he plunged his fingers back inside her, driving them deep and hard, the way he knew she needed, the way that made her cry out, a raw, primal sound that echoed through the night air. The balcony seemed to spin around them, the world fading away until there was nothing but the slick, obscene sound of Silco's fingers plunging into her dripping core, nothing but the way her body jerked and shuddered, nothing but the way her breath came in short, sharp gasps and ragged, broken cries.

"Remember, dove..." he breathed, punctuating his words with a particularly hard, deep thrust. "We're still in public, still out here where anyone could see..." He punctuated his warning with a slow, deliberate circle of his thumb against her aching, swollen clit. "All it would take is for someone to glance this way, to catch a glimpse of what I'm doing to you, and they'd know..."

The idea of ​​being caught, of putting on a public spectacle with his dove seemed torturously delicious. But even as he reveled in the forbidden thrill, Silco knew he had to be cautious, this sight of her was for his eyes only. So with a herculean effort, he forced himself to slow down, to temper the wild, reckless pace of his fingers with a more measured, deliberate rhythm.

"Shh... We don't want to give the crowd a show, now do we? No, this..." he breathed, his words a dark, sinful purr. "This is just for you and me. Our little secret." He nipped at her neck, his teeth tugging on the flesh gently, his tongue soothing the sting with a slow lick. "Now be a good girl, and keep quiet for me, hmm?"

Silco let out a low, dark chuckle as he watched she bring her hand to her mouth, her fingers pressing against her lips in a desperate bid to muffle the wanton moans and whimpers that threatened to spill out. Even if the music was loud, and the people below them were completely oblivious, there was no guarantee that the noises wouldn't attract the attention of other people.

But Silco was not a man to rest on his laurels, to simply revel in the fruits of his labor without pushing further, without demanding more. No, he wanted to see just how far he could go, how close he could take her to the limit. With that in mind, Silco began to move his fingers with a newfound intensity, his hand pumping and thrusting and curling inside her with a fierce, relentless rhythm. He could feel her walls clenching and fluttering around him, could sense the way her body tensed and coiled.

And then, just as her eyes began to roll back in her head, just as her breath started to come in short, desperate gasps, Silco found it. That specific spongy, ridged spot. Silco angled his fingers just so, curling and stroking and rubbing against that spot. At the same time, the palm of his hand rubbed against her clit, always keeping up the rhythm.

He could feel her body tensing, her muscles locking, her legs in a failed attempt to close—pinning his wrist to her thighs, and her trying to pull her body away from his touch. Silco felt her flying over the edge into a mind-shattering, body-wracking climax.

Her scream of ecstasy was muffled by her own hand, her eyes squeezing shut as a gush of her hot, fragrant arousal flooded out around Silco's plunging fingers, soaking his hand, dripping down to splatter on the balcony floor below. Her body convulsed and shuddered, her hips bucking and grinding against Silco's palm as wave after wave.

But even as Silco revealed in his victory, he was not so cruel as to let her collapse in a heap on the cold, hard balcony floor. No, he gathered her limp, satiated body into his arms, cradling her against his chest, almost like a bride and taking her into the room to lay her on his bed. He would deal with the mess on his balcony later.

"Rest now." Silco murmured, his voice a low, soothing rumble as he brushed a strand of sweat-damp hair from his forehead. "You've had a long day, and an even longer... night."

[...]

She had been growing more compliant with each passing week. Not in an obvious way, of course, but Silco recognized patterns better than anyone. It was subtle—the way her tone had lost some of its bite, how she no longer recoiled immediately at his orders, even the way her gaze held less defiance. He knew it was all part of a strategy. She was cunning, deceptive when she needed to be, and she knew how to play the game just as well as he did.

And yet, he had loosened her leash again.

There was a cruel logic to his decision—it was easier to keep the prey off guard when it believed itself free. If she truly wanted to escape, Silco knew there wasn't much he could do. Escorts, guards, traps—none of it would hold her. He had witnessed her skill before. So rather than force the situation, he simply returned the freedom they had initially agreed upon.

A month later, he knew he had made the right choice.

Of course, he never stopped watching. Carelessness wasn't in his nature, even when he made it seem otherwise. The guards' reports came in frequently, detailing her movements. Always out of her room, always walking around, observing her surroundings with an unusual attentiveness. Sometimes, she sat at the bar for long stretches, as if waiting for someone—or something. It was understandable, he admitted to himself. She had been kidnapped. Someone in her position would naturally carry a heightened sense of paranoia. Maybe that was what fed her restless energy.

But Silco knew it wouldn't last.

Not with Cayden in his hands.

Tracking him down had been a tedious task, but Marcus, as always, proved his usefulness. Memorizing his routine had been easy—he was predictable, a creature of habit. When the right opportunity presented itself, Silco hadn't hesitated to send a few of his men after him. The timing was chosen with precision—a moment of vulnerability, where any resistance would be futile.

But there was no resistance. He didn't fight, didn't beg, didn't even try to run. He simply surrendered.

That gave Silco pause. Either the man had seen this coming and accepted his fate, or—more likely—he had been instructed to let it happen. A sacrificial pawn on the board.

It didn't matter. What mattered was that Silco had a narrow window of time to deal with the situation. And, as always, he already had a plan. The incident would be framed as a botched kidnapping—an unavoidable clash with the enforcers, where both the victim and the kidnappers would perish. A tragic but clean ending.

It was then, in the midst of these thoughts, that Silco noticed Sevika's presence beside him.

Silco stood at the top of the staircase, leaning casually against the railing, but his gaze was fixed on a particular point. She had been sitting at one of the tables for about half an hour, a glass resting beside her, untouched since it had been set down. She was talking to the bartender, who was busy cleaning the floor nearby. She seemed at ease, almost relaxed.

And there was one detail Silco did not overlook—she was still wearing the necklace he had given her.

"He's not going to talk." Sevika stated, extinguishing the tip of her cigarette against the sole of her boot. The action was casual, almost indifferent, as if this were just another day in her life—and, in a way, it was. "That guy's too resilient to break. But he confirmed he was the middleman."

This only reinforced what Silco had already suspected: the boy had been discarded, nothing more than a pawn sacrificed by the true mastermind. A scapegoat loyal to a master who didn't even care about him.

"It's impressive how loyal he is." Silco mused. "Even knowing that keeping quiet means his death. Blind loyalty or stupidity? Hard to say." He paused, taking another drag from his cigar and exhaling a lazy coil of smoke that drifted up to the ceiling. "Either way, he's of no use to us if he stays silent."

"You want me to get rid of him, or do you want to handle it yourself?"

"Neither you nor I. This death is not ours to claim."

"Then who will?"

Instead of answering with words, Silco raised his cigar and used it to discreetly gesture in the direction he wanted Sevika to look. She frowned, clearly confused, before turning toward where he indicated, her gaze slowly traveling until it landed on the figure still seated at the table. 

His dove didn't seem to realize she was the subject of the conversation, but her head tilted slightly in Silco's direction, as if sensing the weight of his stare. And when their eyes met, she raised an eyebrow. The gesture was subtle, a silent question—what do you want? Why are you looking at me like that?

So dangerously unaware of what he was planning.

"She will."

Part 13

AUTHOR'S NOTES: I would be easily manipulated by him… By the way, did you know that the color purple has many meanings, including royalty, luxury, creativity, and mystery. It can also symbolize power, ambition, and independence. Just an addendum, Reader is not a completely good person, but I think you already knew that. So wait for the next chapters, there will be changes in our sweet dove... My classes are back, so let's hope I can keep up with the chapter frequency.

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[darnell-la]

𝗗𝗔𝗡𝗚𝗘𝗥 ... 𝗙𝗘𝗘𝗧 𝗔𝗪𝗔𝗬

pairing: dark!pervy!professor!logan howlett x student!reader

summary: the job of a mentor shouldn’t be hard, but for Logan Howlett, it was when one of his best students wasn’t so innocent after all. professors are trained to hold themselves, but something within Logan wanted to release all out on that so-called innocent student.

warnings: Logan is a slight perv, nudes, anal, forced anal, rough sex, age gap, overpowering, degrading, jealousy, anger, cnc/SA, etc.

note: many of our supporters are asking for out-of-pocket Logan Howlett, and it’s so hard finding ways to write him in that way. REQUEST!

DO NOT READ IF CNC/SA MAKES YOU UNCOMFORTABLE!

———

There has been a situation going on around the school. Some kids have made a hook-up app for mutants around the school. The professor found out after having to confiscate a student's phone for texting during class.

Professor Howlett has been investing, and trying to get several student's names to call the office and shut the app down.

By doing that, he used the student phone he had to take during class. Sadly, that student wasn’t a student people wanted to hook up with, or even go on a date with. Logan had no luck until a few minutes ago when an anonymous student messaged him.

“Hey, I know it’s hard to find people on here, but I was thinking we could maybe hang out?”

Logan couldn't stop laughing to himself, happy that he could put this shenanigan situation to the side until several attachments popped up on the phone.

At first, he didn’t think of anything, but as soon as he tapped on them to reveal what was sent, his jaw dropped.

The student was y/n, and the attachments she sent were something he would’ve never thought of her doing. Half of what was sent were videos while the rest was her masturbating with toys.

A specific one had stood out to him, which made him feel like the biggest creep there could be, but he couldn’t stop watching.

She had laid on her back so when she spread her legs, everything was exposed. She rubbed so much lube onto herself, that he was confused until she pulled a dildo out and pushed it against her back door.

The way she moaned, made him lost in the video. He hadn’t even known the video was five minutes long. He could tell she could barely take it up her ass, but the way she struggled and still tried was amazing. Especially when she finished all over the place.

“I’ve never done anal, so I’m afraid that’s off-limits. Anything else is completely fine though!”

Logan looked at her message, still thinking if that was all real. Was that really y/n? If this was anyone else, he would’ve called a school meeting in seconds, no matter how late it was, but y/n — He didn’t know what took over him.

“Send room number. Be there in 5. Look pretty,”

In y/n’s head, she thought how oddly the student typed. She hadn’t been around the student to know him fully, but she knew no student typed the way he did.

“Could I perhaps have some videos of you?” Y/n asked, making Logan’s heart skip a beat. “No need, Bub. I’m real,” Logan typed, making y/n gasp. Anyone could’ve figured out who the person was behind the phone after using that word. Bub.

“Logan? What the hell are you doing on here??” Y/n asked, only making Logan’s heart drop further. “What?” Logan tried covering himself off, but that only made y/n laugh on her bed.

“It’s fine, Logan. I like older men anyway. Have you done anything like this before?” Y/n asked. Logan wanted to throw the phone and spazz on how he could’ve blown his cover this bad.

“No,” the man replied, not knowing his cock had grown hard at the thought of y/n still wanting to proceed with the conversation. “Just come up to room 411,” Y/n said before going offline.

Logan had thought this would be easy to deal with since y/n never seemed like a student to blackmail people, but something ran through his head as he got up from his office chair.

How many people has she done this with? That thought alone boiled his blood. He had thought y/n was innocent, and one of the good students. She lied to him, telling him a few months ago that all she cared about was her training and education.

Y/n had fallen asleep after the first hour of Logan not showing up. She had thought he had maybe backed out, and she was fine with that.

Little did she know, Logan had been keeping himself back for the past hour. Everyone in this school is still training, even the professors, and though they can usually control themselves, this was a small situation that turned big.

Logan was mentally and physically going insane, wanting to teach a student he had trust in, a lesson for lying and doing this that wouldn’t help her training and education in the future.

He held himself back for as long as he could, but now he was walking through y/n’s bedroom door. Y/n had woken up from her sleep after hearing her bedroom door close and lock.

“Oh, hey! — I wasn’t expecting you. I thought you might’ve changed your mind,” y/n said as Logan basically ripped off his clothes until he was exposed. Y/n’s eyes widened at his huge and throbbing size.

“Where’s the lube?” Logan growled as he stared y/n’s figure down. She had fallen asleep in the little bit of clothing she wanted to surprise him in. “Uh, the desk right here, but, I’m not really into anal,” y/n assured for the second time tonight.

Logan ignored her and went through the desk she had pointed out to him. “On your stomach — Edge of the bed,” Logan said. He had barely given her time to move before he put her into the position himself.

“Sir, just my pussy, okay? I-I didn’t really prepare for anal tonight,” y/n said, hoping her professor would listen. Instead, Logan spread a bunch on her upper hole, and the rest he stroked his cock with.

“Okay, sir?” Y/n asked to know if he heard her. He did, but he didn’t care. Why would she tease him with that one video if she wasn’t thinking about her hole getting used tonight?

“Mr. Howlett, I said the other-“Y/n tried to get up, but Logan pushed her face into the sheets as his cock pushed through her walls, instantly feeling her grip him as tight as she could.

“Oh fuck,” Logan couldn’t believe how amazing she felt within seconds. “Mr. Howlett, please — I-It hurts a little,” y/n whined, shifting under him to feel more comfortable, but that didn’t matter as he pushed further into her until she was filled.

The scream she let out, was enough to make him leak in her already. “Be as loud as you want, Bub. Hank designed these walls for the privacy of the professors and the students — No one’s gonna hear how un-innocent you are,” Logan whispered in the young girl's ear before he leaned back up and began pounding.

The room filled with nasty noises in seconds. Logan couldn’t seem to get enough of what he was doing. It’s like something took him over once he felt the insides of y/n and the noises she could make.

“Logan, please,” y/n cried out, feeling like he would break her any second now. At first, she hated the way he didn’t listen to her, but after the first few pumps, she couldn’t get enough of it herself.

The feeling of her the Wolverine coming in her to have his way with her, degrade her, and even groan at how perfect she was, only send her gushing around his cock in seconds.

“You’re not so innocent, princess, so how about you cum on my cock again, yeah? Because this ain’t gonna be the last time I have you,”

[my-past-disgusts-me]

Adding my two cents except I'm a little Shin freak so I've always thought about this from that perspective. Heads up there's likely a lot of speculating and conjecture and I'm probably making up shit sorryyyy anyways:

Sara and Midori are equal-opposite characters to me. They're so so so similar. Powerful, charismatic, capable of manipulation and taking control of a situation. Twisting the world to their favor is like second nature to them. But where Midori was raised isolated, in an unnatural and unloving environment, Sara was raised like a normal child (mostly). Where Midori has learned to harness his capabilities intentionally for the hell of it, Sara has let them lie dormant and barely knows they're there. Where Midori found a plaything and an object of obsession, Sara found a best friend and a relationship of mutual respect. Where Midori feels like he's in charge (even though the situation is continually slipping from his grasp), Sara feels like she can do nothing (even as she gains more power and influence over the outcome of this game).

And then I look at this from Shin's perspective. Your best (and maybe only) friend from highschool has terrified you the entire time you've known him. You don't know why. He's just off-putting. You ignore the feeling, ignore the primal urge telling you to run. And it's. Fine. Right? You're good friends, right? He's cool and smart and can twist any situation to his favor. He's everything you wish you could be. And then he fucking dies. And you're left reeling, dealing with the loss of the closest person to you, dealing with the feeling of freedom you now have. The sense of safety that you forgot. And that's. Fine. You get on fine. And then one day you wake up in an unfamiliar room, maybe with a headache, and a shadowy figure who feels uncomfortably like your own subconscious tells you that you are going to die. You are going to die unless you become someone else and fight to survive. And this person, her, that girl, she kills you. Unless. So you take on a persona based on the scariest person you know. The friendly, easygoing demeanor, the control, the secretiveness, the deceit. You follow this girl, the one who could kill you. And to your horror, the more you watch her, the more she reminds you of him. From the first main game on, you realize why she was the one to have the highest percentage. You watch her take control of the conversation effortlessly, while you're fighting desperately to not be destroyed by it. And you lose. You lose everyone's trust, any sort of camaraderie or help, anything you could use to keep yourself alive. She takes it all for herself. She has them wrapped around her pinky finger the way he had you. And you know where that gets people. You know how that ends. You know what she can do. And you can't do anything about it... Come to think of it, Hiyori died, didn't he? Despite everything. He died... Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to be like him after all.

And then you look at Sara's perspective. You're just trying to survive. You're just trying to live. You're trying to get everyone out alive. You're dealing with the weight of the world on your shoulders and you can't back out now. And you've been trying so hard, so fucking hard, but it's not working, people keep dying, you don't know what to do besides stay alive. And god it hurts. And then you meet this man. This awful, horrible, sadistic man. The man who your nemesis has taken the name from. The man who made the most antagonistic force besides your captors into what he is. And he's terrifying. And he's saying he's just like you. And maybe, for the first time, you understand why Sou has been so scared of you. Because if this is what he sees when he looks at you? The remnants of this man and a whopping 15.5% chance of survival? Fuck. You'd be terrified too. But you can't back out now. You can't change the direction you're headed. You have to survive. You have to win. For your best friend. For everyone who has died believing in you. That's your responsibility. Right? ...right?

And then you look at Midori's perspective. You've imprinted on this sad little... well, he's a boy when you meet him but by now he's a man. And he's so tiny, and so weak, and so lonely, and so pitiful. And you love that. He's perfect. And he's going to die. You know it's almost guaranteed. You're not in the game anymore to protect him, and you've been keeping an eye on the simulations, he hasn't won a single one. Poor, sad, helpless Shin. He's not going to make it. And you would've won if you could've joined, obviously, and you would've taken him out with you, of course. But you can't. So you keep an eye on who looks like the winner (and she just keeps piquing your interest, she just keeps reminding you of what you would've done in that game, how interesting~ how fun~) and you think of how you can turn the tables, just a little. Just enough to surprise him. Because you're alive! How wonderful is that? It's the best feeling in the world, being alive. Especially when you get to watch people die while you survive. The satisfaction of living where others fail. You want him to taste that. To see the world from your eyes. And that's it. He just needs to be more like you, right? Ruthless, focused on living, surviving, winning. He just needs a wake up call. He's clever enough to make it from there. After all, the projected winner is so, so similar to you, isn't she? That must be it. You two have something that sets you above the rest. God, you can't wait to meet her in the game~ to see her in action!! And then. That boy comes with her. And your Shin, he's doing so well, but that girl, she's nothing like how she should be. Where's the ruthlessness? The manipulation?? And she's still winning, she has everyone on her side, she could have this all in the palm of her hand if she just took hold of the opportunity!!! And your Shin he would've done it, he could've but she ruined it and now she's not even taking advantage of that fact. And that's fascinating sure but it's not what you were looking forward to. Maybe she just needs a little push. A little nudge in the right direction. That's all it took for your Shin, isn't it? And he turned into a ruthless killer, a cold-hearted manipulative bastard who only cared about himself, and wasn't that fun? Wasn't that amazing to watch? God, she could have it all why doesn't she want it?? Save everyone???? It's preposterous!! It's insane!!!! She should be more like you, she has to be more like you it's the only way it's how to win the game!!!! You are the one who can survive this!!!!!!! And then you die. You lose. To her. Who is resisting the pull to be like you. Who is choosing not to. Who killed you to save a competitor, a stupid autistic child who calls her "big sis" and carries around a cat pillow. Why? How? She was supposed to be like you. But she wasn't. And she won.

Idfk the Sara-Shin-Sou parallels triangle drives me insanneeeee I'm always thinking about them. I'm so so normal about them fugck. Yeah. Anyways. Because where Shin chose to be like Hiyori and failed, Sara chooses to not and succeeds. Or maybe Shin failed to be like Hiyori, and Sara failed to avoid it. Either way, they both made their choice. They're lying in the beds they made. Sara's is built from trust and companionship, whether she chooses to honor or betray that is up to you. Shin's is built of deception and loneliness, and whether or not he survives it backfired on him and cost him dearly. And Hiyori. He didn't have a choice and he didn't want one. He was unapologetically himself and it got him killed. Twice. Godddd whatever I don't even care about them (lie). I hope I was coherent.

I am so insane about Sara and Midori parallels YOU DONT UNDERSTAND

Anyways have my analysis :3

[s4svnn]

Out of bounds . JJK

↳ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬; his love subjected you to the true extent of deception, a merciless lie wrapped in the illusion of paradise, until the truth tore it apart - he was always out of bounds.

↳ Jungkook x reader

↳ 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬: ongoing

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

Chapter Thirty Seven

Aylah’s POV:

I stood in front of the full-length mirror in Kayla’s bedroom, my fingers running down the sides of the black bodycon dress I was wearing. The fabric hugged my curves, a little more snug than I was used to, but it wasn’t uncomfortable—just… different. I never really wore dresses like this, especially when I had something to prove, something to run away from, but tonight felt different.

It wasn’t just the clothes; it was the way I was feeling—the thrill of freedom, the distraction of the music, the promise of forgetting everything that had been weighing on me.

The dress was simple but elegant, the black shade making my skin pop and the cut accentuating every inch of my body. I had chosen it because it felt like it would blend in yet make me feel powerful. Tonight, I was trying to channel something I didn’t know I had in me—a version of myself that didn’t care about responsibilities or the tangled mess in my chest.

I adjusted the straps, checking myself from every angle. My hair was loose, falling in soft waves over my shoulders, and I’d kept my makeup fresh, bold but not overdone. The red lipstick felt like a punch of confidence. I wasn’t exactly sure what I was looking for—maybe reassurance that I looked good, or maybe that I could pull off something that made me feel confident for once.

Just as I turned to check the back, the door opened, and Kayla walked in, her heels clicking against the floor with each step. I looked at her in the mirror and immediately noticed we were dressed almost identically, both of us in bodycon dresses that hugged our figures in all the right places.

She paused for a moment, her eyes scanning me up and down, and then a slow grin spread across her face. "Damn, girl," she said, her voice filled with admiration. "Look at you. You’re gonna turn heads tonight."

I couldn’t help but laugh softly, my nerves coming through. "You think so?" I asked, still not quite convinced.

Kayla stepped closer, her eyes never leaving mine as she ran her hands down the side of her own dress. She was wearing a deep emerald green dress, the colour flattering her tan skin and bringing out the brightness of her eyes. She was effortlessly beautiful in a way that made me feel like I still had a lot to figure out about myself.

"You’ve got it, AJ. Trust me," she said, her tone teasing but reassuring at the same time. She grabbed my arm lightly, making me face her. "You’ve always had it in you; it’s just about owning it."

I exhaled, looking at her reflection in the mirror. "I don’t know, Kayla. I just...feel like I’m pretending. Like I’m putting on a mask to forget everything I’ve been thinking about lately."

Kayla tilted her head, her expression softening. "Hey, no one said you have to have it all figured out. Just tonight, forget about the messy stuff. You’re allowed to enjoy yourself. You’re allowed to let go."

I let her words sink in, the idea of being able to breathe for a little while—just for one night—settling into me like a gentle weight. I’d been so caught up in everything lately, especially with how complicated things had been with Adam, how I couldn’t make sense of my feelings. But maybe this was the night to stop thinking. To just be.

I met her eyes in the mirror, and she gave me an encouraging smile, stepping back and spinning in front of me to adjust her own dress. "Plus, you're not the only one who’s been thinking about other things tonight," she teased, her grin widening as she raised an eyebrow. "We’re going to have fun, right?"

I couldn’t help but laugh, the tension easing off me, even if just for a moment. "Yeah, I guess you’re right. Let’s just make it a night to remember... or forget."

Kayla winked at me. "Exactly. And trust me, you’ll forget all about him and all the stupid drama when we’re sipping cocktails at the club."

I glanced at my phone on the bed, the screen lighting up briefly with a text from Adam. I didn’t bother reading it. The last thing I needed was to get lost in the complexities of my emotions tonight. I had enough of that in the past few days.

Taking a deep breath, I grabbed my clutch and slipped on my heels, making my way toward the door. Kayla followed suit, the two of us walking side by side, a silent understanding passing between us.

"You ready?" she asked as we walked out of the room and into the hallway.

"Yeah," I said, my voice firmer than I felt. "Let’s do this."

The moment we stepped through the club’s entrance, the noise hit us—blaring music, pounding bass, the heat of a crowd that felt alive, electric. The darkened interior of the club was awash in neon lights, the flickering colours casting sharp, vibrant shadows over the packed dance floor.

Strobes sliced through the dim atmosphere, creating jagged lines of light that danced along the faces of the partygoers. The air was thick with a mix of perfume, cologne, and the distinct scent of alcohol, a cocktail of excitement hanging in the air.

The music was thumping with deep house beats and electric synths, each sending vibrations through my chest, the rhythm pulling at the edges of my body as if coaxing me into the chaos. The floor was a blur of movement, people lost in the music, some dancing, others talking loudly, all illuminated by the vibrant colours that seemed to change with every beat. The atmosphere was wild and uninhibited, the kind of place where people could leave their worries at the door and become someone else for the night.

As Kayla and I walked in, heads turned almost instinctively. The club’s energy shifted slightly, as if everyone was taking note of our presence. I caught glimpses of eyes following us—some curious, some admiring, others appraising us as we made our way through the crowd. The rhythmic pulse of the music seemed to become louder, more pronounced, as I adjusted my posture and tried to exude the confidence Kayla had been encouraging me to embrace.

With each step we took, the crowd parted, like waves pushing us forward, until we reached the bar area, where Cyrus, Leah, and Serena were already waiting. The trio were seated in a corner booth, drinks in hand, all of them laughing, the bright neon light casting a playful glow on their faces.

The moment they spotted us, their expressions lit up. Serena was the first to stand, her eyes widening as she took in our outfits, her lips curling into a grin.

"Look at you, AJ!" Serena exclaimed, her voice carrying above the noise, her gaze scanning me from head to toe. "You look like you just walked off the runway!"

I couldn’t help but laugh at her enthusiasm, feeling the tension I had carried throughout the day begin to melt away. "Thanks, Serena," I replied, adjusting my clutch and giving her a playful wink. "You’re looking gorgeous yourself, as always."

Leah followed suit, her eyes glimmering with approval. "Damn babe, you are on fire tonight," she added, her words teasing but genuine. She turned her gaze to Kayla, her smile widening as she took in her dress. "Kayla, you’re killing it too! That green is everything on you."

Kayla grinned, the compliment clearly lifting her spirits as she spun once in place, letting her emerald dress catch the light. "Thanks, babes," she said, reaching over to give Leah a playful bump. "I might have to steal some of that confidence from you tonight."

Cyrus, leaning back in the booth with his drink, grinned mischievously. His gaze flickered from me to Kayla, then back to me again, a knowing look in his eyes. "Well, damn," he drawled, his voice dripping with a mix of admiration and amusement. "You two have definitely raised the bar for the rest of us tonight. No wonder the whole club’s been staring."

I shot him a playful side-eye, rolling my eyes, though my lips tugged upward in a smile. "Don’t flatter us too much, Cyrus."

We each began to laugh, my anxiety easing almost instantly before Kayla grabbed my hand ushering me to follow her, “Come on. Let’s get on that floor before I start dancing without you,” she said, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

I hesitated for only a moment before I moved, the heels clicking sharply against the floor as I followed her lead. The moment I was on my feet, it was like the atmosphere shifted entirely. But now, with the lights casting bright flashes across our faces and the pulsing beats calling us, I felt the heat of the night settle around me like a second skin.

Kayla immediately moved forward, making her way toward the dance floor with an effortless sway in her step. The confidence she exuded was contagious, and I found myself smiling, following her toward the center of the chaos.

The space around us seemed to open up as we moved through the crowd, the sound of the music growing louder, the bass vibrating in my chest. The dance floor was packed, but there was a kind of energy here—an unspoken freedom that came with being surrounded by strangers, all of us lost in the rhythm.

When we finally reached an open space on the floor, Kayla started swaying her hips to the beat, her body moving with fluidity as if she had been waiting for this moment all night. I closed my eyes for a moment, feeling the rhythm seep deep into me, then opened them to see her already spinning around, the confidence in her movements undeniable.

I let go of any lingering self-doubt. There was no room for hesitation here, not in this moment. I started moving, too. My body followed the beat, my feet shifting across the floor with growing confidence as the music filled every inch of the room. I felt the heat of the crowd around me, the sweat on my skin, the adrenaline building with every passing second.

The world around me seemed to fade away, and for those moments, it was just the music, the lights, and the energy of everyone dancing together. My friends were with me, but it felt like we were all connected by something bigger, something that didn’t require words or explanations.

From the corner of my eye, I noticed Leah and Serena had joined us, too, already getting into the groove, their movements carefree and natural. The energy was electric, and I couldn’t help but laugh as we all danced together, losing ourselves in the beat. For the first time in what felt like forever, I wasn’t thinking about Adam, or my mixed feelings, or any of the complicated mess that had been clouding my mind because of Jungkook. I was here, in the moment, with my friends, letting the music drown out everything else.

As the song shifted to a new track, I found myself feeling lighter, the worries slipping away. My body moved to the rhythm without second-guessing myself, and the freedom was intoxicating. Kayla caught my eye again, giving me an exaggerated wink as she twirled, her body twisting effortlessly to the rhythm. I laughed and twirled along with her, spinning with a sense of abandon I hadn’t felt in a long time.

The flashing lights, the laughter, the music—it was everything I needed, even if only for tonight. A distraction. A release.

I let the moment carry me away.

The music shifted again, this time into a faster beat, and the energy on the dance floor seemed to intensify. The crowd around me surged, and I was lost in the rhythm, my body moving to the pulse of the music with abandon. Kayla was beside me, laughing and twirling, and I felt a sense of freedom I hadn’t allowed myself in a long time. The air felt thick with excitement, the weight of the night lifting with every beat.

Suddenly, I felt a presence behind me—too close, too insistent. A guy had sidled up, his hand brushing against the small of my back as he tried to press his body closer to mine. I froze for a split second, my body tensing at the unwelcome contact.

I knew the signs—knew exactly what he was trying to do, and it was the last thing I wanted right now.

Without missing a beat, I twisted around sharply, stepping back to put some distance between us. My gaze shot up to meet his, irritation flashing in my eyes. "I’m not interested," I said firmly, the words sharp, cutting through the music that was still pounding around us.

The guy, clearly a little taken aback by my response, hesitated for a moment before he gave me a sleazy grin. "Come on, babe," he said, his voice slurring just enough to make me cringe. "You’re too pretty to turn down."

I took another step back, my hand raised as if to ward him off. "I said, not interested, back off before I make you regret it," I spoke, my tone unwavering. I wasn’t about to let some random guy ruin my night. 

The moment I spoke the guy’s smirk faltered, and his eyes flickered with annoyance. But before he could say anything else, I saw a familiar figure approaching from behind—Cyrus, Leah, Kayla, and Serena. They were making their way over, their expressions shifting from casual to serious when they saw the tension in the air.

"Is there a problem?" Cyrus asked, his voice low and commanding, stepping up beside me with Leah and Serena right behind him, all of them looking directly at the guy. Kayla stood beside him, ready for whatever might come next.

The guy looked at Cyrus for a moment, sizing him up, then his lips twisted into a sneer. "Fuck off," he spat, clearly trying to intimidate him.

Leah’s eyes narrowed. "I know you didn’t just tell my best friend to fuck off," she snapped, her tone venomous, and I could see the fire in her eyes. She wasn’t about to let him get away with that.

The guy just smirked, not backing down. "Shut up, bitch," he shot back, his voice laced with anger.

I felt the heat rising in me, but before I could respond Kayla was already stepping forward, her hands clenched into fists. "That’s it," she said, her voice firm. And before anyone could stop her, she lunged at him.

In the blink of an eye, she tackled him to the ground, pinning him with surprising force. "You don’t talk to my friends like that!" she yelled, landing a hit to his shoulder. The others joined in, rushing forward to help hold him down as he struggled beneath them.

I couldn’t believe it. My mind was still reeling from what had just happened, but now, my friends were really going for it. They were hitting him all over, pushing him down further as the guy flailed, shouting curses.

"Guys, stop! We’re going to get kicked out!" I tried to shout, my voice rising above the chaos, but it was hard to get their attention amidst the loud struggle.

Leah grabbed the guy by the collar and pulled him up just enough to lock him in a chokehold, her muscles tense with the effort. "That’s what you get for fucking with us," she spat in his ear, her voice deadly calm despite the intensity of the situation.

Serena, meanwhile, had pulled out her phone and was recording the entire scene, laughing like she was watching a movie. "This is going viral," she said between giggles, holding the camera just above the guy’s flailing head. The whole thing was almost surreal, but it didn’t seem to stop any of them.

Suddenly, the club’s security appeared, two towering figures marching toward the scene, their eyes scanning the chaos before they moved in to break it up. One of the guards reached down, pulling Leah off the guy, while the other held back Kayla, who was still itching to land another hit.

The large, imposing figure of one of the guards grabbed the guy and began dragging him outside, his hand gripping the man by the collar like he was nothing more than a ragdoll. He barely had time to process what was happening before he was roughly escorted away.

Once the guy was out of the way, the other bouncer turned to us, his face still stern but less angry now that the situation had calmed. "What happened here?" he asked, looking at us for an explanation.

I could feel my heart still racing, but I quickly spoke up, trying to keep my voice steady. "He tried to touch me and I rejected him," I said, the words coming out sharper than I expected. "But he wasn’t getting the message and then got aggressive."

The bouncer’s face darkened with anger. "I’m sorry about that," he said quickly. "We’ll make sure this guy is dealt with. He won’t be allowed back here again." He seemed genuinely apologetic, giving us a nod of reassurance.

Leah, always the one to add a bit of flair to everything, laughed, elbowing Cyrus and Kayla as the bouncer turned away to deal with the guy. "We definitely gave him a lesson in respect," she said with a grin.

Kayla joined in, shaking her head. "Badass is an understatement," she said, her voice playful but full of pride. 

Serena, who had been holding her phone the whole time, flashed it at us. "I am definitely posting this," she said, giggling. "What a scene."

"Totally," Kayla added, throwing an arm around Leah's shoulders. "We make one hell of a team."

Cyrus smirked, shaking his head. "Now I don’t know about you guys, but I think it’s time to get drunkkkkk!"

That was all the encouragement we needed to let the night take us wherever it wanted, to throw ourselves headfirst into the chaos without hesitation. The bar gleamed under the neon lights, shots lined up like soldiers waiting to be taken, their amber and jewel-toned hues reflecting the pulsing glow of the club.

Without a second thought, we grabbed them, our hands brushing as we lifted the glasses in an uncoordinated but enthusiastic toast, the crystal-clear clink barely audible over the pounding music. The liquor hit hard, burning its way down our throats, but instead of slowing us down, it only seemed to ignite something reckless in our blood, something untouchable and wild.

The games started innocently enough, a round of Never Have I Ever that quickly unravelled into Truth or Dare, and before long, we weren’t even keeping track of the rules anymore, downing shots for reasons that no longer made sense but felt completely necessary in the moment.

Kayla, her eyes glassy with amusement and mischief, turned to me with a smirk, barely steadying herself as she pointed in my direction. “You,” she declared, pausing for dramatic effect as if she were about to deliver the most important decree of the night, “are getting on that table. Right now.”

There wasn’t a single part of me that wanted to refuse. The second I climbed onto the wobbly wooden surface, the entire room seemed to pulse with me, the bass of the music thrumming through my bones, my heartbeat syncing to the deep, vibrating rhythm as I threw my arms up and let myself move without thought, without hesitation, without care.

The world tilted, but whether it was from the drinks or the sheer euphoria of the moment, I couldn’t tell, nor did I want to. Below me, Cyrus whooped, his drink splashing over his fingers as he lifted it in celebration, while Kayla cackled, phone in hand, capturing every second as she screamed, "ICONIC!" at the top of her lungs.

Time became something fluid, impossible to track, slipping away into a blur of flashing lights, tangled limbs, and breathless, full-bodied laughter that made my ribs ache. We danced until our legs could barely hold us up, drank until the floor beneath us felt more like the deck of a rocking ship than solid ground, and clung to each other as we navigated through the intoxicating, exhilarating chaos of it all.

At some point, walking in a straight line became laughably impossible, but none of us cared, our bodies colliding as we stumbled together toward the exit, barely able to stand yet unwilling to let the night end just yet.

By the time we spilled onto the street, the cool air wrapping around our flushed skin in a welcome contrast to the heat of the club, Kayla and I were holding onto each other for dear life, our laughter bubbling over as if we had discovered some great cosmic joke. And then, without warning, with the kind of certainty that only comes from being perfectly drunk and perfectly happy, we started singing—no, screaming—the words to Judas by Lady Gaga, our voices loud, unfiltered, and completely off-key.

"I'll bring him down, bring him down, down…"

We didn’t care who was watching, didn’t care that the lyrics came out slurred and slightly out of sync, didn’t care that we were stumbling over our own feet as we twirled dramatically beneath the flickering glow of a streetlamp.

"I'm just a Holy Fool, oh, baby, it's so cruel."

Kayla nearly collapsed from laughing, gripping my arm so tightly I almost went down with her, and for a moment, I thought my lungs might give out from how hard I was laughing too. The city stretched out in front of us, glittering with possibility, the night still thick with electricity, and in that perfect, delirious moment, we were invincible, untouchable, weightless, and completely, overwhelmingly alive.

I slurred to Kayla, "Uhhh, we need to go homeeeeeee."

Kayla pouted theatrically, her lower lip jutting out as she clung to my arms like a lifeline, her body swaying slightly with the lingering dizziness of too many drinks. “Nooo, I wanna drink more!” she whined, her words stretching out in a sing-song tone before she suddenly burst into a fit of giggles. Without waiting for my response, she spun on her heel and skipped—literally skipped—back inside, disappearing into the neon-lit chaos of the bar, leaving me outside. The night air was cool against my flushed skin as I stood there, swaying on my heels, laughing softly to myself for no reason at all.

The world tilted slightly, my vision blurring at the edges, but I barely noticed too busy continuing my dramatic off-key rendition of Judas. My limbs felt light, my thoughts even lighter, and for a moment I let my body move with the unsteady rhythm of my own amusement. But when I spun around, a little too fast for my alcohol-clouded coordination, I collided directly into something—no, someone.

A startled yelp escaped me as I stumbled backward, but before I could topple over completely strong hands gripped my arms, steadying me with a firm but careful hold. My head snapped up, my hazy vision adjusting as I blinked rapidly trying to focus on the person in front of me. My brain struggled to piece together features, but nothing was clicking, and instead of making an effort to figure it out I just grinned—big and goofy.

“Sorrrrryyy, mister!” I slurred, the words tumbling out in a bubbly mess accompanied by a breathless giggle.

The person’s hands remained steady on my arms, his grip grounding me just enough to keep me from toppling over completely. “Aylah?” he asked, his voice laced with something suspiciously close to concern. “Shit, are you okay?”

I squinted, tilting my head, my brain working overtime to connect the voice to a face, to a memory, to literally anything, but my alcohol-soaked mind had other plans. My lips parted in an exaggerated gasp of realization and I pointed dramatically at his chest.

“You’re not Aylah. I’m Aylah!” I declared, as if this was the most profound revelation in the world. And then, for absolutely no reason at all, I collapsed into laughter, my entire body shaking as the giggles took over, unstoppable and delirious.

The guy—whoever he was—did not look as entertained as I was. His expression shifted, brows knitting together as his grip on my arms adjusted slightly, as if debating whether or not I was about to completely collapse. “Are you drunk?” he asked, his tone hovering somewhere between amused and genuinely concerned.

I threw my arms out as wide as they would go, nearly losing my balance in the process but catching myself at the last second, wobbling like a cartoon character trying to stay upright. “Noooooooo!” I drawled, the word stretching out dramatically, full of false conviction and pure drunken energy.

His lips pressed into a thin line, and I could practically see the skepticism radiating from him. My grin only widened.

He let out a heavy sigh, the kind that sounded equal parts exhausted and resigned, rubbing a hand over his face before fixing me with a look that made it clear he had already made up his mind. “I need to get you home,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

But, of course, I wasn’t about to let that slide. “Noooo, I wanna drink more!” I whined dramatically, swaying on my feet, my body teetering forward before I caught myself on his arm, giggling as if gravity itself was a joke.

“No, you’re wasted,” he said firmly, his hands gripping my shoulders to steady me.

I opened my mouth to argue, fully prepared to launch into some kind of passionate, slurred defense, but before I could get a single word out, he bent down and, without warning, hoisted me effortlessly over his shoulder.

For a second, my brain short-circuited.

And then—

“WEEEEEEEEEEE!” I squealed, kicking my legs playfully like a child on a carnival ride, my arms flailing dramatically as if I were soaring through the air instead of being kidnapped against my will. “I’m flyingggg!”

“Stop swinging your arms,” he grunted, gripping me tighter to keep me from completely flopping off his back. “You’re going to be sick.”

I gasped, appalled at the mere suggestion that I wasn’t in full control of my body. “Nooooo, I would never!” I protested, but the words came out more like a giggle than an actual defense.

To prove my totally sober and responsible state, I patted his back reassuringly. Well—okay, maybe it was more like a slap. A loud, resounding smack echoed through the night air.

“Wow,” I mused, letting my fingers linger as if I had just made the most ground-breaking discovery of the century. “You have a really nice ass, mister.”

His entire body tensed, and I swore I heard him physically groan in frustration. “Aylah,” he warned, voice strained, “behave.”

But instead of taking him seriously, I just burst into laughter, completely unbothered, resting my chin against his back like a smug little gremlin as he carried me toward his car.

Once we got there, he set me down carefully—probably out of fear that I’d just collapse like a ragdoll—and with practiced efficiency, he guided me into the passenger seat, reaching over to buckle me in like I was an overgrown toddler. I wiggled slightly, making the process as difficult as humanly possible, but he just sighed again, clicking the seatbelt into place before shutting the door with a firm thud.

Through the windshield, I watched as he leaned against the car, exhaling deeply as he pulled out his phone, his fingers flying across the screen before he pressed it to his ear.

“Are your friends still inside?” he asked, glancing at me.

I nodded lazily, my head lolling to the side. “Mmmhmm.”

He clicked his tongue, clearly debating something in his head before grabbing his phone and speaking into it. “I need you to pick up some people up from Club Elysium,”

The person on the other end didn’t even hesitate before responding. “Jesus. What happened?”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as if he could already feel a headache forming. “Aylah’s wasted. And not just ‘needs a glass of water’ wasted—fully gone. She tried to argue with me about her own name, called me ‘mister,’ and then—” He paused, exhaling sharply. “Then she smacked my ass.”

There was silence on the other end before a choked laugh broke through. “She what?”

As he talked, I just sat there, humming to myself, watching him through half-lidded eyes and thinking that, despite everything, he really did have a very nice ass.

After ending the call, he slipped his phone back into his pocket and turned to face me, his expression hovering somewhere between exasperation and reluctant amusement. “Alright,” he said, voice steady but firm. “Do you have your house keys with you?”

I blinked up at him, my alcohol-soaked brain struggling to process the question. My brows furrowed in deep concentration as if the answer was buried somewhere in the depths of my mind, just out of reach. Then, suddenly, a brilliant idea struck me, and I gasped dramatically, throwing my arms out wide.

“I live in the skyyyyyyyy!” I declared, dragging out the word as I tilted my head back to gaze at the night sky above, my body swaying slightly in my seat. The stars looked so pretty. So shiny. Maybe I did live up there. Who was he to say I didn’t?

He let out a long, tired sigh, rubbing a hand down his face, but I caught the way the corner of his mouth twitched, like he was trying to fight back a smile and failing.

“Aylah,” he started, his voice laced with patience he probably didn’t have. “You do not live in the sky.”

I gasped again, clutching my chest in mock offense. “How dare you?” I slurred. “I’ll have you know, the clouds and I are very close. I’m practically their queen.”

His head dipped forward for a second, as if he needed a moment to gather the willpower to deal with me. Then, after a deep breath he straightened, his expression resigned. “Fine,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I’m taking you to my place.”

I perked up at that, my grin stretching from ear to ear. “Ooooh, didn’t realise you had a crush on me.” I teased, wiggling my eyebrows. 

He groaned, reaching across to buckle me in again when I immediately started wiggling out of my seatbelt. “For the love of God, just sit still.”

I giggled, leaning my head back against the seat. “Your place better have snacks,” I mumbled, already half-asleep.

He sighed again, this time heavier, but as he drove off, I swore I heard him chuckle under his breath.

Jungkook’s POV:

As I drove through the quiet city streets, my gaze flickered to her every so often, a fond smirk tugging at my lips. She was an absolute mess—her makeup slightly smudged, her dress slightly wrinkled, and her hair a tousled halo around her face—but somehow, she still managed to look adorable. Her head kept lolling to the side, her eyelids fluttering as if she was fighting sleep, but the slow, even rhythm of her breathing told me she was already losing the battle.

The soft hum of the engine and the distant glow of streetlights cast a sleepy haze over the car. When I got stuck at a red light, I turned slightly, only to find that she had finally given in, completely knocked out. Her head had slumped forward at an awkward angle, her cheek pressed against her own shoulder, her lips slightly parted.

I exhaled through my nose, shaking my head with amusement before reaching over, careful not to wake her, and gently tilting her head so she rested more comfortably against the door. A quiet sigh escaped her lips, barely more than a breath, and she murmured something incoherent in her sleep, shifting slightly but never fully waking.

Noticing the way her bare legs curled slightly from the cool air, I grabbed my jacket from the backseat and draped it over her lap. She barely stirred, only nestling deeper into the seat, her fingers twitching slightly against the fabric of her dress.

Fifteen minutes later, I pulled into the parking garage of my hotel, the soft beeping of the car shutting off breaking the silence. I glanced over at her again, still completely passed out, her body limp and weightless in sleep. With a quiet sigh, I stepped out, rounding the car to open her door. The moment I unbuckled her seatbelt, she shifted slightly, her brows furrowing for a brief second before relaxing again.

Carefully, I slipped my arms beneath her, lifting her into my chest with ease. She was warm and soft against me, her breath fanning lightly against my collarbone as she instinctively nestled closer, her fingers weakly gripping the fabric of my shirt.

The elevator ride up felt longer than usual, the soft hum of the music filling the quiet space. Every few seconds, she’d mumble something unintelligible, shifting slightly but never waking, completely lost in whatever dream world she had stumbled into.

Finally, I reached my suite, nudging the door open with my foot before stepping inside. The room was dimly lit, the soft golden glow from the bedside lamp casting warm shadows across the space. Carefully, I laid her down on the bed, adjusting her so she wouldn’t wake up sore in the morning. She barely reacted, just curling onto her side with a small sigh.

With a smirk, I crouched down, gently sliding off her heels one by one so she wouldn’t be uncomfortable. Her toes flexed slightly at the sudden freedom, but otherwise, she didn’t stir.

After grabbing a pack of makeup wipes from the bathroom, I returned to the bedside, lowering myself gently onto the mattress beside her. She was still lost in sleep, her features soft, her lips slightly parted as she breathed in slow, even rhythms. The dim lighting of the room cast gentle shadows over her face, highlighting the remnants of the night—smudged eyeliner beneath her lashes, traces of lipstick fading from her lips, a faint flush on her cheeks.

I peeled open a wipe and, with careful hands, began to clean the streaks of mascara and eyeliner clinging to her skin. The cool sensation made her shift slightly, a quiet whimper of protest escaping her lips as she scrunched her nose and turned her face away.

I chuckled under my breath, running a soothing hand through her hair. “Just a little bit more, baby,” I murmured, brushing my thumb over her temple. “Then you can sleep.”

As if my voice alone was enough to ease her, she stilled beneath my touch, her body relaxing, her breathing deepening once again.

I worked quickly, wiping away the last traces of makeup before tossing the used wipes into the bin. Once finished, I pulled the blanket up over her, tucking it snugly around her shoulders to keep her warm. Just in case, I grabbed the small waste bin from the corner of the room and placed it beside the bed, knowing how the aftermath of a night like this could be unforgiving. I also set a bottle of water and some painkillers on the nightstand, within reach for when she woke up.

Satisfied that she was comfortable, I pushed myself up, ready to leave her to rest—

But before I could take a step, her fingers curled weakly around my wrist.

“Don’t leave,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, laced with the soft vulnerability of sleep.

I froze, feeling something tighten in my chest, something warm and unfamiliar.

She was still mostly unconscious, her grip loose and drowsy, but the way she reached for me, the way she clung as if my presence alone made her feel safe, sent a quiet ache through me.

A small smile tugged at my lips.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I assured her gently, brushing a few loose strands of hair from her face. “I’m right here, baby.”

At my words, a faint, contented smile ghosted over her lips, and though her fingers relaxed, she didn’t fully let go.

I stayed for a few moments longer, just watching her, making sure she was truly settled before carefully slipping her arm back under the blanket. She barely stirred, her chest rising and falling in steady rhythm. With a quiet sigh, I stood and made my way to the couch, grabbing a spare blanket from the wardrobe. The plush cushions weren’t nearly as comfortable as the bed, but I didn’t mind.

Lying down, I draped the blanket over myself, folding my arms behind my head as I let my gaze drift back to her sleeping form. My body begged for rest, but still, I stayed awake just in case she stirred. Just in case, in the quiet vulnerability of sleep, she reached for me again—and if she did, I’d be right here.

[oh-no-its-bird]

YESSSSSS WE GOT MORE THORNE AND VISCOUNT LORRAINE CONTENT IN THE NEW BONUS CHAPTER I AM CLAWING AT THE WALLS JUMPING UP AND DOWN TO SEE IT

Theyre so fucking cute I'm gonna throw up, I love their interactions. Thorne exists in some sort of perpetual state of "mildly uncomfortable" and Lorraine is so loud and overbearing in such an unapologetic way, it's so fun to see.

Thorne being "seen through" by Lorraine and feeling upset by it while Lorraine finds that side of him "charming" ,,,

I like how he says "You are actually quite charming", like, before he was presumably just another friendly merchant. A type of person Lorraine has for sure seen plenty of before, being who he is. But in seeing his smug side in just a quiet little expression, Lorraine is suddenly so much more endeared

Cute !!! I love them !!!!!

Meanwhile Thorne continues to be seen through by those around him,,,, tho now that I type this out, the last we saw him upset by being perceived a bit too hard I think was just Remilia? That's kinda fun to think ab

Meanwhile I think it says a bit about Lorraine too, like, he seems like this silly, unpractical guy. But with just a catch of an expression of Thorne's he was instantly recatogorizing him and going "(seeing you like this) I feel like I've figured you out"

I also have to wonder a bit at what exactly made Thorne feel so seen here. Was it his smugness at seeing things line up well? Or was it his fondness and pride in Remilia and his king? There are definitely a few different ways to read it

Anyways. Also losing my mind over the BONUS SKETCHES

THORNE IN SITUAT9IUNS SAOUGUHHFHHHH HH

[Car crash sfx]

Long haired Thorne is so pretty actually, I love him so much. AND THEN ?? THORNE IF HE'D INSTEAD BEEN CAUGHT BY PINA ???

Locked in a basement somewhere, forced to make potions he doesn't actually know how to make <3 He just sells them, Pina you dumb bitch !!! Let my man go !!!!

The fact that he's clearly in a whole ass cell is wild to me, oh my god my poor man. He looks like Pina's either been neglecting him or maybe trying to beat the answers out of him, or, likely, both.

I'm having fun thinking about this au actually. I do think he's try to insist he's doesn't know how to make (most) of the things he sells, especially the potions that Pina wants. Bc, yk, he doesn't. We met the guy who does, who's still in the demon realm.

But like. I can not see Thorne giving away who does make them. He cares too genuinley for his people, he'd never give one up. And honestly, even if he did, the guy is out of reach.

Anyways just. Thorne <3

I love the one within the villainess so much, we're being fed so well. Everyone say thank you Shiraume and Makiburo !!!

[cantfightmoonlight]

"Didn't you just say nobody really asks?" She tilted her head innocently over at Billie. Her gaze was steady but soft as she settled into the silence, listening to Billie's words that seemed to sit heavy between. "I guess I've never really seen the harm in people bein' curious. Folks are always gonna have questions and thoughts on the matter even if they're better off stayin' out of it, but I guess I always figured that if someone doesn't want to talk about somethin', they just won't. You ain't got to explain yourself to nobody and just cause a question is asked doesn't mean it has to be answered. Though," She trailed off. Her gaze drifted back out to the horizon as she admitted breathlessly. "That seems rather hard to me. Not wantin' to be who you are? I get not wanting to be who you were, but we all gotta live with ourselves at the end of the day and, for those some people, I hope, even if its not my place to, that one day they'll be able to find comfort in the things they can't change, cause lord knows there is plenty to be uncomfortable about that you can change about yer self already."

"You don't like me very much, do you? You don't know me, it seems I might make you a bit uncomfortable too?" She posed. "Who says you weren't? Maybe not to him, but last I checked, you aren't I a prop or a weapon, but a person and, if you didn't like it, than clearly doin' what you had been doin' wasn't all that useful to you."

"Some people don't want to be what they are, and they certainly don't want to have to tell it over and over again to every single person that asks," Billie said, her voice toneless. She failed to see why knowing what everyone in town's species would change things. That information was already documented with city hall. It was useless anywhere else, unless one was attempting to exploit the strengths and weaknesses of their neighbors. Billie's lips twitched. "If you wish to be a mermaid, then you're welcome to the title. I apologize, but I have no desire to discuss etymology or fairytales." She looked out at the water. "I don't care what you say about him. It's probably true. He wasn't kind." He had never been kind, not even when she was a child, before everything changed. He loved her, though, like all parents love their children. That was at least one thing she knew. "I didn't like it. I never had. But I'm good at doing what I'm told. When I stopped, though, when I wanted to stop, I suppose I... was no longer useful."

[angelicstalker]

Hm

[somegrumpynerd]

Does anyone else hc that Nightmare can like, absorb his tentacles back into his body sometimes? Like the way Stitch does with his extra arms?

[daintydoilypon]

Can I have Dainty give some support for being depressed?

"GET YOUR 20 MINUTES OF VITAMIN D FROM THE SUN AND FLICK OFF YOUR BRAIN IN THE MIRROR. SAY YOU'RE NOT A LIL BITCH, IT'S A LIL BITCH! FAKE IT TIL YA MAKE, BB!!!"

((Not sure why you're asking me, I've had moderate to severe depression since '06. I will say, eating & drinking healthy stuff helps. It's not a cure, but it helps with symptoms. So, get some sun, drink some water, do a lil lie down, take a nice hot bath or shower, then eat something, & if you cannot eat something, drink an Ensure/Instant Carnation/Bolthouse/etc. Say it with me, kids, "You're gonna feel like poo, if you do not do, what is good for you, boo."))

[varjopeura]

.

[alagaisia]

Hey if you’re still enjoying and engaging with Harry Potter in any capacity you can unfollow me 😊 please and thank you

Like. I get it. I was super into it as a kid too. I did not have the social context to pick up on the antisemitism or transphobia or sexism or fatphobia or bioessentialism or racism or anything else. I also picked up on surface-level language of Fighting Back Against Evil and ascribed my own values onto what that meant and thought we were all on the same page. I remember when the original kids who grew up with the books started becoming adult fans and picking up on the (blatant!) antisemitism and everybody was still mostly willing to give JKR the benefit of the doubt on it. (“She was writing kids books!” They said. “She didn’t know she was penning a global phenomenon! She picked a common literary trend in European fairy tales (antisemitic caricature) and didn’t examine it closely. It’s a mistake anyone could make,” we said. “She would probably do things differently now. After all, she word-of-god confirmed the vaguest hints she dropped that Dumbledore might be gay,” we said.) There was actually a span of several years where biases inherent in the actual real content of the Harry Potter series were coming to light and even the people pointing them out still seemed mostly to think it was an unfortunate accident.

That time has passed. Years ago! We are long past the first months of “maybe she doesn’t realize this seemingly-feminist tweet she liked was made by a noted TERF” and then “how could she not realize that these many veiled TERF-y things she’s retweeted have implications for the many queer fans of her work” and finally “oh wow okay JKR just dropped an entire transphobic manifesto on twitter. I guess the transphobia was the point.”

Yeah, there were a few months after that where people were still processing and still working through how they felt about Harry Potter and all of its flaws with the context of the now open transphobia of the creator. I was there for that. Remember how I was one of the kids who built it up into something noble and worthwhile based on my own beliefs about what messages it was probably trying to convey? Turns out it wasn’t trying to say any of those things, and when you take the time to examine all of the terrible shit that made its way into the text whether JKR intended it to be there or not, the whole series falls apart. It’s weird to discover that there’s a room in your house that’s rotten to the core, but eventually you figure out you can’t live like that, still going in there and holding your nose and pretending it’s still the same room you thought it was when the termites were only inside of the walls and hadn’t yet started chewing their way through the furniture. Because what’s going to happen is that they are going to infest the rest of your house. If you decide you can ignore transphobia and antisemitism and everything else just because you liked the color of the wallpaper, the rest of your principles are going to crumble too. You get rid of that fucking room. You put those books on a high shelf in the back of your closet behind other outgrown clothes and interests and you move the fuck on.

JKR uses the money made from her transphobic antisemitic children’s books to actively funding hate groups and to lobby for legislation that will and has actually affected the actual lives of trans people in an entire country. We are past the point of grieving something you were wrong about in childhood. Kids are wrong about a lot of stuff. You grow up and you learn new information and you change your behaviors based on it. You have to choose. It is transphobic to pretend there is not transphobia where there is. It is transphobic to support the work of someone who is using those funds to take rights from trans people with every fucking dollar. It is hateful to continue to engage positively with a story that at its very core is rooted in hate and bigotry and prejudice. You can choose to do all of those things but you cannot claim ignorance of them and you cannot choose those things and still pretend that choosing them upholds the values we convinced ourselves that Harry Potter stood for over a decade ago as uninformed children. You cannot choose to do those things and pretend to still support your trans and queer and Jewish neighbors. I do not want you in my neighborhood. Leave.

[darnell-la]

May we have some Logan, maybe Old Man Logan x fem!reader with: breeding kink, non-con or dub-con, forced orgasms, and cumflation? Logan fucks her so hard, for so so long that she starts looking pregnant from how much cum he's pumped into her but he never pulls out so it stays in her?

note: ngl, this Logan has a slight baby-trapping kink when it comes to finding a mutant so young and pretty that wanted him in the first half.

DO NOT READ THIS IF CNC MAKES YOU UNCOMFORTABLE!

———

Logan had been fucking into a girl he picked up from the bar, for hours. When they talked, she could’ve sworn he was a gentleman and would give her the best sex she’d imagined. Only one of those was true.

Logan had been pounding this weak woman for hours. He’s been at it for so long, that when one hole went sore, he switched to the next. He’s been all around the world four times, never giving her a break.

Every now and then, y/n would moan, and make noise, letting Logan know she was still functioning. That never stopped him, though. It only made him want to go further.

“P-Please,” y/n let out for the thousandth time after Logan spilled in her. “Please what? You want more?” Logan asked, knowing she wouldn’t be able to speak a full sentence.

“C-Can’t,” y/n’s weak voice forced anything she could out. “But, you can — I know you can, Bub — I can’t just stop when you’ve given me so much- just feel yourself, princess,” Logan said as his hand brushed against y/n’s heat as his cock kept pushing in and out of her upper hole.

“L-Logan,” y/n whined, only making Logan groan low at his name rolling off of y/n’s tongue. “You know I can’t let you go after this, right, Bub? You’re gonna come on the road with me,”

Because y/n couldn’t speak anymore, she whined, not knowing what to do or think about Logan wanting to take her with him.

She doesn’t have a family, and she’s also a mutant. It wasn’t hard for Logan to figure that out. Maybe that’s why he was so obsessed with her. He’d never run across a mutant this young who’d want to even look at him.

“I’ve got room at my place, baby, don’t worry — We’ll even continue there,” Logan said as he felt his cock twitch once again. Before he released, he flipped y/n over and slammed into her cunt, making sure every inch of him felt the inside of her.

“Fuck,” y/n cried low, feeling Logan fill her up again, and each time, it seems like it was more. “Fuck, Bub — Just look at you,” Logan said as he placed his hands on Y/n’s stomach, softly rubbing across to see her shift.

“I bet you could hold so much more, baby. Can’t you?” Logan asked, instantly making y/n shake her head. She swore if he kept going, her body would shut down. Sadly, her orgasm spoke for her as she gushed around Logan’s cock.

“That’s it — I knew you love me just as much as I love you,”