#four shots of bank

[madamechrissy]

Pour it Up Masterlist / Stripclub Owner Sukuna headcanons

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight (final)

Pairings: Stripclub Owner Sukuna x Stripper F!reader

Summary:- You are a single mother, your baby daddy is not just worthless, he also is actively trying to sabotoge you, so you go out on your own and raise your kid by yourself. Struggling your ass off, a friend of a friend named Toji decides to offer you a hell of a deal, a few hours a night at a strip club to make BANK. While there, you meet the other owner, Sukuna, and the moment he sees you? You annoy him how beautiful you are, how much he wants you, pushing him to insanity. He knows he must have you- no matter whose ass he needs to beat.

Warnings:- reader is a mom, lowkey/highkey Yandere Sukuna behavior (He's obsessed) recreational drug use, drug dealing Sukuna (the club lowkey a front lol) Mafia ties, EXPLICIT sexual content, blow jobs, cunnilingus, fingering, masturbation, teasing and mafia related violence, some former trauma of reader, lots of smut and also fluff, watch Kuna morph into a softie hehe.- Ties into the Satoru x reader story Losing Control Now

FInished- WC 54k - ao3 link here - Playlist

Headcanons/story preview below!

Stripclub Owner Sukuna- who loves what he does, the money he makes, the women, the entire atmosphere. What more could he really need in life?

Stripclub Owner Sukuna lights up a blunt with his co owner, Toji, as they lounge back on one of the bright red Sofa's, watching their girls dance around them while they hold business meetings. Sukuna certainly doesn't mind beautiful women, nor does he mind snorting coke right off them.

Stripclub Owner Sukuna throws back a shot, when suddenly he sees someone so different, so fucking pretty it makes his heart thud in his chest. He can barely stop himself from yanking you right away from this. He's slicking back pastel hair when Toji introduces you so casually, wearing a pretty silver bikini that shows too much of your sexy body. You look shy? You look nervous?

Stripclub Owner Sukuna takes your hand then, smirking at you, watching the blush decorate your cheeks, when he finds you're going to be a dancer, he immediately wants to say no, dance for just him, a level of possession he's never even felt with his girlfriends. Sukuna's shared plenty of women, but if he got you!?

Stripclub Owner Sukuna smacks Toji for even bringing you here later, and Toji scoffs. 'She has a kid and shit, she'll make top dollar here' Sukuna falters at such news. 'Don't ya think she'll make bank?' 'Tch, of course she will... it's just she's so...' Toji snorts. 'you got the hots for her, huh? Well she ain't some easy girl, I know her'

Stripclub Owner Sukuna knows he must have you, when you're stepping around the stage, and he's eyeing you, sitting right in front of the stage as you get on your knees, crawling toward him and smiling shyly. 'how're you a shy stripper, huh? not gonna work' he huffs, and you tilt your head, hand slipping down his tie. 'No allure in a shy dancer, Mr. Sukuna?'

Stripclub Owner Sukuna loses his mind when he hears his name spilled from your glossy lips, as he thinks of shoving his cock deep inside that mouth, so close to his when you turn. You bend over, ass right in the air, begging for a smack as you look back at him, hair falling over your face. 'Why're you here?' he demands, eyeing the curve of your back, cock hard like he's some pathetic teenager or something.

Stripclub Owner Sukuna tenses when you say - 'I need the money, isn't it why everyone does this?' 'Toji says you got a kid' you tense then, turning toward him nervously, as the stagelights glimmer all over your skin. 'That a problem?' Sukuna shakes his head. "Nah, lots of girls here do...' You exhale. 'I'm a single mom, my friend can watch her at night, why not work while she's asleep? I can spend my time with her'

Stripclub Owner Sukuna admires the fuck out of you as you dance your pretty ass off, but he hates the men that see you, see you in just your little bottoms and tassells, breasts bouncing, ass jiggling as you shake it, as you move. You're a whole star quickly, the few hours a night you come in you make bank, but as soon as you leave, he's in his office, jerking it to you, imagining those nipples, that pussy he sees hints of with your spandex panties.

Stripclub Owner Sukuna On one particular night forgets to lock the door, you're still out there dancing but he can't take it, you're too fucking sexy, he's picturing burying his face in that nice ass of yours as you step inside, shutting the door quickly when you see it, his enormous dick in his hands, covered in precum. You gasp, looking away quickly. 'shit I'm sorry, it's my ex... he's such an ass and I didn't want him to see me...'

Stripclub Owner Sukuna pauses, in shock as you look back down at him, licking your lower lip. 'I'm interrupting...' you come closer though, watching, breath catching in your throat. 'Want me to beat him the fuck up? ruin him?' Sukuna murmurs, voice husky, when you keep walking towards him, and he slowly strokes, from the base to the tip of his veiny length, acting so casual. 'No, you don't have to do all that, you're already so good to me' he laughs then, shaking his head. 'You are, maybe I should... be good to you?'

Stripclub Owner Sukuna can't form a thought when you're stroking his cock, leaning so close, lips just a breath from his, taking two of his fingers and sucking his precum off them, cheeks hollowing. Sukuna loses his control then, using those two fingers to slip so deep you cry out, earning his groan, uncaring if anyone heard. He's curling them up in your walls as you stroke, his eyes laser focused on your pretty face when he grips your hair by the nape of your neck. 'wanna suck me, huh brat?' he tries to keep it together, but when you nod eagerly, on your knees, he can't take how good your throat feels.

Stripclub Owner Sukuna has his cock fucking up into your throat, his salty precum against your tongue, and he wonders if it's some dream it has to be, you're too fucking beautiful to just be doing this, you shouldn't even be working, he thinks. He'd like you just naked around his house, to fuck you on every surface, fill you up with so many kids you'd never leave. Sukuna is groaning while you suck him greedily, looking up at him with dilated, beautiful eyes, making him simultaneously want to fuck you and want to make love to you, stupid insane shit that irritates him.

Stripclub Owner Sukuna stutters when you suck harder, and he's cumming deep in your throat, not meaning to. No he wants to fuck your pussy, not this, but you make him cum so fast it's stupid, swallowing him with a pretty smile, as you lean up on shaky legs. He presses a kiss to your lips, desperate and messy, tasting all of his cum all over your mouth. You're gasping, until the door opens, and you pull apart, seeing an amused Toji. You are losing your mind later as you clean up to go home, wondering what's gotten ahold of you, when Sukuna is waiting right outside.

Stripclub Owner Sukuna loves it when you look down so shy and pretty, you're biting your lower lip to death, he releases it from the grip of your teeth. 'you free tonight, brat?' you blink in confusion. 'you want...' 'want you at my place, spread wide f'me, yeah?' you gasp at the thought, shaking your head then. 'I'm not, I have to get home to my kid... but tomorrow night?' he nods, ushering you to your shitty car, picturing you in something so much better soon, leaning over with a smirk as he seatbelts you in.

Stripclub Owner Sukuna now that he's had a taste, he can't stop thinking of you, when you're at work the next day you're quickly in his office again, this time he's got you grinding on his lap, slick arousal pooling in your little outfit. 'I'll fuckin pay you triple, take the day off' "Mr. Sukuna...' 'Take. The. Day. Off.' Sukuna finally gets you home, having you bent over his couch before you can blink, ripping your pretty costume to shreds, pumping you so full of his cock you're trembling, shaking, head falling back as he fills you so good, slamming your cervix.

Stripclub Owner Sukuna has never felt anything like you, like your cunt pulsing around his cock, like his balls slapping your twitchy little clit, as you're sobbing it hurts so good, tears streaming down your pretty face while he rails his cock so deep. Sukuna busts deep in you as he wraps a big hand around your throat, fucking into you over and over, feeling you milk his cock for all he's got. 'Gonna fill you the fuck up, huh brat? gonna drip on the goddamn stage'

Stripclub Owner Sukuna has your pussy on his mouth when he's busted in you, starting to lap all the gooey white cum from your pretty pussy. 'Sukuna! ah!' you've never felt like this, so fucked out as his tongue scoops all your cum out, he's leaning over you, spitting it right into your mouth, chuckling. 'pathetic, just how I fuckin need you'

Stripclub Owner Sukuna is pathetic for you, he doesn't let you leave, he pays you for another day, fucking you in every position, at some point he's holding you upside down, you're bobbing on his cock as he's gripping your ass, moaning against your hole, you're falling apart, so weak and sore. when you finally have to go home, because you have your kid, Sukuna can't stop thinking about you, about how he wants you to have his babies, to be under him every goddamn night, so excited when you come into work, only to see you devastated.

Stripclub Owner Sukuna demands to know what's wrong, only to see your shady ass ex, who wants to saunter up to him like he's shit, you shake your head, but soon Sukuna is beating the fuck out of him. 'you have no clue who he is, Mr. Sukuna...' you tell him then, earning Sukuna's chuckle, his big grin. 'You don't know who I am, baby'

Buy me a glass of wine🍷 - Gen Masterlist - ©All works by Madamechrissy you may not reproduce

[kisakunt]

toji who has never known a day where he was good with money. toji who has never experienced financial stability a moment in his life. he’s a gambling man— a man of trinkets and risks and bets. he knows he’s good enough to win any fight he’s in, finish any job he starts, find a way around everything, so he thinks his luck has to transcend into money. he always takes that shot because today’s the day, i can tell.

toji who, after the first time he met you, stored away exactly five hundred yen that he refused to touch for the next time he saw you and you wanted a coffee. he keeps it with him all the time, tucked nice and neat in his thrashed wallet for safe keeping.

toji who, before your first date, pawned one of his last worthwhile possessions to take you somewhere nice. he knows this isn’t sustainable, so for the second and third he plans them around jobs.

toji who stops wasting a dime at a bar. he hates drinking anyway. he doesn’t get takeout anymore— instead has become quite the mediocre chef. he limits his gambling from four races a week to one.

toji who stops picking up the big gigs. it infuriates shiu, but toji waves him off with large fingers and a gruff noise. instead, he focuses on little jobs. smaller paycheck, smaller duration, more time home.

toji who will never change for anyone. this is his life— this is the life he’s given himself for, he’s lost for, he’s given blood, and sweat, and arguably tears for. but, when you nuzzle your way deeper into his life, he does practice harm reduction.

toji who gets a bank account on your two month anniversary. he opts for checking and savings, although savings ever hardly sees the light of day.

toji who, while he has been a man of work forever, has never worked like this. he washes his sheets once a week, cleans dishes, picks up trash from his drawers and the floor and the poor excuse of a futon he calls a couch.

toji who becomes a man when he meets you. toji who understands finally what it means to want to provide. toji who practices the best way he can to be good to you. toji who, if you ever did ask, would give it all away for you.

toji who didn’t know loving someone in turn meant he had to love himself until he met you.

[poguelandiarafe]

red carpet reveal | drew starkey

pairing - drew starkey x gf!reader

warnings - none

summary - drew brings you to the outer banks season four premiere even though you're relationship is still under wraps. well, until it isn't thanks to a pushy reporter.

masterlist

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the 'outer banks' premiere is in full swing and you're so grateful you get to experience it with drew for the first time. you're buzzing with excitement, the flashing of cameras and excited fans screaming as the cast makes their way onto the red carpet feels surreal.

"you doing okay?" drew asks, gently squeezing your hand.

you nod, looking up at him with a smile, "more than. go shine you superstar."

he chuckles and his hand gives you another comforting squeeze before letting it go and opting to rest it on your back. the way he looks in that suit, flashing his signature smile to the cameras, makes you wonder how the hell you even let him out of the hotel room.

as drew is ushered into many different interviews, you keep to yourself, staying mostly in the background and out of shot. you don't mind this, always having preferred to watch him in his element. he talks with so much passion and excitement that you could, and do, listen to him for hours on end.

the night seems to be going perfectly until it's not. the problem? a leggy blonde who's seemed to make it her life's mission to interview your boyfriend. you claim to not be the jealous type, but you can already tell the type of questions she's going to ask by the way she stalks over to him, eyes not so subtly looking him up and down with an exaggerated smile on her face.

"so, drew," she begins, her voice already annoying you, "you're looking very handsome tonight. outer banks season four! what's it like to still be playing the hottest character on the show? you are literally the internet's boyfriend right now."

he's here with you, don't let it get to you are the words that keep repeating in your head as drew politely answers the question, but you know she's attempting to flirt with him.

"what does your family think of the show? i'm assuming they're very proud," her eyes briefly flicker over to you and she turns her attention to you, "you must be such a proud sister, right?"

you scoff, not only at the question but at the condescending way she's talking to you, like you're a child.

"uh... she's not my sister actually." drew chuckles awkwardly, his free hand coming up to scratch at his neck.

her eyebrows raise in surprise before her shrill voice cuts through the air, "oh sorry! well, it's so thoughtful of you to bring your friend to the event."

yes, you've both agreed to not directly make your relationship public, but god did you want to set the record straight. the way her hand kept grabbing his arm throughout the whole interview is making your blood boil.

before you can say anything, the interview continues and she pays you no more attention. drew's patience for this is wearing thin, but he's determined to remain professional, not wanting to go viral for lashing out at someone for doing their job.

"coming back to my earlier point about being the internet's boyfriend, how's the love life? tell us, do you have your own sofia yet or are you still available?" the interviewer asks, playful flirtation coating the words as they leave her lips.

drew's arm unloops from yours and slides around your waist to pull you slightly closer to him. he's not trying to out your relationship, just reminding you he's there.

his eyes narrow slightly in annoyance at the question, "i... uh, well it's my personal life. wanna keep it personal."

"come on, not even an inkling of an answer?" she insists.

you've had enough of this woman and, quite frankly, drew has to. he's ready to walk off but you don't let him, instead moving to face him with your back to her.

"what are you doing?" drew leans down, whispering in your ear.

before you let yourself overthink what you're doing, you grab the back of his head and pull him into a kiss. everyone around you is in shock. cameras are all turning toward the two of you, and the fans are screaming even louder now. the kiss isn't a subtle peck or quick goodbye kiss. no, it's a kiss that is telling the world he's yours and no amount of bad flirting will take him away from you.

when you pull back, your cheeks are flushed and drew has a stunned smile on his face. your eyes suddenly widen as the realisation hits you like a train of what you just did, and he can tell that a million thoughts are going through your head.

"hey, stop overthinking it. i'm glad you did it," he starts before whispering, "meant she finally shut up and stopped trying to flirt with me."

relief washes over you and your tense shoulders drop as you let yourself relax. you don't even want to think about the social media reaction right now.

"umm," the interviewer clears her throat, "i guess that answers the question."

you grab drew's hand before looking back at the woman, "i think we're done here."

[totalswag]

outer banks premiere and surprises — DREW STARKEY

authors note the new season is so good!!! watching part two trailer makes me even more excited. what do you guys think of it?

taglist ⤕ if you would like to be notified every time i post you will type in your username then be all set.

summary surprising drew at the outer banks premiere for season four. he thinks you are on tour but you made time to support him.

warnings cursing, mentions of flashing lights, kissing, and celebrating season four of outer banks.

You carefully walked out the car with your hand holding one side of your dress so you don’t fall. You thanked the driver with a kind smile before walking towards the red carpet with your manager. The sound of fans could be heard the closer you got.

The season four premiere of Outer Banks is tonight, and you plan to surprise your boyfriend, Drew Starkey, on the carpet. Except for Jonas and Drew's father, no one is aware of your impending arrival.

You recently started touring for your newest album― it's been an absolute blast. This night is very important to Drew and you are glad your next show is two hours away so it was perfect to surprise him and see his reaction.

You were glad to fit this surprise last minute.

When you get closer to the crowd of people butterflies form in the pit of your stomach— more so excitement and enthusiasm. Security led you through the entrance where everyone stood for pictures and fans waiting to interact with the cast.

Drew was in the middle of taking pictures in front of cameras and fans behind them— he looked so good in his suit. Few fans turned their heads when they heard security taking on the radio and their faces lit up seeing you.

Oh my gosh is that Y/N?

She’s here to surprise him watch

My parents are finally together in front of me

Drew turned his head in your direction where all the commotion was— he was in disbelief seeing you walking over to him looking stunning from head to toe. Smile forming in the corner of his lips, opening his arms for you.

"Hi baby!" You squeal softly, looking at him with affection and joy. You stand on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek— he smells wonderful with the new cologne you bought him.

"I'm so glad you are here," he says with a grin, clutching you closely to his chest.

As you two walk away, you turn around to face Drew's father, hugging him and asking how things are doing. You approached his father first about the surprise, and he was all for it.

Paparazzi wanted to capture a few shots of Drew and you together. You two couldn't take your gaze away from one other the entire time. The butterflies in your stomach had not faded the moment you arrived.

Drew and you approached fans and took pictures, signed autographs, made films, and so forth. You stayed by Drew's side the entire time rather than being the focus of attention— this is about him and his cast members. Tonight is all about him and the cast.

"I love your new album Y/N, and I'm going to your next show in two days," one fan exclaimed, tears welling up in the corners of her eyes as she looked around sixteen. "Aw, thank you so much, gorgeous—I can't wait for you to be out there," you say softly, leaning in for a big hug.

"Y/N I can't believe you are here!" Madelyn gasps in surprise, pausing in her tracks and placing her palm on her chest— jaw dropped.

You look over your shoulder, squealing with delight. "Surprise, Missy," you say aloud, raising your arms.

The rest of the cast followed, engulfing you in a frenzy of hugs and enthusiastic conversations. Drew couldn't stop smiling, and his arm never left your waist while you socialized with friends. Conversations went smoothly, with laughter resonating in the air.

"When I saw you with Drew, I was like no way that's Y/N" Chase explained as he re-created his initial reaction seeing you.

You laughed as he told you, "The only people who knew were our managers and Drew's dad." You pointed to your's and Drew's managers, then Drew's father talking to Madison. 

It was great to see everyone again and catch up on things that hadn't been mentioned. It felt like it had been years since you last saw one other. 

"You look so good tonight, baby," you nudge Drew with a quiet whisper, "too good, I might add." You smirk nonchalantly, which immediately draws his attention—dragging his hand down your back, drawing you closer to him.

"May I just say the same thing about you because I think I need an inhaler?" he asks with a flirty grin.

Inside the auditorium, they watched the first half of the show, your hand interlaced with Drew's. You could feel his joy and pleasure in the work they had all done for the new season. And he could feel your steadfast support, your presence anchored him.

Drew's performance throughout the show was incredible—he was always giving it his all and keeping in character without breaking. Rafe's character development is much more obvious this season than it was in the first. Throughout the show, you would lean into his ear— sending chills down his spine. You whispered encouraging things to him.

Shortly after the first part of the show, an announcement was made about an after-party to which everyone was invited. Obviously, everyone was looking forward to attending and celebrating.

Everyone had access to food, desserts, and drinks at the after party. Music was played while everyone sang along to the songs. This was one night to remember. Drew and the cast were ecstatic to celebrate yet another outstanding season.

You found a calm spot with Drew. He wrapped his arms around you, bringing you closer. "Thank you for being here," he whispered quietly, his eyes brimming with love. "It means everything to me."

You grinned and leaned in to kiss him gently. "There's nowhere else I'd rather be," you said quietly.

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[sigh-tofm]

if you’re their sugar baby… (18+)

… price

- absolutely spoils you. adores giving you anything you want. if your gaze lingers in a shop window, he��ll buy you whatever’s in it. you suspect he’s infiltrated your phone somehow, because anything you look at online will show up on your doorstep a few days later. he takes you to private jewellery fittings and sits back with a glass of whisky while the jewellers puts glimmering necklaces and earrings on you.

in return, he likes showing you off. regularly takes you out to restaurants so expensive they don’t even list their prices on the menu. spoon feeds you black caviar and picks out the correct wine, the bottles so old they still have wax seals on them. loves seeing you wearing the dresses he buys for you, revealing the fleshier parts of your body that the rest of society tells you to hide. always wants you to wear diamonds in your ears when you’re his date. nothing is ever too expensive if it’s for you.

takes you to a luxurious hotel after and fucks you good and well in the satin sheets. goes back to base before you wake up the morning after, and leaves a generous cash tip on the nightstand in addition to the monthly four digit payments transferred directly to your bank account.

… kyle

- takes care of you. a sergeant’s pay is low compared to a captain’s, but it’s still a substantial amount and much, much more than you make. enjoys having a pretty lady to spoil. any visit to the hairdresser or nail salon is on him. will occasionally request a specific colour for your nails, and you know it’s to match a dress he’s bought you, waiting for you at home.

takes you dancing, spends the whole night downtown and treats you to high-end street food at three in the morning. you get fancy cocktails and colourful shots and anything else you want to try. if another woman gets close to him on the dance floor, he makes a point out of feeling you up, splaying his hands over you wide hips and soft tummy.

takes you home to his and you both fall right to sleep, waking up past noon the day after. arranges a massage for you to help with your hangover. sits in on the appointment and flips your towel up to eat you out when the massage therapist leaves. reminds you to use the credit card he’s given you in between your orgasms.

… johnny

- whisks you away to scotland when he’s off duty. borrows the family cabin in the highlands and accommodates you both in the master bedroom, spending the cold nights in a grand bed with a heavy pelt covering the duvet. loves the fantasy of having a big, soft secret stowed away in the mountains.

spends the days hiking with you or takes you down to the coast, where you watch the wild waves and enjoy cottage pie in a local pub. asks for the finest whiskey, refusing anything but the best for you. tells you all about the history of the old stone kirk of the town over steaming mugs of spiked cider.

lays the pelt out on the floor before the great fireplace in the living room and grins when you mention the cliché of it all. remarks that clichés exist for a reason and pulls you close. your skin grows goosebumps in the cold air of the cabin, but the fireplace (and the rigorous activity on the pelt rug) warms you both up. lays with you after, smoothing his hand over your side and enjoying how your soft body gives way to the pressure of his fingers. pays for first class on your flight back home and gives you cash enough to cover both rent and supplies for the month. makes out with you messily at the airport before you part ways.

… simon

- takes you along to all his going ons outside of active duty. enjoys having a partner in crime, so to speak. in the military he’s a lone wolf, so when he’s off he just wants to have you for company. price thinks it’s a good idea for him too, to at least pretend he has some normalcy in his life. you oblige. he takes you to all his mundane errands; groceries, changing the tires of his car, walking the old bridle paths in his area.

has you tucked in under his arm when the footie’s on in the evening, trays of hot takeaway on the sofa table. if you can’t decide what you want to order, he has you list everything you’re interested in and orders it all. entertains your questions about football terminology and plays with your hair. pulls a blanket over you when you’re close to falling asleep and turns the volume down.

herds you to bed after a little while and so enjoys having a warm, soft body to put his arm around at night. to you, it’s all so casual and natural that you almost forget it’s an arrangement, but he never forgets to pay for your company according to your agreement and always tips generously.

doesn’t say it out loud, but likes it when you straddle him on the sofa and lets him feel you up and make out with you until he comes in his pants like a schoolboy.

[sugarcoatedheartt]

luxurious

“ champagne kisses, hold me in your lap of luxury ”

parrings: rich!heeseung x fem!reader

synopsis: in which the intimidatingly rich heeseung is absolutely and undeniably down bad for his sweet little girlfriend

genre: romance, fluff, drabble/headcannon

warnings; vulgar language, suggestive (more towards the end), lowkey kinda subby heeseung

bella/sugars notes: first little writing thing idk💔anyways do we fw the layout??

not proofread!

rich!heeseung who doesnt even care if youre using him or not. hes literally just so down bad that he only cares to have the ability to be close to you and spoil the shit out of you. as long as youre by his side he doesnt care, he’ll be right at your feet. he might not admit it to your face, but the feeling of swiping his card for you really turns him on. the larger the price, the better.

you were at a grand mall with him, one of those ones where it seems you have to be wealthy enough to even look in the direction of (his idea), when you were glancing at a painfully pricey but gorgeous dress for a second too long. being attentive as he is, he notices and leans closer down to your level and says; “you should get it, itll look beautiful on you”. you hum, looking at the price tag and slightly wince at the sight of the four digit number. “yeah, but i dont need it, and i dont want to waste your money on unnecessary things.” he finds it so endearing how youre still worrying about money after all this time. “but you want it, no? dont worry princess, this wont even make a dent in my bank account. go try it on pretty girl.” he replies, gently patting the small of your back before calling over a worker to help you out, not giving you the chance to say anything else.

rich!heeseung who worships the ground you walk on. you ask for anything and he hands it to you on a diamond platter. initially, when you first started dating you were hesitant to ask him for things or favours in fear of him getting the wrong idea about using him, but he insisted so much with those pretty doe eyes in which you only get to see, you couldnt even say no.

youre about to leave to go on a nice date with heeseung at one of those stupidly expensive and fancy restaurants he booked. when you go to put on your pretty heels, he stops dead in his tracks and says; “dont move a muscle.” youre obviously confused but comply before he walks over to you in all his glory and gets down on his knees, picks up a heel and takes your foot with the utmost care and ever so gently slides the shoe onto your foot before taking the other and sliding it on with same amount of gentleness. he gave the top of your soft, exposed foot a feather-light kiss before he looks up at you from the ground like the happiest man alive, and goodness did he feel like it.

rich!heeseung who loovvess calling you adorable pet names. he basks in the way a rosy blush spreads across your soft cheeks as your eyes subtly sparkle when he calls you something sweet. on his part, he just feels so fortunate that he can even be acknowledged by you. he loves the way his name rolls off your tongue, and it sends electric shots through his body when you call him something endearing.

“here’s a small snack angel, i picked out your favourite fruits and biscuits” he says softly as he makes his way towards the couch youre sitting on, plate in hand. he always makes your food for you because he doesnt believe his personal chefs can make it perfect enough for someone as perfect as you. he puts his heart and soul into your meals, even if its small snacks like this. “aww, thank you sweetheart!” you exclaim with a bright smile on your face after tearing your gaze away from the tv, reaching out for the plate. he swears he almost died on the spot by how the butterflies were violently banging against his ribs.

rich!heeseung who cant stand being away from you. he can also only fall asleep in your arms. at first he was able to go off on sleep calling, but it soon got so bad to the point that he has to take you on business trips with him. he just needs to physical contact with you to fall asleep. the way your arms wrap around him, fingers gently threading through his dark locks as he nuzzles into your neck, wanting to be impossibly closer. he loves the way your sweet sugary scent envelopes him and lulls him to sleep.

a smile grows on his face as he finally sees you walking through your shared bedroom door after an eternity (it was 10 minutes), all fresh and finished with your skincare. he scooches over on the bed to make room for you and pulls back the covers to silently invite you in. upon getting into bed, he immediately wraps his arms around your waist and tangling his limbs with yours as his nose nuzzles into your bare neck, smiling against it and taking in the intoxicating scent of your hairwash. you wrap an arm around him in return, using the other to gently scratch your nails against his scalp through his hair, sending shivers down his spine and earning a satisfied hum from him. “goodnight, darling” he says, already half asleep. “sleep well, seungie” you reply, pressing a sweet kiss on his temple. his heart rate speeds up at the sensation.

rich!heeseung who cant help but be all soft and mushy with you. people go as far to say hes a completely different person with you. they know him as sharp and intimidating, but when he’s interacting with you, all they see is a lovesick puppy, gazing at you longingly with hearts in his eyes as you speak.

heeseung is in his office, talking to a freshly hired servant, a stern expression on his face before you walk through the door of his office. upon noticing you’re interrupting something seemingly important, you say “oh! im sorry, i didnt notice there was a meeting going on in here.” you were about to leave them be and close the door before he intervenes, “it’s okay angel! come over here actually, i should introduce you.” the new employee is startled by how fast he just switched up. one second heeseung was firm and scary, the next he was all soft, as if speaking too harsh or moving too fast will shatter you. he doesnt take his eyes off of you as you walk over to his desk, making your way next to him. as he looks back at the servant, his expression turns cold and his voice is once again sharp. “this is my girlfriend, Y/N. whatever she says goes. you touch her, youre dead.” he states, a hand sitting protectively around your waist. heeseung looks back up at you from where he’s sitting on his chair, his features warming up instantly and his eye’s brightening. “yeah, princess?” he says, looking for your validation. you nod, giving the servant a look close to apologetic. its safe to say the new servant is scared shitless.

rich!heeseung who gets super desperate for you while kissing or making out. the feeling of your soft lips moving against his makes him weak in the knees and powerless. he’s completely at your mercy, hands firmly on your waist, almost shaking due to the sensations.

you tug at his hair, guiding his head to where you want him to be as he whines into your mouth, not caring for whoever’s listening. he kisses you so desperately and needy that you cant help but want to give him more, so when you graze your tongue over his bottom lip, he immediately obeys, opening his mouth, allowing you to slip it inside. after a moment, you pull back slightly to catch your breath, lightly panting as you relish at the sight of him, all sweaty, hair sticking to his forehead, flushed face, hazy eyes. “please,” he begins, “please dont stop, not now. please keep kissing me, i’ll get you whatever you want, i— i’ll do whatever you want!” he begs, almost at the verge of tears, assuming youre just gonna leave him hanging like that. you smirk at him before leaning back in, practically shoving your tongue down his throat. he whimpers at the feeling of your tongues clashing together and your fingers pulling at his dark locks. he might even do it in his pants right there, without being touched.

“ i only wanna fly first class desires, youre my limousine ”

[wbbfannnnnn13]

Motion Sick // Chapter 5

Theme: homoerotic friendship hot mess

A/N: Just trying to move plot forward before getting into some real messiness and eventually a resolve! Probably won't have another chapter out until next week for this series because I need to finish up my other series, but we'll see. Please comment, react, whatever! I love to see it!

WC: 5K+

Warnings: angst, maybe some cussing?

**** Chapter 5 ****

The thing about first dates is that they never feel like the movies. There’s no soundtrack, no golden-hour lighting, no perfect banter where both people say exactly the right thing. There’s just nerves. 

A lot of them.

Especially when you’ve been hanging out for weeks already—study sessions, walking each other back to dorms, late-night Snap streaks, casual movie nights that weren’t officially anything but definitely felt like something.

So yeah. This wasn’t the first time Paige and Kathryn had hung out. But it was the first time it was called a date. Which somehow made it feel entirely different.

She stared at her closet for way too long before finally settling on a cropped long-sleeve top and black cargo pants. Comfortable, but bold. Just enough skin to hint at her abs—not that she cared if Kathryn noticed. (She did.)

Her hair was half up, half down, loose curls falling over her shoulders. She spritzed some cologne. Debated lip gloss. Changed her earrings twice.

Kathryn was waiting by the front entrance of her dorm, her usual athletic casual look upgraded just slightly—black jeans, crop top, an oversized denim jacket, a necklace Paige hadn’t seen before. Her hair was pulled into a loose braid, and she was fidgeting with her keys like she wasn’t sure what to do with her hands.

“You look good,” Kathryn said, smiling in that sideways kind of way that always got to Paige.

“You too,” Paige said, a little too quickly. “So… mini golf?”

Kathryn grinned. “Figured we should settle once and for all who the real athlete is.”

They walked over together, shoulders brushing, the teasing already in full swing about who’d win.

The place was half empty, glowing under string lights and faded neon signs. The vibe was more arcade nostalgia than romantic, which helped. Paige could breathe.

They picked out clubs and chose their golf balls—Paige called dibs on the purple one without hesitation—and made their way to hole one, where the goal was to bank a shot off a sun-faded plastic flamingo.

Kathryn was bad. Like, hilariously bad. Like, can’t-even-pretend-to-be-supportive bad. Paige didn’t even try to hide her laughter when Kathryn whiffed her second shot and sent the ball into a fake pond.

“Oh my God,” Paige gasped, wiping tears. “Are you trying to lose?”

“I’m establishing expectations,” Kathryn said, deadpan. “So when I come back and win, it’s more impressive.”

“Babe, you’re down by four already.”

Kathryn raised an eyebrow. “Did you just call me babe?”

Paige’s face went warm. “Shut up. Hit your ball.”

They bantered their way through all eighteen holes, pausing only to talk trash or duck around a group of loud undergrads. Somewhere around hole ten, Kathryn figured out a ridiculous strategy that involved ricocheting every shot off Paige’s ball.

“It’s a legit tactic,” she said, lining up another bank shot with zero shame.

“It’s cheating,” Paige shot back, grinning. “And you’re annoying.”

“Still catching up, though,” Kathryn said sweetly, right before sinking the putt.

They split a Coke and a bag of M&M’s at the end, sitting on a metal bench near the arcade. The air had cooled, Kathryn’s braid was coming loose, and Paige felt lighter than she had in a long time.

It was easy. Too easy.

The kind of night that didn’t ask anything of her. Didn’t push. Didn’t pull. Just let her be. And God, had she missed that.

After, they walked back to campus slowly—like neither of them was in a hurry to go back to reality. The air was crisp. Kathryn shoved her hands in her pockets and occasionally bumped her shoulder into Paige’s like she didn’t know what to do with her own affection.

Outside Kathryn’s dorm, they paused.

“This was fun,” Paige said, a little too quickly.

Kathryn nodded. “Yeah. It was.” Then a beat. “I was kinda nervous, honestly.”

“Why?” Paige asked.

“You’re just… not like other girls I’ve hung out with.” She looked down for a second, then back up. “You make me nervous in a good way. Like I wanna keep doing things that make you smile.”

Paige swallowed, pulse stuttering.

She didn’t mean to close the distance. Not really. But then Kathryn tilted her head, and Paige’s breath caught, and suddenly they were closer than before—shoes toe-to-toe.

“I had a really good time,” Kathryn said, voice low.

Paige smiled. “Me too.” And then she leaned in. Just a little. And Kathryn met her halfway.

The kiss was… sweet. Soft. Innocent. Like a sigh. Like a yes.

It didn’t take her breath away. But it settled something.

Her hand found the edge of Kathryn’s jacket, anchoring herself for just a second longer. Then she pulled back, blinking.

Kathryn’s cheeks were pink. She smiled. “Been wanting to do that since you beat me at FIFA.”

“You mean when I destroyed you at FIFA,” Paige said, breathless.

“Rematch soon. You’ll lose.”

“We’ll see.”

They lingered for a second longer. Not touching now, just standing in that quiet post-kiss pause, both a little dazed.

“Night, Paige,” Kathryn said, opening the door.

“Night.”

Paige turned and started walking back, fingers brushing her lips, trying—and failing—to hide the grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. She crossed her arms, like maybe that would help steady her heartbeat. It didn’t.

It didn’t feel dramatic. It didn’t feel like a movie. It felt… good. Simple. Easy. Maybe even right.

For the first time in a while, she didn’t feel like she was chasing something. She just felt found.

****

Morrone Stadium looked sharp under the late afternoon light. Clean turf. Crisp white lines. The kind of fall breeze that made you zip your hoodie up halfway and still squint against the sun.

Paige hadn’t planned on going alone—not because she wouldn’t have, but because when Aubrey and Ice overheard her mention Kathryn’s game, they immediately invited themselves. “You’re not about to soft launch your soccer crush without us,” Aubrey had said. “It’s not a launch,” Paige muttered, pulling her hood up.

But still—she didn’t say no.

The three of them sat low in the bleachers, close to the midfield line. A few basketball players trickled in over the first half, but none of them sat close. Paige liked that. It kept things… quiet.

Kathryn wore all white—jersey tucked, socks pulled high, her usual headband in place. She had a navy practice penny over the top for warmups, but by kickoff, it was off and folded on the bench. She looked calm, focused, confident. Like the game ran at her pace.

“She’s got field presence,” Ice commented, chewing on her straw. “She’s hot,” Aubrey added, unapologetically.

Paige tried not to smile. Tried not to stare too long as Kathryn jogged over to the corner flag midway through the first half.

“Corner kick,” Aubrey said, nudging her. “This your girl’s moment.”

Kathryn didn’t even glance toward the bleachers—just set the ball down with surgical precision, took three quick steps, and sent a perfect left-footed cross into the box. One of her teammates met it clean, heading it into the back of the net like it had been drawn up in a textbook.

The crowd roared. Kathryn jogged back into formation, high-fived the striker, and kept moving like she’d done it a hundred times.

“She’s smooth,” Ice said, tipping her coffee like a toast.

“Well, she is captain,” Paige replied before she could stop herself.

Aubrey raised an eyebrow, grinning. “Ohhh, okay. So now you’re bragging.”

Paige just shook her head, but her smile gave her away.

After the win, she stayed in the stands while Kathryn cooled down with the team. No waving. No big moment. Just a glance across the field and a barely-there nod—acknowledgment. Like something only the two of them would catch.

Later that night, Paige got the tag. Kathryn had posted a game-day carousel—action shots of her teammates, a scoreboard close-up, and a blurry bench photo with the caption: “w’s only.”

But the tag wasn’t in the post.

It was on her story. Just one clip: a slow pan of the bleachers, Paige tucked in the corner, hood up, grinning like she didn’t know she was being filmed.

The caption read: “love the support 🤍”

She tagged @uconnwbb, @aubreygriffin, @icebrady… and @paigebueckers. Like it was casual. Like it was nothing.

And yet Paige stared at it way too long before locking her phone.

She barely had time to process it before her phone buzzed again. The Huzzskies🏀team chat was already on fire.

Aubrey: okay soft launch 😏

Caroline: please tell me you’re sending this to your mom so she stops asking if you’re still single lol

Amari: not Paige out here looking like a proud boyfriend 😭

Jana: well damn

Aubrey: lowkey proud of you. highkey stalking her tagged pics rn 👀

She just watched the messages roll in, the screen lighting up again and again like it was laughing with her.

She didn’t respond. Didn’t add a single emoji. But her thumb hovered over the keyboard for a second, then dropped.

She smiled. Just barely. Then locked her phone.

And that should’ve been the end of it. Cute date. Supportive friends. A win all around.

But instead of feeling lighter, she felt… something else. Like a corner of her chest had come unstuck. Like her body remembered something she hadn’t given it permission to.

It didn’t hit all at once. Just a quiet nudge. The kind that starts as a whisper and gets louder the longer you try to ignore it.

Because it wasn’t just a story post. It wasn’t just a kiss, or a caption, or how easy Kathryn made things feel.

It was what came before. The dance. The almost. The way Azzi had looked at her like she was still something worth choosing. And the way Paige had walked away—like that solved anything.

She thought she’d feel proud of herself. She didn’t.

What she felt was unfinished. And tired of pretending otherwise.

She reached for her phone again. No hesitation this time. Scrolled until Azzi’s name came into view.

She hadn’t texted her in weeks. Not directly. Not since before the birthday. Before the dance floor. Before everything that still lived in the space between them, untouched and unnamed.

Her fingers hovered. Then typed.

hey do you have time to talk this week? just wanna clear the air after my birthday.

She read it back once. Didn’t overthink it.

Just hit send.

For a moment, nothing. Then—

Azzi: yeah. just let me know when.

That was it. No emoji. No questions. But it was enough.

Paige let the phone fall beside her, the light from the screen fading slowly as it dimmed out. She pulled her blanket tighter, curled against the far side of her bed, and stared at the ceiling like the right words might be written up there if she just looked long enough.

This was the right thing. To be honest. To stop letting silence answer for her.

And maybe it wouldn’t fix everything. Maybe it would just be a moment. But at least it wouldn’t be another ghost.

Still, later that night—long after her shower, long after Kathryn’s “thanks for coming :)” text that Paige reread twice—she opened her drawer, looking for headphones.

And for a half-second, she thought she saw something. A flash of white. A blue ribbon.

But then it was gone. Buried again beneath socks and receipts and whatever else she’d shoved in there.

She closed the drawer. Didn’t think twice. Didn’t notice what she’d missed.

****

They met in the film room after weights. Neutral ground. No distractions. Just the echo of earlier conversations bouncing faintly in her head and the quiet hum of a space that used to mean nothing but basketball.

Azzi was already there, perched on the edge of one of the recliners in the front row, her high bun loose in that casually chaotic way it always was. She sat hunched forward, elbows resting on her thighs, like she hadn’t fully decided if she was staying or just passing through. She looked up when Paige walked in, her expression carefully unreadable.

“Hey,” Paige said, her voice low.

Azzi nodded. “Hey.”

The silence stretched for a few seconds. Not tense. Just… uncertain. They hadn’t been alone together in a long time.

Paige leaned against the table at the front of the room, directly across from Azzi, close enough to talk, but not too close. Measured. Intentional.

“Thanks for coming,” she said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I just figured it was time to clear the air. Before the season really starts. Before things get too complicated.”

Azzi nodded again, slower this time. “Yeah. Makes sense.”

Paige glanced down at her hands. “I’ve been thinking a lot about my birthday. About the dance. I know it was kind of a moment. It felt like that. I’m not gonna pretend it didn’t.” She paused, then added, “But I think it was more about… history. And the drinks. And just falling into old rhythms.”

Azzi’s eyes flickered, but she didn’t interrupt.

“We’ve been more than just friends for a while now,” Paige said, her voice soft. “Even if we never said it out loud… it was always there.”

Azzi gave a tiny smile at that. “Yeah. I know.”

“And I don’t regret it,” Paige continued quickly. “Any of it. I wouldn’t take it back. But I think it’s time to move on. For real this time.”

Her voice wavered for a second, but she steadied it. “Things with Kathryn feel… good. And I don’t want to mess that up by leaving anything with us unresolved.”

Azzi dropped her gaze to her shoes, her fingers knotting together in her lap. Across from her, Paige fixed her eyes on a spot on the wall like it might give her something to hold onto.

“I guess what I’m trying to say,” Paige went on, “is that I want us to be okay again. For real. Not stuck in that weird space where we don’t talk or try to pretend we’re fine when we’re not.”

She looked over then, eyes finding Azzi’s like she was checking to see if it was still safe.

“I just…” Paige let out a slow breath. “I want to go back. Before it got messy… When you were just… my person.”

The words came out soft, like they’d been sitting in her chest for a while.

She paused, then added— “Can we do that?”

Azzi didn’t say anything right away. She didn’t have to. The silence between them felt familiar now. Not quite heavy, but full.

So Paige kept going, her voice a little lower now, like maybe if she said it gently enough, it wouldn’t hurt as much.

“I know last time we tried to be friends… I was the one who pushed it too far. I crossed the line.” She tucked her hair behind her ear, eyes flicking down. “And I don’t think it was confusion. I think I just wanted you close, and I didn’t know how to ask for it without making it messy.”

She looked up again, her expression soft but sure. “I’m not trying to do that anymore. I’m not trying to stir things up or go back to something that doesn’t work. I just… I miss when it was simple. I miss when you were the first person I told everything to. And I guess I’m hoping we can find our way back to that.”

A pause.

“That version of us. The one that wasn’t so complicated.”

Azzi didn’t answer right away. She let the question hang there between them, suspended in the hum of the overhead light and the weight of everything they never quite said.

Eventually, she nodded. Once. 

“Yeah. We can.”

Paige exhaled. “I really want that. Especially with the season starting. I want to be good teammates. I want to be in your corner. Always.”

Azzi looked at her, and there was something behind her eyes—something that wasn’t quite sadness, but lived in the same zip code.

“Me too,” she said quietly. “I never wasn’t.”

They didn’t hug. Didn’t linger.

Paige offered a soft smile, stood, and gave her one last look. “Thanks again. I know this wasn’t easy.”

Azzi nodded. “It’s okay.”

And Paige believed her. Mostly.

She turned and left, the door clicking softly behind her.

Azzi

Paige never mentioned the gift. Not once.

Not the white box. Not the ribbon that had frayed from being carried in Azzi’s pocket all night. Not the gift inside. 

And that silence told her everything.

She’d opened it. Of course she had.

Azzi hadn’t left it somewhere subtle. This wasn’t a mystery box behind a stack of laundry or under a pile of books.

She’d put it dead center on Paige’s desk. Right next to a half-eaten granola bar and her tangled phone charger.

So yeah. Azzi knew. She’d found it. She’d seen it. And she hadn’t said a word.

Which meant she had nothing to say.

She didn’t spiral.

Didn’t cry.

Didn’t do anything dramatic like throw her phone across the room or listen to Phoebe Bridgers on loop until Caroline threatened to unplug the speaker. 

Which, honestly, was worse.

Because that ache? The one she’d been trying to ignore since the dance floor? It didn’t go away. It just settled in. Got comfortable. Became background noise.

And yeah, at first it stung. But eventually it dulled into something manageable. Like a muscle that used to be torn and now just aches when it rains.

She still thought about it sometimes—what Paige might’ve felt when she opened the box. Maybe she’d rolled her eyes. Maybe she didn’t even try it on.

Maybe she tossed it in a drawer like it was nothing. (Okay, that one hurt a little more than she wanted to admit.)

But eventually, Azzi got used to it. Used to the silence. Used to being the one who still cared but didn’t say anything about it.

Then came the team group chat.

Screenshots. Teasing texts. A picture of Paige standing in the bleachers at Kathryn’s soccer game, hood up, hair tied back, looking happier than she had in weeks. Azzi watched the reactions roll in like a slow, dumb parade.

Lou dropped five heart eyes. Nika posted a GIF. Aaliyah suggested wedding colors.

And Azzi—she read every message, watched the little reactions stack up in real time.

At first, it hit like another quiet twist in her gut. She told herself it didn’t matter.

That it wasn’t that deep.

But if Azzi was being honest—really honest—it felt like the final answer to a question she hadn’t wanted to ask.

And the answer was no.

No, Paige wasn’t holding onto anything. No, she wasn’t second-guessing that dance. No, she didn’t open her gift and feel her breath catch in her chest.

So when Paige texted her—hey, can we talk?—Azzi already knew what it was going to be. Not a confession. Not a door reopening.

Just… closure.

And when they met in the film room, Paige sitting across from her with soft eyes and a measured voice, saying she wanted to go back to before things got blurry— Azzi nodded.

Because what else was she supposed to do? Fall to the floor and scream, Please, give me another chance. 

No thanks. She still had to show up to practice the next day.

Besides, there was something almost comforting about knowing where they stood. Finally.

They were friends. Teammates. Not unfinished business.

And the truth was, she was grateful for that. Because losing Paige completely? That would’ve left a hollow space she didn’t know how to fill.

So she held on to what she could. Even if it wasn’t the version she used to hope for. Even if it meant learning how to sit beside Paige again without reaching for something that wasn’t hers anymore.

And maybe that would take time. Maybe she’d still flinch sometimes—at old songs, at inside jokes, at the way Paige laughed when she wasn’t trying.

But eventually, she believed she’d get there. To the version of herself that could look at Paige and feel calm instead of cracked open.

The part of her that still wanted more? It would quiet. Not today, maybe not tomorrow. But soon.

And when it did—when that ache finally softened—she’d still be here. Still Azzi. Still steady. And maybe, just maybe, still close enough to be in Paige’s life in a way that didn’t hurt.

In a way that felt like peace.

****

They rounded the corner, the Dairy Bar’s warm yellow lights glowing against the foggy windows. There was already a line — always was — students in sweats and messy buns, someone in pajama pants and slides, a couple with their arms around each other.

Azzi pulled her hood up. She didn’t know why. She kicked a rock down the street as they walked, hands shoved deep in her hoodie pocket. 

Aubrey walked next to her, sipping from a Sprite and swinging a lanyard around one finger like she had nowhere in the world to be except right there.

“This better be good,” Aubrey said. “You pulled me out of my Netflix zone.”

Azzi rolled her eyes.  “You act like you didn’t break into a jog when I said waffle cones.”

Aubrey gave her a look but didn’t argue.

They got in line between a group of freshman girls in matching sorority hoodies and a dad and his kid debating over rainbow sprinkles.

Azzi stared up at the chalkboard menu—overwhelmed, underwhelmed, and mostly just stalling—while a case full of too many flavors sat beneath a lineup of UConn-themed puns like Bleed Blueberry Bliss and Husky Tracks, none of which she actually felt like reading.

“Can I say something?” Azzi asked, staring at the freezer but not really seeing it.

Aubrey gave her a curious look. “Alright. Floor’s yours.”

“I think I might like girls.”

Aubrey didn’t flinch. Didn’t even pause. She just took another sip of Sprite and said, “Yeah. No duh.”

Azzi blinked. “Okay, why does everyone keep saying that?”

Aubrey shrugged. “Because… Azzi. We’ve all seen the way you look at Paige. It’s like you’re seeing everything you want and everything you’re scared of, in the same breath.”

Azzi groaned. “God, that’s so dramatic.”

“You’re dramatic.”

“Okay, yeah,” she admitted, laughing under her breath. “But still. It was only her. It’s not like I’ve been walking around campus making a list.”

“So?” Aubrey said, raising an eyebrow. “It doesn’t have to be everyone. Sometimes it’s just one person that makes you go, oh.”

They shuffled forward in line. The smell of waffle cones drifted toward them, warm and ridiculous and somehow perfect.

“I guess I thought it didn’t count unless it was more than once,” Azzi muttered.

“Who made that rule?”

Azzi didn’t answer. Because… yeah. She had no idea.

They finally stepped up to the counter. Azzi asked for pistachio in a waffle cone, mostly out of spite because no one ever picked pistachio and she kind of liked being contrary. Aubrey got cookies and cream because she was predictable and proud of it.

They paid, grabbed their cones, and headed outside to a bench near the side of the shop. The wood was cold beneath them, but neither of them said anything.

Azzi took a bite. “This was a terrible choice.”

Aubrey grinned. “Tastes like regret?”

“Yeah. But like… fancy regret.”

They sat for a minute, letting the sounds of the night fill in the space. Footsteps. Laughter. The low bass of someone’s speaker rattling in a dorm window.

Then Azzi spoke again, slower this time. “I think what hurts the most isn’t that she’s happy.” She licked a drip of ice cream off her wrist. “It’s that I’m not part of the version of her that is.”

Aubrey didn’t say anything for a second. Then— “You were, though.”

“Yeah,” Azzi said. “And I loved that version. I just didn’t know what to do with it until it was already gone.”

She looked out toward the parking lot, watching headlights pass through puddles from the earlier rain.

“She found someone who makes her laugh. Someone who doesn’t hesitate. And I keep thinking—good. Like, I really do want her to be okay. Even if it’s not with me.”

Aubrey leaned back on the bench, her cone resting against the wrapper. “That’s what makes it real, you know.”

Azzi turned. “What?”

“That you want her to be happy even if it doesn’t lead back to you.” A pause. “Doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck.”

Azzi exhaled, quiet but not heavy. “It does.”

“Then let it suck. For now,” Aubrey said. “But maybe you also start paying attention to how you feel around other people. Like… just see who makes you want to smile. Or stay a little longer. Or flirt back.”

Azzi gave her a flat look. “I have a boyfriend, remember?”

Aubrey didn’t blink. “Sure, you’ve got a boyfriend. And I’ve got a plant I forgot to water for three weeks. Doesn’t mean it’s thriving.”

Azzi snorted. “That’s dark.”

“I’m just saying,” Aubrey continued, twirling her cone like she was making a point. “There’s a difference between staying with someone and actually wanting to be with them. One of those is comfort. The other’s real.”

Azzi let the words settle as she took another slow bite of her ice cream.

“Anyway,” Aubrey added with a shrug, “if you ever decide to explore what real might look like—with someone new—I’m officially offering my services as an unpaid, highly unqualified wingwoman.”

Azzi laughed—really laughed, for the first time in what felt like forever. “I hate you.”

“You love me,” Aubrey said, bumping her shoulder. 

They let the quiet fall again. The kind of quiet that didn’t press. That felt like permission to feel things at your own pace.

And maybe that was enough for tonight. Not closure. Not clarity.

But a starting point.

****

She hadn’t planned on doing it that night. But when she got back to her dorm and saw Derrick’s name light up her phone — missed call (2), text: “U alive??” — something inside her clicked.

Not like a spark. More like a switch.

She’d known this was coming. For weeks, maybe longer. And now there was no reason to pretend she didn’t.

hey. can we talk for a sec?

They met outside the student center, the campus mostly quiet, lit by streetlamps and the flicker of vending machines buzzing against the wall. Derrick stood with one foot propped on the bike rack, a basketball tucked under his arm like always. Like nothing was off.

When he saw her, he smiled—out of habit, not happiness—and reached out for a one-armed hug.

She didn’t hug back.

“What’s up?” he asked, still easy, still assuming this wasn’t what it was.

Azzi stuffed her hands into the pocket of her hoodie. The same hoodie she’d worn to his games, to late-night film sessions, to fall asleep in when she didn’t know how to say what she was feeling.

“I think we should break up.”

It came out quiet. Still. But it didn’t waver.

Derrick’s brow pulled tight. “Wait… what?”

“I’ve been feeling it for a while. But I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure. I just… I don’t think this is right anymore.”

He blinked like he didn’t fully understand the language she was speaking. “Is this about her?”

Azzi hesitated. “Who?”

“Paige,” he said flatly. “Come on. Don’t act like I don’t see it.”

She tried not to react, but her throat caught on something.

“She walks into a room and you go stiff like someone just pressed pause on your whole nervous system.” He took a step closer, the ball dropping to the pavement beside him with a soft thud.

Azzi looked away. She could lie. She thought about it—just for a second. About saying It’s not like that. Or You’re overreacting. About falling back on the safety net of vague deflection.

But she was tired. Tired of performing what she thought other people needed from her. Tired of keeping her feelings sorted into folders labeled "safe" and "later." Tired of lying.

Especially to herself.

So she took a breath and met his eyes. “It’s not about Paige. It’s about me.”

He laughed again. This time it had edges. “I heard the rumors last year, you know. About you and her. Stuff people said. I figured it was just drama. People trying to stir things up. I didn’t want to believe it.”

She looked up. “It wasn’t like that.”

“Wasn’t it?”

A beat passed. Long enough to feel it settle between them.

“I didn’t cheat on you,” Azzi said. Her voice stayed even, but there was steel in it now. “I didn’t lie. I just… I didn’t know how to explain something I was still figuring out.”

He folded his arms. “So what now? You’re into girls?”

“I might be.”

“And what, I’m just the warm-up act?”

“No,” she said. “You’re someone I really cared about. And someone I don’t want to keep lying to—especially now that I’m not lying to myself anymore.”

He stepped back, mouth tight, jaw flexing. “Whatever. You wanna go figure it out, go ahead. Pick a team and stick to it next time.”

That one stung. Even though she’d half-expected it. Even though it told her more about him than it did about her.

Azzi nodded once. “Thanks for making this easier.”

He scoffed, grabbed the ball, and walked away without another word.

She stood there a moment longer, the night air cool against her cheeks, the back of her throat tight. Not with tears—just truth.

By the time she got back to her dorm, she was still holding onto the drawstrings of her hoodie like they were something to anchor her.

She didn’t feel triumphant. Didn’t feel broken either.

Just… clear.

It didn’t matter what label she landed on. Gay. Bi. Still figuring it out. She just knew that whoever she was becoming, he wasn’t part of it.

And maybe that was the whole point. Not choosing a side. Just choosing herself.

[demonic0angel]

Due to the Anti-Ecto Acts, Jason, a highly ecto contaminated individual, is legally no longer considered a sapient being. Which means he can no longer be legally held accountable for his actions. A fact he abuses with enormous glee.

“We need to talk," Bruce said, sounding exhausted.

Jason smiled cheerfully. While the look usually would've been uncharacteristic enough to make them all test him for his DNA, it was so common nowadays that everyone just put their head in their hands to hide away from his smile.

"Why? What do you mean?" Jason asked.

Damian stood up, slamming his hands down on the table. "That! That is what we are concerned about! Your crimes must be answered to!"

"Crimes?" Jason was almost batting his eyelashes with the way he was blinking innocently at Damian. "What crimes? I have done no such thing."

Dick spoke up wryly, "Little wing, you terrorized the mayor by stalking him for several days, pranked the GCPD seven times, let the animals go in the zoo twice, stole multiple priceless treasures to give to Jazz and Danny and their friends and family for bribing government officials, robbed three banks to fund the cause to assassinate the president, shot five billionaires, beat up four other CEOs, and then lit the roof of Wayne Enterprises on fire to declare your love for Jazz. I'm pretty sure those are crimes."

Jason beamed. "No, they're not. Because according to recent law, proposed by the GIW and ratified by the government, I am not a sapient being. Therefore, I can no longer be held accountable for my actions. Until I am caught and tried by the GIW, I am not bound by any laws and nobody is allowed to take me in except the Ghost Investigation Ward."

Tim grumbled something underneath his breath, which sounded a lot like, "I should've just reported his ass to the government."

Stephanie nudged him hard. Tim growled and then rubbed at his shoulder. Finally, he stood up and said, "Jason! It still isn't an excuse for you to jeopardize our work just so you can flirt with Jazz and overthrow the government!"

Jason's grin grew even wider.

"What're you gonna do? Arrest me?"

Damian and Tim lunged at him and then an entire brawl broke out. Bruce clutched his coffee mug to himself desperately, praying for any god out there to give him patience and help.

... he was pretty sure they were laughing at him.

[daloy-politsey]

Again, sometimes, in Palestine, one feels one is in an entire country that’s being treated this way. Obviously, there is also outright torture, people who are actually being shot, beaten, tortured, or violently abused. But I’m speaking here even of the ones that aren’t. For most, it’s as if the very texture of everyday life has been designed to be intolerable—only, in a way that you can never quite say is exactly a human rights violation. There’s never enough water. Showering requires almost military discipline. You can’t get a permit. You’re always standing in line. If something breaks it’s impossible to get permission to fix it. Or else you can’t get spare parts. There are four different bodies of law that might apply to any legal situation (Ottoman, British, Jordanian, Israeli), it’s anyone’s guess which court will say what applies where, or what document is required, or acceptable. Most rules are not even supposed to make sense. It can take eight hours to drive 20 kilometers to see your girlfriend, and doing so will almost certainly mean having machine guns waved in your faces and being shouted at in a language you half understand by people who think you’re subhuman. So you do most of your dalliance by phone. When you can afford the minutes. There are endless traffic jams before and after checkpoints and drivers bicker and curse and try not to take it out on one another. Everyone lives no more than 12 or 15 miles from the Mediterranean but even on the hottest day, it’s absolutely impossible to get to the beach. Unless you climb the wall, there are places you can do that; but then you can expect to be hunted every moment by security patrols. Of course teenagers do it anyway. But it means swimming is always accompanied by the fear of being shot. If you’re a trader, or a laborer, or a driver, or a tobacco farmer, or clerk, the very process of subsistence is continual stream of minor humiliations. Your tomatoes are held and left two days to rot while someone grins at you. You have to beg to get your child out of detention. And if you do go to beseech the guards, those same guards might arbitrarily decide to hold you to pressure him to confess to rock-throwing, and suddenly you are in a concrete cell without cigarettes. Your toilet backs up. And you realize: you’re going to have to live like this forever. There is no “political process.” It will never end. Barring some kind of divine intervention, you can expect to be facing exactly this sort of terror and absurdity for the rest of your natural life.

David Graeber, Hostile Intelligence: Reflections from a Visit to the West Bank

[dominiquelucalover]

Center of Danger | Dominique Luca x Pregnant!Reader

Summary: Your Tuesday plans are put on hold when you're caught in the middle of a bank robbery, but as if that didn't put a damper on your day, going into labor in the middle of it certainly did.

CW: fem!reader, pregnancy, labor, hostage situation, guns, death threats, death, blood, mild descriptions of violence, pre-established relationship. If any of these topics trigger you in any way, please do not read. Your wellbeing is so important.

A/N: I tried to make reader a behavioral analysis expert who works with S.W.A.T. but I don't know how well I incorporated that. ( not me trying to flex my Criminal Minds knowledge like a fucking nerd.) PS: I spent four straight hours writing this lol. and nother hour and a half proofreading and editing (and adding a whole 'nother fucking thing to the end of this jfc) (I'm having fun lol)

Your day had been going well. You went to one of your final doctors appointments before you were supposed to have the baby, you'd grabbed some of the last minute things on your baby list, and you were going over what you needed from the grocery store while you stood in line at the bank. It was one of those errands that you couldn't put off doing anymore, especially with the impending birth of your child, so it seemed easy enough to get out of the way today while you were already out and about. Unfortunately, a group of greedy, grubby-handed robbers decided to ruin those plans.

You couldn't lay on the ground like they wanted everyone to, which already irritated not only them but you too. The floor was uncomfortable as you sat against one of the desks while everyone else was forced to lay face down and not to move. It was a tense situation as the three robbers made the tellers fill their bags, one you wished would be over soon.

However, the robbers had already fucked up and got themselves stuck in the bank. A teller had sounded the silent alarm and in a fit of anger, one of the criminals shot the security officer dead. Another one freaked out because "no one was supposed to die" and seemed to be on the verge of tears, but it was hard to tell because they were all wearing plastic Halloween masks. This was turning out to be the worst bank robbery you had ever witnessed, not that you had ever actually witnessed a bank robbery but you had studied plenty.

"Shit, man! The cops are here!" one of the robbers all but growled. He turned his weapon on the tellers with a nasty glare from behind his ghoul mask. "Which one of you sounded the alarm, huh? Fucking idiots!"

He shot at the ceiling suddenly, causing people to scream. You jumped and held your belly protectively, taking a deep breath as you tried to stay calm. However, your blood pressure was already up and you could hear your heartbeat in your ears. The baby was kicking, sensing your distress, and you rubbed your bump in an attempt to soothe them.

"Cool it!" another of the robbers chastised his buddy, seething with anger behind his devil mask. "You're gonna need those bullets. So chill the fuck out."

"I'll do as I damn-well please," the first one said, then walked away, seeming to look for another way out.

The freaked-out robber stayed out of the conversation, seeming more subservient to the other two. He just stood the to side, watching over the hostages like he'd been told to, hiding behind his clown mask. You knew from that if any of them were going to break first, it was him.

As things around you began to calm down, you leaned your head back on the desk and took even, deep breaths. Of course, the quiet couldn't last long.

A couple were whispering to each other a few feet away and as soon as the robber with the devil mask, who seemed to be the leader, caught wind of it, he stomped over and pointed his gun at the woman's head. "I said to keep quiet! You want me to blow her head off?"

"No, please! We'll be quiet!" the man begged.

"I should make sure you stay quiet for good," the leader said, teasing the trigger of his gun. The grin of his devil mask made the scene more unsettling.

At that moment, you felt a sharp pain in your belly and let out a heavy groan. All eyes turned to you and watched as you withered in your spot. You were caught between pain and confusion, hoping that you weren't going into labor. You weren't due for another three and a half weeks. Your baby couldn't come now, this was the worst-case scenario. Anywhere else but in the middle of a robbery would have been ideal.

The devil walked over to see what you were doing, letting out a frustrated groan. "Oh, for fuck's sake! Give me a break!"

You looked up at him as the contraction passed, irritated and not ready to give birth. You spat, "Sorry to ruin your parade!"

He pointed his gun at you but the clown ran over and pushed it down. "Dude, you can't shoot a pregnant lady!"

The leader looked at him, then walked away muttering under his breath about how this was going terribly and how the last thing he needed was a baby to mess it up further.

It was about that time one of the phones rang and he walked over to answer it, knowing it was the police outside. It was about time, but you thought that perhaps they needed a negotiator to show up, which was unfortunate for you. A few minutes earlier and you might not be in the early stages of labor right now.

"What do you want?" Devil asked brashly.

You couldn't hear who was on the other side of the call, sitting too far away. You watched closely, hoping your boyfriend was outside with his team. It would be the perfect fantasy if he came to your rescue; besides, they were the best S.W.A.T. team in LA. What were the chances that they weren't here?

The phone call only lasted about two minutes before the leader hung up having made no demands. He laughed, shaking his head. "They think I'm an idiot."

The ghoul came back into the room and grunted. "They've got the whole place surrounded! They probably have snipers ready to kill us if we walk outta here. What do we do?"

Devil thought for a moment, then gestured with his gun at the people laying on the floor. "Put them in front of the doors and windows. Use them as a shield. They won't shoot in here with hostages in the way and it'll give us time to think."

His accomplices nodded and started getting people up, guiding them with their guns to form a line around the center of the bank. The patrons followed orders dutifully and linked their arms together, their lives put further in danger by their captors.

The leader came over to you and grabbed your arm, but the clown came over and asked him what he was doing. "What does it look like I'm doing? I'm getting her off her ass."

"She's pregnant, man," he said, his voice a little more confident than before. He didn't seem to like that you were there at all, but as soon as his bossy friend came near you, he jumped to your aid. "Just leave her alone."

"You questioning me?"

He seemed to think on his feet. "I'm just saying, if the cops know we got a pregnant lady in here, thye're gonna get more aggressive. They'll try harder to get in here. Think about it, man."

"Kid's got a point," Ghoul said, looking over. "She'll be our secret weapon."

Devil looked between them and shook his head, letting you go. "Fine, maybe you're right... this time. We'll see."

He walked away to make sure the wall of hostages was cooperating, looking out the glass doors and windows at the front of the bank to evaluate what his next move should be. He took slow, calculated steps, taunting the police and the hostages at the same time.

Another contraction hit you and you whimpered, holding your stomach and slightly curling up. The clown crouched down beside you, looking at you with wide eyes from behind his mask. He stuttered, "A-are you okay?"

"Do I look okay?" you asked through clenched teeth. He looked down, almost ashamed for asking the question. You would feel bad if he wasn't hiding his identity and holding a large automatic gun on his back. Once the pain passed, you breathed out. "How old are you?"

"Doesn't matter," he answered.

"Sure it does. They called you kid," you told him, making him look up at you. "Means they don't respect you."

"That's not true," he said, shaking his head. He stood up and walked away, but looked back at you as he did. That was how you knew you did it. You planted that seed of doubt in his mind.

The next call came in not that long after, but Devil made one of the hostages answer the phone, a terrified older man who had been there to help his son open a bank account. He instructed the man on what to say, telling the officer on the other end that they wanted an armored car and a one way trip out of the country for the three of them, all within the next hour. It wasn't possible, you thought, which you were sure was what they were told before the hostage was made to hangup the phone with the promise that if their demands weren't met by that time, someone else was going to die.

The time seemed to pass sluggishly. You wouldn't have known it was going by at all were it not for the contractions picking up speed. You had read all your books about pregnancy and birth, so you knew that wasn't a great sign in this particular situation. Your labor seemed to be fast approaching, but you didn't want it to be. Were this in line with your birth plan, that would be ideal. However, a speedy birth was not on your agenda for the day.

"Tick-tock, tick-tock," Devil taunted as he walked the line of hostages again. He'd been pacing behind them to needlessly remind them of his presence. It was cruel and having to watch him was intense. "Five more minutes."

"What if they get us what we want?" Clown asked, looking at his friend.

The leader shook his head. "They won't get us what we want. They'll try to bribe us with less than what we asked for just to get us outside."

"So you're just gonna kill one?"

"Yup."

A woman in line cried out at hearing this and she was snapped at to shut up by the ghoul. He held a gun to her back and laughed at her terror as she tried to muffle her cries.

Clown watched, clutching his gun to his chest, before looking at Devil. "Wasn't killing the guard enough?"

"Not until we get out of here with the money and our lives," the leader answered, then shoved him. "Now shut up and do your job."

You watched as the 'kid' shook his head and walked away, listening to the devil without another question. Paying attention to everything else around you was the only thing keeping you from going insane from the pain. It was more persistent now and you felt the baby had moved lower. It was getting harder to keep your cool as all you wanted to do was yell and kick your feet at these guys who had forced you into early labor.

You were trying not to think about the time passing, watching Devil pace back and forth behind the line. He was looking at them, gun pointed at their backs. Then, suddenly, another sharp contraction shot through you and all you could do was scream as he shot a woman in the back.

She would have dropped to the floor were it not for the two people on either side of her whose arms were linked with hers. They were told to drop her as she cried and writhed. Then Devil went to stand over her, watching her squirm on the ground and bleed, before lifting his gun and shooting her in the head. Everything stopped and grew quiet except for your cries. They echoed off the high walls of the bank, violently reminding everyone there that life came with pain.

Sweat and tears slipped down your face as people were forced to listen to you until you quieted down. The contraction passed and you were slumped against the desk once more.

The devil turned to Clown and motioned toward you. "Go make sure she's alive."

"Okay," he said and walked over to you. He put his gun on his back and crouched beside you, using the sleeve of his shirt to wipe the sweat from your forehead. "You're, uh, you're getting closer to, um, having the baby, aren't you?"

You nodded, keeping your eyes forward, watching the way Devil made two hostages move the woman's body closer to the door. They were going to use her as a block in front of the door incase S.W.A.T. came running in, which made you sick to your stomach. You'd seen a lot of malicious shit, but that was a new low.

The phone rang, but no one moved to answer it. Then the devil chuckled.

"Get her on her feet," he said, looking over at you and the 'kid.'

Clown puffed up his chest. "She can't possibly-"

Devil got angry. "Don't question me! Just do it!"

Clown looked at you apologetically and put an arm around your back and hoisted you up. You cried out as you felt the baby shift lower. It was hard to walk, awkward really. But he held you up and guided you to the phone as it rang. Just as you reached the desk, it stopped, and you wanted to scream but managed to hold it in. You knew they would call back. They had to.

The clown leant you against the desk and brought its accompanying chair over to you. He helped you sit in it as his buddies scolded him, but he didn't argue back or justify his actions then. Only when you were seated did he turn to them and bark back.

"You're making a pregnant lady do all this shit when she's about to have a goddamn baby! What the hell is wrong with you?" he yelled.

Devil got in his face. "I'm the one calling the shots around here! You do as I say, and if I want that fat bitch to answer the damn phone, she will, or she and that baby won't-"

"Oh, so you're gonna kill a lady and her baby?"

"Wait a minute!" Ghoul interrupted, looking at the devil, "Who died and put you in charge?"

"I've been in charge, numbnuts!"

The argument would have continued on from there, but the phone rang. They all looked at your tired face and waited for you to comply with what Devil wanted. So, you did.

"Hello," you said.

The voice on the other end of the phone made you feel some relief as he said your name. It was Hondo. "Is that you?"

You didn't answer immediately, not wanting to put the robbers on edge or clue them in to anything.

He seemed to understand. "If you are who I think you are, say 'where's the car?' if you're not, say 'please help us.' Okay?"

"Where's the car?" you asked, eyes trained on the robbers. Devil nodded at you, seeming to like that you were apparently smart enough to understand the situation at hand - you got right to the point of things and had been paying attention. Little did he know...

"We're gonna get you out of there, okay? We're working on it," Hondo told you.

"Well work on it faster," you told him, wincing in pain. You held your belly with your free hand. You kept your mouth shut about being in labor, knowing the robbers didn't want that detail known to anyone outside. "They've already killed someone else."

"We know, we saw," he said, letting out a regretful sigh. "But our eyes can only see in through the windows. The camera system is down. How many people are left inside with you?"

You looked around the room, trying to count the number of hostages, but it was harder to concentrate on something like that. "I don't know."

"What did he say?" Devil asked.

"They want to know how many people are alive."

Ghoul huffed. "Why does he want to know?"

"I don't know," you groaned, feeling another contraction rearing its ugly head. You did know, but there was no way you could strategize what the right thing to say to them was at that moment. "They-they probably- ahh!"

Hondo said your name several times, keeping his voice even. "Talk to me, mama. What's going on in there?"

Devil came over and seethed at you, "Tell him to get us what we want or we're gonna kill another person. Then hang up."

You spoke through the pain. "Get them what they want-"

"Are you in labor?" Hondo asked, hearing the strain in your voice.

"Or they're going to kill again," you said. "Please, please hurry."

Ghoul took the phone from your hand shook, slamming it into the holder. He watched you as you grabbed the arms of the chair, digging your nails into the hard wood. You scraped it and he shook his head. "Pregnant people are weird," he mumbled.

He and the devil moved on, talking to each other about what to do next. They began to argue about it but it was short lived as they parted ways. Ghoul slammed his fist on a desk and stomped away to try again at finding a plan-b escape. Devil leaned on a desk out of view of the windows, near you, and waited.

Clown stayed with you and talked you through the contraction. His voice wavered with fear and nervousness, seemingly never been in a situation like this before, as far as pregnancy went at the very least. Once it passed, he wiped your forehead again. "What-what's going to happen if you give birth in here?"

You looked at him, unsure yourself. "Well, there will be a baby in here and we'll both need immediate medical attention. If at that point they know about that, S.W.A.T. might just do anything to get in here."

Now that Hondo knew you were in here, there was more pressure on him to get inside and ensure your safety. You knew he wasn't going to tell Luca that you were one of the hostages because it would cloud his judgement, damned be the third generation S.W.A.T. officer that he was. His girlfriend and unborn child were in the center of danger and he'd do anything to get you out of there.

Clown got you water and helped you drink it as you continued to wallow in pain. As you sat there, you knew the situation was dire. You could see out some of the windows, seeing S.W.A.T. officers gearing up. You knew that sooner or later, they were going to come inside. You also saw an armored car pulling up, but it was a great distance away from the doors.

Ghoul came back, a little bit of a skip in his step. "They got our car! Let's go!"

"Wait!" Devil said, standing from his position and walking up behind the hostages. He took a man from them by putting his arm around his neck and pointing his gun into his side. They slowly made their way to the windows so he could peer out. He seethed. "They're trying to lure us out."

When he got back to the safe zone, the devil scratched his head, clearly deep in thought. He knew they were in deep, and with your timely reminders about the impending birth of your child, their odds of getting out of here was getting slimmer and slimmer.

"Wait for them to call," he said, turning to his friends. "We tell them we're going to take a hostage with us to ensure our escape."

"Dude, they got the fucking car, why do we gotta wait?" Ghoul asked.

"Because as soon as we step anywhere near those windows, they're gonna gun us down," Devil said, shoving him. "This is why I'm in charge, because you don't think!"

"I think better than you!" the ghoul yelled. "It was my idea to come here, remember?"

"And look at where that got us! You could of picked any other bank, but it had to be this big fancy one in the middle of town!"

"The cameras are out! They can't see in here, dimwit!"

You were about to yell at them to shut up when the phone rang. Devil looked at you and nodded. As you picked up the phone, Ghoul tried to continue the argument, but the devil shoved him away and told him to be quiet.

"Hello," you said.

Hondo sighed with relief at hearing your voice. "Say 'what do you want?' if you're okay. Say anything else if not."

"What do you want?" you asked.

"Tell the brothers we have their car ready for them," he said, which peaked your interest. You looked at the robbers in front of you and it clicked. Their arguing and dynamics made sense now.

They were brothers.

"Your car is ready," you told them.

Ghoul leaned against the desk in front of you. "Tell him we want it closer!"

Devil shoved him away again. "And that we're taking a hostage with us, so if they shoot at us, they'll be killing the next innocent person."

You took a deep breath and nodded. "They want the car closer so that they can get in with a hostage."

Hondo grunted. "Of course they'd try that trick. Listen to me, okay, we're not gonna let that happen. But tell them that we have to make room to move the car, so it'll be a minute."

"Okay," you said and sighed, rubbing your belly. You were in the last stretch of contraction. You could just feel it. "They have to make room for the car to get closer, so it'll be a few minutes before you can leave."

Devil didn't say anything, only took the phone from you and hung it up. "Get ready to get out of here, boys. Make the hostages take our bags to the door."

Then he walked away.

Ghoul took control of that mini mission, bossing two of the men in line to move and hustle to get their bags full of money to the door. They dropped them off and promptly got back in line, seeing the robber's finger ever-present on the trigger of his gun.

You were leaning forward on the desk, head laying on your arms as you whined and tried to breath deeply. You tried to hold your legs closed, preventing the progression of labor in anyway you could. You cursed having worn a dress today. You tried to think about anything else but where you where in that moment and what was happening. You tried to put yourself at home, in your baby's nursery that you and Luca had spent the last few weeks putting together and decorating. It helped distract you for a few minutes until more yelling broke the illusion.

Looking up, you saw Devil and Ghoul arguing about which hostage to take with them, which was the stupidest thing you had ever seen. It made you angry as you sat there, in labor, having to listen to this. Devil wanted to take you but Ghoul wanted to take anyone else. You were at your breaking point.

However, Clown snubbed out your lit fuse. He came with more water and helped you sit up so he could bring the cup to your lips. You sipped it, thankful that he was the kindest of the brothers. From what you had observed, he had to be the baby of the three and didn't want to hurt anyone there. He was there to rob a bank, not kill anyone, and each time you were in pain, he came to your side. He took care of you as much as he knew how. Something inside of him was redeemable, you thought so at least.

"They're both idiots," you whispered to him.

He hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah... I can't believe I agreed to do this. I should have never let them talk me into this."

You nodded. "Yeah, that's true."

He leaned against the desk, staying close to you as you both listened to the argument devolve, once more, into who is in charge. It was beginning to sound like they were a broken record, but as they continued the back and forth, you heard how similar their voices were, how similarly they spoke, and you could picture them as brothers more and more. It was in contrast to the 'kid', who seemed a little more mild mannered and quiet. He only spoke against the other two when he was passionate about whatever he was fighting them for, be it the lives of the people there or your wellbeing. It made you wonder how he was a part of this family.

Suddenly, everything came to a head.

"I told you to stop questioning me!" someone yelled, followed by a round of rapid pops from a gun.

You couldn't process anything for a moment, stomach tightening and making double over, leaning onto the desk again. You held your belly, screaming with the other scared people trapped with you. The moment passed quickly, but you couldn't look up.

"Bobby, what did you do?" Clown yelled.

The devil, Bobby, turned and criticized his kid brother. "Shut up! Don't say my name, you idiot!"

"But-"

"I said shut up!" he yelled and pointed the gun at him. "Now stop asking stupid questions or you're next."

You peeked up from your arm, seeing how far Devil had devolved. In the beginning, he was semi-organized (given how shittily the robbery was planned, there was at least some effort on his behalf), but the stress of the situation and his brother's mouth had finally snapped his last nerve.

Clown backed down and slowly sank to the ground beside your chair. Bobby began pacing again.

The phone range and you answered it.

"What's happening in there?" Hondo asked.

You could feel the devil's eyes on you. "You need to hurry."

"What happened?" he said again, fearing the worst.

You let out a breath. "Someone else is dead."

"Tell them we're going as fast as we can," he said.

You looked over at Bobby. "They're going as fast as they can. Please don't shoot anyone else."

"I'll shoot whoever I damn-well please," he said and took the phone from you, putting it to his ear. "You listen here, buddy. You don't tell me what to do, got it? Now, if that car isn't at the front door in five minutes, I'm killing everyone in here."

He slammed the phone into the holder before ripping it off of the desk and throwing it across the room. He stomped off, going back to his look out position from behind the line of people. He watched the doors impatiently, seemingly unbothered by the crying people before him. Their anguish brought him no joy, unlike his now-dead brother, as it was obvious that the people were merely pawns in his game. He didn't care about them whatsoever.

You laid your head down and whispered, "He's gonna kill you."

Clown made a worried noise in the back of his throat. "No-no he won't. He-he's my brother..."

"You blew his cover. Everyone here knows his name and it won't be hard to track down a Bobby in an armored car," you said, pausing to moan and shift your seated position. You couldn't hold your legs together anymore, knowing it was dangerous. It was a feeble attempt anyway. "He's already angry and you're the only one left brave enough to stand up to him."

He whined. "I-I'm really not."

"Yeah, you are," you told him, hoping to break through to him. "You've protected me from him this whole time. That took a lot of courage, I know it did."

"But... he's my brother... The only family I have left now," he said.

You looked at him, meeting his sad eyes past the mask. "Family wouldn't put you in this position."

He stared into your eyes for a moment, then looked away in contemplation. He didn't say anything for a moment, which felt like an eternity, and then he looked at you again. "What's your name?"

"Why does it matter now?" you asked.

"Because if I'm gonna die, I'd like to know the name of the lady I protected," he said.

You didn't understand what that meant, it could mean many things, and as you felt the pain getting worse, you couldn't think very well anyway. You told him your name between heavy breathes.

He gently wiped your forehead again, talking you through the pain. Then he took off his mask, revealing his face to you, and you were saddened to see how young he was. There was no doubt he was in his early twenties but he still had a baby face and the biggest eyes you'd ever seen a man have, giving him a deer in the headlights look.

"I'm Eric."

Then he stood up and moved away from you, walking over to another desk quietly. He moved out of your sight and you couldn't move much anymore, too tired to do much of anything as it were. Despite the situation, all you wanted to do was get this over with.

Then, there was a loud thud from where Eric had disappeared to.

Bobby turned around and marched over to you. "What the hell are you doing?"

You groaned, looking up at him. "Nothing."

He seethed again, "I've about had enough of you and you're whining."

"I'm about to push a watermelon out of me, what do you want from me?"

"I want you to shut u-" BANG!

He fell to the ground in front of you, his blood splattering on the desk. Looking over, Eric had his gun trained on his brother from behind the desk a few feet away, eerily still, like he was trained for this. It made your heart ache because your stomach was already twisted. What kind of life had this kid had that led him and his brothers to this?

As he walked over to you, he yelled at the other hostages, "Go! Get out of here! Go! Get out!" They listened without hesitance and ran screaming and crying for the door.

He crouched down beside his brother's body and took the gun off of him, sliding it across the floor. He then took his own gun and push it to follow. Then he turned to you, "Are you okay?"

You nodded. "More or less."

Eric couldn't say another word before S.W.A.T. came into the bank with guns at the ready. They aimed at him and he put his arms up, already on his knees. You screamed in pain and he turned to look at you, making Hondo yell at him to stay still, but he didn't seem to hear him. If he did, he didn't listen and reached out to you.

He took your hand and let you squeeze it as the pain made you sob.

You managed to cry out, "He's unarmed!"

The team got closer and saw the truth in your words. They pulled his hand from yours despite your tight grip and handcuffed him, getting him onto his feet. While Chris and Street patted him down, Luca and Hondo came to your side.

"Fucking hell, I could kill this guy for all this," Luca grunted, clearly angry. He took your hand into his.

You shook your head. "He's a hero, believe me."

"How is he-?" Hondo asked, but was cut off by your guttural scream.

Deacon shook his head as he watched. "We need to get her out of here. Now."

The paramedics came in with their gurneys and attended to the bodies on the floor, but by the time it was decerned that they were beyond saving, everyone was busy and there was no room for you anywhere. Luca picked you up and carried you outside in hopes of finding an ambulance to take you to the nearest hospital, but they were all tending to the injured who had run outside earlier.

Tan opened up the back doors of Black Betty and called out to Luca, ushering the team over. Street helped get you inside while Tan and Chris ran to the side doors to get in. Once you were laying on the floor, Luca behind you and holding you close, everyone else piled in and closed everything up, turning on the lights and sirens.

You were screaming the whole time, crying as it became too much. Your body was telling you to push and that was all you could think about doing. Luca was trying to soothe you, telling you that you would be at the hospital soon and that it would be okay. But your baby had other ideas, they had waited long enough.

"The baby's coming!" you cried out.

"We know, we're gonna-"

"No! Now! The baby's coming right now!"

You let out another scream as you pushed. Deacon slide onto the floor and pulled your legs up onto the seats on either side of you, pushing your dress away. He ripped your underwear to get a look at how things were progressing and then looked up at Luca, Street, and Hondo, "She's right. She's crowning."

Hondo called out to the front, "Tan, pull over!"

Luca held your hands as you rested you head back against his abdomen, crying as your body guided you. Everything you'd read and come to understand was nothing compared to the way your body told you what to do.

Black Betty came to a stop on the side of the road, but it only took three more powerful pushes that the ended the pressure. You ached, but the pain was lessened dramatically. You opened your eyes to see Deacon picking up your baby, who was a little chubby for a newborn and rather long, aka big like their daddy.

Deacon gently held them and patted their back, getting them to cry and clear their airways. He smiled at them and happily said, "Welcome to the world, Baby Luca."

Street rummaged around for anything to wrap the baby in, only for Chris to pass a fresh shirt to him from the front. He thanked her and helped Deacon wrap your little angel up to keep warm before they were laid on your chest. You took her, Luca's arm coming under yours to support you both.

"It's a girl," Deacon told you and you smiled. He smiled too, knowing that joy and pride well. "Congratulations."

Tan put Black Betty in gear and let everyone know he was going to start driving again, as you and your daughter needed to be taken to the hospital. After that, no one said anything. They just let you and Luca have your moment with your daughter.

Luca couldn't even speak. He had spent the day tirelessly trying to save hostages from a bad situation that only got worse as the minutes passed by, only to learn from Hondo that you were one of them minutes before they stormed in there. He ran to you as soon as he could and wanted to burn the robbers to the ground with how angry he was because you were caught in the middle of their idiocy. Then, as soon as he saw you were in labor, he was scared, too. However, now, all that stress and anger and fear was erased. You were safe in his arms with your daughter. He had a daughter! He was nothing my happy.

Street inevitably ruined the precious moment, but lightened it at the same time as he broke the silence. "I can't believe you gave birth in Black Betty."

The team didn't react until you laughed, which let them know they could laugh too.

"I'm just glad it wasn't in the bank," you said, the ache still in your heart for the people who were lost and the kid brother who had saved you. You looked at Hondo as you remembered him. "I wanna be there for Eric. He really did save those of us that he could."

Hondo didn't question you, because you were tired and hormonal and he knew you knew what you were talking about. He just nodded and said, "I'll talk to the DA, but for now, you just worry about that cutiepie you got, okay?"

"Okay," you said.

When you got to the hospital, you were taken to a room immediately. Not only because you were wheeled in with a baby in your arms, but because you had a team of S.W.A.T. officers escorting you. Luca went back with you and ensured you and your baby daughter were okay.

Despite being three and a half weeks early, she was healthy. She would need to stay a few extra days for observation, but that was okay with you. Both you and Luca wanted the best for her, so you knew she might need a little extra watching over because of her early arrival and the stress you were under, and you needed to recover as well. It would work out, you were sure.

Once that was cleared up, Luca sat beside you with your daughter asleep in her basinet at your bedside. He watched her with nothing but love in his eyes. He'd only been talking about how excited he was for her to 'hurry up and get here' in the months leading up to this moment. He hadn't cared if she were a boy or a girl, as you'd left finding out to be a surprise at the birth, because he was going to love his kid no matter what. You knew he was going to be an amazing father.

You watched him, tired as all hell, but couldn't fall asleep. Even after the day you'd had, you laid awake on some pain killers with a soft smile on your lips. "I love you."

Luca turned to you and chuckled. "I love you, too." He reached out for your hand and squeezed it gently. "You are the most amazing woman I've ever met, you know that?"

"You only tell me that at least once a day," you laughed softly, careful not to wake your sleeping angel.

"Well, I mean it so much this time," he told you, bringing your hand up to kiss your knuckles. "You're so strong and smart and brave. What you went through today was a lot and you powered through it like a champ. And you see the good in people even in situations when it's hard to see anything but bad."

"What can I say?" you asked, not really sure what there was to say. You just read the situation like it was. And it helped you and several other people get through it. "I'm just a woman."

"Nah, you're more than that," he said and leaned in closer, kissing your head. Your eyes closed and this time they were too heavy to lift back open. "You're Superwoman."

"If you say so," you mumbled. You then fell into a dreamless sleep, getting the much needed rest your deserved.

Lowkey, I'm now attached to the backstory I accidentally gave Bobby, Ghoul, and Eric, so here it is if anyone cares. Bobby, Ghoul - who's real name is Terry, and Eric were born in a less than ideal home. Raised by a worked to the bone mother and a father who had lengthy arrest record, they were doomed from the start. Bobby and Terry were closer in age to each other than either of them were to Eric, often getting into trouble and leaving him out. When they weren't getting suspended from school, they were pushing Eric around metaphorically and literally. They would often use Eric as a punching bag when they weren't getting into fights with each other. They mother wasn't around a lot as she worked multiple jobs to keep a roof over their heads. When she was around, she was frustrated and tired, often getting angry at them for little problems like leaving their shoes out for her to trip over and bigger issues like getting kicked out of school. Their father was in and out of jail for most of their lives, but when he was around, he taught them how to shoot, steal, and hot wire cars. Averse to these activities, Eric was once again the odd one out and often the target of his brothers' criticism. Their father often got drunk and ranted to his sons about his drawbacks in life, often blaming others. Due to this unstable environment, it was no wonder the brothers turned out the way they did. Bobby followed in their father's footsteps, often helping their old man with his criminal endeavors when he could. After their father's untimely death at the hands of a homeowner protecting himself after he broke into the house, Bobby was angry. He went on a bend of drinking and crime, ending him up in jail where he made friends. Once he was out, he started robbing houses and small business. Terry at least finished high school and got a job as a mechanic, which was stable enough for a while. He started to doing shotty work for cheap and got fired once his boss found out. He did a number of odd jobs after that. Eric was on the right track but couldn't catch a break. With a grant, he was able to start college but had to leave after his mother became ill. He was almost done with college when he dropped out to take care of her, but it was fruitless. He didn't blame his mom but rather the bad hand life had dealt him, but didn't grow very bitter. He got a shitty job and went about his life. However, their mother's death is what brought the brothers back together. It was several months after the funeral that Bobby came around with the idea to rob a bank. Terry was crashing on Eric's couch at the time and liked the idea, immediately liking the idea of free money and getting to go anywhere they wanted. The two oldest brothers talked Eric into it, telling him they could go live their dream lives and get out of the shambles they called a life. Plus, they were brothers, the only family he had left, was he really gonna left them do it alone?

And yeah, that's what I got for the bank robbing brothers. If it doesn't make any sense, I came up with all of this over the span of 8 hours and little to no sleep.

[alicearmageddon]

"The North Korean regime in the ‘50s developed a series of remarkably effective torture techniques, techniques that were so effective, in fact, that they were able to make captured American airmen admit to all sorts of atrocities they had not in fact committed, all the time, being convinced they had not, actually, been tortured. The techniques were quite simple. Just make the victim do something mildly uncomfortable—sit on the edge of chair, for example, or lean against a wall in a slightly awkward position—only, make them do it for an extremely long period of time. After eight hours the victim would be willing to do virtually anything to make it stop. But try going to the International Court of Justice at The Hague and tell them you’ve been made to sit on the edge of a chair all day. Even the victims were unwilling to describe their captors as torturers. When the CIA learned about these techniques—according to Korean friends of mine, they’re actually just particularly sadistic versions of classic Korean ways of punishing small children—they were intrigued, and, apparently, conducted extensive research on how they could be adopted for their own detention centers.

Again, sometimes, in Palestine, one feels one is in an entire country that’s being treated this way. Obviously, there is also outright torture, people who are actually being shot, beaten, tortured, or violently abused. But I’m speaking here even of the ones that aren’t. For most, it’s as if the very texture of everyday life has been designed to be intolerable—only, in a way that you can never quite say is exactly a human rights violation. There’s never enough water. Showering requires almost military discipline. You can’t get a permit. You’re always standing in line. If something breaks it’s impossible to get permission to fix it. Or else you can’t get spare parts. There are four different bodies of law that might apply to any legal situation (Ottoman, British, Jordanian, Israeli), it’s anyone’s guess which court will say what applies where, or what document is required, or acceptable. Most rules are not even supposed to make sense. It can take eight hours to drive 20 kilometers to see your girlfriend, and doing so will almost certainly mean having machine guns waved in your faces and being shouted at in a language you half understand by people who think you’re subhuman. So you do most of your dalliance by phone. When you can afford the minutes. There are endless traffic jams before and after checkpoints and drivers bicker and curse and try not to take it out on one another. Everyone lives no more than 12 or 15 miles from the Mediterranean but even on the hottest day, it’s absolutely impossible to get to the beach. Unless you climb the wall, there are places you can do that; but then you can expect to be hunted every moment by security patrols. Of course teenagers do it anyway. But it means swimming is always accompanied by the fear of being shot. If you’re a trader, or a laborer, or a driver, or a tobacco farmer, or clerk, the very process of subsistence is continual stream of minor humiliations. Your tomatoes are held and left two days to rot while someone grins at you. You have to beg to get your child out of detention. And if you do go to beseech the guards, those same guards might arbitrarily decide to hold you to pressure him to confess to rock-throwing, and suddenly you are in a concrete cell without cigarettes. Your toilet backs up. And you realize: you’re going to have to live like this forever. There is no “political process.” It will never end. Barring some kind of divine intervention, you can expect to be facing exactly this sort of terror and absurdity for the rest of your natural life."

-David Graeber, Reflections from a Visit to the West Bank

[sugarushwriting]

enhypen works

quick notes: i will not write explicit content regarding ni-ki although he is considered an adult. mature themes may center around him, but absolutely no explicit content from me.

human blood bank series 🧛🏼 ot7

“season one” || one • two • three • four • five • six • seven • eight

“season two” || one • two • three • four • five • six • seven • eight • nine • ten

"season three" || one • two • three • four • five • six • seven • eight • nine • ten

cherry popper series 🍒

heeseung — jay — jake — sunghoon

aftermath: heeseung — jay — jake — sunghoon

frat boy series 🫦

heeseung — one • two • three • four

sunghoon — one • two • three • four • five

jake — one • two

stalker enhypen 👀

obsessed with you: heeseung — one • two • three

don’t blame me: jay — one • two

look what you made me do: jungwon — one two three four five

the co worker: jake

drabbles • one shots • thoughts 💭 individual members

heeseung 🐹

red flag

jay 🐈‍⬛

red flag bratty gf x dom jay (drabble)

jake 🐕🐺

collection red flag

sunghoon 🐧

with lee minho of skz - besties with both red flag

sunoo 🦊

nothing yet

jungwon 🐈

nothing yet

ni-ki 🐆🐥

red flag high school crush

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

can you see the stars in your dreams (and do they have a lot to say about me) - Part 14

Or: a secret Admirer AU

TW: homophic language used due to internalized homophobia

PART 1 || PART 2 || PART 3 || PART 4 || PART 5 || PART 6 || PART 7 || PART 8 || PART 9 || PART 10 || PART 11 || PART 1 || PART 13

Steve doesn’t know what’s worse, not being able to see the expression on Eddie’s face, or the moment he turns around and he can see it. He looks like Steve just shot his dog. But, wouldn’t Chrissy be the dog in that metaphor? Steve drops it before Robin can somehow sense his train of thought and burst into the room with the sole purpose of punching him.

“So, what?” Eddie asks, voice sharp and angry. “This was all just some joke? Pick on the freak? Make him think a pretty girl actually likes him?”

Any sadness he’d been feeling is wiped off his face now, masked over with a tired sort of rage. It’s tempting to go along with Eddie’s assumptions. Yes, it was all just a joke. Yes, they’d all been laughing behind his back for weeks on end. After all, Eddie doesn’t look hurt, he looks pissed.

But, it’s too late. Steve had already seen the anguish in Eddie’s eyes before he’d banked it.

“No,” Steve murmurs, only noticing that Eddie’s mid-tirade when he stops talking. His head’s buzzing too loud to hear much else. “It wasn’t a joke.”

Eddie scoffs, waiting in pointed silence until Steve raises his head and meets his eyes. “Then how do you explain all this?” He gyrates his hand around the room, encompassing all four of their bodies with jerky movements. “Huh, Harrington?”

Steve swallows. He hopes it’s not as audible to everyone else as it is in his own ears, but by the way Eddie’s gaze snaps down to it before pulling back up to meet his eyes again, that hope is futile.

“I just—” Steve starts, forcing himself to keep looking at Eddie, even as his eyes flay him open. “It wasn’t supposed to get this complicated.”

“What does that mean?” Eddie asks, gritting out every word, body leaning toward Steve like he wants to reach across the distance between them and strangle him.

“I just like you, okay?” Steve snaps. Eddie jerks back like he’d just taken a blow. “I liked you, and I thought this would be a good way to, I don’t know, work through it?”

“You like me?” Eddie asks, almost laughing, just like that day in the cafeteria when he was singling out the jocks, just like he always does when something’s not funny but he’s pretending it is.

It hurts anyway.

“I’m sorry,” Steve mutters, staring down at his own lap, unable to look at anyone in the room. “I didn’t mean to make it your problem.”

“Didn’t mean to—” Eddie snaps, and Steve sees an abrupt enough movement that Steve’s afraid Eddie’s going to hit him. Steve jerks back into the couch, heartbeat rabbiting in his chest, but all Eddie’s done is stand, hands clenched, mouth snarling. “How the hell is tricking me into thinking Chrissy Cunningham liked me not making it my problem?”

“Eddie—“ Jeff cuts in, tone a warning, but Eddie doesn’t even seem to notice.

“You really think that’s ‘not making it my problem?’” Eddie asks, throwing finger quotations around it mockingly as he glares down at Steve. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Steve feels small, wishes he was smaller—he wants to sink into the cracks of the Munson’s ratty couch and never be seen again. This moment is too much for him.

He’s known ever since that moment in the cafeteria when Eddie’d pressed his lips to Chrissy’s hand that they’d end up here. He knew, but he’d kept writing the letters, kept Chrissy embroiled into his mess. Chrissy who’s standing silent and shocked behind Eddie, hand pressed to her mouth as Steve’s mess implodes around him.

“I’m sorry,” Steve replies, voice small. He’s not sure if he’s talking to Eddie, or Chrissy, or hell, even Jeff. He just knows that he really, truly is sorry.

“You’re sorry?” Eddie demands, and he’s pacing now, hands fisted into his own hair. “You’re sorry for what? For derailing my life? For making me think someone might actually like me? For what?”

Steve doesn’t say anything as he watches Eddie’s movements become more frenetic. He’s pulling his hair hard now, and all Steve wants to do is reach out and grab Eddie’s hands, make him stop hurting himself. But, it’s not his place, so he clenches his hands into fists atop his own thighs and looks up at the boy he likes unraveling at the seams. Because of him.

“The first time a girl actually likes me and it’s you.” It lands like venom, leaching through all the sinew and bone of Steve’s body and turning his beating heart into a pulpy mess. “What, you thought just because everyone calls me a freak that I’d be a quee—”

“Eddie!” It’s Chrissy and Jeff, both shouting out at the same time, clearly trying to get Eddie to stop talking before he says something irreversible.

It’s too late: Steve’s already heard him.

He doesn’t know what his own face is doing, but when Eddie finally looks at him, his face goes white, then turns sort of green like he’s going to be sick. When he takes a halting step forward, Steve can’t help the way he presses further into the couch, hands shaking where they’re still clenching in his lap.

He wants to scream, or cry, or die so he doesn’t have to do this anymore. But, Eddie’s right, this is all his fault, so the least he can do is offer up an explanation.

“It’s not Chrissy’s fault,” Steve says, looking down at his own shaking hands, willing them to lie still. “Or Jeff’s. I dragged them into this, so don’t be mad at them, okay?”

“Steve—” Chrissy says, voice choking with emotion.

“I was afraid.” Steve talks right over her, doesn’t even look her way. He can’t, or he’ll break. “But, that’s no excuse for making you have to deal with my bullshit.”

“Steve,” Chrissy tries again.

“I’m sorry.” Steve finally looks up from his lap, meeting Eddie’s fathomless eyes. “I’ll leave you alone now.”

Steve gets up on shaky legs and walks to the trailer’s front door, giving Eddie a wide berth. No one says anything as he makes his way through the small living room, or when he opens the door and steps through.

It’s only as the door’s shutting closed behind him that he hears Eddie say, “Shit Harrington, wait.”

Steve doesn’t. He walks down the Munson’s drive and straight out of the trailer park.

No one follows him.

***

The silence hangs like a noose in the trailer after the click of the door closing quietly behind Harrington’s drooping frame. Eddie stares into nothing, entirely blank.

“That was cruel.” It’s Chrissy who says it. Chrissy, who pretended to like him, who led him on, who…was just trying to protect her friend.

“Not any crueler than he was to me,” Eddie mutters, still staring at the closed door feeling inexplicably like he should run after him.

Instead, he turns his back on the door and tries to forget the slope of Harrington’s shoulders as he’d walked out on him.

His brain’s full of fog, emotions swirling around too quickly for him to catch any of them. He can’t make sense of any of this. Not Chrissy who pretended to like him or Steve Harrington, who actually did, not—

“You—” Eddie starts, eyes focusing as something else takes over his brain as he sets his sights on Jeff. “You knew?”

Jeff grimaces, but straightens his spine and tilts his chin up like Eddie’s the enemy now. “Yeah,” he says, all flippant, as if Eddie’s world isn’t shattering around his feet. “I knew.”

Eddie laughs, can’t help it with the way anger’s pooling in his gut. “And you didn’t tell me?”

“It was Steve’s secret to te—”

“Screw Steve!” Eddie shouts, suddenly enough that Chrissy takes a startled step back. “You’re supposed to be my friend.”

Jeff scoffs, stepping in front of Chrissy. “Your friend?” he demands with an incredulous laugh that makes Eddie want to strangle him. “You didn’t even tell me about the letters in the first fucking place!”

He stomps forward, coming at Eddie like he’s going to do—something, Eddie will never know what because Chrissy wraps her arm around his waist and pulls him back with a chiding, worried, “Jeff.”

Eddie stares at the way her fingers curl proprietarily into the fabric of his t-shirt, the way he steadies under her touch and takes a step back, the way he stands in the cradle of her hold like it’s his birthright.

“Hold—hold on,” Eddie says, holding his hand out like that’ll stop the dots from connecting in his own mind. “Are you two—”

He doesn’t finish the thought, can’t put words to what he’s accusing them of, not right now. But, as he flails his fingers between them, they both look at the floor, in goddamn sync, even with their own guilt. “Are you fucking serious right now?”

Anger’s always been Eddie’s worst enemy; he’s pretty sure it’s an inherited trait from his pa, the way rage makes his blood boil, makes him take things too far, makes him react like verbal words are a physical threat. Just like his pa, no matter how much he doesn’t want to be.

“So, you what?” he asks, whole body shaking with the force of his anger. “Decided to lead me on while fucking my best friend?”

He laughs, sharp and mean when Chrissy jerks like he slapped her. He clenches his fist against the desire to do just that.

“You don’t get to talk to her like that,” Jeff replies quietly, like that’ll make him the reasonable one.

“Fuck o—“

“You don’t own her,” Jeff interrupts him, Eddie screams in his throat, wild with the fire burning through him.

Jeff sighs, low and disappointed, just like Uncle Wayne does if Hop picks Eddie up for some trumped-up charges, or he fails another pop quiz, or he brings in more money he can’t explain to his Uncle. 

The thought of Wayne is what does him in. Even in absentia, that old man brings him back to himself. Eddie shudders, takes a step back and stares at the carpet beneath his toes, trying to bank his anger back beneath his ribs where it can’t hurt anyone else.

“I’m sorry we hurt you,” Jeff continues, voice soft, soft soft. “And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you what was going on. But Eddie?”

It takes a long moment for Eddie to drag gaze away from his own feet and up to Jeff’s face. Jeff waits, silent, until Eddie meets his eyes.

“You need to figure your own shit out, too,” he says gently. “Because if you don’t? You’re going to hurt everyone around you, not just Steve.”

Eddie looks back at the door Harrington—Steve—had walked through, feelings twisting around on themselves until they’re choking him.

“Harrington,” Eddie starts, throat catching on the consonants of his name like it’d been years since he last spoke. “Did he really—?”

He can’t finish this thought either, hopes Jeff or Chrissy will pluck it from his mind and answer it for him.

“Like you?” Jeff asks, waiting for Eddie to nod his assent before answering. “Yeah, man. He does.”

The present tense is what does him in. Does. Steve Harrington, king of the jocks, liar, boy, likes him. Enough to write letters to him. He doesn’t know what to do with this, where to put it in the reality of his life.

“Oh.”

“You can’t tell anyone, Eddie,” Chrissy says, taking a step around Jeff to look up at Eddie with pleading eyes. “They’ll kill him.”

It’s only then, staring at the terror on Chrissy’s face, that the magnitude of the secret he’s just learned sinks in. Harrington, lady-killer, probable prom king, jock extraordinaire, is queer.

The vindictive part of Eddie he tries to keep caged wants to sling this around— Harrington’s just comeuppance for every time he’s made the rest of them feel less than, feel like a freak. But, even with his anger barely banked, Eddie knows the punishment wouldn’t fit the crime.

Harrington had, what? Laughed snidely behind Hagan after standing by while he’d seen a nerd get his books knocked out of his hands? Had been born with a perfect face and perfect hair in a castle of a house, so he’d been idolized for it.

Telling wouldn’t take that all away—it’d leave Harrington dead.

Even Hagan doesn’t deserve that.

So, all Eddie says is, “I won’t,” quietly, hoping she believes him.

She sighs, slumping into Jeff, trusting him to hold her up. Eddie doesn’t want to see it anymore; he can’t be in the same room as those two and not let the fire in his blood bleed through to his words.

He stands, stiff, unsure, and asks, “can you guys just go?”

“Eddie—“

“Jeff, please,” Eddie asks, voice breaking on the last word.

“Okay.”

Jeff ushers Chrissy out of his trailer and, just before the door shuts behind him, Eddie calls out, “Jeff?”

“Yeah, buddy?” Jeff calls back, not turning back around, not closing the door.

“I’ll call you,” he says, hoping it’s loud enough for his friend to hear. “Okay?”

Jeff doesn’t point out the lack of time frame or the way Eddie’s voice shakes. He’s good like that, always has been, no matter how mad they get at each other. “You call, and I’ll pick up.”

Without another word, Jeff lets the door close. Eddie stands there stationary until he hears the sound of a car starting, kicking up gravel all the way out of the trailer park. Only then, does he collapse onto the couch and bury his head in his hands.

It’s a mistake—the pressure of his hand making pain bloom hard and fast on the bruise on his eyes. Eddie groans, tired, in pain, and completely done. He wants Uncle Wayne to brush his hair out of his face, wants Jeff to sit at his side, or Gareth to light a joint for him, or Chrissy to bump their shoulders together. 

He wants—

The bag of frozen peas Harrington had handed him have gone mushy and warm.

The trailer’s quiet, and Eddie’s all alone.

PART 15

[celestiamour]

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ don't cry now ]❜

━━━ .°˖✧ requested by @buniisdiary & anonymous ˚₊ ⊹

ft. hwang in-ho (young il) x f! reader — squid game

╰₊✧ you allow the man whom you believe is a fellow player to comfort you during a meltdown, completely oblivious to his true identity and intentions┊3.7k words

setting: season 2, episode 6 contains: smut!! dom in-ho & sub reader┊yandere, age gap (reader is early 20s, in-ho is late 40s/early 50s), innocent/naive crybaby reader, canon-typical violence, fingering, unprotected piv, loss of virginity, breeding

➤ author's note: oh god this is one of my first squid game wips? i was watching horton hears a who while finishing this up, but i’m strangely proud of it

you were shaking so much, it’s a wonder how you were still walking up and down those brightly colored stairs without collapsing. the final round of mingle games was the closest you’ve ever been to death so far, and you swear you brushed against the skeletal arms of death with a glimpse of one of his bony hands outstretched under his dark garments, ready to take you for his own. you still aren’t sure if it was a malfunction or a miracle that one of the doors popped open to reveal an empty room to house you and the woman you were with mere milliseconds after the countdown ended and before the guards entered with their guns blazing, but you were still alive to see another day. whether or not you were grateful for it remained a lingering question when it just meant you had to wake up the next morning, go through these death games thinly masquerading as an easy way to pay back debt all over again, and watch more brains get splattered on the floors if they weren’t your own.

collapsing onto the bottom bunk, you wished for the lights to turn out already so that you could fall asleep and forget about this nightmare. once again, the room was empty with fewer bunks than last time. out of the corner of your eye, you could see the rapper with purple hair and his goon celebrating their survival, talking about playing “one more game.” three hundred to four hundred million won still wasn’t enough, they wanted more and they were willing to put their lives on the line for it.

you felt like you were going to be sick at the lack of humanity in the room. in just a few days, people were already wishing death upon others if it meant they could stay and earn more money. did none of them have loved ones they wished to see again? did none of them consider the families who would never even get to have a proper burial for the ones who died within these walls? did none of them care for anything other than the transparent piggy bank hanging from the ceiling, collecting more paper cash with every bullet fired in another person’s skull? you didn’t care what they did with their own lives, but you did care that their choices impacted everyone else who wanted to leave. you didn’t even care if it still wasn’t enough money to pay off all your debts, you’re willing to do any dirty deed to dig yourself out at the expense of your own dignity, all you wanted to do was go home.

tears started to drip down your waterline. you didn’t think you were ever going home at this rate. you didn’t think you were ever going to be in the comfort of your own bedroom again, ever going to play with your pet again, ever going to celebrate your birthday again, ever going to see the bright full moon alongside the twinkling stars again— the last sight you were ever going to see was a masked guard in hot pink wielding a rifle with the fatal shot ringing in your ears because you lost some stupid game you haven’t played since you were a kid, and it could happen as soon as tomorrow. 

you thought of young-mi, who cried out yesterday that she wanted the games to end and that she wanted to go home as well. poor, sweet young-mi, who was pushed out of her path and couldn’t make it in time to save herself, now lies in a black coffin neatly wrapped with a pink bow instead of the bunk next to you like she usually did from the stress-induced exhaustion. 

it was just too much for you, and you started sobbing uncontrollably at the loss. the shock from the initial bloodshed had worn off, and the suffocating weight of reality dawned upon you, knees against your chest as you curled up in the little ball with your eyes shut tight to escape the bright white fluorescent lights shining from all sides. it isn’t the first time you cried in here, but it’s certainly the biggest meltdown you've ever had in your life. young-mi would always comfort you and you would her, but now she’s gone and you’re going to suffer the same fate.

people started to stare and whisper at your behavior, acting like it was erratic when you didn’t think it even came close to representing how you felt. you were surprised you weren’t wailing and screaming like a banshee. the people who also had a red badge like you looked upon you with sympathetic looks and pity, but the people who proudly sported a blue badge were mostly judgmental like you weren’t grateful for this golden opportunity of cash or death.

“come on, pretty girl! don’t cry,” thanos called out, approaching you and trying to wrap an arm around you, “just one more game, we’ll have enough to pay off our debts with extra!” his tone was so cheerful, already able to envision himself drifting around on the street in an expensive car and partying in a new spacious mansion.

although he was trying to console you in his own… unique way, you promptly slapped him away, “i won’t even be alive to pay off my debts, you asshole! i’m going to get killed like everyone else has, and you could too! i don’t understand how you could be so normal about it all when people are dying for this money, do the drugs you take stop you from feeling basic emotions too?!”

he let go of you, staring blankly like he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to laugh at how surprisingly observant you were or beat the shit out of you for yelling out his secret without thinking. being a pretty girl didn’t exempt you from his rage, even if he frequently acted like it would in an attempt to get on your good side or in your pants. the effects of the colorful pills from the mingle games still haven’t worn off, so this was either going to make him mellow enough to brush it off without any grudges at the insult or make him aggressive enough to start a fight.

“alright, i believe that’s enough,” a familiar voice of a third party interrupted the conversation, smooth and authoritative with expected compliance for his command. “she’s clearly upset, i don’t think you should bother her anymore.”

you looked up to see young-il next to you with an amiable smile on his face, surprised to see him coming to your rescue when you truthfully thought it would be hyun-ju, but your unexpected hero was more than welcome. you haven’t had too many interactions with him, primarily just existing in the same space as allies, but you would be lying if you said you didn’t secretly admire him from afar. he was so handsome despite his age and seemed to retain his empathy, unlike some others here, always caring and looking out for you as well as everyone else who needed a little extra attention like jun-hee and the elderly folk. every time you see him smile at you during these trying times, a little flame of hope for humanity sparkles within you.

thanos glared at him, recalling the humiliating beating both he and nam-gyu endured at his hands in front of everyone, and relented with his command. there’s something about that man that scared him enough to back off without a second thought, not just how he managed to kick his ass, there was something genuinely unnerving about him that no one else seemed to notice.

no one seems to notice the little glances he makes at the cameras and guards without fear. no one seems to notice how he always knows a little more than everyone else about these games. no one seems to notice that he sticks by the claimed previous winner as if he is trying to keep an eye on him. no one seems to notice how he studies you from afar in a predatory way, like how a starving wolf studies a lamb prancing about before devouring it. 

no one pays attention because they have bigger things to worry about on their mind. they don’t think there’s anything special about him and that he’s just another player trying to pay off their crippling debts, but little do they know about the omnipresent power he holds over everything that happens on this god-forsaken island.

“are you okay? he didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“n-no, he didn’t…” god, you were a sight, shivering in fear, hastily trying to wipe away the tears falling from your puffy eyes .”’m sorry you had to see all that, sir,” you sniffled, embarrassed, seemingly fine with the idea of breaking down in front of everyone else, but not him, which he found so fucking adorable. “would it be okay if…” you hesitated for a moment, “would it be okay if you stayed here with me for a bit?”

your teams have somewhat merged since the last game, but you were still scared of thanos coming to bother or worse after you called him out on his little secret. even if the other tried to shoo him away, he had this inflated sense of ego where he thought he could do whatever he wanted without thinking about anyone else, so unless they were a guard or they physically picked a fight with him and he lost, he would continue to do as he pleased which would possibly include personally eliminating you from the games like he’s done to others before. the only person who has put him in his place is young-il, so it’s only natural that you would feel safest with him.

he would rather have you all to himself, but he doesn’t mind having you join his group where he could keep a closer eye on you between the discussions of the vote.

throughout the entire voting process, you were a nervous wreck. you wanted to go home so bad, but when the numbers added up to a tie, you broke down once again. there was still a glimmer of hope, but it fell out of your hands and shattered on the ground. jun-hee and dae-ho tried their best to comfort you, but it was difficult when they themselves were so uncertain about their futures as well.

“oh, don’t cry now,” young-il tutted, wrapping you in a hug and patting you on the back. “come on, i’ll take you to the bathroom to wash up.”

nodding with a sniffle, you accepted his hand graciously as he pulled you off the bed. you wish you were stronger, strong enough to try to talk the other players into voting x so that you could go home rather than just bawling your eyes out at everything, but instead, you were only blinking away your tears and keeping your eyes trained on the ground as you shuffled along.

you didn’t question why the guards allowed him to bring you into the restroom without giving him any nonsense like they always did. you didn’t see the look they exchanged, one of absolute authority and a hidden one of understanding.  you didn’t know his true intentions, watching you intently in the mirror as you washed your face with the water flowing from the sink’s tap.

“i don’t know you do it,” you whispered, “i don’t know you stay so strong in a situation like this, i feel like i’m losing it with every passing second… i wish i could be more like you. i’m so useless.”

“no, don’t say nonsense like that,” he assured, rubbing soothing circles into your back as he pulled you in for a hug as you sobbed into his shoulder. “it’s thanks to people like you who remind me to have hope in humanity.”

it isn’t entirely false, you truly remind him of how beautiful humanity can be in a situation where sanity decays and reduces people to animals who think of nothing but their survival. you still remain thoughtful and innocent despite all that is going to destroy those virtues, and are so much stronger than you will ever realize. 

it makes him think that you could handle someone like him, someone who is broken and intensely possessive with the desire to have you for himself. he thinks he has the right to be a bit selfish when it comes to you, and before you knew it, his lips had found their way pressed onto yours. he isn’t gentle, yet he’s clearly holding back, as if he wanted to consume you whole but didn’t want to scare you away.

although it wouldn’t matter if you were scared, you were already trapped.

you were frozen for a moment when he pulled away and let out a little disappointed sigh, “i’m sorry, that was inappropriate of me. i shouldn’t have—”

“no, it’s okay,” you blurted out.

it isn’t your first kiss, but it’s the first kiss that made you feel the spark you’ve only ever read about in romance novels before, like fireworks at midnight of the new year. were you crazy for finding it so comforting? have you lost all your shame for asking him if he could do it again?

he looked at you in slight disbelief, but was more than happy to follow your request. his hand came to the back of your head and pulled you closer to him, recapturing your lips with his. he was a bit rougher this time, his tongue darting out to request access and explore your mouth. you didn’t quite know what to do with yourself, just standing still like a life-sized doll, but he seemed more than content to take control over you as he lifted you up to seat you on the porcelain edge of the sink. 

you’re everything he dreamed of and more, but he still wasn’t satisfied. he wanted more, and you could feel his desire poking through his tracksuit pants rubbing against your thigh as he pressed you against the wall. his lips lowered to your jaw, then to your neck, making your head spin with unfamiliar sensations. you knew what he wanted, you were naive, not outright stupid, but did you want it to? 

“is this okay?”

you weren’t sure. were you really willing to give your first time to an older man you barely knew? in a setting like this? you always dreamed of your first time being romantic, with someone you trusted in the comfort of your bedroom instead of a near stranger in a dingy restroom, but with the way the past few days were going, you weren’t sure if you would be able to ever live out that fantasy and relented, “y-yeah, it’s okay…”

he chose to ignore the doubt in your voice. he had you right where he wanted, and he didn’t know what he would do with himself if you said otherwise. it’s embarrassing how desperate he must seem, like a teenager doing it with his crush for the first time, but you were too wrapped up in the situation to notice. he hastily pulled off your clothing, finding the soft, untouched skin hiding underneath, and running a hand over its smoothness. you felt shy at the way he looked at you, like you were the most beautiful woman in the world and like he’s never seen anything that came even close before, making you flustered and instinctively want to hide away. 

young-il didn’t give you the chance to do so as his hand dipped into your underwear and his fingers brushed against your heat. you haven’t even realized how soaked you were from a single kiss, but he didn’t give you the time to dwell on the surprise of how quickly it took for you to be excited as his fingers gently pressed into your core. you’re so tight around just two of his fingers, already gasping at the foreign feeling and squirming— it made him wonder if he would even be able to fit, but he’s nothing if not patient. he had all the time in the world to spend with you now. 

“shh, it’s okay, you’re doing so good,” he breathed, languidly pumping his digits in and out of you, watching all of your pretty expressions like a hawk as your eyes scrunched up and your chest heaved. when he came closer to wrap his lips around one of your sensitive nipples hardened by the cold air, he could almost hear your heartbeat beating rapidly as you let out a little moan.

you weren’t exactly sure if you were doing as good as he made it sound; you weren’t doing much of anything aside from sitting there and taking his fingers. he was doing all of the work, and yet your entire body felt like it was on fire and starting to sweat. did it normally feel this intense? you weren’t even sure how you would be able to handle the real thing. as you felt an unfamiliar tightening in your abdomen, your hand flew to cover your mouth, self-conscious at how loud you were starting to become, “w-wait, sir, i think i’m going to—” the last word lingered as your sex-hazed mind tried to think of a word, a word for the sensation that has never happened to you until now, but you didn’t have the chance to as you suddenly gushed all over his hand and let out a muffled cry.

“aw, did you come already?” young-il seemed to be different now, more playful, as he raised his fingers to his mouth to lick them clean of your arousal and savoring your sweetness on his tongue. the taste was addicting, and he had half a mind to fall on his knees and to lap up all of your spilled juices right then and there, but he couldn’t wait anymore and needed to be inside of you. he doesn’t think he’s ever needed anything so badly before, making quick work to lower his sweats and underwear, “it’s going to hurt a bit at first, but it will feel good after a minute, i promise.” he had to hold back a chuckle at how you gawked at his size for a moment, wondering if you could really take it when you could barely handle just two of his fingers, but he knows he prepped you enough. 

“okay,” you murmured dumbly and leaned back, feeling your back hit the cold mirror attached to the wall above the sink. any thoughts you had in your head had basically been fucked out of it, embarassing as it may sound. all you could do was wrap your arms around his neck, burning your face into the crook of his neck as he gently pushed himself into you, inch by inch, holding himself back from ruthlessly ramming into you before you were ready. 

all your breaths were short and shallow, the sensation of being filled up like this encompassing your body in a mix of pain and pleasure. it hurt being stretched out and you couldn’t help but whine, your distress not going unnoticed by young-il as his thumb came up to your clit and circled it while peppering kisses to your face, “that’s it, just like that, tell me when you’re ready for me to move.”

after a few moments, you nodded, signaling him to continue. he’s slow at first, getting you used to the push and pull. it took a minute or two for the pain to dissolve into pure ecstasy. you found yourself pulling on his sleeves, silently asking him to speed up because you were too shy to say so. he’s a very perceptive person though, immediately noticing your need. if he were any crueler, he would tease you for it and make you beg for it. he could only imagine how beautiful you would look and sound, bashful and desperate for more, but he needed to get off too, and as nice as it was to leisurely fuck you as he currently was, he wasn’t getting anywhere like this. 

as he thrust into you and your welcoming cunt, he couldn’t help but think about how horrible he truly was. he was here to keep an eye on the previous winner and prevent him from trying to ruin the games, but here he was obsessing over a young lady who shouldn’t even be here. he’s disgusting, he knows it, and yet he doesn’t stop the constant motion or the thoughts running through his mind.

he wants to keep you here with him, locked away for his eyes only, away from everyone else. wouldn’t it be so nice to have you in his lap, watching the games and sharing a glass of liquor with you while you’re all dolled up? he doesn’t want to think of it like he’s keeping you as a pet, but he would like to marry you and have you as his trophy wife to accompany him during those annoying dinners with the vips. you wouldn’t have to work a day of your life if you were his, all you would have to do is look pretty and share his affections. and maybe a family someday too?

fuck, he was getting close just thinking about it. he should be allowed this much after giving his life to the games and abandoning everything he knew.

“sir, i’m close,” you whined, your nails digging into the fabric of his sleeves. 

“i am too… could i… could i do it inside?”

it’s not like him to ask, but if he wanted to build a life with you (or at some semblance of one), he owed you this much. 

you nodded, not thinking of what he was asking or what it could entail in the future. all you could think of was your oncoming climax, unraveling the tightened knot in your stomach and bursting at the seams.young-il followed shortly after with your velvety walls spasming around him, painting your insides white and filling you up to the brim to the point of some of it leaking out when he pulled himself from you. he couldn’t help but to collect some of the spillage with his finger and push it back into you, as if he didn’t want any of it to go waste.

“you won’t have to participate in the games anymore, i’m going to get you out of here.”

requested by bunii:

please please please could you do a smut with the front man of squid games s2 when he is pretending to be a player. Maybe you are scared, or crying because you wanna go home and he’s “comforting you” and brings you to the bathroom to wipe your tears, but then he kisses you… and so on.

requested by anonymous:

Heyy! I have been interested in your account and your squid game content recently!:) And I was wondering if you’d do my request?. Headcanons with yandere s2 Hwang in-ho/frontman with a fem reader who doesn’t know who he actually is?. Like she likes him but she doesn’t know he is the frontman or his “real identity”. Thank you!

[bombiikki]

𐙚⋆.˚　────  isn't it love? °｡⋆⸜

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ – non idol!hanni x spidergirl reader !!

synopsis:  you’re torn between loving hanni and protecting her from the danger that follows you as spidergirl. you keep breaking up with her, but she always waits. maybe it’s time to stop running—and just love.

contains: ANSGT. resolving some issues, emotional whiplash, they break up so many times, then make out up, lots of yearning, and hesitation, reader questions everything, but never her love for hanni, hanni is lwk the strongest soldier ever, it ends with fluff, so its still technically the happy ending

wc: 13.6k

a/n: the happy ending cuz its what the ppl crave for. i lwk rushed the ending bc idk i think it js got a lil repetitive but dont let my opinions stop u from enjoyign the fic !!

♪ ༘⋆ now playing – isn’t it love? from steven universe

a part 2 to "a blessing in disguise" < to the spidergirl series masterlist

the wind was a scream in your ears, wild and relentless as it whipped past your mask. the city blurred beneath you in streaks of brick and concrete, yellow cabs and blinking lights, all of it too fast to matter. your body moved on instinct—knees bending, arms snapping forward, webline catching the ledge of a glass tower and flinging you forward into open air.

you didn’t even feel the drop anymore. just the cold. just the way it cut through your suit like a knife, or maybe it was the way your thoughts wouldn’t shut up.

it had been a week. a week since the funeral. a week since the rain soaked your suit and your hands trembled behind the mask. a week since hanni’s eyes had searched for answers, and you gave her none.

now there were sirens below. two police cruisers, lights bleeding red and blue into the smog, racing after a black sedan that had just slammed through a bank’s glass doors. the windshield of the getaway car was cracked, the front bumper barely hanging on, and one of the guys inside had been dumb enough to start shooting before they even turned the corner.

you didn’t hesitate.

your webline snapped taut as you flipped over a rooftop, the gritty surface racing beneath you. with every swing, you gained on them. one breath. two. then you dropped low, just above traffic, your body twisting through the maze of cars and honking taxis.

you could see inside the car now. four guys. ski masks. bags stuffed with cash. one was screaming into a walkie. the driver jerked the wheel violently, swerving into the opposite lane. horns blared. a truck nearly clipped them.

you gritted your teeth, picked up speed.

your shoulder clipped a traffic light—pain bloomed, sharp and bright—but you didn’t stop. you dove lower, flipping under a scaffold and landing hard on the sedan’s roof. the whole car buckled. the guy in the back screamed.

“what the hell was that?!”

you grinned beneath your mask and pounded your fist against the roof. “guess who!”

the guy on the passenger side rolled down his window, raising a pistol with shaky hands. you shot a line of web straight into the barrel before he could aim. the gun clicked uselessly. he tried to pull it free, but you yanked him out the window instead.

he hit the pavement with a grunt, rolling to a stop.

the driver screamed and lost control. the car swerved, smashed into a fire hydrant, and skidded onto the sidewalk. water exploded into the air behind it. you leapt off the roof just before impact and landed crouched on the hood.

before the others could recover, you launched a web at the nearest one’s chest and yanked him into a mailbox. he groaned and didn’t get back up.

two left.

the driver scrambled out, limping. you chased him on foot this time, your breath coming hard, every muscle alive with adrenaline. he darted through an alley, tried to climb a chain-link fence. you reached him before he could get over the top and pinned him there with two quick webs.

the last guy didn’t run. he just raised his hands, knees shaking.

you looked at the wreck behind you—sirens still closing in, lights reflecting in the puddles—and exhaled slow.

you were tired. of all of it.

and then, like always, you remembered her. hanni, somewhere in a classroom. maybe doodling in the margins of her notebook. maybe looking out the window and thinking about the girl who left her in the rain.

you swallowed the thought. it burned.

fifteen minutes later, you were back on the rooftops, peeling off your gloves as you ran. you had five more blocks before school. your hair stuck to your forehead beneath your hood. your ribs ached.

you climbed into the school building through a back stairwell and slipped into class thirty-five minutes late.

your teacher sighed so deeply you thought it might echo.

“miss y/n,” she said. “again?”

you nodded sheepishly, clutching your bag.

“sorry,” you muttered, still catching your breath. “traffic. i promise i won’t be late again.” 

a few of the students laughed, and your teacher only sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “i’d give you detention, but i think at this point you’d consider it part of your schedule. just… try to be on time. and don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

you nodded, slipping into the desk behind hanni. her posture didn’t change, her eyes fixed on her notes. she hadn’t looked at you since the funeral.

you leaned forward, voice barely a breath.

“but those are the best promises to make.”

and maybe she didn’t believe it. maybe you didn’t either.

but for just a second, you thought you saw her pencil stop moving. and that small, impossible flicker of hope warmed your chest.

even if only for a moment. even if you didn’t deserve it.

some part of her still listened and some part of you still loved her—even now. especially now.

it started slow. a glance. a breath. a flicker of something almost lost. not with a grand gesture or a dramatic apology. just with a glance. and then another.

she didn’t smile when she looked at you. but she didn’t look away, either.

sometimes, that’s all a flame needs—just a little air.

you sat behind her again in chemistry. same seat, same scuffed floor tile beneath your foot that squeaked if you shifted your weight wrong. the desk still had that scratch in the corner where someone once carved a heart and then tried to erase it. you’d traced it before, back when your thoughts moved like rivers toward her, even when you were supposed to be balancing chemical equations. back then, she’d twirl her pen when she was thinking, and you’d find yourself watching the motion like it meant something.

now, she sat straighter. tighter. the space between her shoulders seemed smaller, like she was always bracing for something. she didn’t glance back. didn’t nod. her presence was sharp, all edges. like she’d drawn a silent boundary between you—chalk on pavement. and you didn’t know if you were meant to cross it.

but then she passed you a beaker before you asked.

and later, when your hand accidentally brushed hers near the sink, she didn’t pull away. didn’t flinch. just went on adjusting the bunsen burner like nothing had happened.

not much. but enough to burn.

you caught her humming under her breath one morning. it was faint, like the wind barely catching on an open window, but you knew the song. a melody you’d only heard once, when everything still felt new and terrifying. back when she was pressing gauze to your bleeding shoulder, eyes wide, voice shaking. back when she looked at you like she didn’t know whether to run or hold on.

you didn’t say anything now. just listened. let it fill the quiet space between you like sunlight sneaking through old blinds. warm and unexpected. gentle on skin that had only known cold lately.

at lunch, she sat beside you. not across. not at another table. not with her usual friends in their usual corner.

she sat beside you. her tray bumped yours, and you both said “sorry” at the same time.

she didn’t laugh, but the corners of her mouth twitched. like laughter might’ve been hiding there, waiting for the right moment to be brave.

you almost smiled. almost. but you didn’t trust your hands not to shake.

it was still too soon. still too glass. but still, you spoke.

your voice found her without permission. soft questions about class, about the mitosis quiz, about whether or not she thought mr. lee might actually be in love with the concept of kinetic energy. she rolled her eyes, but she answered. and her voice wasn’t cold—not warm either—but real. a kind of tentative honesty, like testing ice with one careful step.

you didn’t touch her. not even a sleeve or a wrist. not yet. you didn’t deserve to.

but you listened. really listened. especially when she talked about the things she loved. the way dna coils because of hydrogen bonding. how amino acids twist into helixes and sheets like origami. how enzymes knew exactly what to become in order to fit the molecule they’d bind to—like some kind of molecular soulmate. you didn’t say much when she got into it, just nodded and let your chest fill with the sound of her excitement. like her voice could stitch you back together without meaning to.

sometimes, after class, you’d walk beside her in the hallway. not touching. not talking. just walking. your shadows brushed the same patches of linoleum. she didn’t ask you to leave. and that was something.

on good days, when the clouds weren’t too heavy and the guilt in your chest hadn’t swallowed your spine, she’d look at you with something close to softness. like she remembered. and once, she said something funny—dry and sharp, about enzymes being the unsung heroes of the human body—and it made you laugh out loud. she looked at you like she didn’t mean to make you do that. like she hadn’t meant to reach you.

but she had.

still, you saw it. in the way her fingers curled tight around her pen. in the way her gaze sometimes lingered too long before pulling away.

the question lived in her eyes. do i let you back in? will you leave again?

and you couldn’t blame her. you didn’t have a promise that would mean anything. your mouth had already broken the ones that mattered.

so you said nothing. just sat beside her during study hour. your notebooks side by side. pens moving in quiet synchrony. the silence wasn’t empty—it was full of questions neither of you were ready to ask.

then one afternoon, you stayed late to finish a group project. just the two of you. sunlight filtered low and golden through the windows, catching the strands of her hair and making them shimmer like copper. she was writing notes. focused. calm.

you glanced at her. just once.

and she looked up. caught you.

you didn’t look away fast enough.

“what?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

you shrugged, eyes flicking back to your notebook. “just glad we’re talking again.”

her fingers stilled on the page. she blinked. and for a heartbeat, you thought she’d get up and leave, close the door, draw the line again.

but she didn’t.

“me too,” she said softly. it wasn’t a whisper, not quite. but it was steady.

it wasn’t a promise nor was it forgiveness. it was just a flicker.

and you, like the fool that you were, cupped your hands around that tiny flame and swore to keep it alive.

even if you burned. especially if you burned. even if it meant burning all over again.

it took weeks. not just glances or passing words anymore—but real time. quiet hours spent in the same room. late study nights. group projects that turned into gentle conversations. she laughed at your jokes again, sometimes. rolled her eyes, but with softness, not distance. you learned to be patient. to not reach for her hand even when your own ached to hold something steady. you waited. not because you were uncertain. but because love wasn’t a thing to be rushed. not when it had been broken before.

sometimes you’d catch her watching you when she thought you weren’t looking. sometimes her gaze lingered too long. sometimes you swore she almost smiled.

you remembered everything. the way she used to tuck her hair behind her ear when she was thinking. the way she’d tap her pencil twice before writing something down. you memorised it all over again, like it was a new language and you were desperate to be fluent in her.

you found excuses to be near her. in the lab, you offered to be partners. she agreed without looking up. you told yourself that meant something. maybe it did. maybe it didn’t. either way, you held onto it.

and then came the day when your heart couldn’t take the quiet anymore.

you’d spent the afternoon helping her carry boxes for the science fair—oscillating models and half-finished posters, that kind of thing. she was laughing—really laughing—for the first time in what felt like forever. and for a second, the world tilted right again. like maybe things could be good. maybe they already were.

so you did it. you asked her to meet you on the rooftop of the old library building after sunset. said you had something important to say. she blinked at you for a second. hesitant. wary. but she said yes.

the sun was already gone when she climbed up the fire escape. the sky was navy blue and full of quiet stars. you were already waiting, pacing, rehearsing the words you’d said a hundred times in your head.

she stepped forward, folding her arms, her expression unreadable. “you’re being weird,” she said.

you swallowed. “i know.”

silence.

then—“i love you.”

your voice barely broke the air, but it was enough.

her breath caught. her shoulders tensed.

you kept going, even though your heart was racing like a train without brakes.

“i never stopped. even when i left. even when it hurt. i thought i was protecting you, hanni. i thought if i stayed away, you’d be safe.”

her eyes didn’t soften. not yet.

“but it just made us both miserable,” you whispered. “and i was wrong. i know that now. you don’t need protection. you need honesty. and... love. and i want to give you that, if you’ll let me.”

she stared at you like she was trying to solve an equation with too many variables.

“you left,” she said, voice small. “you said you loved me and then you left.”

“i know,” you said, stepping closer, hands trembling. “and i won’t pretend like that didn’t happen. i broke your heart. and i hate myself for it every day. but hanni, i swear to you—i won’t leave again. not unless you tell me to.”

the wind moved gently through her hair. the city below buzzed faintly, distant and irrelevant.

you reached into your pocket and pulled out a tiny folded paper—creased and worn. it was the note you’d written weeks ago but never had the courage to give her. on it was a sketch—her and you, sitting under the stars, the words “worth it” scrawled at the bottom.

“i made this the day after the funeral,” you said. “because even when i was hurting, even when everything felt too big and too heavy, loving you still felt right.”

she looked at the drawing. then at you.

and then, like sunlight cutting through cold—she stepped forward.

“i’m scared,” she said.

“me too,” you breathed.

“but i still love you,” she whispered. “even if i didn’t want to.”

you laughed, a broken, relieved kind of sound.

“so… what does this mean?” you asked.

she took your hand and it was the first time you’d touched her in what felt like forever.

“it means,” she said slowly, “you get one more chance. and you don’t get to waste it.”

you squeezed her hand gently. “i won’t. i swear.”

“don’t make promises you can’t keep,” she said mockingly.

you smiled, eyes shining. “but those are the best ones to make.”

and that night, under a sky full of stars and unsaid fears, you kissed her—softly, carefully, like a prayer—and for the first time since everything fell apart, you let yourself believe that love might just be enough.

because even broken hearts can burn again.

even flickers can become flames.

the days were softer now.

sometimes you woke up and forgot what it was like to ache. her laugh had that effect on you. it echoed through the halls, through your chest, and settled in the cracks you used to hide behind. there were moments—brief and blinding—where you almost believed you could be normal. just a girl in love. just two science nerds holding hands on the way to class.

the world was quieter with her hand in yours.

she wore your hoodie now, the one with the tiny web stitched inside the pocket. her hair tied messily. her knuckles ink-stained from taking notes. she tapped her pencil on your desk during class, nudged your shoulder when you got distracted, smiled at your jokes before you finished them.

and you smiled back. really smiled. with teeth and dimples and something in your chest you hadn’t let breathe in a long time.

but even sunlight casts shadows.

he started showing up in the corners of your eyes.

mr. pham.

not alive. not even speaking. just... standing. watching. arms crossed like the day he caught you sneaking onto their rooftop. eyes sharp. unreadable.

you’d blink and he’d be gone.

you never told hanni. how could you?

but some days, when she touched your cheek and kissed the corner of your mouth, you felt ice bloom down your spine. not because of her—but because of him. because of the promise. because of the look in his eyes when he told you to protect her. because you said yes, even though it shattered something inside you.

you started hesitating more on patrol. paused longer on rooftops. you couldn’t bear to swing past the district station anymore. every siren made you flinch.

but you always came back to her.

every day, she waited by your locker. every night, she texted you goodnight, even if you hadn’t replied for hours. and every time you looked at her, really looked, it felt like forgiveness. like the world was saying, try again.

still, she noticed.

one afternoon, in the quiet lull between school and golden hour, you were at her house. she was reading something on her bed, and you were pretending to do the same, but your fingers kept twitching, tapping against your thigh. your mind kept drifting. always back to him.

“y/n,” she said softly.

you looked up, startled. her eyes were on you, steady and warm and a little sad.

“where’d you go?”

you opened your mouth. closed it. shrugged. “just tired.”

a lie. the kind she’d stop believing soon.

but instead of calling you out, she set her book aside and crawled closer. her hand found yours, curling around it like it belonged there.

“you’ve been pulling away again,” she murmured. “is it... about my dad?”

you froze.

she didn’t look angry. just honest. just scared, but not of you.

“sometimes,” you said quietly, voice like ash, “i see him. not really. just... sometimes i think he’s still watching me. judging. wondering if i’m keeping my promise.”

her fingers tightened around yours.

“and are you?”

you blinked at her.

“keeping it?” she clarified. “are you protecting me?”

you didn’t answer. because protecting her meant walking away. it meant leaving again. and you hadn’t. not this time.

hanni’s other hand cupped your jaw. she leaned in, her forehead resting against yours. her breath was warm. steady.

“i know he wanted you to keep me safe,” she whispered, “but he didn’t know what that would cost you. he didn’t know how much i—how much we love each other.”

your breath hitched.

“if being with you puts me in danger,” she said, “then fine. that’s my risk to take. not his. not yours.”

your eyes stung. you tried to pull away, but she wouldn’t let you.

“look at me,” she said. “i choose this. and i will every time. i choose you.”

you wanted to believe it. god, you did believe it. but some part of you still trembled with every kiss. every time she held your hand too tightly. every time her heart beat against your ribs and you thought, i could lose her.

but right now, she wasn’t afraid.

and maybe, for tonight, that could be enough.

you kissed her like a prayer. slow. shaking. she kissed you back like a promise—one stronger than the one you’d made to a dying man.

when she pulled away, she smiled. not like before. not soft or shy.

this one was steady. certain.

and when you closed your eyes, there was no ghost behind them. no shadow in the corner.

just her.

and for now, for this, it was enough.

you hadn’t meant to wake up like that—breath caught sharp in your throat, heartbeat thudding like a war drum in your chest. the nightmare had torn through your sleep like claws, dragging you back to a rooftop soaked in rain and blood. to a promise you made on shaking knees. to a man gasping for air, begging for his daughter’s life.

and now you were here again.

not in that moment, but somewhere far too close to it.

you stood outside hanni’s window, rooftop beneath your feet and the city stretching out like it always did—loud and indifferent. the night air chilled your fingers even through your gloves. you hadn’t even realised you’d suited up until you caught your reflection in the glass. spidergirl. not y/n. not the girl who had kissed hanni on this very rooftop just days ago. not the girl who had made her laugh so hard she cried.

just spidergirl. you were always spidergirl when you did this.

you knocked once, softly, and she opened the window like she had been expecting you. like she always was.

her smile flickered when she saw the suit. she didn’t say anything. she just stepped aside and let you climb in, like this was normal. like this wasn’t the beginning of the end.

“you okay?” she asked quietly, brushing hair from her face. her voice was sleepy and a little concerned. she was wearing one of your hoodies—probably the one you left here two weeks ago. her room smelled like lavender and detergent and home.

but that warmth was the last thing you deserved.

“what happened?” she asked again, stepping back.

you didn’t move. didn’t answer. just stood there, mask on, chest aching, lungs full of things you didn’t know how to say.

she waited.

and then you shattered.

“i can’t do this anymore,” you said. your voice cracked like something small and broken. “i can’t keep pretending this is okay.”

her brows furrowed. “pretending?”

“that you’re not in danger every second we’re together. that i can just love you and nothing will go wrong.”

hanni blinked, and something in her expression faltered. “where is this coming from?”

“a nightmare,” you said. “no. a memory. your dad… he was dying, and he looked at me like i did it. like it was my fault.”

her voice was gentle, but firm. “it wasn’t.”

you paused. the memory surged again—his voice, his blood, the way he looked at you like you were both his worst fear and his only hope.

“i think we need to stop seeing each other.”

and just like that, the silence shattered.

hanni’s face folded in on itself. not angry. just… wounded. like you had taken something beautiful and crushed it in your hand.

“you’re breaking up with me again?” she asked, disbelieving. “now?”

you still couldn’t look at her.

“i have to. i keep putting you in danger. i can’t—i can’t sleep without dreaming of the worst-case scenario. every time i’m with you, i’m scared it’s the last time.”

you stayed silent. and despite the silence, you kept your mask on and didn’t dare meet hanni’s eyes.

“you don’t get to do this,” she said, her voice rising further. “you don’t get to show up in the middle of the night and decide for both of us.”

“i wasn’t trying to hurt you.”

“then stop,” she snapped. “stop acting like love is something dangerous. i’m not going to fall apart just because you love me.”

you turned your face away, jaw tight behind the mask. your hands curled into fists.

“i see you die every night,” you said, voice soft and shaking. “you don’t know what that does to me.”

“and you think i didn’t notice when you disappeared?” she said, her voice beginning to fray. “you think i didn’t feel it every time you pulled away? when the texts stopped, when you vanished like i meant nothing?”

you couldn’t look at her.

“i love you,” you said. it came out like a confession. like a wound.

“then stay.”

you flinched. “i can’t.”

“why? because of a promise?”

you didn’t answer. because you knew your answer was yes. because fear had clawed up your spine like it always did. because if something had ever happened to her and you were the reason, you’d never have forgiven yourself. because love, to you, still meant sacrifice. still meant leaving.

and because she looked at you like you were worth the risk—and you weren’t sure she was right.

she stepped back then, like she was trying to protect herself from the words you hadn’t said.

“so that’s it?”

you nodded. “i’m sorry.”

you didn’t wait for her to say your name—didn’t wait for the look she’d give you when she realised you meant it. 

you swung off the rooftop before your heart could change its mind.

you swung through the city like it was the only way to stay sane.

the wind in your ears, the rooftops flying by in blurs of steel and brick, the weight of gravity pulling you down and the webline pulling you forward—it was the only rhythm left that made sense. it was all muscle memory now. the city pulsed below you like a wounded thing, flickering with sirens and neon and breathless cries for help. and still, none of it could drown out her name.

her name lived under your ribs. soft, painful, echoing. your heart ached with every rooftop passed, every second spent above a world where she no longer held your hand.

you saw her at school sometimes. that was the worst part. not the bruises. not the late nights. not the dream of her dying again and again beneath the lizard’s claws. no, it was the ordinary things that hurt the most.

seeing her brushing past you in the hallway, her backpack slung lazily over one shoulder. seeing her in chemistry, head bent over her notebook, pencil tapping as she annotated diagrams of cellular respiration like her heart wasn’t broken. seeing her laugh—god, laugh—with someone else during lunch. not the kind of laugh she gave you, not the kind that wrapped around your neck like summer air, but still—it was a laugh. and you weren't the reason for it anymore.

you kept your distance. that was the deal you made with yourself. no more climbing to her window at midnight. no more stolen moments of warmth between bruises. no more selfish love.

because that’s what it had become, hadn’t it?

you loved her so much, you left her.

you wished you could stay. you wished that was enough. but it never had been, had it? the shadows always came back. and you always followed them. not because you wanted to—but because someone had to.

and still—still—when you saw her smile at someone else in the hallway, your chest squeezed like it didn’t know what to do with all that ache. like it didn’t know whether to be happy that she was okay, or broken that she was healing without you.

you were pulling away. and she was letting you.

but neither of you had stopped hoping. not yet. not entirely.

and maybe that was worse. maybe that was the cruelest part. because there was still warmth between you. the kind that lingered in silence, in the corners of your shared memories. just enough to feel. just enough to miss when it’s gone.

just a flicker.

but it hurt like a flame.

sometimes you found yourself looking for her reflection in windows. watching her from across the courtyard like you were stuck behind glass. her hair in a loose braid. a bandaid on her finger. her lips mouthing the steps of mitosis under her breath. and you’d wonder if she still thought about you. if she still dreamed of the nights you lay side by side, breath tangled, hearts too full.

but the guilt always came back.

the guilt always won.

so you stayed quiet. you laughed at the right times in class, answered questions when the teacher called your name, pretended your smile wasn’t made of paper. and every night, you pulled on the suit like armor and bled for a city that would never know your name.

you tried to be brave. you tried to be spidergirl.

but even spidergirl couldn’t stop thinking about hanni.

she lived in your silence. in your hesitation. in every part of you that wanted something soft and safe and too bright for someone who only existed in shadows.

you wished she hated you.

it would’ve made things easier.

but she didn’t. she still looked at you like maybe she could forgive you. and maybe that was the most painful thing of all—that she still had that light in her, and you weren’t sure if you deserved to be near it again.

so you let her go. but not all the way.

you let yourself hope—just a little. just enough to hurt.

just enough to wonder… if someday, somehow, she might look back. and you’d be brave enough to take off the mask. and maybe—just maybe—stay.

hanni hadn’t moved on. not really. 

people thought she had. she laughed again. tied her hair with yellow scrunchies. answered questions in class like nothing had ever broken inside her. and maybe that was the trick—she didn’t look broken. she looked like someone who was healing. someone who was learning how to live without something she once held close.

but you knew better.

you saw her at school, always in the corner of your eye. you never looked for her—never directly—but your eyes found her anyway. like she had been stitched into your peripheral vision. like your heart had been trained to search for her, even when your head begged it not to.

she still smiled. still watched.

sometimes, you felt her gaze on your back like a gentle hand—not pushing, not pulling—just there. quiet. steady. waiting.

and god—it hurt more than any bullet ever could.

because you knew what bullets felt like. the sharpness, the heat, the panic. you had been grazed, torn through, stitched up more times than you could count. but none of it had ever settled into your bones the way she did now. none of it ever lingered like this ache. this awful, tender, impossible ache.

she was waiting for you. maybe she shouldn’t have—but she was.

you saw it in the way she still left space beside her during study hour. in the way she glanced toward the door when you were late to chemistry, even though she didn’t need to anymore. in the way she picked at the label on her water bottle when your name was mentioned, like she was holding something back.

you wondered what would happen if you sat beside her again. if you said something soft. something true. you wondered if she’d still listen.

but you didn’t. you said nothing.

you just watched her from a distance and pretended your silence was safety. you wore it like a shield, even as it rotted you from the inside.

she passed you once in the hallway. close enough that your arms brushed. she didn’t flinch. she only glanced up at you and nodded, slow, like she was giving you time. and her eyes—those eyes—were still kind. not like they used to be. not wide and glowing. but something quieter. something deeper. like a flame beneath glass.

you felt yourself swallow hard. your breath stuttered in your throat.

because she still saw you. and somehow, that was worse than being invisible.

sometimes you wondered what she told herself. did she think you’d come back? that you’d knock on her window again one night like nothing had ever happened? or did she know—did she know you were still out there, swinging from rooftops, haunted by a promise and a man who died on your watch?

you wished she hated you—you really did—because hate would mean she’d let go.

but she hadn’t—not completely. and maybe that was the cruel part. maybe that was what kept you up at night more than the guilt or the blood or the dreams. the knowing. the unbearable knowing that if you turned around, if you just reached—she’d still be there.

waiting. still.

and you didn’t know if that made her brave or foolish. but you knew what it made you.

a coward.

because love—real love—didn’t leave. not like you did. not when it still had a heartbeat.

so you walked past her in the halls, your steps slower than they should have been, your head bowed just slightly. and she walked past you too, her eyes catching yours for half a second.

not a question. not a plea.

just… hope. just that quiet, stubborn flicker that refused to go out.

and every time, you wondered how something so gentle could hurt so much.

you couldn’t stay away. the city sprawled beneath you like an endless maze of memories, and every rooftop you swung past felt hollow without her waiting on the other side. the night was cool, the air sharp with the faint smell of rain that hadn’t quite fallen yet. somewhere far off, a siren wailed, distant and lonely, like a sound made just for you.

and before you even realised, you were there again—right outside her window again. the same window you’d stared at in sleepless nights, the one that held the ghost of promises you never fully kept. your heart hammered, not from exertion, but from the ache of everything you’d lost and everything you still wanted.

your knuckles hovered just above the glass. you hesitated. then, finally, the knock—soft, almost shy, like maybe you didn’t want her to hear it. or maybe you did. maybe you needed her to.

you held your breath, waiting, heart pounding like a drum you couldn’t quite control. after a moment, the curtains at her window fluttered—a slow, hesitant movement that felt like a fragile heartbeat.

the fabric was drawn aside, and then the window slid open with a faint creak. her face appeared, framed by the dim, golden light of her room. her hair was down, loose and slightly tangled. her eyes—wide, searching—found you through the dark like they’d been waiting. she looked vulnerable, raw—like she’d been waiting for something she wasn’t sure would come. like she had been holding in so much, and finally, here in this quiet night, some of it was slipping free.

you felt your chest tighten. despite the exhaustion etched on her face, despite the sadness that seemed to hover just beneath her skin, she was still the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen.

you smiled awkwardly, the kind of smile that tries to hide everything—guilt, fear, love all tangled up inside. your fingers went up, trembling slightly, and you tugged off your mask, letting it fall with a soft thud to the floor. your hair was wild and messy and you ran your fingers through it, half to fix it, half just to do something with your hands.

your smile wobbled—nervous, unsure. the kind that tried to say “i love you” and “i’m sorry” at the same time but said neither.

her eyes flickered over your face, lingering on every line, every shadow. she didn’t say anything for a moment—just watched you with a quiet intensity that made your heart ache.

“you,” she breathed, a word heavy with a thousand things unsaid.

your chest stung.

“hey,” you breathed, barely above a whisper.

there was a pause. neither of you moved. the space between you felt both impossibly close and miles away, full of shadows you couldn’t quite reach through. and still, she stepped back, pulling the window open wider. a silent invitation.

you carefully climbed through, the cool air of her room brushing your skin as you moved inside. the room smelled faintly of jasmine and old books, a softness you hadn’t felt in a long time.

the door was closed. the light was warm. the world outside didn’t exist here.

you stood in front of her, not quite touching, like if you moved too fast, she’d disappear.

she looked up at you, and in her face was every sleepless hour, every quiet moment she’d waited. and you looked back at her like she was the only real thing in the world.

you lifted a trembling hand to brush a stray lock of hair behind her ear. your fingers lingered there, tracing the curve of her jaw with gentle reverence, like you were trying to remember every line, every detail of her face.

she didn’t flinch. didn’t pull away. her breath hitched, and you felt it—how close the edge still was. how fragile this moment could be.

then, without warning, your lips found hers—soft at first, searching, like you were trying to say everything without words. but the moment she leaned into you, everything shifted. the kiss deepened, growing hungrier, messier. her hands found your shoulders, then your neck, pulling you closer like she couldn’t stand the space between you. your fingers curled into the fabric of her shirt, anchoring yourself to her, to this.

you moved together like something inevitable—like you’d been holding this in for too long and the dam had finally cracked. her lips were warm and desperate against yours, and when her fingers slid into your hair, tugging just slightly, it pulled a quiet sound from your throat. you felt everything all at once—her breath catching, her body pressing against yours, the rush of heat that made your chest ache.

you backed her toward the wall without meaning to, one step, then another, until she was there beneath your hands, her breath warm against your cheek. your lips broke apart only for a second, gasping, and then found each other again, even more urgent than before. it wasn’t careful. it wasn’t clean. but it was real—raw and aching and alive.

your hand found her waist again, sliding around her back as you pressed into her, needing her close. she fit there, perfectly, like something lost and found. you kissed her like the world was ending, like maybe it already had, and this was all that was left. and somehow, despite the heat, despite the trembling that ran through both of you, there was something unspoken holding it all—something soft beneath the fire. it was what you both needed, even if it didn’t fix everything.

when you finally pulled back, your foreheads rested against each other, breaths ragged, lips swollen. the warmth of her skin grounded you in a way the city never could. her skin was warm. your hands were still on her waist, steadying yourself like the world tilted when she wasn’t this close. you could feel the rise and fall of her breath, the quick beat of her heart through the thin fabric of her shirt.

“i missed you,” you whispered, voice barely steady.

she smiled, the kind of smile that’s a little sad but still hopeful. “i know,” she said, voice soft, almost fragile.

you didn’t say sorry. you didn’t promise that you wouldn’t leave again. the truth was heavier than words could hold. the guilt, the fear—they were still there, lurking just beneath the surface.

but she didn’t ask for those things. instead, she stepped into your arms, as if somehow this moment made the uncertainty feel a little less sharp.

you held her close, careful not to crush the delicate thing between you. the silence stretched, but it wasn’t empty—it was waiting. waiting for something neither of you could name yet.

and even though the problems weren’t solved, even though the future still felt uncertain, in that quiet space between heartbeats, you let yourself believe maybe—just maybe—this flicker could grow into something stronger.

for now, that was enough.

the day began like it had forgotten the past. no nightmares. no rooftop ghosts. no blood behind your eyelids.

just sun through your window, warm and golden, and her name on your tongue like a prayer you didn’t mean to say out loud.

you saw her before first period, standing by her locker, one foot tapping the floor as she balanced a book on her knee and tried to fix her hair with the other hand. she didn’t notice you right away. her face was scrunched up in quiet frustration, lips pursed as a loose strand refused to stay tucked behind her ear.

and for a moment, you just watched. let yourself memorise her again. the small things. the way she hummed under her breath when she read. the curve of her smile when it finally settled, unbothered and soft.

then she looked up and caught you staring. her eyes widened, then softened.

 "you’re staring," she said.

 "i do that sometimes."

 "creepy."

 "flattering."

 she rolled her eyes. but she smiled.

you walked her to class. talked about nothing. the clouds. the vending machine still being broken. she said her chem teacher was a sadist. you said yours probably had nightmares about molarity equations. she snorted into her sleeve. and you felt something settle inside you—something that hadn’t felt calm in weeks.

in physics, she leaned over her desk and whispered, “explain this to me before i go insane.”

 you looked at her worksheet. “you’re already insane.”

“so help me before i get worse.”

you scooted closer. tried not to smile too wide when her arm brushed yours. explained the formula slowly, pointing to where the force and displacement aligned, and her eyes followed your finger like it was the most important thing in the world.

"why do you know this stuff so well?" she asked.

 "because i’m secretly a nerd," you said.

 "not secretly."

 you nudged her with your shoulder. she didn’t nudge you back, but she also didn’t pull away.

at lunch, she pulled you down beside her before you could think twice. her tray bumped yours, and she handed you her juice box without asking. you blinked.

“i don’t like grape,” she said simply.

“i do,” you said, even though you didn’t.

“then we’re even,” she replied, taking a bite of her sandwich, chewing slowly like nothing had changed.

and maybe, for a few hours, it hadn’t. for a few hours, the world tilted just right.

after school, you offered to walk her home. she hesitated for the briefest moment. then nodded.

you walked slow. too slow, probably. like you were trying to delay the end of something sweet. she talked about the project she was doing for bio—enzymes, heat, all the ways protein could fall apart. you listened like it was poetry. she noticed.

“you’re staring again,” she said, without looking at you.

“can you blame me?”

“you’re still cheesy,” she muttered, but she was smiling, and the sky was turning orange above her, and you swore she glowed.

on the steps of her apartment, you stopped. her key dangled from her fingers.

“wanna come up?” she asked, hopeful, nervous.

you looked away.

there were sirens in the distance. you could feel the weight of the suit in your bag. a familiar ache in your chest—one that never really left.

“i can’t,” you said, too quiet.

her face didn’t fall, not exactly. but something behind her eyes dimmed.

“right,” she said. “you’ve got... things.”

“it’s not like that.”

she nodded like she understood. like she was used to it. and she was. she shouldn’t be, but she was used to the feeling.

you stepped closer, hesitated, then leaned in. she didn’t pull away. your breath touched her lips. your hand hovered near her cheek. 

“i have to finish that paper,” you whispered.

she opened her eyes. looked at you. and god—she looked tired. not of you. just tired of waiting for something you never promised to give.

“okay,” she said. 

you didn’t move. neither did she. and in the end, it was you who turned away first.

you didn’t look back. but her presence followed you anyway.

later, as you swung through the city—rooftops passing in blurs and the wind biting your skin—you kept thinking about how close she had been. how the sunlight had turned her hair gold. how she had waited for you to close the space between you.

you tasted the lie on your lips. not a big one—just small enough to swallow.

she didn’t know you were headed toward danger. toward alleyways soaked in shadow. toward a name you still didn’t say out loud.

but she smiled at you anyway. she shared her juice box. she listened when you spoke, and spoke when you listened.

and for one golden day, you let yourself believe. maybe this time.

even if it wasn’t forever. even if the danger crept close again.

you lied—just a little. but it was enough to make your chest ache.

because the truth was never far behind. and neither was she.

it happened fast—like most things in your life lately.

a scream shattered the quiet, tearing through the cold air like it didn’t belong to anyone. and just like that, you were already moving. there wasn’t time to think, not when fear crackled in your ribs like lightning, not when someone needed saving.

your suit clung to your skin like instinct. you vaulted off the rooftop without hesitation, the wind slicing past your face, sharp and familiar. below, a man in a ski mask was dragging someone down an alley, a glint of metal in his hand, something darker flickering in his eyes.

you dropped in without ceremony, landed with a crunch of gravel and a tilt of your head.

“hey, don’t you know it’s rude to ruin someone’s night?” you called out, voice light, steady, even as adrenaline thrummed in your veins. “also, terrible outfit. like, painfully cliché.”

the man spun around, startled, his grip tightening on the gun.

“you’re just a kid,” he snarled.

you webbed the weapon out of his hand before he could raise it, the gun clattering uselessly to the pavement behind you. “and yet, here you are—getting your ass handed to you by one.”

he lunged. you ducked, swift and fluid, your body twisting under his swing. you landed a sharp kick to his ribs, sent him sprawling into a trash bin. but he wasn’t done—he scrambled to his feet, pulled a second gun from his jacket.

you saw the trigger move before you heard the sound.

the shot rang out like thunder in a tunnel.

pain bloomed hot and immediate in your left arm, the force knocking you back a step. your breath caught as blood soaked through the suit, warm and fast. still, you didn’t let yourself fall. didn’t let him see the pain.

instead, you webbed his feet to the concrete, yanked him off-balance, and pinned him with a final shot of webbing to the alley wall.

“you just had to make this dramatic,” you muttered, pressing your palm against the bleeding wound. “can’t even bleed in peace anymore.”

your knees buckled slightly as you launched yourself upward, each swing from building to building tugging at your arm. you clenched your jaw through it. forced yourself to keep going.

you didn’t even realise where you were heading until the fire escape came into view.

her window.

you landed hard, knees thudding against the metal railing. the world swayed for a moment, blurred around the edges. you blinked it back, knocked on the glass with a shaky knuckle.

just once.

the curtains fluttered. and then she was there, eyes wide, barefaced and soft in the lamplight. sleep still clung to her, but the worry chased it away fast.

she unlocked the window and pushed it open. the night air rushed in around her.

“y/n,” she breathed, like she wasn’t sure if she should be angry or relieved.

you didn’t answer. couldn’t.

she reached out anyway, helped guide you inside with steady hands. you nearly collapsed, legs trembling, shoulder screaming with pain.

“what happened?” she asked, voice low, trying not to panic.

you shook your head. “it’s nothing.”

“you’re bleeding.”

“still nothing.”

“shut up.”

she made you sit on the floor, back against the wall. you watched her cross the room quickly, pulling out the worn first aid kit from under her bed. her hands trembled for only a second before she dropped to her knees beside you.

her touch was gentle, careful as she peeled back the torn fabric of your suit. the bullet had grazed your upper arm—deep, but clean. she muttered something under her breath you didn’t quite catch.

“you need stitches,” she said. “but i’ll do what i can.”

you nodded faintly. her voice kept you grounded.

you watched her work. watched the way her brows pulled together, the way her bottom lip was tucked beneath her teeth, how her fingers moved with quiet confidence.

“i missed you,” you murmured, eyes locked on the ceiling, just loud enough for her to hear.

her hands didn’t pause. but her breath hitched.

she didn’t say it back.

not yet.

when she finished wrapping your arm, she didn’t let go. her fingers remained around your wrist, warm and careful, like she was afraid to lose you again.

“why do you always come back like this?” she asked softly.

you looked at her. really looked. even in the dim light, she was breathtaking—hair messy, eyes rimmed with sleeplessness, heart open in ways you didn’t deserve.

you didn’t have an answer. not one that wouldn’t sound like a broken promise.

instead, you leaned forward, just slightly, resting your forehead against hers.

she didn’t move.

you wanted to kiss her. you wanted to stay. but the city still called. and you were still who you were.

so when she finally drifted off beside you, her back slumped against the wall, her head tilted toward your shoulder—you slipped away.

you left without a sound—out the window, into the wind, bleeding and quiet.

you didn’t say goodbye. because you never did.

the rain came down slow, then heavy, soaking through your hoodie before you even reached the edge of the school parking lot. you kept your head down, hands stuffed into your pockets, hood tugged low over your eyes. it was easier not to look. not to search the crowd for her face like you always did.

you hadn’t spoken in days.

not since that night. not since the blood. not since you left before morning, the bandage she’d wrapped around your arm still clinging to your skin like a promise you’d never made.

and still, every time you turned a corner, you expected her to be there.

you didn’t see her at first—not until your foot hit the sidewalk and your breath caught for no reason. not until you looked up and saw her standing by the bike racks, soaked to the bone, arms crossed tightly over her chest like it was the only thing keeping her from unraveling.

she wasn’t letting you go this time.

you could’ve run. maybe you almost did.

but your feet betrayed you. they moved forward, one slow step after the other, until you stood in front of her, the rain curling at your lashes, dripping down your cheeks like sweat or tears—what was the difference anymore?

she didn’t speak at first.

her eyes traveled across your face, your soaked hair, the bruise peeking from under your collar. her voice, when it came, was small. tired.

“why do you keep doing this?”

you opened your mouth, but nothing came out. the words felt too heavy to lift.

“why do you keep leaving?” she asked again, firmer this time. “i wait. every time, i wait. and you still walk away.”

you looked at her then. really looked. her cheeks were flushed with cold, eyes red-rimmed, mascara smudged under her lashes. the rain blurred her edges, but it couldn’t hide the hurt in her voice. the quiet breaking.

“i’m trying to protect you,” you said, and your voice cracked around it.

she let out a shaky laugh. not because it was funny. because it hurt.

“no,” she said. “no, you’re not. you’re breaking me. again.”

the silence between you split wide and deep. thunder cracked in the distance, low and distant like a memory.

you didn’t mean to hurt her. but meaning never mattered as much as it should’ve.

“every time i think you’ll stay,” she whispered, “you disappear. you leave me with the pieces. and i pick them up, and i wait, and i hope. but i can’t keep doing this, y/n.”

your name in her mouth was a wound. soft, but bleeding.

“i had a dream,” you said, because it was the only truth you had left. “i saw you die.”

her expression softened. not because she forgave you. but because she knew you meant it.

“you think keeping me away will save me?” she asked. “do you think it hurts less, watching you leave than taking the risk of staying?”

you didn’t know what to say to that.

“i love you,” she said. “i don’t care if it’s dangerous. i don’t care if it’s messy. i just want you. not the version that disappears in the dark. not the one who says nothing and bleeds alone.”

you looked away. the streetlight shimmered against the rain, glowing like a second moon.

“i don’t know how to stay,” you said, quiet as a confession. “i don’t know how not to ruin things.”

she stepped closer. not to forgive you. but to let you feel how much it hurt.

“then let me ruin things with you,” she said. “because being left behind hurts more than anything else ever could.”

you closed your eyes.

the rain kept falling.

but for a moment, her hand brushed yours, fingers barely touching, as if asking—not demanding—just once, for you to stay.

you didn’t hold it. you just stood there. aching. unsure. and still so in love you could barely breathe.

and then the moment passed. and like always, you turned to leave.

but this time, she didn’t call after you. she just let the rain speak for her.

you were falling through yourself again. slipping in slow, uneven spirals. some days, the sky felt like it belonged to you. some days, you swore your feet had never left the ground. you moved through the city like a whisper, like a bruise no one could name. sometimes you wore the suit just to feel like someone else. sometimes you couldn’t even bear to touch it.

your mind was a mess of turning gears and cracked reflections. nothing stayed still. nothing held its shape. some mornings, you woke up believing you could do this—love her, save her, keep the world from breaking at the seams. other mornings, you couldn’t even look in the mirror. the shadows clung too tightly. your hands trembled. your chest ached.

you didn’t know what you were doing anymore.

one minute, you could still taste her lips on yours, soft and startled like a sunrise. the next, you saw her bleeding, limp in your arms, a nightmare with too much detail. blood on your palms, too familiar to be anything but memory. you shook it off. tried to. but it stayed, clung, echoed.

you loved her and that was the only truth that didn’t shift beneath your feet. you loved her. but was love enough to keep her safe? was love enough to keep yourself from running? 

you didn’t know.and god, it hurt to not know.

your thoughts never stayed quiet. they screamed and whispered, begged and warned. you should stay away. you should hold her closer. you should disappear. you should never let go.

you should stop loving her.

no. no, not that. never that.

you couldn’t stop, even if you tried.

she haunted your every corner. her laugh lived in the hollow of your throat. her smile burned behind your eyelids when you blinked. her voice lingered like a ghost in your ears, asking you to stay, to try, to let her in.

you couldn’t tell if you were healing or breaking.

every time you touched her hand, you wondered if it would be the last.

every time you saw her eyes, you feared the day they’d stop looking at you with love.

you tried to be strong. you tried to believe you could be enough for both of you. but sometimes you looked at your reflection and saw nothing but failure stitched into the seams of your suit.

you weren’t a hero. you were just a kid with broken dreams and too much love in the wrong places.

but still—still—you loved her. with everything you had. even when your hands shook. even when your voice faltered. even when you couldn’t promise her anything beyond your heart.

she was your constant in the chaos.

your still point in a spinning world.

and somehow, even when you were at your lowest, even when guilt cracked you wide open, that love remained.

it burned. it stayed. even when you weren’t sure if you would.

you hadn’t meant to walk that way.

honestly, you weren’t even sure where your feet were going until they stopped—and there she was.

just outside the back exit of the school building, half-shadowed beneath the awning where the rain couldn’t quite reach her. her backpack hung off one shoulder, and she was twisting the strap with her fingers like she wasn’t sure whether to leave or stay.

you froze.

she looked up.

your eyes met like they had so many times before—across hallways, between lab tables, under the heavy air of everything left unsaid. but this time, it was different. not painful exactly. just... exposed. like both of you had forgotten how to look at each other without remembering all the times you didn’t.

she didn’t smile and neither did you.

your throat tightened, but you nodded, slow. cautious. her head tilted slightly, the smallest twitch of something unreadable in her expression. you thought, maybe, she’d turn away. maybe this was too much.

but she didn’t.

instead, she stepped forward—not far, just enough to show that she wasn’t leaving. not yet. not this time.

you swallowed the ache in your chest. it still lingered, that awful twist of guilt and longing and shame. you hadn’t meant to stay away for so long. it wasn’t supposed to be like this—like every inch toward her felt like crossing a battlefield. like love was something you had to walk barefoot across glass to reach.

still, you took a step closer. she let you.

“hey,” she said, voice soft but steady. there was no blame in it. just a quiet kind of knowing. a thread of hope strung through hesitation.

you opened your mouth. nothing came. your tongue felt like stone. you hadn’t prepared for this, hadn’t built up the words. all you had was your guilt, your silence, and the tremble in your fingers.

she noticed.

her eyes flicked down to your hands, and slowly—carefully—she reached out. she didn’t grab. didn’t push. just let her fingertips ghost against yours, like asking a question without words.

you flinched.

just a little. not out of fear. not out of rejection. just out of the weight of it. and still, she didn’t pull away.

your breath hitched. you watched her face, the way her brows drew together, the way she kept her hand there, unmoving, waiting. her warmth bleeding into your cold fingers like sunlight on frost.

you didn’t deserve this. not the softness. not her patience. but god, how you wanted it. how you missed her in every way a soul could miss something.

you curled your fingers around hers, slow. hesitant. like it might break if you held on too tight.

her expression didn’t change, but her grip tightened.

“i didn’t think you’d come,” she whispered, and her voice cracked just enough to undo you a little.

you looked away. the rain was falling just past the awning, glittering in the soft streetlight. everything smelled like wet leaves and concrete.

“i almost didn’t,” you said.

the truth sat heavy between you.

you expected her to ask why. expected the weight of her voice pressing against all the reasons you hadn’t said before. but she didn’t. she just stood there with you in the quiet, like she knew the question wouldn’t help.

“but you’re here,” she said, and there was no question in it. just quiet acceptance. not forgiveness. not yet.

you nodded. “yeah.”

the silence that followed wasn’t empty. it breathed. it held you both in its arms and didn’t ask for anything more.

your hand still in hers, you glanced up again, slowly. her eyes were glassy in the low light, rimmed with tiredness, but still… still they held that same softness. that same wonder.

she stepped a little closer. your shoulders brushed. the contact sent something deep in you cracking open.

“i don’t know how to do this,” you said, your voice barely above a breath. “i want to. i do. but i’m still scared.”

she looked at you like she already knew that. like maybe she’d been scared too.

her thumb brushed over the back of your hand. “so am i.”

you blinked. she said it like it wasn’t a failure. like fear wasn’t a door slamming shut, but something you could walk through together, even with shaking hands.

“but i’m still here,” she added, and her voice didn’t shake that time.

your chest ached. your ribs felt too small for your heart. you didn’t speak, didn’t know how to. you just looked at her like she was the only thing in the world that made sense. and maybe she was.

maybe she always had been.

you didn’t say thank you.

you didn’t say sorry.

you just held her hand, standing in the space between leaving and staying, and for the first time in what felt like forever, it was enough.

the night was soft. a hush of wind through the trees, a warmth left over from the sun still lingering in the brick of the rooftop. stars blinked above the city, quiet and uncaring, and the skyline glowed faint orange and blue like it couldn’t decide if it wanted to sleep or stay awake forever.

you sat side by side, your legs dangling over the edge.

her shoulder brushed yours.

you hadn’t meant to talk. hadn’t planned to open the doors you’d kept bolted shut since the beginning. but maybe that was the thing about love—it wasn’t always planned. it just asked you to be brave, even if your voice shook. even if your heart did too.

and tonight, for once, you were tired of carrying it alone.

you looked down at your hands, the scars along your knuckles, the rough skin on your palms. you exhaled.

“he asked me to promise,” you said, quietly. “right before he…”

your throat closed. you didn’t say it. didn’t have to.

her gaze didn’t leave you.

you looked straight ahead, the city stretching out in front of you like a secret you were still afraid to tell.

“he said—if i loved you, i’d let you go.”

a pause. heavy. real.

“and i did. i tried. i did everything he wanted. i thought if i could just stay away, you’d be safe. like that would be enough.”

you bit your lip. the words were tumbling now. too fast, too raw.

“but it wasn’t. it just broke us. over and over. and still—i can’t stop thinking about it. the rooftop. the blood. how i couldn’t save him. and the dreams, hanni—i see you there too, sometimes. i watch you fall and i can’t catch you. and i wake up and i’m already breaking.”

she didn’t interrupt.

you finally turned to look at her. her eyes shimmered, soft with something that wasn’t pity. it was understanding. it was something deeper. something still standing after every collapse.

“i know i keep hurting you,” you whispered. “i don’t mean to. i just—i keep thinking, if something happened to you because of me… i wouldn’t survive that.”

you swallowed. your voice dropped again.

“and i don’t know what’s worse. losing you, or knowing i was the reason.”

the silence stretched.

and then she spoke.

“love isn’t weakness,” she said, gently but firmly. “not mine. not yours. not what’s between us.”

you looked at her. her expression was steady, clear.

“you don’t make me weaker. you don’t put cracks in me. you hold me together.”

your breath caught.

“i know what your life looks like,” she said, softer now. “i know the risk. i’m not pretending i don’t. but i’m choosing this. i’m choosing you.”

she reached out, touched your hand. warm. real.

“you keep trying to protect me by pushing me away. but you don’t see it’s what’s breaking me. not the danger. not the fear. the silence. the leaving.”

your eyes burned.

she scooted a little closer, her hand now fully covering yours. “i’m stronger with you. not without. and maybe—maybe you’re stronger with me too.”

you didn’t speak. you didn’t need to.

you leaned into her shoulder, your forehead brushing her temple. her hair smelled like something soft and familiar. and for the first time in a long time, you let yourself feel it—the weight in your chest loosening. the ache easing.

you were still scared. the fear didn’t vanish overnight.

but in this moment, with her hand in yours, her breath steady beside you—you didn’t feel alone in it.

and maybe that was the beginning of healing. not being unafraid. just being unafraid together.

you didn’t hear the green goblin’s cackle before you saw him. no—what you heard first was the whine of his glider splitting the wind above the city. then came the bombs, the chaos, the smoke rising into the sky like the city itself was burning. and somewhere in all that noise, all that fear, you knew: he was looking for you. or worse—he was looking for her.

you met him halfway across the skyline.

“you’re late,” he sneered, standing at the edge of the rooftop. “i was starting to think you forgot about me.”

“oh no,” you said, voice dry and sarcastic despite the tight knot in your chest, “i wouldn’t miss this date for the world.”

your body moved before your mind could catch up, launching forward with a sharp kick. he blocked it easily, laughing like it was all a game. his glider whirred behind him, circling like a vulture.

"you’re getting sloppy, spidergirl!" he shrieked, wild eyes shining like broken glass. "you’re soft. i can smell it on you."

you didn’t answer. didn’t dare. you were already bleeding—left shoulder, the same one that caught a bullet months ago. he was faster than before. stronger. crueler. you wondered what oscorp had done to him. you didn’t care enough to ask.

the two of you crashed into the side of a building, glass shattering around you. your breath caught in your throat. still, you fought. knee to his ribs, elbow to his chin. he laughed through the pain. 

every punch felt heavier than the last, every dodge slower than it should’ve been. your left arm was still sore from the last fight—you hadn’t had time to rest, not really. but you pushed through it, your breath shallow and burning.

he was strong, unpredictable, but you had something he didn’t. desperation.

but even as your fists connected and your webs tangled around him, something inside you twisted. something heavy.

where was she?

you hadn’t seen her all day. hadn’t heard her voice. not even from across the classroom. you’d been keeping your distance again—because distance meant safety, right?

then you heard it. a crash. a voice.

you spun midair, only to see her.

hanni. standing beneath a flickering streetlamp, eyes wide. breathless.

you froze.

"what are you doing here?!" your voice cut through the wind, sharper than you meant. "gp—get out of here, hanni. now."

she crossed her arms, defiant even in fear. "oh, what, i’m just supposed to let you handle this alone?"

behind you, the goblin cackled again. “oooh,” he purred. “spidergirl has a girlfriend.”

your heart stopped.

“how... sweet.”

you turned too late. he was already moving. the glider howled through the air. he slipped past you with terrifying ease, grabbing hanni by the arm. she yelped, legs kicking as he lifted her into the air like she weighed nothing at all.

"hanni!" you screamed, already leaping—already too slow.

the goblin lifted her into the sky, her scream tearing through you. 

“let her go!” you screamed, swinging after them with everything you had left. “you wanna fight me? fight me!”

he laughed, rising higher—hovering over the glass dome of the old clock tower. 

"gladly," he sneered—and he did.

she fell.

your body moved before your thoughts did. one web shot toward her, another toward the tower behind you. time cracked open. the world slowed. 

you caught her. barely. arms around her waist, your body between hers and the glass roof of the clock tower dome. you wrapped your body around hers, arms tight. you cradled her head, shielding her from the impact—shielding her head as you both slammed onto the clock tower’s glass roof. her eyes were wide, but she was breathing.

cracks spidered beneath you like veins.

"are you okay?" your voice broke on the edges. your hand shook as it cupped her cheek. "tell me you’re okay."

her fingers clutched at your suit. “i’m fine,” she whispered. “you caught me.”

you almost smiled. almost. 

a pumpkin bomb landed beside you, exploding with a sharp hiss of fire and glass. it shattered the dome beneath you. glass rained down. 

your web snapped taut as you both plummeted into the belly of the clock tower. your body twisted midair, webs shooting again—one, two, three—to slow your fall.

the wind roared past your ears. you landed hard, one knee buckling. hanni clung to you, her breath ragged against your shoulder.

you didn’t have time.

he was still here.

the goblin dove through the broken ceiling like a demon from the sky. his glider shrieked. you met him midair again, this time with a rage you hadn’t felt in weeks. your punches were wild, desperate. you didn’t hold back.

"stay away from her!" you screamed, voice shaking.

your mask was torn. one of your lenses cracked. the world looked like it was shattering in half.

you slammed him into the gears of the clock tower. sparks flew. he clawed at your side—sharp, jagged. you screamed. the pain lit your nerves like fire.

but you kept going.

you webbed him to the tower. the last punch cracked something in his helmet. he slumped, glider sparking. the wind stilled.

you didn’t breathe.

then—your web slipped.

“no—no no no—”

hanni’s scream snapped your head down. her weight yanked at your shoulder. your grip was faltering.

she was dangling again. the wires holding you both up strained and groaned.

"hold on!" you begged.

“i’m trying!” she gasped.

your fingers were slick with blood. your arm screamed with pain. your mask blurred from tears.

“just—just a little longer—”

her hand slipped.

you caught it again—barely.

her wrist was small in your palm. you clutched it like it was the last real thing in the world and when you finally pulled her up, cradling her to your chest, something inside you broke.

the guilt was louder than the relief.

you held her in your arms, chest heaving, the ruined clock tower groaning around you. and all you could think about was how close it had been. how you could’ve lost her.

how it would’ve been your fault.

she was safe—yes. but only for now.

the green goblin was unconscious. the tower was falling apart. you couldn’t stay. so you ran again.

you webbed her down gently—far from the wreckage, far from the fight. you didn’t say a word. didn’t dare.

you turned your back before she could stop you and you disappeared into the smoke.

you didn’t say goodbye. because this time, you didn’t know if you deserved to.

you hadn’t slept. not really. every time you closed your eyes, it was like falling into the ocean mid-storm—dark and endless, full of faces you couldn’t reach. her face. his. blood on your hands that wouldn't wash away, no matter how hard you tried. your body was tired, but your mind never stopped. it kept flipping through your memories like pages in a book that wouldn’t close.

the city felt too loud, too bright. every siren in the distance echoed inside your ribs. every rooftop you passed reminded you of a time when you felt braver. stronger. steadier. now you just felt like a ghost wearing a mask. and it was heavier than it used to be.

you disappeared for days. spidergirl went quiet. you stopped swinging. stopped saving. even stopped going to school. because you knew she’d be there. you knew you’d see her smile, or worse—her sadness. and that would break you all over again.

but she stayed in your mind. like fog at the edge of a mirror. always there. soft. persistent. you missed her so much it physically hurt. she wasn’t just someone you loved—she was safety. warmth. the only part of this life that felt like home. and you had left her again.

the guilt clawed at you. sometimes literally—phantom pain in your chest, in your spine. sometimes it was his voice, haunting your dreams, sometimes it was hers, saying your name like she was trying to pull you back from the edge. and maybe she was.

so when you saw her again, by chance—just her silhouette, standing near the old science wing of the school, under a sky that looked like it couldn’t decide whether to rain or shine—your whole body locked up. your feet didn’t move, but your heart did. violently.

she saw you too. you knew she did. she always did. and still, she waited for you to come closer.

your hands were shaking. you stuffed them into your hoodie pockets, but that didn’t stop the tremble in your jaw or the ache in your chest. every step you took felt like walking toward a memory instead of a person. and maybe that was true. because when you looked at her, all you saw was everything you lost. everything you still loved.

you stopped a few feet away from her. she was watching you with those eyes—gentle, steady, unreadable in a way that made you want to fall apart and hold her all at once.

the silence stretched between you, and your throat felt too tight to break it. and then she asked, in the softest voice:

“do you still love me?”

you tensed like she'd hit you. every bone in your body locked up. you felt everything all at once—heat, cold, fear, longing. suddenly hot, suddenly cool. suddenly sure, suddenly so afraid. the words caught in your throat like a sob that hadn’t been born yet.

your heart was beating so fast it felt slow. like it couldn’t keep up. like it didn’t know how.

she had that look on her face. not angry. not demanding. just—hopeful. quiet. like she already knew the answer but needed to hear it from you. needed to be sure you were still there beneath all that armor.

you swallowed. tried to breathe. your heart felt like it was fighting you from the inside out.

“…yes,” you said, so quietly it barely made it out. “i could never stop loving you.”

her breath hitched, just a little. and then—then she smiled. that warm, quiet, kind smile that you’d only ever seen on her face. like spring after a long winter. and you couldn’t understand it. you didn’t know how someone could still smile at you like that after everything.

you were still tense. your body didn’t know how to let go. your hands curled in your sleeves, your shoulders locked in place, like if you moved, the whole world might break again.

but she stepped forward, slow and careful, like approaching a scared animal. she didn’t rush you. didn’t ask for anything more. she just opened her arms.

and then—without thinking, without breathing—you stepped into them.

and it was like everything stopped.

the world, the wind, the ache in your chest—all of it just… paused.

you melted into her. fully. completely. like you’d been waiting to collapse into her since the moment you left. your arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her close, like you were afraid the universe might take her from you if you didn’t hold on tight enough.

she held you. didn’t speak. didn’t move. just held you, her chin resting lightly on your shoulder, her hands rubbing soft, slow circles into your back. you could feel her heartbeat against your chest. and yours slowly matched hers.

you were still crying, though you didn’t realise it until her shirt was damp beneath your cheek.

the tension in your muscles eased. the storm inside you hushed.

you weren’t okay. not yet. but for a second, just one second—you felt peace.

in that moment, love wasn’t a battlefield or a punishment. it was stillness. it was soft and warm and solid. and it was hers. and yours.

and wasn’t it love? wasn’t it love, to fall and still reach for her hand? wasn’t it love, to be broken and still show up? wasn’t it love, even if it hurt?

it wasn’t the easy kind. not the perfect kind. but the kind that holds you when you break. the kind that waits. the kind that sees the worst in you and chooses you anyway.

because right then, in her arms, you weren’t spidergirl. you weren’t a walking contradiction. you weren’t a promise failing to hold.

you were just a girl, finally safe enough to fall apart. finally brave enough to feel everything. and she held you like she’d never let you go.

and maybe that was enough. maybe for now, just this moment—just her arms around you, just your name whispered softly against your hair—was enough.

you breathed her in like oxygen and held on like you were drowning.

you stayed.

not because the fear left you—it didn’t. it still pulsed beneath your ribs like a second heartbeat. it still crept into your spine when the wind howled just a little too loud through the alleys. but for once, fear didn’t win. love did.

you stayed, even when every instinct told you to run.

even when your hands trembled lacing hers. even when you caught yourself checking over your shoulder every few steps, because danger had never needed an invitation. you stayed. not because you were brave—but because you were tired of running. tired of losing what made you feel alive.

she never asked you to promise again. not in words. not outright. but the way she looked at you—quiet, wide-eyed, waiting—it made something in you ache. not with guilt this time, but with longing. for peace. for something soft. something simple.

you sat with her on her bedroom floor, knees touching. she was playing with the edge of your sleeve like she was scared it would disappear if she stopped. the window was open. the city buzzed beneath you, but for once, it didn’t feel like it needed saving. not right now.

“you’re still here,” she whispered.

you nodded, not trusting your voice.

she touched your face so gently you almost didn’t feel it. fingers warm, brushing the edge of your jaw. you flinched—not out of fear, but disbelief. her touch always made you feel like something fragile. not broken, just precious.

you held her hand against your cheek.

“i’m scared,” you said, finally. “but i’m not going anywhere.”

her smile was small but real. the kind that grew behind the eyes first, not the mouth. “me neither.”

the moment was quiet, but not empty. there was weight in it. meaning. her thumb traced lazy circles into the back of your hand. it grounded you. like gravity—but kinder.

you walked with her after that. to school. to the bakery down the street. to the park where the grass was still damp and the sky was just starting to turn gold. you sat on benches and split pastries and let the sun hit your skin. you watched her laugh with sugar on her lips and thought, i could live in this moment forever.

at night, you didn’t swing alone anymore. not always. sometimes, she waited at the rooftop with a blanket and thermos, just to see you land. sometimes, she fell asleep there, head on your shoulder, the stars above you both like a lullaby in light.

you still fought. you still bled. the city never stopped needing you. but now, when you limped home, there was a light in her window. there was warmth in her arms. there was safety in her silence.

and every time you doubted—even for a second—she would find you. sit beside you in the dark and say nothing until your hands stopped shaking. and when you finally looked at her, scared and small and tired, she’d just say, “i know.”

and somehow, that was enough.

you told her everything. about the night on the rooftop. about your promise to her father. about how much it hurt to love her and still fear her being near you. she listened. she always did. and when you were done, breathless and broken open, she kissed your forehead like it was sacred.

“i choose this,” she said. “even when it’s hard. especially then.”

you rested your head against her shoulder and let the tears fall. you didn’t speak. didn’t move. just breathed. just existed beside her.

that night, when she touched your cheek and pulled you into her arms again, you didn’t tense. you melted.

you stayed.

and it was hard. but it was worth it.

[uzumaki-rebellion]

Love Blues (Part 2) by Uzumaki Rebellion

Pairings: Elijah "Smoke" Moore x Annie Moore (Sinners)

Warning(s): Mentions of Hoodoo, Explicit Sex, Supernatural Elements, Romance, Some Violence, Angst, Smoke's POV, Pre-Sinners movie.

Series Summary: Smoke Moore has returned from WWI with his twin brother Stack and meets Annie for the first time. Smitten immediately by the young Creole beauty, Smoke longs to make Annie his own. But he has to get past his brother and another rival suitor first.

Word Count: 3.8K

Masterlist HERE.

"Hey sweet mama

Baby don't you go too far

Hey sweet mama

Baby don't you go too far

I wanna know where you is every minute

Who you're with and where you are"

Keb Mo – "Love Blues"

Smoke and Stack sat across from their childhood friend Bo Chow in the back of the Chinese grocery store that served the negro community in Clarksdale.

Sitting among stacked boxes of canned goods and crates of fresh produce, Bo looked over the bank loan application that Smoke filled out for the opportunity to borrow enough money to open a business he and his twin dreamed of since they were little boys.

A juke joint.

Music and dancing steeped heavily in their blood directly from their father, Cash Moore. Their momma told them both tall tales of what their father could do with a banjo, but it was his guitar playing that set Clarksdale on fire.

That's when the rumors started.

Cash left the tenement field life to become a full-time musician a couple of years after the twins were born. He went on the road for weeks and came back with fistfuls of money and a strange new way of playing a Dobro Cyclops guitar with a sparkling silver resonator. He'd been a right-handed player all his life until he paraded back into Clarksdale playing left-handed.

There were whispers he bargained with the devil at the crossroads.

His new music sounded sinful. Lewd. Exciting. Capable of leading masses of good Christians astray if he ever recorded a song one day. When Smoke asked his mother about it, Taiwo only said that folks were afraid of the songs Cash sang because they changed people in ways that weren't natural.

One time, Cash played at a juke in a nearby town and a woman pulled a straight razor out of her purse and sliced her husband's throat in front of the entire joint. When asked why she did it, the woman told authorities the music revealed to her that her husband was cheating, and he planned to run off with another woman and their children from a second family he created.

At another gig Cash performed in, a docile husband listened and wept into his liquor at the bar. He whisked out a gun by the third song and shot dead two of his running buddies in cold blood. He told the crowd that the guitar whispered to him a plot by his friends to swindle him out of his share of profits distilling gin.

Taiwo hinted that his father's music could do more, but Smoke refused to believe in magical guitars and devils hanging out at crossroads around midnight. The only devils he knew for sure were white men and white women. So unless they were plucking his daddy's guitar strings, all the hearsay was just superstitious nonsense.

Taiwo seemed hurt by that response. Most times, any talk of their father upset her because of what Smoke had done to him a year before he left for war to escape the law.

"Whatchu think?" Smoke asked.

Bo nodded his head.

"I think you filled out everything properly. How much money do you have already for collateral?" Bo asked.

"Four hundred. Plus, we got our daddy's old car we can use, too," Stack said.

"That's good, Stack. Real good. Your exceptional conduct records in the military should help secure a decent amount to get y'all started."

Smoke asked him to look over their application because Bo's family successfully received loans to open their two grocery stores that had become an economic hub for the Chinese in Clarksdale. He'd known the Chows since he was seven, and they'd been the only Chinese people to interact with Black people. In Smoke's view, an invisible divider separated white, Black, and Asian people, and the delta's Chinese community received more leeway to flourish than the Black community. Some even started to act like white folks, turning their noses up at fraternizing with the colored customers who kept their pockets full of plantation field money.

"When you headed over to take it?" Bo asked.

"Today," Smoke said.

"Let me know how it turns out. They usually make a decision in two business days."

They all shook hands, and the twins headed out of the store through the front.

"Y'all going to Cornbread's jump up tonight?" Bo asked.

"You taking Grace?" Stack said.

Bo's face turned slightly pink in the cheeks. He brushed back a lock of glossy black hair from his forehead and grinned so hard that all of his teeth showed.

"Boy, you in love," Stack said.

"I'ma ask her to marry me."

"When?" Smoke said.

"Tonight."

"You ask her parents for permission first?" Smoke said.

"Not yet. But I want to know that she wants to marry me before I embarrass myself…in case she says no to a formal courtship later."

"That girl ain't sayin' no to you," Smoke said.

"I hope not. George Yun and his family have been taking meals together with Grace's family. I think they're planning to marry her off to him. He teaches at the new private Chinese school over near Maybelle."

Bo's forehead creased, and the smile turned limp on his lips. Stack placed a hand on Bo's shoulder.

"Well, if it don't work out with Grace, you can always go back to your fine ass ex, Trenna Wells, and have some negro Chinese babies. What would we call that mix? Negronese?"

"Man, shut up," Smoke said.

Bo laughed.

"I don't think Trenna's folks or my parents would approve of that. That whole situation blew up in my face."

"Y'all were just young, that's all," Stack said. "Had you been older, maybe things coulda been different."

"I don't think so, Stack."

"No need thinking 'bout the past. You got Grace now," Smoke said.

"See y'all tonight, then?" Bo said.

"We'll be there. Won't we, Smoke?"

Stack threw an arm around his twin, and Smoke nodded.

"C'mon, let's get this application over to the bank," Smoke said.

They wandered down the block to check on the old Model T-Ford their father left behind. It was one of the first expensive things Cash bought while traveling the road as a musician.

Before the severe personality change in him, he used to carry his sons and wife around like they were fancy people. Smoke missed that side of his father. The loving, playful side that kissed all over their mother and spoiled the twins. Maybe the devil did get to him after all.

Smoke and Stack eyed their surroundings. White people weren't fond of colored people lingering around town if they weren't there for business. Too many vagrancy laws were on the books to give those white racists an excuse to arrest them for loitering. New structures and businesses were being built as they strolled toward the Bank of Clarksdale. Passing King's Tamales, they smelled the strong savory odor of hot catfish, chitlins and the popular chicken tamales soaked in beef broth.

"Remind me to pick up some tamales for momma and Mrs. Henry," Smoke said.

Stack nodded, his attention diverted by some young white women walking out of a dress shop, giggling and staring at him.

"Just cuz you fucked a few Frenchies overseas don't mean that shit flies over here, baby brother," Smoke hissed under his breath.

Stack adjusted his focus on the bank looming in front of them.

They both stopped to check out their clothes, making sure their ties were straight and their suits still looked crisp from Taiwo's iron.

"We look good, nigga. Let's go get this money," Stack enthused.

"This shit gotta go through. That uppity Mound Bayou bank manager did us dirty, so this is our only chance to get legit funds to make this juke work."

Stack glanced at several white carpenters working on a new business structure. One worker was a negro, Beau Willie Jennings. Smoke had butted heads with him when they were younger. Beau Willie carried a stack of wood beams on his broad shoulders inside the unfinished frame and cut his eyes at the twins.

Smoke looked over their application again. Took a deep breath.

"Let's do this."

The bank was no cooler inside when the twins stepped across the threshold and looked around. Nothing but blotchy white faces peered back at them with looks of disgust. A pinched-face white man with salt and pepper slicked-back hair rushed over to meet them before they wandered any further toward a teller.

"May I help you…gentlemen?"

The banker wore round glasses that perched precariously at the end of his bulbous nose. Smoke held up the application.

"We'd like to apply for a loan," Smoke said with a steady voice.

"Step over here, please," the banker said, holding out his arm to usher them away from the white people waiting in two lines.

They followed, and Smoke noticed the name sign on a small desk hidden by the side of the main counters. Mr. Peacock.

"May we sit?" Stack asked, turning up the charm by smiling.

Mr. Peacock hesitated for a split second before nodding in the affirmative. He looked over the application as the twins settled into uncomfortable wooden chairs.

"Three hundred dollars is what you're requesting. You want a loan for what, exactly?"

"A juke joint," Stack said.

"A social club for the negro community," Smoke clarified.

"Social club?"

Stack looked over at Smoke. He cleared his throat as a signal for his younger brother to hush.

"Yes, sir. We envision a place where hard-working colored folk can come to listen to pleasant music…dance a bit. As you can see on our application, we have enough collateral to cover any fears of a default."

"Looks like you have all the money you need to open a place without our help."

Mr. Peacock dropped the application on his desk for Smoke to pick up.

"Well, sir. We're trying to establish credit and build up our reputation with the Clarksdale business community."

"I'm afraid we can't help you with that. You can try some of the new colored banks that are cropping up—"

"Ain't no colored banks in Clarksdale…sir," Smoke said.

Mr. Peacock folded his hands on his desk.

"Well, when one opens up, you two be sure to be the first in line."

"Dontcha have to have some type of review process? I heard it took two business days to get a final decision. We have cash money we can show you, and we also have a car that we're willing to put up for collateral, too," Stack insisted.

"As the bank manager, I make all final decisions on loans. The answer is no. Good day, gentlemen."

Mr. Peacock stood abruptly.

Smoke balled his hands into fists. It would be easier to rob a bank than to go about things the right way in the south.

"Y'all can give Chinese people money, but not us? Niggas that picked the cotton that built this bank, built this town…built this damn country?" Stack barked.

Smoke placed a hand on his brother's arm and rose from his seat. He left the application on the desk.

"I'd like a formal rejection in writing…by two business days."

"Nigger, you come back here in two days…. I'll have you both thrown in jail…or worse."

Smoke leaned in, ready to snatch the man across the desk, but Stack patted his midsection.

"Forget these crackers," Stack said. "We'll figure something out."

Smoke stormed out of the bank with his jaw clenched and his temples throbbing with anger. They headed to their car and Smoke kicked the front tire hard.

"We fucking fought for this country…fought for that cracker ass bitch's freedom, and we can't get a damn bank loan to build something for ourselves?!"

"Calm down, Smoke. We can use the money we have and just open up a smaller place."

"We can't do that. The cash we have now has to hold us for another year. I want us to pay off momma's house note and buy some land for us. The whole point of coming back here was to stay outta the fields and working a menial service job for these rednecks. Be our own bosses."

Stack nodded and held Smoke's shoulders.

"Look me in the eye," Stack said.

Smoke huffed and tried to keep his hands from shaking.

"Smoke?"

Stack shook him and Smoke locked eyes with him.

"We got this. Listen…we survived Germany. We have enough money to not work for a year or more if we stretch it out. Let's think about going somewhere else. Back east…or maybe even Chicago. Shit nigga, we some young hungry twenty-year-old men who traveled the world. Germany… France… England. We can do anything we set our minds to together. Right? Together forever!"

Stack shook Smoke's shoulders again to loosen him up. He grinned at his older brother.

"Let's go get these tamales for momma and 'nem, and think about a new plan. Ain't no rush. We did hard, brutal work three years overseas, so we deserve a long break. Relax."

Stack pulled out some tobacco and rolling papers from the car and prepared a cigarette for Smoke.

"Here," Stack said, handing it to Smoke.

Smoke stuck it between his thick lips and Stack lit it for him with a gold-plated lighter. He took a long drag and let the smoke flow through his nose. Stack joined him in smoking and they puffed away until a couple of nosy white men watched them from across the street.

Smoke threw the unfinished cigarette on the ground next to Stack's. They strode down the rust-colored dirt street with their heads on swivel, keeping aware of the proximity to whiteness all around them until they reached the negro-friendly side of the street where they could walk on a sidewalk.

"Stack! Smoke!"

Cornbread hustled over to them carrying a sack of flour, his wide grinning face as shiny as the sun.

"Happy birthday, nigga!" Stack said.

Stack patted Cornbread on the back and then pretended to box with him.

"Man, don't make me drop this flour. My momma will have a fit if I don't get this by her house in one piece. The jump up starts after four. We'll get a big roaring fire going later and have a good ole time. Some fellas from the Clover Hill plantation and Anderson plantation are coming over to play music, too. Hope you got some money to throw these dice tonight," Cornbread said.

"Y'all wanna see me run your pockets until they got holes in them?" Stack joked.

Cornbread chuckled.

"Man, you still owe me seventy-five cents from the last time we played. Don't think going to war made me forget about that!"

Smoke slipped inside King's Tamales while his brother joked around with Cornbread. The sweltering food shop had too many scents that messed with his head after being pissed off from the bank manager. A part of his rage stemmed from knowing that the racism was to be expected. Hope was a tender thing for a negro in America. Smoke wanted more, wanted something for himself and his brother that freed them from being casualties of white people's whims.

He stared at the various food items behind the display case. The fried livers looked enticing swimming in sautéed onions. Catfish, tasty greens cooked with meaty ham hocks, and the chicken tamales he wanted lured him to the end of the case.

"What put all those lines on your forehead?"

Smoke jerked his head up.

Annie.

"You work here?" he asked.

"Sure do. What can I help you with?"

A pale blue head wrap covered her lustrous hair. The heat from the shop drenched her smooth skin with perspiration, but she still looked lovely. The white apron that cinched her waist accentuated her figure. Smoke glanced over his shoulder and looked for Stack and Cornbread through part of the glass window that didn't have the painted menu items covering it. His twin and their friend cackled loudly like women, and their voices were loud enough to hear through the glass.

Two weeks had passed since the last time he laid eyes on Annie in person alone. He heard her voice in his mother's house early every morning, though. Taiwo and Annie shared a daily cup of coffee and went outside to harvest special plants and herbs that grew freely in the wooded area behind the property. He wouldn't come out of the bedroom he shared with Stack until after Annie left with his mother. By the time they came back to prepare the gathered items they collected, he and his brother were long gone, scouting for old friends and drinking at the old abandoned barn that would become the jump up location for Cornbread's birthday celebration.

Smoke and Stack slept in their old bedroom until ten every day. Taiwo never bothered them. She knew the suffering they went through to make it home alive, and she wanted them to rest for as long as they needed each morning. Stack snored through his slumber as Smoke listened to Annie speaking to their mother. He could never get the nerve to join them without waking his brother up. From his daily observations, and Stack's grumbling, it didn't appear that his twin made any forward progress getting Annie to be his woman. Perhaps…there was a chance for him.

"I need to get two dozen chicken tamales. Throw in six fried livers, too," he said.

"Coming right up," she said.

Annie quickly reached for parchment paper and scooped out the tamales first. She double wrapped them and did the same for the fried liver.

"You're not going to tell me what's got you looking so upset?" she said.

He didn't want to re-live the disappointment. Her soothing brown eyes reached an ache in him to confide in someone other than Stack. He loved his brother's optimism. However, Smoke just wanted to vent without getting a list of suggestions on how to fix things at the moment. Annie's eyes held patience in them. She quirked up the left corner of her mouth in an inviting smile.

"We tried to get a loan from the bank. They turned us down even though we had enough collateral to cover the borrowed amount we needed."

"What did you want a loan for?"

"A juke joint."

"A juke joint?"

"Yeah. Our people need places of our own to have fun. We shouldn't have to have a good time in raggedy places."

"I agree," she said.

She placed the food in a brown paper bag and set it on top of the counter for him.

"That'll be fifty-one cents," she said.

He gave her a dollar, and she went to the cash box. She wrote his order in a ledger and gave him change.

"Is that Cornbread out there with your crazy brother?" she asked.

"Yep."

"I suppose you'll be at his get together tonight."

He perked up.

"Are you going?" he asked.

"I am."

"Is Stack taking you?"

"I'm going with friends."

Stack burst through the door.

"Let's go. Gotta get ready for later…"

Stack's voice trailed off when he glimpsed Annie behind the counter. He rolled his eyes and took his place next to Smoke.

"What happened to you on Tuesday?" Stack demanded.

Annie closed the cash box and stared him down.

"I know you're not coming in here talking to me with that tone, Elias Moore. I already got a daddy, and he don't even raise his voice at me."

Stack bolted closer to the display case to fuss with her.

"I came by your house and told your mother I was looking for you. We were supposed to go hang out. She didn't tell you?"

"You never asked me to go anywhere, and you sure didn't get my daddy's permission to do so."

"That's why I came by on Tuesday, because he works in the afternoon…and your momma likes me, so I thought she'd tell you I was coming back to see you."

"I had to work on Tuesday."

"Okay, well…what time you get off work today?"

"Why you wanna know?"

Annie's lips curled up, and she tilted her head in a way that Smoke liked. Watching her go at it with his brother was a treat. He'd never met a woman so flippant and under-impressed with Stack.

"Cornbread's jump up is tonight. I can pick you up and take you in my car."

"I already got a ride."

"With who?"

Stack had a vein throbbing down the middle of his forehead. Smoke lowered his eyes to hide the mirth in them.

"Stack, I know you not coming up in here disrupting my work to fuss with me like you're my man or something. You best turn around and go back where you came from with all that heat in your throat for me."

"Okay…okay…forget it then. Go with your friends. Don't come bothering me when you see me there."

"Ain't nobody worried about bothering you," she snapped back.

Stack turned around and stomped out of the shop.

"Thanks for the food," Smoke said, backing away.

Stack stormed back in.

"I'ma give you one more chance," Stack blurted.

Smoke used his shoulder to nudge his brother back toward the door.

"Let's go before you make a fool of yourself in front of her," Smoke whispered.

"She playing hard to get," Stack mumbled, leaving the shop.

Smoke turned around to face Annie.

"Sorry about that."

"Chien jappô li pas morde," she said.

"What?"

"The barking dog don't bite."

"You don't like him?"

"I do like Stack. He's a lot of fun, but I like someone else better."

Her eyes twinkled.

He took a chance.

"Anyone I know?" he said.

"You might. I think he's kinda shy though. I'm hoping he'll dance with me tonight."

"Maybe he will."

Smoke left King's Tamales feeling better than when he first went in. Stack failed at getting with her, and it was clear as the blue sky above his head that Annie Belizaire was feeling him. Knowing that, he wouldn't let her out of his sight for one minute at Cornbread's party.

Part 3 HERE.

A.N.:

If you want to read about Smoke and Stack with their parents (and learn about Cash Moore BEFORE he turned bad), check out my very first "Sinners" fic, "A Gathering of Waters" HERE.

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