#funny to post this after the wave wave hate post

[meelusinee]

AN OPERA HOUSE ☆ T.N X READER

in which you’re Theo's girlfriend and went to visit him on tour.

pairing: singer!theodore nott x singer!reader

tags: band!au, mostly fluff

word count: 2.6k

warnings: none, just fluff! (and mattheo getting water bottles thrown his way)

author’s note: my first post! for starters, i made a small playlist for this fic if you’d like to check it out. theodore, who i imagine as a cigarettes after sex singer. secondly, while english is my first (and only) language, that does not mean i claim it in any way shape or form (aka this will probably suck ass)

AN OPERA HOUSE | T.N x SINGER!READER

God, he hated interviews.

The lights that were blaring in Theodore’s face, along with the sound of people walking around both in front and behind the set, were really starting to piss him off. Theo didn’t know how Enzo and Mattheo did it, both of them smiling bright as if they were having a nice fuck or smoking a rather heavy cigarette.

Theodore really could use a cigarette right now. Either that, or you.

Thoughts of nicotine and you had been running rampant in his mind ever since he had to leave you for his national tour, the tour that celebrated the release of the band’s newest album Cigarettes After Sex. A debut of sorts, Theodore wasn’t really sure what to call it. If he were to name it anything, he’d want to name it his love letter to you. But Mattheo had said he couldn’t do that, so he stuck with the band name.

“Today is a rather special day for you, isn’t it?”

Theodore’s mind zoned back in as Blaise gently nudged his leg, his posture straightening up as the interviewer finally started asking questions. Perhaps they needed time to make the lights even brighter, Theo thought, his hand moving to cover the frown growing on his face. 

“Very special indeed,” Mattheo said, his signature smirk that got a lot of people involved with the band plastered on his face. “We just released an album, did you hear?”

“Yes, I did!” the interviewer said, smiling brightly as she adjusted the notes in her hand. “I was hoping we could ask you some questions about it, the musical process and making it mostly.”

Theo hummed non-committedly as the rest of them nodded their heads. Questions about music production didn’t sound too bad compared to a media interrogation.

“Do you mind if we did an introduction?” the lady asked, her fingers patting the cards.

“Course not love,” Blaise said, waving his hand casually as he sat up straighter. Theodore rolled his eyes, looking down at the ground. Blaise was always the biggest player out of the four of them. And that said a lot, seeing as though Mattheo Riddle was in the band as well. 

Theodore watched as the cameras focused in on each of them, the interviewer putting her cards down momentarily to introduce them to the show. “Today is a very special day for all of us, I can imagine.” she said, smiling as she made some sort of dramatic hand gesture towards them. “Today, I’m here with the members of Cigarettes after Sex. We’re going to ask questions about their newest album.”

“I’m so excited.” Lorenzo squeaked, straightening up as he and Mattheo made funny faces to the camera.

“I wanted to start with the first question I had, which was how working on the album went.” she started almost instantly, sitting up a bit straighter. Theo rather appreciated that about her. “I mean, there’s four people in your band, and a lot of timing and other issues that you’d have to work on together. Does that stuff come easier to you than to others, do you think?”

“I think we work pretty well together, right?” Lorenzo asked, leaning forward to look at the other three before smirking in Theo’s direction. “Other than Mr. Grumpy over there, he gets pissy a lot.”

“Oh definitely.” Mattheo said, smirking as he ruffled Theo’s hair. “But it’s okay, because he writes us songs and mothers us whenever we drink. We love him very dearly.”

“It’s not my fault you decide to get concerningly drunk almost every time we hit a bar.” Theo grumbled, sitting up a bit straighter as he prepared to answer the question seriously. “We work as a team a lot of the time, especially when it comes to music. The only non-negotiable is the lyrics, which I write by myself. Other than that though, it’s free reign.”

“So things like instruments and rhythm are all decided by everyone in the band collectively?” the interviewer asked.

“Pretty much,” Blaise explained. “Usually Mattheo and Enzo make a starting beat for songs, and Theo and I usually build guitar chords off of that. Theo here has most of the control with singing though, rhythm and stuff.”

“That’s really cool.” the interviewer nodded. “I wish my family had that amount of coordination during the holidays.”

The four of them chuckled at varying degrees, with Mattheo winking at the interviewer after. “Maybe if we came over we could give you some pointers.”

“That sounds really lovely, actually.” she said, the comment obviously getting to her. Her cheeks became visibly more flushed, fingers tapping faster against her notes. “I wanted to ask you guys a little bit about the lyrics though, if you don’t mind.”

And here we go.

“That’s all Theo’s field.” Lorenzo said, all three of their fingers dramatically pointing at the top of Theo’s head. He really felt like walking out for a smoke, and maybe burning them all with the ashes out of spite for their existence. But he wasn’t going to let them know that.

“Now, I’m sure you can guess where this is headed,” she chuckled softly, flipping one of her flashcards over. “I was wondering what the inspiration for your songs was. Do you have a muse or anything of the sort?”

Theodore sighed, feeling the moment almost pause in time as he tried to think of an answer. He very much did have a muse, you were waiting at home in his bed. Even still, he wasn’t sure if he wanted that public. Especially since the both of you were rather quiet creatures.

He supposed it couldn’t hurt too much though.

“I do,” he whispered, clearing his throat after he spoke. He didn't realize how choked he would sound speaking. “Yeah, she’s really pretty.”

“Theo’s got a girlfriend!” Mattheo teased, poking Theo’s cheek teasingly. “He’s got a girlfriend who he loves very much. That woman has stolen his heart from me!”

“For shame of her, the audacity even.” Blaise chuckled amusedly, both Mattheo and Enzo playing a heartbroken bit. Theo smirked softly as Mattheo dramatically rested his head on Lorenzo’s shoulder, fake sobs escaping his mouth as they mourned over the loss of a non-existent relationship. 

“You’ll be fine.” Theo said, gently patting Mattheo’s back.

“I’ll never recover from this.” he sniffled, sitting up a bit straighter. “Mark my words.”

It was a midsummer night, the sweltering heat doing nothing to deter the line of fangirls waiting at the entrance gates. The muggy and dense air seemed to surround everyone with a humid blanket, every bit of contact made as they tried to get through the doors like a match on gasoline. The concerts you went to weren’t usually this crowded and suffocating. 

Then again, you usually never went to such well known-bands.

Luckily for you, you had been able to sneak a VIP seat ticket for the higher tip-tops of the opera house, a fitting venue for the band that was playing tonight. Cigarettes After Sex was flashing on the monitor they had set up near the back of the stage, the camera zoomed in to focus on the currently empty microphone stand. 

Voices filled the area as everyone began to take their seats, some people pushing and shoving as they made their way around with water and sneaked in alcohol. Some of them had on merch for the band, some of them didn’t. Most of them wore darker clothes though, lots of black with leather jackets and heavy boots.

Your eyes zoned in on the screen as the lights began to dim, the voices all hushing as four men walked out onto the stage. Lorenzo Berkshire was the drummer, one of the most well-known band drummers that you could name off the top of your head. Mattheo Riddle was already stationed by the keyboards, his unruly curls already a little damp from the humidity inside the room. Blaise Zabini walked out with his bass guitar in hand, a role you knew he took on just so he could look hot while strumming the strings. Then came out Theodore Nott. 

Your boyfriend.

You could tell that the heat was affecting him the least out of all of the band members, his waterline covered in the tiniest bit of eyeliner. You smiled softly as you recalled the memory of putting eyeliner on him when you two first started dating, the giggling fit the both of you had broken out into as the other three begged you to do their eyeliner as well. 

He looked beautiful in the lighting too, his outfit framing his figure in an almost holy light. You were almost tempted to start writing a song about it right then and there. But now wasn’t your time, now was the time of the band.

You supposed the band thought the same thing as well, Blaise’s fingers beginning the strum the opening of their most popular song. Theo made his way up to the microphone stand, smiling softly at the crowd as he began to sing. His voice was just as angelic as his face, echoing through the opera house like the ghost of a long forgotten lover. He had completely captivated the room, the silence barely just quieter than the sound of his voice. 

“Your lips, my lips,” you smiled softly as he sang the lyrics, leaning your head on your hand. “Apocalypse.”

You remember the time when he wrote that song. Your tongue was barely darted out as you tried to focus on not messing up the edges of a painting you had been working on, the brush trembling with your hands focused. It was a galaxy, the blues and purples blending together in a  jaw-dropping beauty of a display. Mattheo had come into the room as you finished, a low whistle escaping his mouth as he glanced over at it.

“Looks like an apocalypse.”

Apparently, those words had rung through Theo’s mind for the week after that. He eventually sat you down on the bed, pulling out his guitar as he began to sing the lyrics to you. They needed a bit of polishing with the rhythm, his fingers plucking the wrong strings at times as he sang. But it was one of the most beautiful pieces you had heard regardless, tears welling in your eyes as you moved to hug him. That hug also ran through Theo’s mind for yet another week, in which he had apparently produced an entire studio album based on you. 

You smiled softly as the end of the song came about, the final string echoing through the silent theatre. Theo had gone to grab a bottle of water by the speaker, his eyes locking onto yours.

You winked playfully, smiling at the blush that covered his features. You also just remembered that he had not expected you at the tour. 

“You need to come get your lover boy,” were the words that rang through your phone speaker as you tried to press it against your ear.

“What?” you asked again, pen in your hand as you spoke.

“I said,” Mattheo’s voice rang through the speaker. “You need to come get your lover boy. He is really depressed right now, like, really. He’s missing you terribly and is currently refusing to work because of it.”

You heard him and Blaise beginning to argue in the background, the both of them knowing that Theo would eventually get up. But Mattheo seemed to think that you being there would solve every single one of his problems.

“I don’t know if I can go, Mattheo,” you mumbled, placing your notebook down. “I doubt I could get a spontaneous ticket.”

“Don’t worry about that,” he said. “I already sent a driver to pick you up, he’ll be there in about 10 minutes. I’m just calling to let you know.”

“You what?” you said, looking at the phone incredulously. “Mattheo, I don’t have any time to pack! What would I wear?”

“You say that as if Theo won’t buy you a whole wardrobe based on you liking a single piece of jewelry!” Mattheo said back, groaning as Blaise called for him. “I gotta go, make sure you get in that car and come over. He’s really, really missing you.”

“Mattheo, I swear to Merlin.” you began, but didn’t have any time to finish as you heard the beeping at the end of the line. 

(divider)

“Is that amore mio?” Theo asked Blaise incredulously, looking over at the other three before catching Mattheo’s smirk. “Oh, you bastard.”

“You were missing her!” he said, running away from the keyboard so Theo could throw water at him. “It's not my fault you got depressed!”

“She is meant to be resting, testa di cazzo!” Theo said, sighing as he put the bottle down. No doubt that would be clipped in magazine headers across the country. Theo looked over at you, a soft smile coming on his face when you came into vision. You still had that smile on your face, if not brighter now that you were giggling. He smiled back, picking up his microphone again.

“For our next song,” he spoke into the microphone, placing it back on the stand. “I think it’d be rather nice to sing something about the building we’re in as well. Something about the opera house.” he said, smirking softly as the crowd of fans began cheering. The lights dimmed again as the music began playing, his eyes closing as he let it run through his soul.

“Built an opera house for you in the deepest jungle,” he began, the music coursing through his veins. The words flowed out of him like a waterfall, his voice sweet as candy as he began walking back and forth at the front of the stage. Though every time the chorus hit he found himself in the middle, eyes focused on yours as he sang the lyrics. 

“I was meant to love you, and always keep you in my life. I was meant to love you, I knew I loved you at first sight.”

The lights cut off completely as the equipment turned off, a smile growing on Theo’s face as the end of the concert came. 

“Theo!” you squeaked as you saw him, waddling up to him like a happy penguin as you embraced him in a hug. You hadn’t seen him in over two weeks, the longest either of you had ever spent apart. “I never want to abandon you ever again.”

“If anyone was doing the abandoning, it was me.” he chuckled, his arms wrapping around you as he kissed your forehead lovingly. “I missed you so much principessa,” 

“I missed you too,” you mumbled, burying your face in his chest. “Teddy.”

“Are you calling me a teddy bear?” he chuckled softly, pulling away from the hug to cup your face lovingly. His eyes were filled with devotion you only thought possible in dreams and fairytales, that was until you eventually met him at least. 

“Yes I am.” you smiled softly.

“You are ridiculous.” he chuckled softly, pressing his lips against yours as he caressed your cheeks lovingly. “Merlin, I love you.”

“I love you too.” she whispered lovingly. 

The two of you stood comfortably in the silence, wrapped in a hug neither wanted to leave. That was until Mattheo popped in.

“Told you that you missed her!”

His face had rather quickly met two empty water bottles. 

AUTHOR'S NOTE

thank you so much for reading! i got kind of lazy during the end of this, i'm not going to lie to you (it's three am), but! if you want more of these two lovely beauties i might maybe make a part two! (i originally drafted this with reader as a singer in mind, so if you'd like to be singing some adrianne lenker songs to theo just let me know)

please like and comment and all that jazz, i practically live off of validation at this point.

[disclaimeryikes]

What decides a bitlet's color?

[starkwlkr]

Oh my, imagine you and Hugh have a teen daughter who is like 16 or something, and she goes live and just keeps talking in brainrot terms while you don’t understand what she’s saying.😭😂

ps: love your writing💗

HOT TO GO! | hugh jackman

an: thank you anon for this request, it was so fun to write!! love youuuu

“And there’s my mom . . .” Olivia had walked into your room where you were doing your makeup at your vanity. She held her phone in her hand pointing it at you. “‘Mother is mothering’ I know right? She’s out here serving cunt on a Tuesday afternoon.”

Serving cunt? Did you hear that right?

You stopped applying the red lipstick on your lips and looked at your daughter. “I’m a cunt?”

Immediately the teen bursted out laughing. “No, oh my god! I didn’t mean you. You look great, that’s what I meant.”

The comments on Olivia’s instagram live were going crazy. They found it funny that their favorite actress was clueless.

natsyelena y/n is so adorable 😭

y/nupdates please tell her she’s mother

“The comments are telling you that you’re mother.” Olivia said to you. Again, you were confused.

“I know.” You reply. “I have three kids.”

Olivia chuckled. She then set her phone against the vanity mirror and posed while you continued doing your makeup. It was date night and Hugh had gotten you tickets to see Stevie Nicks perform. Olivia was heartbroken she wouldn’t be able to see her favorite singer, but Hugh promised her they would go see her at her next show as a family.

“What does that mean?” You pointed at a comment that caught your eye.

y/nstyle donatella VERSACE 💜

Olivia looked at the comment and laughed. “It’s a meme, mom. Donatella commented that on Bella Hadid’s post.”

Another comment caught Olivia’s attention.

xmenarchive SHOW HER THE JOSH HUTCHERSON EDIT

Olivia gasped then grabbed your phone since hers was on live. She searched on YouTube for the specific video and showed it to her mom eager to see her reaction. As whistle played and pictures of Josh Hutcherson appeared, a smile formed on your face.

“It’s Josh! I haven’t seen him in so long.”

“Wait what?” Olivia paused the video.

“He visited Jennifer on the set of X-men when I was visiting your dad and we hung out. Your brothers were also there too.”

“And you never told me?!” Olivia yelled. “The mom lore is insane.”

After learning more about you, the comments wanted you to react to THE Pedro Pascal, Steve Harrington, and other specific edits. Olivia gladly showed them to you.

Once you saw the Pedro edit, you giggled. “I’m going to send that to Pedro.”

“Guys, hide the fanfics!” Olivia shouted at her phone.

After coming back from the corner store with snacks, Hugh walked into your room where Olivia was teaching you the HOT TO GO! dance. He looked so interested in what you two were doing.

“You can take me hot to go!” Olivia finished the dance. “Look, the comments are saying you ate that up.”

“What the fuck?” Hugh said when he heard that.

“Guys, don’t worry I’ll teach her everything,” Olivia took the phone from the vanity and saw her dad with snacks. Some comments had recognized Hugh’s voice so they demanded Olivia to show him. “After this I better be everyone’s favorite nepo baby.”

“You’re not even my favorite nepo baby.” Hugh teased. Olivia then showed Hugh waving hello to the live.

“The viewers want me to teach you the hot to go dance.” She read some of the comments.

“No.”

“Oh ok so you hate happiness in others? I see the type of person that you are, Huge Ackman!” Olivia left her parents’ room to go continue her instagram live in her room.

Hugh stood beside you confused. “How did we raise completely different kids?”

You shrugged your shoulders. “I don’t know, but I learned so many things today.”

[depresssant]

Shades of Cool

NEGLECTFUL!PLATONIC!YAN!batfam x GN!reader

synopsis : growing up with a shit mom and constant step-dads and mom's boyfriends, your view on life has grown pretty bleak. you just want to die, since it doesn't seem to get better than this. things can't get any worse, can they?

wsp guys. it's been pretty long, huh?... OK IM SORRY FOR NOT POSTING IT QUICKLY. here, damn 🙄. anyways, i hope yall enjoy n im glad u guys liked the first chapter. lets just hope this one lives up to yalls expectations 😭. follow me and repost this if u want a chapter three. also I NEED SOMEONE TO EDUCATE ME ABOUT SUNDAY FROM HSR BC I WANNA WRITE FICS ABOUT HIM SO BAD SO PLS SOMEONE EDUCATE ME N ALSO IF U KNOW LOVE AND DEEP SPACE??? PLS HIT ME UP AND EXPLAIN THIS LORE BC I WANNA WRITE YANDERE FICS FOR THEM SO BAD

“Why are balls called balls when testicles sounds hella fancier?”

At your friend’s bizarre question, the face of your other friend, Zarian, twinges in disgust. “Jayelene… why do you feel the need to put that out there?”

You huff in amusement, focusing on your pizza before what Jaylene says ruins your entire mood.

“I’m just saying! Testicles just seems more appropriate⏤the type of fancy shit drake and his family would say.”

Tim Drake Wayne…

Dinner with him and his freak-a-zoid family was like trying to make it past no-man’s land without any help to shield you from the straight up chilling vibes they gave off with their constant comments about bat facts. Bats. The atmosphere during the entire time you spent there was dreadful and quite literally heavy since Tim's youngest little brother wanted to sneak stares at you as if you wouldn’t notice his bug-looking eyes creeping into your soul.

Rich people really are weird, huh?

The Wayne family is nothing like how you expected them to be. They’re supposed to be cold, mysterious, and irresistibly enchanting, but all you’ve got are creepy vibes and a strong urge to stay away from them as much as possible. From the way Mr. Wayne made that weird comment about your father in the limo to how forcibly happy Richard or “Dick” was with you, you’ve come to an understanding that rich people are complete lunatics.

The Wayne family is full of a bunch of lunatics.

And you’re not afraid to voice that.

“There you go again,” Jaylene sighs when she notices the irritated expression on your face. “It’s never that serious, [Name]. You just hate everyone.”

“No, you don't get it! They were creepy as hell! Like… Like bats in dark caves coming at you all at once. They talk funny, they look funny⏤they act funny! What normal man name drops your mother’s name after knowing each other for about thirty minutes?”

Zarian huffs in amusement. “That’s the creepy part. How does Mr. Wayne know your name?”

“I dont know.” You run your fingers through your hair and lean back against the booth seat. “I don't want anything to do with them. Billionaire or not, how the hell does he know my mother’s name.”

It was perhaps towards the end of your stay at the Wayne’s manor for dinner, and you knew you had to go home, so you had largely hinted at leaving to Drake. Everything had gotten wrapped up, but when you were just about to leave, Mr. Wayne had told you, “make sure to tell [M/n] I said hi.”

You could only stare at him in shock as your body carried along, because how does a man as famous and wealthy as bruce wayne know your mother⏤your mother? He’s the chief executive officer of Wayne Enterprises yet mentions your mother?

That moment alone is enough to wave every red flag in your brain that screams at you, telling you something is up with these shady people. The only question is what? What can a billionaire possibly want from you? Out of everything the world has to offer, the most influential billionaire in America wants to target some meager high school kid?

What do these people want from you? Is it a rich people thing to play around with those below you? Well, you guess it probably is. Like, is Mr. Wayne gonna pop out with his soulless eyes and say, ‘you’re my long lost child?’ or something?

You still don’t know why you’re being a goat stuffed before slaughtering. These people want something from you, but you? You’ve got nothing to offer that they could want. Why the hell do they even bother? If there's one thing you really hate, it’s being left in the dark like this. Not knowing is terrifying. It's dangerous. Not knowing means not being prepared, and if you’re not prepared, you won’t make it out. Damn it, you should’ve booked it the moment Mr. Wayne mentioned your father in the limo. Movies and shows always display rich people as eccentric and psychopathic weirdos, and now you’re finally believing it.

Damn it.

You’re in danger. Okay.

Maybe that’s an exaggeration. But maybe it’s not.

You’ve watched enough true crime and have enough intuition and trust in your gut to know when something is wrong.

It’s not adding up.

You’re not dumb. You see all the warnings there, but what if you're exaggerating. What if this is just the nature of the Waynes, and you think you’re special enough to be noticed by them? Mr. Wayne is a damn billionaire! He’s got the money to do whatever he wants, so it’s only natural for him to do a background check on everybody that interacts with his sons, right?

It’s all in your head… It’s all in your head.

Sighing, you stare at the plate of food in front of you, appetite long gone. Still, you grab a fork and continue to eat as Zarian and Jaylene scream back and forth next to you. Drake, who had accompanied the three of you to the diner after practice, has left, thankfully. He left as soon as his food arrived while talking about some family emergency, and honestly, you’re pretty damn grateful for that.

Ever since dinner at his house, he’s surrounded you like a pillow smothering you, and you can’t do anything about it. He’s a billionaire’s son, for fuck’s sake.

It doesn’t take long for you and your friends to finish up, and you all part ways at the door of the diner before you clutch the straps of your backpack and walk around the city endlessly. This is a habit for you now⏤a way to put off going home as much as possible ever since you found out your mother’s boyfriend doesn’t come home until one or two in the morning.

That balding, ugly, sleazy piece of shit.

He’s as gross as every other man your mother’s brought home under the terribly veiled illusion that he’ll provide her a good life and treat her right. No matter how many times you try to tell that blind bitc… No. It's wrong. It’s not your mother’s fault.

But it sometimes feels like that, though.

Most mother’s destroy their own lives for their children, yet yours cannot even think about leaving the man that beats her child on a daily. Those types of mothers leave their spouses the second they see something wrong, while your mother treats those finger-print bruises around your neck like a necklace instead of abuse.

You’ve given up on her. You gave up on her back when you were eleven years old locked in a room with her boyfriend, and she didn’t listen. Or when you were twelve. Or thirteen. Or fourteen. Or fifteen. Or sixteen. Or seventeen. And now eighteen.

And each day feels like a repetition of the same. Wake up, go to school, practice, walk around, go home, get beat, and sleep like none of it all happens. It’s a routine you despise with every fiber of your being⏤makes you wanna jump over Gotham City Bridge before thinking about returning home because who would want to? Who wants this average life?

A life where you’re not happy enough, not sad enough. Not good enough, not bad enough. Not energized enough, not tired enough. You feel like a survivor of a plane crash floating on a raft at the center of the endless ocean with no way out. Everything just seems so vast, wide, and unreachable. How can you find the shore on a simple raft? How can you find a way out of inescapable misery if it’s not by drowning?

You’ve been waiting to find the shore, but it’s been a whole eighteen years since you’ve found yourself floating along the ocean.

That whole “it’ll get better” shit is a tragic lie.

Whatever.

It doesn’t matter⏤not anymore, at least. You’re going to get far away from this place and never look back. Never have to relieve this wretched city. Never have to be confined by chains again. You’ve only a few months left before you’re free.

Until then, you’ll have to be patient and go home because the sun has fully disappeared.

Nothing but satellites twinkle in the disgustingly polluted sky of Gotham City, and the streets have come to a staggering halt as you stroll about the sidewalks, trying to find the longest path to get home. One in the morning is always the perfect time in Gotham because it’s too late and too early to be outside, so it’s generally safe for a walk.

Of course, the universe likes to prove you wrong at every point.

The sound of a thud followed by a pained groan behind you has your legs locked and ready to run with your brain screaming alerts, but you take a deep breath and turn around. How bad can it get, anyways? The sight before you surprised you nonetheless. It’s… Nightwing, a Bludhaven hero, here in Gotham, just randomly popping up behind you?

With clear bleeding cuts and sprouting bruises across his body.

In the random alley you just happen to be in?

No. You’re looking into it too much.

His eyes lock onto and they make you freeze right then and there like he’s cast some spell upon you. But that’s for a cold, brief second before you’re hooking your thumbs under the straps of your backpacks and turning around hot on your heels, refusing to spare him a single second. 

You even hear him murmur a strained, “wait,” but you don't care. 

It’s rude, mean, cruel, and it’s also none of your business. All you simply do is walk ahead to your approaching doom with an pit of unease and bitter understanding of your helplessness in your stomach. You can already feel the soon-to-be new bruises blooming along your back.

You’re not a good person.

But, really, who is?

Smoking really does skill.

But now you know why people do it.

Each drag is more out of necessity than it is a choice ever since you’ve met your friend’s plug at the dumb age of sixteen, but it's a way to dull the harsh truth of reality. The world just fades into nothing but muted and mixed colors like the loud city underneath your balcony it blurs into a faint hum the longer you stare at the spiral puffs of smoke that disappear into the air. 

Everything’s bitter⏤the joint and you.

Really bitter at the blood semi-dried on your face and the dull ache along your back.

You’ve got about an hour and a half until you have to head out to school, so what other way is there to spend it than smoking away your brain? The joint’s a temporary escape, but it helps you stall whatever new feeling of despair you’ll feel for the day. Until you’re interrupted by your phone buzzing⏤the sound still a dull hum in your ears

“... Hello?”

“[Name]!”

Zarian’s voice?

“Where the hell are you? Hurry up and get to school or else you’re gonna get in trouble for not helping to set up the club fair, and coach will be on our ass! And don't forget to bring money for the tickets!”

Coach?... Club fair?... Club fair! Holy shit!

Your eyes shoot open, and you frantically scramble up, tossing the joint over the balcony railing before hectically staggering through the living room like a drunk man. Damn it, how could you be so clueless and forget such an important event? Especially one you need money for! Damn it⏤damnit! What do you do?

… Mom! She’s got a box of money somewhere in her closet, right? You’ve seen it before! It's just twenty dollars, and she wont notice. Okay… Okay. You’re quick to get ready. You wash away all the blood that’s dried on your face, brush your teeth, and change into baggy jeans and a clean shirt before storming into your mother’s bedroom and rummaging through her things. 

She’s off at work. Her bastard boyfriend doesn't come home until late at night, which means he’s probably already taken money for the day. Okay. That's fine. They won't notice.

But you can't find anything! What the hell? Where is that fucking box? You could’ve sworn it was there on the top shelf last night, but as you swipe your hands across everything on the shelf, you can’t find it. All of a sudden, something made of wood hits the top of your head and falls to the ground with a crack. You hiss, palm moving to cover where you got hit, but your eyes land on the box that now has money strewn all across the floor and a broken… false bottom?

What the fuck.

You pull away at the rest of the false bottom to only be met with countless photos of you as a child with your mother. Mom’s shit boyfriend had all the family photos taken down for some weird reason, so they’ve been here this entire time? All of these photos are full of you throughout every stage of your life, but some have different people in them as well. Their faces are either scratched out or they’re ripped out of the photo entirely.

From what you can gather, the figures are a man and what seems to be a teenage boy. The absurdity and even slight creepiness of the scratched out faces has you laughing, yet even with your now dulled senses, your eyes land on a photo you failed to notice earlier. Maybe you’re hallucinating. There must be something wrong with your brain. Or your eyes. The universe must be playing with you because is that a photo of you and a teenage-looking dick grayson?

Your eyes widen because it looks just like the strange man you had the unfortunate opportunity of having a conversation with during dinner with the Waynes. It’s him! More importantly, why the hell is he holding a ‘three year old’ you’s hand? You probably should be screaming. Yelling. Maybe panicking? But all you can do is shuffle through the rest of the box before your fingers graze against something metal that has your heart jumping.

It’s a small camera.

With a bat engraved on its side.

Ears ringing so loudly in your head you can't even think, you wipe your teary and red eyes hastily before grabbing a twenty dollar bill, putting everything except for the photo and camera in the box, set it back on the closet shelf, and hastily grab your backpack before making way to school.

The second you reach the damned place, you seek out your now three friends and drop into a seat with a heavy thud, sighing and meeting Tim's eyes with a burning gaze.

“You mean to tell me [Name] found the camera? And you decided to tell me after school?”

Time Drake Wayne sighs and runs his fingers through his black hair, shrugging apathetically while scrolling through every photo in his phone that he’s taken of you during the club fair. His brother, Richard, is pacing throughout his room anxiously as he rambles off about their latest fuckup. 

“Look, Bruce doesn't let any slip ups happen,” Tim murmurs in exasperation. “He wouldn't let this happen because [Name]’s mom and him talked this morning. Relax, he probably knows.”

It's not a lot, but it’s enough to calm Richard down. The man takes a deep breath but finds himself sitting down next to Tim, trying to get a good look at the pictures. “How mad was [Name]?”

“High, for starters, but clearly pissed off. Very observant, too.”

“Don’t tell anyone else. Not until Bruce gives us the okay.”

TAGLIST :

@ilovemyhusbandnanami (so real), @missikkj, @ferakillia, @darlinqvi, @soriansick, @sleepydhanie, @h0rr0r-10ver-69 (love ur blog aesthetic bae), @anuttellaa (OK WINX 😽), @feral-childs-word (love the pfp), @shycreatorreview, @friesandfixations, @stuff6969fuckyou, @babiebubsie, @jsprien213, @cattioo, @cherrydaisymanic (cheetah?leopard? printttt 😍), @00hellohello00, @princessloveweird, @amber-content, @idonthaveanameforthisacc, @f1lover4ever, @dreamsarenicer, @imaginarydreams, @solkara (love the calm aesthetic), @bobfood, @toast-on-dandelioms, @ijustfuckme, @cantfindmelol, @xx1shadow1xx, @azulawayne, @box-of-kinderjoy, @iamaunknownsecret, @missybabes, @phoenixgurl030, @couldeatthatgirlforlunch, @devils-blackrose, @arevvv, @freakthis, @yourhornysister, @kirahhhh, @perfectparadisegardener, @testishere, @spaceunicorn293, @vanilliona (love the pfpp), @uknowimdumb, @esposadomd, @dakotali, @lilyalone, @kore-of-the-underworld, @pix-stuff, @hellcatsworld, @chericia, @mspoisoncoil (love the bannnnerrr) , @devotedlyshamelessdetective, @cheeseburgercasserole (love the aesthetic), @twismare

so follow me n repost if u want part lll. and somebody pls explain hsr and love and deepspace lore to me. making a taglistttttt. if this post doesnt get as many likes as the first one, im deleting this series 😭. if u see a grammatical mistake, no u didnt 😃🔪

if anybody’s got requests about this series or in general, feel free to ask!!!

WAIT!! FOLLOW MY WATTPAD ACCOUNT : @depresssant. I JUS PUBLISHED A HISTORICAL YANDERE X READER STORY

[mrsdarkandyandere7]

❤ Yandere Hater ❤

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

Female reader

WARNINGS: Incel vibes; Hate; Noncon (in his imagination cause he's delulu).

--

◾ Yandere!Hater who fucking hates your guts. Frankly doesn’t understand all the hype surrounding you.

You’re mediocre, at best. Nothing that special about you so he fails to understand why you’re getting increasingly popular these days.

You're not intelligent. You’re not talented. You’re not funny.

Heck, you’re not even that pretty.

Fuck, you’re actually nothing interesting. 

Just another brainless bimbo on her 5 minutes of fame. 

◾ Yandere!Hater that spends hours scrolling your social media, spamming your posts with countless mean comments, hoping you see them. You deserve them and he hopes you cry reading them. Worthless bitch.

Acting all sweet and delicate in front of cameras, but he knows better. You’re just another stuck-up assed girl.

Probably feeding on attention and money while being a slut to every rich guy that you get a chance to meet. 

◾ Yandere!Hater who runs an online account - dedicated to you, obviously - where he venomously spreads hate against you. It’s his little safe-haven, where he gets to expose your fake ass to the world.

Actively targets and attacks anyone that dares leave those disgustingly cute supportive comments under your posts. Gets involved in so many Discord and Twitter arguments that he’s lost count on how many times his account has been banned.

It’s not his fault that your fans are stupid simps. 

◾ Yandere!Hater who thinks the absolute worst about you. You’re an ugly arrogant bitch.  But that doesn’t stop him from rubbing one off while his eyes are glued to that Instagram photo you recently uploaded - you’re at the beach, a huge smile on your face and your body only covered by the skimpy tiny bikini. 

He furiously touches himself at the sight, imagination drifting towards a scenario where he runs into you at the beach.

You’ve briefly mentioned in an interview about your fear of the ocean, never having learned how to swim. Dumb you. 

So he thinks about your plastic smile quickly disappearing as his hand grabs you by the hair, violently dragging towards the water. You seem pretty weak, especially given he has a strong toned body when compared to yours. 

His cock twitches at the thought of you desperately fighting, begging him with tears shining in your eyes. He’d tame you rather easily, a mean slap or two making you shut up.

He’d pull you into the water, ignoring you as you hyperventilate. Push you to the deepest parts of the sea, the ones where only his feet are able to reach, forcing you to cling on to his shoulders for dear life.

You’d cry and whimper, begging him to take you back to the sand. 

But he’d only smile, slipping your bottom off - uncaring of the fact that the waves take away the thin piece of fabric.

So what if everyone sees you half-naked when you get back on land? You’re a slut and everyone should know that. 

◾ Yandere!Hater who almost cums at the thought of telling you to ride him - right there on the water - or otherwise he’d just drop you in the water.

Your choice.

You can either ride him quietly as he holds your ass with a tight grip or you can find out how to swim for yourself. He closes his eyes, relishing the climax that runs over him, imagining it’s your tight pussy that brought him to his orgasm, his cum dumped deep in your little cunt. 

◾ Yandere!Hater who pretends like this was one rare occasion that won’t happen again but day after day, he finds himself with a hand down his pants, abusing his cock while imagining fucking you in the most degrading ways that exist. 

◾ Yandere!Hater that gets more and more spiteful of you, which leads to a few disastrous encounters with you in public - only possible thanks to his network of connections with paparazzi - finding you as you go out with friends.

Encounters those that end with him being wrestled away from you by the buffy bodyguards that work for you, while you cower behind your friends, who weakly try protecting you from the eyes of the lunatic who just tried to drag you into his car. 

◾ Yandere!Hater that promises himself to do humanity a favor and take you away from the spotlight, maybe a place in his basement is more appropriate for you.

[luvergirl-866]

something like love

part - 1

pairing - paige bueckers x azzi fudd

word count - 4.1k

c/w - language

a/n - hi!! i am so so excited to be posting my first ever pazzi fic (and also my first post on tumblr!) she’s a cute little fake-dating rom-com for yall, and i hope you enjoy reading it as much i enjoyed writing it! updates will probably be inconsistent but im gonna do my best lol. lmk what yall think!! (edit: side note, this is obviously all fiction! i’m sure paige’s mom and step-dad are perfectly good people irl, lol)

“Will you go out with me?”

When Paige asks this question during their weekly lunch date, Azzi is so taken aback that she almost chokes on her Chipotle.

“Shit, you good?” Paige asks, concerned, handing Azzi a napkin to cough into.

Azzi waves her off, swallows, and croaks, “What?”

“Hm?” Paige is staring at her nonchalantly, like she didn’t just ask what Azzi heard her ask. “Oh, that. Yeah, will you?”

“I don’t—“ Azzi shakes her head. Is she being messed with? It feels a lot like she’s being messed with. “Paige, you’re my best friend.”

“Exactly.”

“I didn’t know you…had, like, feelings for me.”

“Huh? No!” Wide-eyed, Paige shakes her head violently. “No, ‘course I don’t.”

Azzi’s stomach clenches—not in the good way it sometimes does around Paige—and she thinks Paige could’ve bothered to sound less disgusted by the notion of her having feelings for Azzi. “Funny, P.”

“I’m for real.”

Azzi frowns. “Actually?” Paige nods and Azzi wrinkles her brow, confused. “So you wanna go out with me but you don’t feel…like that about me.”

“Were you even listening earlier?” Paige playfully rolls her eyes, sitting all casually in her seat with her legs spread like she has the biggest dick on campus. Azzi usually loves it when she sits like that, but now she’s too annoyed and confused to appreciate it. “I was talking about my mom.”

“Oh.” To be fair, Azzi stopped listening a while ago, when Paige was still talking about the hot electrician that fixed her leaky sink the other day. She wasn’t aware the conversation had taken a more serious tone. “Sorry, I spaced. What were you saying?”

“I was saying she and her fuckass husband invited me home for a few weeks this summer…” Paige waits, but it doesn’t ring any bells, so she sighs and continues. “They told me to bring Josh.”

Azzi scrunches her nose. “Eww, why?”

“Because…I haven’t really, like, you know…” Paige tips her head to the side, “told them we ended things.”

“Paige,” Azzi sighs.

“I know! I know. Just, I dunno.” Paige sighs, and Azzi knows she’s trying to act chill about it even though she likely laid awake last night thinking about it. “It’s hard, y’know? They’re not like my dad’s side, they’re not like your parents. You know what they did after I told them…” Paige glances surreptitiously around the restaurant, even though they’re far away from campus and not very likely to be recognized, “everything. And if I told them about Josh and they suspected something, I don’t think they’d let me see Ryan and Lauren again.” Her eyes are wide, now, and she’s doing that thing she does when she gets mad, pinching her bottom lip between her fingers.

Paige and Josh were never actually a thing, by the way. Paige doesn’t swing that way and she’s known it for a long time. But she came out to her mom over the new year, and that phone call had ended in a seething Paige at Azzi’s door, yelling and cursing while Azzi listened, and a broken one in her bed that night, crying herself to sleep while Azzi stroked her hair.

So a couple months later Paige recruited their closeted gay friend, Josh. And they became each other’s beards, pleasing her mom enough that she could stay in contact with her younger siblings. That is, until Josh found a nice boyfriend and Paige was left hanging.

Azzi tries to come up with something to say, something comforting, but she’s not sure there is anything to say.

“And I hate them for that,” Paige goes on. “But as long as Ryan and Lauren are still kids, my parents can still keep them from me. And it sucks they’re holding that over my head but there’s not a lot I can do about it.”

Azzi offers a sad little smile, letting her silence urge Paige to go on, even though she can tell it’s hard for her.

“So, anyway,” Paige sighs, sitting back in her seat, “when Josh ended it, I didn’t wanna tell them, because I knew the calls would stop coming, the support. And so whenever they asked about him, I’d be all, oh, yeah, he’s doing great, just busy. Just bullshitting my way through it.”

“And you’ve been doing this for the past two months?”

“Umm…” Paige looks down at her fingers, counting on them, then furrows her eyebrows. “Pretty much, yeah.”

“Okay…” Azzi leans forward on her elbows. “So how does your weird question come into all this?”

“Don’t say no right away,” Paige says, giving her this knowing look she hates.

Azzi narrows her eyes at her. “We’ll see.”

Paige reaches over to whack her and misses. “Lemme explain, damn. So, when they called me last night and invited me to come home with Josh, I was like, oh, shit. And I thought of ways I could handle it.”

“Uh-huh…” Azzi watches with wary eyes as Paige bends to rummage through her book bag. “Paige, tell me you’re not—”

“Let me introduce you to…” Paige keys up her laptop and then turns the screen toward Azzi with a wide smile, “Boom!”

“Oh my fucking god.” Azzi buries her head in her hands.

“No, bro, listen! It’s lowkey impressive!” Paige taps the screen. “It’s titled Game Plan for my Summer Visit to my Fuckass Parents, featuring Azzi Fudd. By Paige Bueckers.”

“Good Lord,” Azzi says, taking a peek at the PowerPoint in front of her. When has Paige ever gone to such lengths as to create a PowerPoint before? This must really be serious to her.

“So, listen carefully.” Paige taps the screen again; it changes from the title slide to one labeled ‘First (and worst) Option’. “I put the worst part because it’s true, but it’s also a lil rhyming moment.”

“Right, okay. Just keep going, please.”

“So, this is the first option that came to mind,” Paige starts, glancing down at the screen. “This is the option where I ghost my parents and refuse to come see them at all.” She taps the screen to a pros and cons slide. “As you can see, I mostly only came up with cons.”

“Yeah, because it’s a terrible idea.”

“I know. So then we have option two.” The next slide is labeled ‘Option Two (mid)’. “I put the mid part because—“

“I get it.”

Paige shoots her a look. Azzi playfully kicks her under the table. “Go on.”

“Okay.” Paige nudges Azzi’s foot with her own, but her attention is back to the laptop. “This is the scenario where I let my parents think that Josh and I are still together by telling them that I can come to Montana, but that Josh can’t. It’d be pretty easy, and as you can see here…” she clicks the screen, “there’s an even ratio of pros to cons.”

Azzi nods sagely. Sometimes, her best friend takes a while to get to the point, and Azzi learned a long time ago that waiting it out is the best way to go.

“But there is this one big con: I can’t keep lying to my parents forever. So this option is pretty much a way to procrastinate on telling them the truth. Which takes us to the last option.”

This slide is titled ‘Third Option (THE BEST)’ along with a few muscle emojis tacked to the end. A headache forms at the base of Azzi’s skull.

“This is where my awesome idea comes in.” Paige gives her a very self-satisfied smile. “Instead of Josh, I take you with me to Montana and we pretend you’re my girlfriend for two weeks. Literally a genius idea.” She leans back in her seat, nodding assuredly to herself, and Azzi can’t help but smile because she really loves this girl. Despite how bat-shit crazy she is.

“P, I don’t—“

“Hear me out.” Paige clicks to the final slide. This pros and cons list is mostly pros, and Azzi spots many love-emojis sprinkled throughout. “We pretend we’ve been dating since beginning of March. They know you’re my best friend; we’ll pretend that after Josh broke up with me, you and I bonded and fell in love or some shit. My parents won’t be happy, but I’ll already be there with you so they won’t kick me out or nothing.” Paige frowns. “Probably.”

Ok, so, Azzi absolutely hates to admit it, but this does actually make some sense. Not that she’ll ever say such a thing out loud.

“And then they’ll realize we’re totally in love and I’m happy and even if they hate gay shit they just want me to be happy, because I’m their kid.” Paige says this last part less like a fact and more like something she’s trying to convince herself of. Azzi can’t help but feel bad for her.

“Okay,” Azzi says slowly, watching Paige tuck away her laptop. “That’s your plan.”

“Yep.”

“I’m seeing a few plot holes.”

Paige waves her off. “It’ll work. No plan of mine is gonna fail, trust.”

“And why should I help you?”

Paige gives her an easy smile, and Azzi sort of hates how confident she is. “Because I’m your best friend in the whole world and you love me.”

Azzi raises an eyebrow.

“C’mon, Az. What is there to lose?”

Azzi sighs and almost says something stupid like I’m in, but this isn’t just one of those things that she can help Paige with without thinking twice. It’ll be two weeks of torture, pretending to date the girl she’s secretly in love with while being surrounded by her homophobic family, and then having to come home at the end of the two weeks and pretend she never got to experience a glimpse of what it’s like to be with Paige in the way she’s always wanted.

It sounds like hell.

Azzi sighs again, ready to say no, but when she looks up Paige is staring at her with something more vulnerable than before, open in the way she bites her lip, her arm reaching across the table like she’s wearing her heart on her sleeve and waiting for Azzi to take it.

Azzi takes her hand, instinctually, and says, “Okay.”

She is so fucking gone for this girl.

————————————-

They don’t talk about it for two days after that. It’s not that they don’t get the chance, or that they don’t see each other—they go to the gym together both days—it’s just that neither of them seems to have the guts to bring it up. And why should they? It wasn’t too scary while they were having the original conversation—nothing too big or threatening or, god forbid, real—but as soon as Azzi stepped into her dorm after that lunch, she realized just how much she fucked up by saying yes to Paige’s crazy idea.

It would be an understatement to say that talking about it is the last thing Azzi wants to do at this point.

Paige, however, seems to have other plans, as she usually does. When she storms into the living room—where almost every single member of the UConn women’s basketball team is doing homework—she makes a beeline for the seat beside Azzi on the couch and whispers, “Hey.”

Nika leans up from the floor to poke Paige with her pencil. “No chit-chat, we’re working.”

Paige glares. “What, I can’t talk to my best friend?”

“Shh,” hisses Aaliyah, barely pulling her eyes from her laptop.

Paige flips her off even though Aaliyah is too immersed to notice, and then she turns her attention back to Azzi, bumping their knees together. “Can we talk later?”

Azzi pretends to be focused on studying. “Mm. About?”

“About…” Paige glances around furtively, “y’know.”

Yes, Azzi does in fact know, but she really wishes she didn’t. “What’s there to talk about?”

“Oh, I dunno,” Paige says sarcastically. “Specifics? Rules? Details? I prepared a whole new PowerPoint.”

“So that’s what you’ve been doing the past couple of days.”

“Yeah, turns out I love PowerPoint.”

Azzi finally cautions a glance up, and Paige is looking at her, completely serious. The eye contact seriously messes with her ability to make sound decisions.

“Okay,” Azzi relents. “As long as you’re quiet for the next forty minutes, we can talk.”

Paige, dutifully, doesn’t say a word for the rest of Azzi’s worktime, letting everyone study in peace. And that’s how Azzi ends up in Paige’s bedroom an hour later, perched on the edge of her bed while Paige struggles with her laptop.

“Okay, fuck this,” Paige says after extensive fiddling. “My stupid fucking PowerPoint isn’t loading. What the hell.”

Every bone in Azzi’s body wants to take this as a sign from God, the fact that this PowerPoint isn’t working, that they’re not supposed to do this. She wants to walk out of the room—and this agreement��for good. But Paige is her best friend and Azzi had always been too loyal for her own good, so she sighs and says, “How about we just talk about it? Y’know, like normal people.”

Paige frowns but closes her laptop regardless. “Okay. So.”

“So…”

“First off,” Paige says when Azzi doesn’t continue, “I just felt like I should probably say sorry for dragging you into this.” Paige scratches the back of her neck, always a little awkward when it comes to apologies. “I know it’s a lot to ask for.”

Azzi blinks, startled. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, well…” should she back out? If she were going to, now’s her chance.

Azzi looks down at a scab on her knee. “I mean, that’s okay.”

Paige shifts in her seat, the stool creaking underneath her. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s not like this is the first time I’ve had to help with one of your ridiculous plans.” Azzi goes for lighthearted but knows it falls flat under the weight of what she’s going to have to do.

“Okay.” When Azzi looks up, Paige is staring at her suspiciously. She wonders just how bad of an actress she must be for Paige, the same Paige who hasn’t yet detected Azzi’s somewhat obvious, six-years-long crush on her, to see right through her. But then she just shrugs and continues, aloof like she always is. “So then I wanted to ask you about what you think we should do about…all this.”

“…Okay?”

“I was thinking we should get into the, like. The specifics.”

Azzi rolls her eyes. “Paige, just tell me.”

Paige gnaws at her lip until it turns white and Azzi starts to worry it might bleed, but then she says, “We need a sex timeline.”

If Azzi were drinking water, she would have surely spit it out.

“A what?” she asks, sort of incredulous. Paige has said a lot of crazy things before but nothing quite like that.

“Okay, my bad, weird way to put it.” Paige grins as if all of this is funny to her. “What I mean is we need a story to tell my family, our friends. Like, why did we start dating? When was our first kiss? What’s our song? Have we, you know…gone to the penthouse and freaked it?”

Azzi throws herself back onto the bed. Paige’s bed. Which she is just now realizing is probably going to be the bed that many of these fictional events are going to take place in. “Paige.”

Paige is giggling now, which is endearing because Paige doesn’t giggle often. If only it weren’t at Azzi’s expense. “We need to figure it out, for real! People are going to ask questions.”

“People are not going to ask those kinds of questions.”

“Um, excuse me.” Paige stands and walks over until she’s at the bed, pulling Azzi’s legs off the edge playfully. “Have you met our friends? KK’s not shy with that shit.”

Azzi’s ankles instinctively go around the back of Paige’s thighs, but she’s in a certain mindset due to their current conversation and the casual gesture suddenly seems much less innocent than usual. She unwraps them, pulling her legs from Paige’s grasp as discreetly as possible. “So we’re planning on telling them we’re dating, too?”

Paige shrugs. “Yeah. You weren’t?”

“I don’t…” Azzi straightens up as Paige sits beside her, their hips touching. “We spend every day with them, P. Don’t you think it’ll be hard to keep up the act that much?”

“Yeah, probably. But that’s also why I wanna do it.” As usual, Paige sounds completely sure of herself. “We only have a couple weeks until Montana and I wanna make sure we get enough practice acting like a couple.”

Azzi still feels uneasy about the whole thing, but Paige is right—they can’t get onto a plane as best friends and get off it a convincing pair of girlfriends.

Azzi’s face heats at the term. Girlfriends. But that’s what they’ll be, isn’t it?

“I was thinking we’ll tell them next week,” Paige says. “We’ll ask them to hang out and then drop it on them that we’ve been dating since March.” Paige must recognize the look on Azzi’s face, because she puts a hand on her knee—which does absolutely nothing to help. “Is that cool with you?”

Azzi can’t say all of the things she’s thinking right now, so instead she settles for, “Yeah, no.” She pauses, her feet on Paige’s fuzzy carpet, and decides this will be the last time she lets herself doubt this.

“I think that’s perfect.”

————————————

One week later, three Saturdays from the end the school year, Azzi sits with a bowl of popcorn in her lap feeling like she might hurl.

“Why are you acting so weird, Fudd?” KK asks, and Azzi startles at her name, looking at the freshman who’s sitting on the floor in front of her and giving her a weird look.

“Leave her alone, Camera,” Paige says, settling into the couch next to Azzi. “What movie we watching?”

They are all crammed into a dorm, as they often are, excited for a chill team movie night in the midst of finals season. Little do the girls know, they will be getting entertainment from more than just the movie tonight.

“No, KK’s right,” Ice says, scrolling through Netflix on the TV. “Azzi’s been acting super weird.”

Azzi, somewhat offended (she thought her acting skills were pretty decent) looks around the room for help. Instead, the girls all just nod their agreement.

Paige nudges her and raises her eyebrows, and Azzi knows exactly what that look means.

“You don’t have to tell us what’s up if you don’t want,” Inês says from her place on the other side of Azzi, dipping her hand into their shared popcorn. It almost makes Azzi want to back out.

Almost.

Putting on her bravest face, Azzi nods and turns to face their friends. “Paige and I have something we’d like to tell you.”

There’s something odd about the silence that follows this, the way the girls on the floor look at each other before turning their bodies to face the couch, the stragglers sitting in the loveseat and at the dining table leaning forward almost imperceptibly.

Azzi tenses up as she is suddenly under the scrutiny of eleven other girls. How is she going to lie to them? How is this ever going to work?

Paige, through some form of best-friend-telepathy, senses Azzi’s struggle and places a comforting hand on her back. “I can say it.”

This isn’t what they practiced, but Azzi is too grateful and too distracted by the hand on her back to worry about going off-script.

“We’ve been wanting to tell y’all for a while,” Paige says. “But we also wanted to just keep it to ourselves for a little bit.”

It sounds so natural, and effortless, and Azzi can feel herself slipping into this role for the first time. She pretends the hand on her back is more than friendly, the nerves in her stomach are something other than guilt, the things Paige is about to say are true.

If one good thing is going to come out of any of this, it’ll be this feeling of contentment that Azzi will get to have, at least for a little while. And maybe she’s okay with that.

“Do you guys remember that party we went to a couple months ago?” Paige asks. Her nails scratch over Azzi’s shirt, making her shiver.

“Yeah…” Nika says at the table in the corner. Aubrey rests her chin in her palms, looking suspiciously like she’s trying not to smile. For some reason, Ice and KK are clutching each other’s hands.

“Well, when Azzi and I got home we just decided to stay together in her dorm…” Paige trails off like she’s hesitant to continue, and half the girls lean closer to them while the other half look a little too relaxed. Ice is now glaring at KK, who’s…beaming?

“Something happened between us that night.” Paige looks at Azzi now, and even though this is what they were supposed to do the look in her eyes still takes Azzi’s breath for just a moment. She has dreamed of Paige looking at her like this for years, and now it is finally happening, and Azzi thinks she would do anything to make this all real.

Paige opens her mouth to continue, but before she can, KK jumps to her feet and squeals, and Ice throws the remote on the ground with an angry, “Fuck!”

Azzi and Paige both startle, and Azzi loves the way Paige’s hand fists up her shirt in surprise, but then the notices that all the other girls don’t seem surprised or confused at all—rather, they all seem to be having similar reactions to KK. Nika and Aubrey are even singing something, and Inês has jumped up from her spot beside Azzi to join the others in what looks a lot like a celebration. Why are they all chest-bumping each other?

Finally, Azzi finds it in herself to speak. “Guys, what…?”

KK kneels to wrap her arms around a sulking Ice and looks at them both, eyes glimmering. “Whatchu mean, what?”

“I don’t…” Paige releases Azzi’s shirt, her hand falling to the seat behind her. “We haven’t even finished telling you yet.”

“Are y’all actually this dumb?” KK asks, before squealing in Ice’s ear and then throwing herself onto the couple on the couch. “Ugh! I’m so happy for you two lovebirds.”

“Lovebirds…?” Azzi asks, but the room is too raucous for her to be heard and when she looks at Paige, all she gets is an equally confused head shake in return.

“My babies are growing up,” Aubrey says, wiping an invisible tear, and Aaliyah comfortingly pats her shoulder.

“Baby,” Amari says, smiling at the both of them, “we have known.”

“Uh,” Paige says, thrown off for once in her life. “How?”

“Because y’all are the most obvious fucking couple in the country,” Ice chips in. She is still pouting, even with Ayanna patting her on the head and Jana rubbing her shoulders.

During the past week, Paige and Azzi have been dropping a few hints here and there in the hopes that they could almost ease their friends into it before telling them, to make things more believable. But obvious? Obvious enough for all of them to know? That’s a stretch.

Apparently thinking the same thing, Paige laughs awkwardly, trying to regain some semblance of control over the situation. “We thought we were pretty good at hiding it.”

“Yeah, right.” Caroline flicks Azzi’s forehead good-naturedly. “KK and Ice have had a bet running for, like, six months now.”

At this, Azzi tenses up, and Paige turns to her, gives her a cautious, confused smile. “That long?”

“I started the bet, of course,” KK pipes in. “You two are so in love.” She sighs dreamily and then nudges Ice with her foot. “You owe me my five-hundy, girlypop.”

“You didn’t even actually win, this doesn’t count,” Ice grumbles. “We made the bet six months ago and they only started dating in March. And also, I thought they’d be way too pussy to tell us yet.”

Paige perks up at this, her unusual awkwardness gone as fast as it came. “Hey! I ain’t pussy about nothing!” and KK chimes in with her own protests of, “Girl, boo! It does too still count, you’re just a sore-ass loser!”

Azzi can’t bring herself to say anything, because their teammates believed Azzi and Paige gave been dating longer ago than this arrangement was even brought up. And that means they must have seen Azzi’s feelings for Paige, and whatever the other side of that is, and they don’t really act like a couple, do they?

“Anyway,” Ice continues, a little less pouty now, “I totally thought I’d have to walk in on you two fucking or something before you ever really came clean.”

Azzi squeezes her eyes shut. Paige’s fingernails dig into her back a little bit.

“I actually can’t believe none of us have walked in on them fucking yet,” Nika muses, and the room quiets down a little, everyone mumbling their assent.

“Maybe they’re celibate,” KK reasons, then fixes them with a look. “Are y’all celibate?”

Paige laughs, and then bends close to Azzi’s ear and mutters, “Told you so.”

For the rest of the night, Azzi’s neck is hot.

This might be more complicated than she thought.

[threeacttragedy]

Entry 4 – The One About the Red Bag of Chaos

One of the things that never ceases to amaze me about this fandom is that Whenever Something Good Happens it ALWAYS torpedoes into Something Bad Happening.

Every.

Single.

Time.

And, that’s why we can never have nice things.

Case in point: “Brb” and the elusive Red Bag.

On October 4, we were graced with Luke’s Instagram story of luggage with the caption “Brb.” His picture included two pieces of luggage, a small metal carryon case, and a red bag. The red bag was interesting because it appeared to be – let’s face it, we all stereotyped this into being – a woman’s tote bag of some leathery sort. Lukola Sleuths tracked Luke’s image down to the first-class lounge for British Airways. I mean, we even got a not-so-blurry reflection of Luke in the corner of the luggage. We should have been ecstatic, right? Luke had posted two days in a row (with the first post being the cutesy “Mean Girls” reference to October 3), and Nicola had been peppering the trail with Lukola-laced yumminess since early August. I mean, we should have been biting our nails in excitement waiting to see what Luke or Nicola posted next.

But, no, that’s not what happened.

Instead, hysteria struck fast and hard. Why? Because at some point in her relatively short life, Antonia had danced in front of a red bag at – oh my God, wait for it – an airport! Oh, how the Conscientiously Stupid seized this tidbit of outdated information to terrorize the Sincerely Ignorant straight into shark infested waters!

The problem with this plotline was that (a) the video of Antonia was old, possibly even a few years old; and (b) there was absolutely no evidence the red bag Antonia was dancing in front of even belonged to her! The argument that this was Antonia’s red bag was simply one being pushed by assholes who enjoyed riling up the weaker parts of the fandom. And, let me tell you, these assholes succeed every time.

But, what was dismissed and ignored was the fact Nicola had a red bag in the background of her June 15, 2024 Tatcha post. If you need to see it for yourself, the video is still up on her Instagram grid. In the video, there is a shelf full of handbags of all sizes, and on the bottom of that shelf is, what appears to be, a large red bag (we can deduce this by acknowledging (a) it is red; (b) it is on a shelf full of other bags; and (c) it appears so large it needs to be tucked into the shelf). Is it THE red bag? Who the fuck knows? That is not the point. The point is, it is a red bag of some sort, and this fact should have outweighed the argument that the red bag belonged to Antonia.

But, it didn’t?

Why?

Because the fandom enjoys hysteria?

No, I don’t think it does. I’ve spoken to too many people on the verge of a meltdown to believe they enjoy spiraling.

So, what is it that causes good things to go bad so quickly in this fandom?

In my opinion, the answer lies somewhere between (a) the fandom believing that Lukola is too good to be true; (b) the fandom questioning their own intelligence and intuition; and (c) the fandom doubting the two people at the heart of this ship – Luke and Nicola. It’s strange to me that we would rather trust online bullies pushing their own deranged narratives than trust, at the very least, ourselves.

Whenever a Conscientiously Stupid tries to derail you, or an adjacent (ugh, there’s that word I hate again) pops up trying to make waves, take a moment to take a deep breath, roll your eyes, and have a good laugh (because I’m not going to lie, some of the shit that gets put out there is laugh-out-loud funny). But, most importantly, trust yourself and your intelligence because, if you're still in this fandom, your deductive reasoning skills are a chef's kiss.

And, to finish this story about the elusive red bag, just remember that Nicola posted an amazingly happy picture of herself the day after Luke, on an airplane, in first class on Aerlingus, an affiliate of British Airways that shares its first-class lounge. If these weren’t coordinated posts, I may as well say, “Screw it all,” and go live on a deserted island. Alone. With no phone. And no mascara.

Oh, and let me just slip in here that the elusive red bag quite possibly made an intentional reappearance in Nicola’s October 11 Olaplex story. But, I’ll leave any further speculation about that for a different day.

[nishibons]

𝐇𝐄𝐘, 𝐈𝐓’𝐒 𝐌𝐄 . . .

or piwon pining thoughts/texts

warnings na genre fluff word count eight hundred excluding texts

note hiii everybody!! sorry i disappeared for a bit but ive been busy with uni TT i got an 85 on my recent assignment tho so everybody cheer… anyway ive been obsessed with piwon lately hence this post but fear not i have an enha version coming soon

keeho

confident but humble. he doesn’t have any expectations for your relationship but hopes that you’ll eventually catch on to his borderline obnoxious flirting, and better yet, reciprocate. if you do happen to return his feelings, he doesn’t waste any time in asking you out properly, because why wait? his friends say he laughs too loud around you for you to not know about his feelings, but he swears that they’re just being dramatic… he’s so normal and chill about you, really, that joke about the refrigerator or something was just funny!

taeyang

an absolute menace. you end up assuming that he hates you with how he stares you down whenever you enter his vicinity and with how he exchanges hushed whispers with his friends from across the room, silenced only when he turns his head far away enough to steal glances at you. eventually, once he asks for your number under the guise of it apparently being weird that you were the only two between your mutual friend groups to not have exchanged numbers, he plays into this idea, hoping he can pull off some sort of enemies to lovers trope, because it always works in books, right? in truth, he’s just a little bit apprehensive about the vulnerability that comes with liking someone, and tries to preserve his pride with thinly veiled insults that upon second glance quickly fall apart. can you melt his icy cold heart? (the answer is yes.)

jiung

likes you from the very beginning, but is a strong believer in the idea that lovers should be friends first, so he tries his best to establish a genuine relationship with you before he even begins to think about making any moves. he shows strong initiative even throughout your friendship–whether it’s invitations to meet up for lunch, to see that movie you’ve been eagerly waiting the release of, or even paying for your coffee every single time, he’s quick to assure you and dispels any worries you might have about repaying him with a wave of his hand and a bright smile–your company is enough, he says, and if you end up falling for him (who wouldn’t?) he, of course, eagerly awaits the day he can take you for an actual date, but enjoys every moment he spends with you until then just as much.

intak

by far the most shameless with his affection. he can’t help it–you have him hopelessly whipped from the very beginning and he’s terrible at hiding it anyway, so why not lean into it? the first to jump up from his seat when you mention being thirsty–water or juice? and the first to compliment you regardless of the circumstances of your meeting, even on those days you can’t manage anything but a sweater pulled hastily over your shoulders and a messy updo. it’s impossible not to feel flattered around him, and he’s honestly not even actively trying to flatter you, he’s just being wholly honest. if you ever want to shut him up, just compliment him back–hopefully you have a stretcher on hand!

shota

the cutest ever. you catch him staring at you more than a few times before he eventually works up the nerve to approach you, and initially you’re intimidated–but the moment he opens his mouth you know that he’s harmless, and obscenely adorable to beat. he’s not the greatest at expressing himself with words, so he makes sure to show that he likes you by sending you things that remind him of you–songs from an artist he likes, those little figures you collect he sees in the window of a store on the way to work, a rainbow in the sky after a rainy morning. sometimes he provides some commentary, or a cute emoticon, and other times he says nothing, sending only a simple picture and hoping that you can feel even just some of the many emotions that rush through him at the thought of you and have his heart fluttering in his chest when you eventually reply.

jongseob

the sweetest of angels. he doesn’t crush often, but when he does, he crushes hard, so he doesn’t want to mess it up. though he’s rather reserved on the flirting front, he makes sure to send good morning and good night texts every day, without fail, on top of the seemingly random yet innocuous questions he asks throughout the day–what did you eat for lunch? how was work? any thoughts on this new album that just came out? part of it is in hopes that eventually you’ll fall for him as he did you, but he does also take genuine interest in you as a person and wants to know everything about you there is to know if you’ll just give him the chance. flirt with him at all and you’ll very quickly have him turning into a giggling, indecipherably stammering mess.

[arieslost]

Omg thank you so much for writing my Oscar x stressed reader I felt like I related so much and your writing is just too tear I loveeeee it ❤️

I was wondering if you could do maybe like on Oscar x like a sick reader or something like that I literally have the worst flue and stomach bug atm

Thank so much -❤️❤️

i’m so glad you liked it!! i hope you’re feeling better by time i post this :((

© arieslost 2024. DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT PERMISSION.

sick day | op81

you always prided yourself in going long stretches of time without getting sick, and if you did, it was only a mild cold that went away within a day or two. so, when you woke up one morning with a sore throat, you ignored it. when your nose got stuffy, you ignored it. when the uncharacteristic headache hit you, you popped some ibuprofen and called it a day.

but then you wake up the next morning and instantly know that this isn’t just a cold. the high temperature flashing back at you on the thermometer only confirms it, and unfortunately you can’t ignore this. not if you don’t want oscar to get sick too. so, when you crawl back into bed and he goes to kiss your forehead like he does every morning, you shy away from him.

“i might be sick,” you manage to croak out.

“might be?” oscar frowns. “honey, you sound like me when i first hit puberty.”

you try to glare at him, but what he said was kind of funny and your huff of laughter turns into a coughing fit that sounds nothing short of excruciating. you think you see oscar physically recoil out of the corner of your eye.

“why didn’t you tell me you weren’t feeling well?” he asks once you down a few sips of water.

“because i never get sick!” you exclaim, raising a hand to your head when it pounds courtesy of your own voice. “now i’m a hazard for myself, and you. actually, you probably shouldn’t be this close to me. go away.”

you start pushing him out of the bed with your foot, and he stifles his own laughter as he gets up. “stay there, okay? i’ll take care of you.”

“no, no, i don’t want you to get sick. just leave me here and let me sweat it out or something.” you wave him off, trying to act casual, and then you cough again. “ow.”

“i’ll make tea. does your stomach hurt?” you shake your head no in response. “some toast and eggs too, then.” you open your mouth to protest, but he cuts you off. “and you can’t stop me because the only way to do that is to physically kick me out, and you can’t touch me. otherwise i’ll get sick.”

“i hate you,” you grumble, even though you don’t think you’ve ever loved him more than you do in this moment.

“hang tight, baby. i’ll take care of you.” he blows you a kiss and hurries out of the room.

“don’t burn the toast!” you yell after him, immediately regretting it as your throat feels like it’s on fire the more you talk.

within the next ten minutes, you feel like you’ve sweat through your pajamas, and the sheets feel damp underneath your body. he comes to check on you and only needs to take one look at you to know something’s wrong.

“what is it?”

“i’m just… really hot. and everything feels icky.” you complain.

“okay, baby. can you sit up?” he asks, reaching for a hair tie on your nightstand. “where’s your comb?”

“top drawer.” you say as you push yourself up. “you better not come near me.”

“what are you gonna do about it? cough on me? come on,” he gestures for you to lean forward a little so he can brush your hair. “don’t worry about me. let me take care of you, yeah? no more arguing.”

“fine. but only because it hurts to talk.” you acquiesce, eyes falling shut at the tingles every brush of the comb through your hair sends to your scalp. “feels nice.”

“good,” you can hear the smile in your boyfriend’s voice as he gently gathers your hair up into a ponytail and carefully ties the elastic. “lemme get you some clothes, and then let’s go out to the couch, hmm?”

you want to tell him no, you don’t want to contaminate anything else, but you also don’t want to stay here in a puddle of your own sweat, so you let him help you change into a pair of his sweats and an old t-shirt, and because he’s being so sweet, you don’t pull away from him when he takes your hand and leads you out to the living room.

you situate yourself on the couch, clutching your water bottle in your hands for dear life. not necessarily because you feel like drinking it, but because it’s cold and it feels good. meanwhile, oscar is bustling around looking like he’s doing five things at once. one moment he’s moving the eggs around in the pan, the next he’s getting sheets out of the linen closet, and then he’s in the bathroom with the sink running.

“i could get used to this,” you tease, managing to not sound completely miserable as he brings over two cool cloths. one goes on your neck, and the other rests against your forehead. “ah, my fever’s already gone.”

“nice try,” oscar says, adjusting the cloth on your forehead a little. “eggs are almost done, you ready to eat?”

“are you gonna feed me?” you bat your eyelashes at him, and promptly have your second coughing fit of the morning.

“i might have to, you can barely talk without almost coughing up a lung.” he moves into the kitchen and begins making up a plate for you, followed by pouring hot water into a mug and placing the tea bag in before adding some honey and stirring it. “i didn’t burn the toast, so i expect a five star rating.”

“we’ll see about that,” you say, eagerly accepting the mug of tea when he holds it out and taking a long sip. even though it’s hot, it feels incredible as it goes down your throat. “i’m willing to give you bonus points for the tea.”

“that doesn’t count, i didn’t actually make that. c’mon, have some food.” he takes the mug from you and replaces it with the plate of toast and eggs.

you eat without complaint, but your nose being so stuffy kind of takes away from your ability to taste. all the same, you make your reactions as enthusiastic as possible. oscar’s a pretty decent cook, you both know it, but it’s been a running bit in your relationship to smack talk his skills in the kitchen.

“thanks, oz.” you say quietly when you’re done eating and you’ve drank two cups of tea. “i feel a lot better already.”

“you look sleepy,” he points out, flipping both cloths so the cooler sides can be on your skin.

“no, ‘m fine.” you disagree, even though you can feel yourself sinking back into the couch and your eyelids getting heavy.

“take a nap, honey. you’ll feel even better if you let your body rest.” he stands up to clear your dishes, and you stop him by weakly grabbing the bottom of his shirt. “what’s the matter?”

“nothing, just… want you to stay.”

“of course, baby. one second.” he’s quick to put your dishes in the sink before he’s back at your side, and you waste no time in slumping against him. “are you sure you want to cuddle? you feel pretty hot still.”

“i’m always hot, you tell me all the time.”

he sighs, knowing he won’t win this unless he wants to deal with you being sick and annoyed that he won’t do what you want. “touché, honey.”

you don’t answer, so wrapped up in the comfort oscar gives you even though you’re still hot and he’s often your personal heater. strangely enough, his body heat combats the fever heat in a way that’s so nice you don’t even really notice yourself losing consciousness. meanwhile, oscar leans back against the couch, making sure the washcloth stays put against your head and your ponytail doesn’t fall out when you shift in your sleep.

of course, he ends up getting sick a week later, but you’re quick to drop everything and take care of him, just like he did for you.

word count: 1,340

masterlist — join my tag list here!

note: i once again hate this ending but we move!! thank you for sending this in!

requests are OPEN, and my inbox is always open for comments, criticism, and conversation! feel free to pop in!

reblogs are greatly appreciated <33

dividers by @/saradika

tags: @venusacrossthestars @67-angelofthelordme-67 @emails-i-can-send @nelly187 @cixrosie @fangirl-dot-com @sainzluvrr @imheretoread @mellowarcadefun @yourbane @monsieurbacteria6 @c-losur3 @papayatori @ssprayberrythings @namgification @maih23 @evlkking @witchycarmen @ilovethispookie @maxverstappenfan79 @sya-skies @sweatrevenge5436-blog @kimis-gloves @mia-rrrs @decafmickey @customsbyjcg-blog @bigheartsthings @tania2748 @scuderiadevils @iloveyou3000morgan @ctrlyomomma @hiireadstuff @daemyratwst @arian-directioner @evelyn-ny @avg-golden-retriever

[gracieheartspedro]

Cool About It

joel miller x fem! reader

Description: you've only patrolled with him a couple times, which made you kind of hate him. but after a night of subtle flirting at the tipsy bison, tons of alcohol, shooting pool, and making fun of some guy's tattoos, you realize you're really into joel. after you get him, you realize maybe you shouldn't want him.

Part 1/3

PART TWO IS HERE

Word count: 5.3k

Warnings: MINORS DNI! this is 18+, post!outbreak joel, drinking, playing pool(?), possible age gap (not specified really), very smutty, unprotected p in v, fingering, oral (f receiving), overstimulation, dirty talk, multiple orgasms, joel is a menace a bit, ellie is also a little shit haha

hi lovers, how's it going? this is going to be a three-parter, inspired by Boygenius' song "Cool About It". it's gonna be smutty in all three parts so be ready (: please reach out if you have any requests or just wanna talk! I'm friendly I promise lmao

Met you at the dive bar to go shoot some pool

And make fun of the cowboys with the neck tattoos

Ask you easy questions about work and school

I'm trying to be cool about it

Feelin' like an absolute fool about it

Wishin' you were kind enough to be cruel about it

Tellin' myself I can always do without it

Knowin' that it probably isn't true

You keep your head held high while you walk into the Tipsy Bison, the only bar in Jackson. You were not familiar with the walls of the establishment, but the plan was to get out of your comfort zone. You were good at being a social outcast, and Maria, the only friend you had here, told you to try to break out of your shell. 

So here you are, at a bar. 

Immediately you recognize a couple of familiar faces, including the Millers. 

Tommy and Joel were the patrol leaders for Jackson. You always felt comfortable around Tommy. He was more laid back and funny. On the couple of patrols you did with him, he always made sure the time went by quicker. While serious in times that are pressing, he brought light to darker situations. Maria, his wife, was the first person to introduce you to life in Jackson. She got you set up in a house by yourself and had you start patrolling when she realized you were an excellent shot. She was kind, always making sure you were looking out for yourself and invited you to family dinners sometimes.

Joel was different. 

Very quiet and deadly serious when he was speaking. He made you feel insecure about your abilities, always double and triple checking things behind you. You couldn’t bring your own horse out of the stable without him checking your pack and ensuring you packed extra bullets. 

“You never know what’s out there, girl,” He would tell you. 

You find an empty seat at the bar. Only one seat away from Joel. 

The bartender approaches you, asking what you’d like. You gesture towards Maria.

“Whatever she’s havin’.” 

Maria finally takes notice from beside Tommy and waves at you with a huge smile plastered on her face. It warmed your cold little heart. 

“Hey pretty lady,” She hops out of her chair to give you a half hug, “Glad you are doing this.”

Tommy was looking at you from beside Joel, a smirk playing on his face.

Joel stared forward with no emotion, not even daring to glance your direction.

“How’s it goin’?” Tommy asks, scooting his chair back to begin his way over to you, taking a spot next to Maria. 

You nod, “It’s going.”

“You were on that patrol with the raiders a couple days ago, right?”

He was referring to two days ago when a couple of shitty raiders took down your partner’s horse and almost shot you through the back. You guys got the upper hand, of course. You never went without packing two guns, so you had quickly slid off your horse to find cover behind a downed tree and used a hunting rifle to take two headshots. Your partner wasn’t so lucky. He was an older man and he fell hard when his horse went down. You had to race back to Jackson getting him into the infirmary as quickly as you could. Turns out he broke his arm and a couple of ribs. He would be off patrols for awhile. 

“Sure was,” You reply, “Luckily Eugene got out with just a broken arm. I was happy to be there for him.”

Before Tommy could reply to you, Joel quips up. 

“He told me you got both of the guys between the eyes,” He mumbles, “That true?”

You shake my head positively. You didn’t even want to speak to him in fear that you’d say the wrong thing. He would overanalyze you at the drop of a hat. 

“That’s impressive,” Tommy remarks, “Glad you got out of it unscathed.”

“My girl here is a badass,” Maria pats your shoulder, “Glad you are doing better. I know you were a rattled a bit.”

You take a sip of my drink, noting the intense burn, “Yeah, me too.”

You guys make more small talk, mainly about some recent patrols and what you found. You try to act interested, but the truth was you wanted to go home and read. Your mind was better occupied with made up stories than the stories that were playing out before you in real life. 

“I think we should get home to Ian,” Maria says to Tommy, referring to their newer son. He was about five months now, very cute, and chunky. He resembled your nephew before the world stole him and his mother from you. So you always refused to hold Ian, knowing it would send you into a spiral as soon as his little fingers found yours. Maria understood, telling you she knew exactly how you felt. She’s felt loss like that before, too.

“Ellie probably wants to be relieved of her cousin duties,” Joel grumbles from beside Tommy, “Poor girl doesn’t know what she agreed to.”

“Ian’s sleepin’,” Maria says putting on her coat, “She is probably bored.”

“Tell her to head home when you see her,” Joel comments. 

You have met Joel’s girl more than once. She was kind of stand-offish, intially. Now that you’ve met her a couple times, she was more chatty and goofy. She was a spitfire towards Tommy, which always made you laugh. 

From what you understood, Joel had a daughter before the outbreak. Tommy and Maria keep her name on a little memorial above their fireplace, with Maria’s son’s name scribbled beside hers. You didn’t know the backstory behind Ellie, but you realized the last time you were around all of them, she doesn’t call him dad. Just Joel or old man. Maybe she adopted?

Maria pulls you out of your thoughts, nudging you a bit. 

“Stay awhile, have another drink.”

You nod giving her a gentle smile, “I will. Get home safe.”

“See you around, girl,” Tommy says, giving you a half hug. You turn back to face the bar, noticing Joel’s still sipping on his whiskey. 

You two sit in awkward silence when they leave, not saying much to one another. You drink your second round quickly, calling over the bartender for another one. Joel says he wants the same. Once you get your pours, he finally decides to talk again.

“You still with that one guy?”

You look at him curiously, not sure who he’s talking about. You rack your brain trying to figure out who he’s referring to and then it hits you. 

“Kendrick? Oh no, he’s not anything,” You respond. 

Kendrick was one of your patrol partners. You two hooked up once and realized it was too weird. He was younger than you, which didn’t mean much. But that was a huge factor in his performance. He wasn’t sure what to do. He didn’t know what foreplay was, which meant the sex was dry and not pleasurable in the slightest. 

“It seemed like something the other day,” Joel notes, “Wouldn’t stop staring at you at the town meeting.”

You could not help but notice the slight venom in his tone. 

“Interesting you’re taking notice to other guys who look at me. You jealous, Miller?”

He turns to you finally, his eyes a bit glassy. The whiskey was making him bold, you could tell. 

“Just observant,” He remarks, “He doesn’t seem like your type.”

“Oh, now you know my type?”

He shakes his head at your response, “I imagine you like them a bit older than him.”

Maybe you were overanalyzing the situation, but it seemed to you that Joel Miller was flirting with you. You felt like he was suggesting you were into him. 

Truth be told, you did like them older. You liked a rugged man who was a bit of a mystery. You also liked assholes. All things Joel Miller was. So maybe you were into him.

You lean in to speak to him quietly, “Are you trying to suggest something?”

“Not at all,” He murmurs, “Just answering your question. Am I wrong?”

You purse your lips, “Not wrong.”

Another awkward silence. 

“Wanna play some pool?”

You furrow your eyebrows, not knowing how to respond. You think his goal was to change the subject and avoid more silence. So you just nod, hopping off your barstool. The two of you make your way through some occupied tables to the one empty pool tables. You grab a stick while Joel starts to corral all the balls and set them in place.

You’ve played pool before, but you were never good. Your ex found a pool table once while you two were traveling and he spent hours teaching you how to play. It led to a screaming match. You decided after that, it just wasn’t for you. 

Joel was patient, watching you line up the white ball and hit it with hardly any force, not breaking up any of the balls. You just shake your head in disappointment. 

“You ever play?”

“Yeah, I just suck.”

“Fair enough,” He replies, taking his shot. You guys go back and forth. You getting no balls in the pockets, him getting all the balls in the pockets. 

You ask him about patrols he’s been on recently, trying to make light conversation. You really just wanted to see if your conversation would lead back to where it started. 

It didn’t. 

Instead you two got more rounds of drinks and played more pool. He became more chatty, standing behind you every time you tried to take a shot, giving you advice here and there. Once you stood straight up after finally getting a ball in a pocket, he leaned in a bit. 

“You see that guy over there?”

He gestured towards an older gentleman at one of the far tables. He seemed like the type to have a Confederate flag hanging outside his house. He also seemed like the type to call a woman a slur if they turned down his advances. Maybe you are just a bitch and assuming all of this. Or your assumptions about a man were right, per usual. 

You turn to Joel, glancing up at him. He was close, his face centimeters away. 

“Mhm?”

“He’s got all those tattoos,” He looks towards the man again, “The one on his neck is a skull with one of those Native headdresses. Looks fuckin’ dumb.”

The way he says it sends you into a fit of giggles. He starts to laugh, too. It was the first time you saw him genuinely smile and damn did it look beautiful on him. His eyes crinkled a bit, his shoulders falling in a very relaxed way. 

You finish up your round of pool and decide it’s time for the both of you to retire back to your houses. Conveniently, your house was right off Rancher Street just like his. You grab your coat off the one barstool, watching Joel put on his. 

“We are going the same way, do you mind walkin’ with me?”

“No problem.”

-

You two walked side by side, your steps almost in sync. It was much darker now, the sun set hours ago. You felt like you went through a time jump. You didn’t feel like you spent tons of time at the Tipsy Bison. 

Joel’s house is before yours on the street, so when you arrive in front of his steps, he stops completely.

“Here’s me,” Joel mutters, “You comin’ in?”

“Should I?” You question, stupidly.

“Well I invited you, so yeah,” He suggests, “You should.”

He walks in front of you, reaching for his front door. His house was comfy and warm. Looking around, you could tell he kept it well maintained. It was clean, only a couple dust bunnies lined the hallway baseboards. He had pictures on the walls and blankets littering the couch.

“I ain’t done this in awhile,” He says, sliding his boots off at the front door. You follow suit, not really taking in the words he said. He stares at you carefully, waiting for a response.

“I’m sorry, what exactly?”

He approaches you slowly, his demeanor shifting. He looks down at you, his stature a lot bigger than most of the men you’ve been with, you note. He was broad and brilliantly tanned. His dark chocolate hair was speckled with grays. He had some fine lines on his face, especially where he furrowed his eyebrows 24/7. 

“Brought a girl home.”

His brown eyes grow ever darker, his arm enveloping you for a moment. You don’t pull away, letting him bring your body closer to his. You feel butterflies in the pit of your stomach, something you’ve not felt with a man in years.

“Feelin’ a bit rusty?” You suggest, your hands resting on his chest.

“Don’t know about that,” He mutters, “Do know I’ve been thinkin’ about this for a while.”

His comment takes you back, completely sobering you up. The warmth from the alcohol subsides and you blink at him for a minute.

“What do you mean, a while?”

His face centimeters away from yours, again. You instinctively wrap your arms around his neck, having to get on your tiptoes to do so. 

“Meanin’ every time ’m around you, I think of how amazing your ass looks in those jeans.”

Your heart skips a beat. 

“You’re only now telling me this, Joel?” You ask, playing up that you were annoyed. You were kind of, because what the fuck, you could’ve had him sooner?

“Didn’t think a pretty young thing like you would want me,” He says, “Now I know better.”

He leans down, his lips hardly touching yours. You assume he’s waiting for your move, so you give in first, capturing his lips against yours. It was gentle at first, until he takes notice to how you’re pulling him down further.

He deepens the kiss, pressing your back against one of the walls nearby. His lips were soft, his mustache tickling you a bit. He adds tongue seamlessly, feverishly grabbing you everywhere. Your hips, lower back, your butt. 

I can’t believe I’m making out with Joel right now. 

Your brain stops for a moment when you realize one thing you never thought about before. Where’s Ellie?

It brings you out of the kiss. You pull away slowly, trying not to alarm him too much.

“Is Ellie home?” You mutter, your eyes fluttering open to meet his. 

He looks to the side, glancing out the back window. 

“Probably, but she stays in the garage out back. She has uhm,” He gestures towards the backyard, “Has a whole set up in there. She never comes in here, don’t worry.”

It reassures you enough to bring him back into the kiss. His hands return to your waist, pulling you closer. You couldn’t help but grip his arms, feeling his muscles through his long sleeve. 

“Bring me to bed, Miller,” You moan between kisses, “Need you now.”

He doesn’t say anything before he leans down, hiking your legs up around his waist. He carries you like you’re a light little feather. You use this time to attach your lips to his neck, giving him soft kisses up to his earlobe. 

Joel may be a bit older than you, but he carried you up the stairs like no other 50-something-guy could. He didn’t even fumble, his steps heavy and calculated. Once you two get to the landing, he readjusts you, his hands now holding you up by your ass. 

“Let’s get you out of these clothes,” He murmurs in your ear, walking you into his bedroom. It smells like fresh air, which throws you off a bit. You notice the one window in the corner is cracked slightly, letting in the springtime air. 

He tosses you on his made up bed, making you a bounce a bit. He’s standing over you looking a bit dishelved, his eyes dark with desire. 

He unbuttons his shirt, shaking it off his shoulders. You watch the piece of fabric fall away from him. His upper body is toned, some areas of his stomach and shoulders are littered with scars. The moonlight highlights them, but honestly, they made him hotter. He looked more dangerous, more unattainable for a girl like you. 

“You just gonna gawk?” He teases, leaning down to let his lips meet yours again. In between kisses, he tugs down your pants, leaving you just in your underwear and top. He throws your pants across the room, his hands trailing up your bare thighs. 

“Let me get my top off,” You say pulling away from his eager lips. He sits back on his knees, watching you slowly peel off your top and undershirt. The undershirt has a built in bra that hardly keeps your boobs supported, but it was easier than wearing the uncomfortable bras you usually wore. You throw both shirts across the room before you lean back on your elbows again. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” He says, his hands reaching out to touch you. He finds your collarbones first, before letting one hand trace the swell of your breasts. He was taking his time with you. 

“You just gonna gawk?”

He smiles. 

“I am gonna ruin you, girl,” He spits. You stare at him with your best doe eyes, trying to see what kind of rise you could get out of him. 

He grabs one of your boobs, before pushing you all the way on your back. His lips trace all over your body before ghosting right above where your underwear sit on your lower tummy. 

“Joel-” You begin, until he starts tracing your slit with his fingers, right over your panties. 

“Hm?” He chuckles, his soft touches making you writhe under him, “What, sweetheart?”

“Need you-” You choke out, “Please.”

He chuckles darkly, “Love to see you beg.”

You knew he was going to be dominant, but you didn’t expect him to be so candid. He seemed so quiet and steadfast in day to day life, so when you see him like this, you knew you were fucked. He was the type to talk you through the whole experience, something you’d never had with another man. Everyone you had slept with was so vanilla. No one was like the guys in the novels you read. Dominant, hungry for more, and vocal. 

“Let’s take these off,” He says wrapping his finger around the band of your underwear. You were so giddy now, you lift your ass a bit so he could get them off you. When you do that, your bare pussy gets so close him that you could feel his breath on your mound slightly. 

“You ever been eaten out before, girl?”

You shake your head, “Yes, but I didn’t really enjoy it.”

“Just let me know when you’re about to cum, baby,” Baby, “I know you will.”

You loved how cocky he was. It made the anticipation almost too overwhelming.

He leans down, his tongue flattening over your slit. You watch him close his eyes and instantly get into devouring you. He flicks his tongue up and down, eventually pressing his lips around your mound. You lose all ability to speak, so when he pulls away, you groan in displeasure. 

He says nothing, just put his middle finger and ring finger into his mouth, covering them in his saliva. He looks up at you, those fingers beginning to trace you up and down. 

“You-” Is all you can say before he’s sinking his fingers inside. He reattaches his lips to your clit, sucking as he fucks you with his digits. The wet squelching from the action sends your head into orbit. You cannot believe how good it feels because every other sexual encounter you had the guy would go in dry, maybe giving you kitten licks, and call it eating you out. But not Joel. Joel knew a woman’s anatomy. He knew exactly how to treat it. 

You just moan out his name, letting his actions take you to that familiar heat build up in your tummy. Usually you had to get there yourself. You throw your head back into his pillows, your eyes crushing shut as you take in the feeling. 

“Hey,” You hear Joel growl, “Eyes on me, or I stop.”

Your eyes fly open, watching him return to sucking your clit. As you stare down, you notice him adding another finger into the mix. The pressure felt so good, your walls feeling everything he was giving you. 

“Can I please,” You are about to let go, but you remember you were supposed to tell him, “Cum?”

You can’t even form sentences. 

He pulls away.

“Since you asked nicely,” His lips are wet with your slick, “Cum.”

The magic word that sends you into pure bliss. Your body quakes while he still fucks you with his fingers. You can only chant his name, begging him not to stop. 

He removes his fingers, smiling at your post orgasm face. You blush, suddenly becoming extremely self aware. You had no reason to be timid or shy now, being splayed out like you are in front of Joel. 

He stands tall over you, making you feel so small in his big bed.

“That was so good baby, but I ain’t done with you,” He pulls you by your legs to the edge of the bed, “Need that perfect pussy wrapped around my cock.”

“Jesus fuck,” You moan, still sensitive from what he just did to you. 

He groans, “Name is Joel. No Jesus here.”

He just had to give into the dad jokes. You slap your forehead in disappointment, making him grin a bit. 

“Got you all nice and stretched, now.”

You realize he hasn’t even taken off his pants in that moment, because he pulls down his tented pants to reveal himself to you. He was bigger than you’ve ever had, which sent you gawking again. He pumps himself, watching your widened eyes. 

“You’re too easy to read, girl,” He mutters, “I’ll inch it in, let you get adjusted nicely.”

You lean forward a bit, back onto your elbows, “You’re gonna fucking split me in half.”

He runs his dick between your wet core, which sends shockwaves up your body. 

“Like I said,” He licks his lips, “I got you nice and stretched.”

Him repeating it made you smirk devilishly. He continued to run his cock up and down your wetness, getting ready to plunge into you. 

When he stops right in front of your hole, he stares into your eyes like he’s trying to read your mind. 

“Fuck me, Joel Miller.”

He sinks into you, inch by inch. You groan in pleasure. The stretch is nothing like his fingers, it’s even better. 

He’s taking his time, pulling back a bit before pushing back into you. It’s slow, gradual. After three pumps, he leans down to catch your lips. He continues to grind into you, the mixture so intoxicating. You moan into the kiss, your mouth opening up for his tongue to slip in. He tasted like you, which was something you never really tasted before. 

“Your pussy was made for me,” He moans, “Fuckin’ hell.”

He sits back, bringing the pace up a bit, his balls slapping into you now. The sounds were borderline pornographic. The panting, the wetness, the slapping. 

“You’re takin’ me so well,” He grunts, “I want to hear you.”

You cry out as he speeds up, “Please, d-don’t stop.”

And he doesn’t. He keeps the pace the same as he fondles your boobs. He pinches your perked up nipples, clenching his teeth. You can tell he’s getting close, but instead of chasing that high, he stops. 

He manhandles you, pulling you up like he did when he carried you up the stairs. He somehow keeps his dick inside you as he finds a seat on the bed. He’s holding you above him, completely switching positions. 

“Want you to ride me,” He says, “Need to see those beautiful tits bouncin’.”

You take up the challenge. You rest on your knees first. You circle your hips, dragging your clit across his lower tummy. You never knew you could feel so full before, especially in this position. 

He just stared at you in awe, playing with your tits as you grind down on him. 

You take one of his hands in your own, placing it right below your belly button. 

“I feel you right here, Joel,” You moan, “Fillin’ me up so good.”

You knew he wanted to cum right there because his dicks twitches inside you. 

“You are one dirty girl,” He growls, “You’re lucky I’m even letting you cum again, talkin’ like that.”

You plant your feet on the bed, finding all your strength to start bouncing on him. He steadies you, bringing his hips up to meet yours. This angle hits different, especially when Joel’s thumb finds your clit again. You couldn’t help yourself, chasing that same high you felt before when his face was between your thighs. 

You look down at him with hooded lids, “I’m gonna cum again.”

“Yes you are,” He smirks, “Cum all over me baby, I feel you.”

Your release hits you, making you fall to your knees again. Your hips girate, the spasming around Joel’s cock sending him into a moaning mess. He lets your settle for a moment before lifting you back up. His dicks slides out, which causes him to hiss and you to groan. Instead of laying you face up, he throws you face down into the pillows. 

“My turn,” He says, dipping his cock back into you. As soon as it happens, you realize you weren’t done. That same sensitivity was back, but this time you felt the burning pick back up even quicker. He’s settling into a brutal pace, grabbing both your ass cheeks and spreading them apart. You turn your head, trying to get a view of him. 

He was watching himself plunge into you, over and over again. It had to be the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. He’s dripping in sweat, his body glistening, clenching his teeth at the sight of your bodies meeting. 

“‘m bout to cum,” He moans, “Where do you want it?”

“Fuck it into me, Joel.”

The words slips out so quickly. The tipping point hit you both at the same time, the spasming hitting you all over again. You scream into the pillows, biting into them trying not to be too loud. He releases himself into you, stilling his movements. 

He doesn’t say anything when he pulls out, you both just breathe out loudly. You felt so empty without him. 

You had never cum so much in one night before. 

Joel Miller made you cum three times. 

Without any help. 

You hear his footsteps trail to his attached bathroom, hearing some water run from the faucet. You return to laying on your back, unsure if you could trust your legs to stand. Joel’s figure returns to the room, a damp rag in his hands. He smirks at you all the while nudging your legs apart. He slowly drags the rag around your sensitive area, making sure to get any cum that was leaking out of you. After he cleans you up, he wipes off his dick a bit. 

He tosses the rag into a basket of clothes nearby. 

“You want any water?”

You take note to how gentle and sweet he was being after being so aggressive towards you before. It was a side of Joel you really appreciated. He wasn’t talking down to you, he genuinely took your needs into account.

“I think I’ll be okay,” You respond, your eyes finally shutting, “Don’t think I’ll be able to walk home.”

“You can stay,” He grumbles, walking to the side of the bed, “We both have patrol in the morning anyway.”

Your eyes fly open, “Shit, I do! Wait-”

“Yeah I’m on with you. For the rest of the week.”

You could scream. This man just gave you the best dick of your life and now you had to patrol with him? You didn’t know how you’d be able to contain yourself.

“Fuck,” You place your hands over your face. You settle in the thought that you needed to sleep if you were going to be alive for morning patrol and you’d worry about your horny desires for Joel.

“C’mere,” He says, pulling you further up the bed. He positions you next to him in the bed, pulling some covers over you, leaving your boobs still out for his viewing pleasure. He wrapped one arm under you, letting it rest around your neck. 

His sheets were flannel and so warm. His scent overtook you as soon as you relaxed into the pillows. One of them is the one you bite into earlier. 

You felt at peace, wanting to stay in this spot for as long as possible. 

“I’ll wake you a bit earlier so you can go home and get dressed,” He grumbles, “And…”

You don’t even realize how tired you are. Before Joel can finish his sentence, you fall into a deep slumber, praying sunrise doesn’t come too quickly. 

-

You wake up when it’s still dark outside. Joel woke you up with a gentle nudge. You shoot up, scared for a moment before you take in your environment. You realize he’s fully dressed already. You groan, rubbing your eyes. 

When you start to slip out of bed, you start realizing you’re still completely naked. 

And in Joel’s bed. 

You plant your feet on the wooden floorboards, using the light from the one lamp in the corner of the room to find your clothes. You could not find your panties for the life of you, so you give up and just shove your legs into your jeans and throw your shirt over your head. Joel lets you wake up in silence, not asking you questions until you make it downstairs. 

“I’ll see you at the stables,” He mutters, pouring warm water into a mug that has a tea bag hanging off of it, “You go get changed.”

He was being short, you could tell. You feel a sinking feeling, like he probably regretted what happened last night. Before you could respond, the back door swings open and a smaller frame enters the dark house. 

“Ellie,” Joel hisses, “What are you doing up?”

Her tired eyes are on you. You freeze in your spot, not knowing how to react or what to say. Your head just races with shitshitshitshit.

“I knew I heard your voice last night!” She laughs, “Y’all have fun?”

Your cheeks heat up instantly, not able to think of a response. 

“Ellie!” His voice is stern and borderline scary, “Go back to your room, now.”

It was a demand. 

She just chuckles, grabbing the door handle and pulling it close. 

“See you around, Joel’s lady friend.”

You stand there completely dumbfounded and embarrassed. Joel sips on his hot tea, not really paying attention to your response to Ellie calling you his lady friend. 

“Go get dressed.”

It was another demand. It sent shockwaves through your body. Maybe your sinking feeling was correct. 

Joel only did what he did last night because of the alcohol. It didn’t change how he’d treat or talk to you in real life. You kind of wished he’d just be cruel about it. Like he would just read your mind and tell you how stupid you were to think this would change anything. 

You felt like a fool.  You don’t say anything as you walk to the door and put on your boots. As you walk out of the house, you promise yourself to take it one minute at a time. Don’t overthink everything. Just let it be a one night stand. Don’t make it about your feelings. Be cool about it.

[fernandopiastri28]

tags: f2 alpine oscar x mark webber's daughter

warnings: daddy issues?? poor father-daughter relationship, jealousy

Anyone but webber - Oscar Piastri

Rule 2: Don't avoid your problems, face them

For the next few months, she finds just about every excuse to not see Oscar. She’ll leave the house if she knows Oscar is coming around, walk in the opposite direction of him if she sees him at the fair and few races she does attend, actively doesn’t follow him while still viewing each of his posts.

It’s anything to try and compress that crush on him, because lord knows if she does allow herself to openly like him like she wishes she could- it’ll end abysmally, likely in tears. Either she’ll find out Oscar feels quite literally nothing towards her, or her father will somehow get inbetween them, and it’ll just be awful and uncomfortable. 

That’s not to say she doesn’t miss their interactions though. Sometimes, her dad borderline forces her to talk to Oscar, and each time, it just feels so right. He’s so nice, and he’s funny, and he’s just everything. In any other situation, she would’ve made the first move a while ago- but it’s just not meant to be, and she knows that.

She hates when he waves at her from across the garage, or smiles at her while he’s deep in conversation with her dad, because it just makes everything harder on her. Her dad tries to bring up Oscar during their dinner talks around the table and she consistently shuts down the topic of him which leaves them in complete silence.

Because if Mark can’t talk about Oscar, he just won’t talk at all.

So by avoiding Oscar, she loses 2 people- Oscar himself, and her own father.

What a fucking shit situation. 

It’s a few months after the first initial dinner with the three of them that Oscar is invited over for a second one. After a lot of debating with herself, she decides not to stick around to see him. She makes up some excuse about having pre-existing plans to catch up with some friends from secondary school that she plans to tell her dad, until she realises he’s not going to care anyways. He doesn’t need a huge explanation for her, because if anything, he’ll be celebrating some time to talk on Oscar one on one, so she settles with just saying that she’ll be out for the night. 

When she does tell him, he gives her a tight smile, telling her to go have fun and to stay safe. She doesn’t hear the end of whatever he’s saying because she’s already out the door, and he doesn’t take notice to it anyways- too engrossed in his work.

As much as she’s bummed that she won’t be seeing Oscar tonight, she already knows that as long as her dad is around to be invested in their conversations- it’s not going to be anything overwhelmingly enjoyable for her.

Sure, he’s very pleasant to look at and is someone she definitely enjoys being around, she’d rather hangout with him if it’s just the two of them. If she’s given the option to tag along with the two men- she’ll just skip it. it’s enough to see him at the occasional races she tags along at, or the few times he appears on her explore page or timeline. 

Truly though if it was up to her, she’d gladly see him far more often- away from her father, and just able to speak to him for hours on end, but he simply doesn’t have the free time for that, nor would he likely want to, so she settles for pixels on a screen and his prerecorded voice.

Her night dies pretty young as the dinner with her friends ends earlier than expected, and she can’t really be bothered all too much to stay out drinking for much longer, so she signs off for the night and makes her way home. The living room lights are clearly still on as she stops in front of their house, which means her dad is still up.

If he’s still up, Oscar’s still here. Maybe, hopefully, her dad is all talked out and has retreated to bed by this point, leaving Oscar for her to talk to for a while, maybe. It’s an unlikely maybe though, because Mark Webber isn’t one for getting tired of talking, especially when the topic is Oscar or involves Oscar in some way.

Her key slips into the keyhole, rattling around a few times before the door clicks open. Sure enough, that familiar woody and peppery scent fills her senses, and the view of Oscar follows soon after. He looks so domestic, rugged up in a thick alpine hoodie. Differing shades of light and dark blue especially flattering his features. 

“Hey Oscar,” She leans against the door frame, slightly celebrating when she notices her dad isn’t present in the room. She kicks of her shoes, nudging them across the floor into the corner of the room.

“Hey Spider,” He grins, already using her nickname on their maybe 5th time meeting. She’s given up on telling him to not call her that, because at this point, it’s growing on. It’s so familiar, so intimate and endearing. 

“Mark told me you were out tonight, ended early?” Mark, it’s better than referring to him as ‘your dad’, it takes away some of the awkward shame she gets that she has a crush on her father’s employee. 

Because that still just feels a thousand degrees of wrong.

There’s a beer can right in front of him, dripping condensation onto their wooden table. There’s not a coaster in sight and she would bet a hundred dollars that Mark assured him it was fine if he just ‘leaves the drink there,’ and ‘don’t worry about a coaster’. Whereas she would’ve been scolded over and over for ‘ruining’ the wood. 

Oscar has about every privilege from Mark that she never gets. He can’t make a mistake in her dad’s eyes, but that’s all she ever does.

“Yeaaah, just feeling kinda tired” Her fingers clasp on the zipper of her jacket, pulling it down. She shrugs it off, hanging it on the hook on the back of the door. “Also figured I’d enjoy talking to you for a bit if you were still here,” 

When she looks back up at him, he’s holding a tight stare at her. He’s smiling a little, the corners of his pale lips twisted into a stupidly cute grin. “I’m honoured you’d choose me to talk to,” He shuffles around in the armchair, picking up the beer can just to have something to fiddle with. “I think your dad is upstairs, doing some organisational things for next season. Thought it was just gonna be me for a while- so,” He swallows, the muscles of his thick neck flexing hard, “Thanks for coming back early,” 

She takes a seat on the couch next to the chair he’s in, leaning towards him as her elbow rests on the arm of it. “I clearly just sensed you were lonely and tipsy,” She shrugs, watching him take a tensed sip of his beer. 

“Not tipsy, not tipsy at all,” He defends, shaking his head as he places it back down in front of him. “I’ve had about 3 sips over the course of 2 hour. Not a huge beer person, was more just to be polite to Mark,” His cheeks are decorated in a rosy flush, either from the cold or, the beer- or most hopefully, from speaking to her.

She’s often too hopeful for her own good.

“I’ll finish it for you if you really don’t want it,” She offers, watching him slide it towards her almost instantaneously. “Thanks,” It’s warmer than she’d usually like to drink beer, but the especially warm feeling on the spout where his lips had previously been sends stupid, lovestick excitement through her already slightly inebriated body. 

It’s kind of like they’re kissing, kinda.

God, that’s such a childish crush thought.

His mouth open slightly to allow his tongue to nudge out, dampening his lips, “Where’d you go tonight?” He asks, his fingers nudging into the ridges of a throw pillow under his arm, distracting his hands now that he doesn’t have the can for that.

“Just some bar,” Her tongue rolls around along the inside of her cheek, an oral fixation to keep her occupied. “Nothing fancy or anything, probably more boring than your night,” He flushes at her tease, his jaw pushing forward to conceal the grin on his face somewhat.

“I doubt that. I love racing, but the actual logistics of everything I have to do, that's not actually just driving… not as glamorous.” He purses his lips, his teeth gritting like he’s desperately trying to think something through. “I was sorta hoping you’d be here tonight,” 

It sets off fireworks in her stomach, a burning sensation from her scalp down to the tips of her toes. It’s like finding out your middle school crush likes you back, or kissing some cute boy during a game of spin the bottle. It’s not much, just a casual and meaningless arrangement or words, yet it’s enough to get her all flustered and awkward. 

“I came home early just to see you, if that means anything,” She pours the rest of the liquid courage down her throat, gagging at the lukewarm bitterness. It tastes awful, but anything to get her to force that confession out into the world is worth it. 

He doesn’t reply for a few moments, just stares blankly ahead at her. His eyes seem to burn holes into her, like he can see past the confident facade she puts up. Like he sees her. She’s not his boss's daughter, she’s not some paddock girl, she’s.. she’s her own person. 

In the seconds following, Oscar’s gaze doesn’t falter once. There’s a moment where if feels like nothing in the world exists outside of the cozy living room, that they’re completely isolated from anything beyond themselves. 

It’s strange to think her dad and his boss is quite literally tapping away on a computer upstairs, just out of ears reach.

Her lips feel awkwardly dry, so she fumbles around with her hand in her pocket, grabbing out a lipbalm. She smears it across her mouth, just staring at Oscar as he looks back at her. They don’t say a word, not sure where to go from here. There’s not necessarily any regret she feels from what she said to him, but it would be a whole lot easier if he would just say something in response.

After what feels like an eternity, he finally breaks the silence, his voice soft and a little hesitant. “It does,” He nods, that stupidly endearing little smirk on his face. He’s just so stupid, stupidly perfect, stupidly cute, stupidly not allowed to be hers. “It does mean something,”

His smile widens, his bunny teeth just slightly more apparent. She thinks they’re just about the cutest thing about him. “I’m glad you came back, I was hoping we’d finally get the chance to talk,” He gestures vaguely with his hands, and she’s come to notice how charasmatic he is with his hand movements when he’s speaking, “You know, outside of the racing scene.” 

He pauses for a moment, his words stuck on the end of his tongue, “Without your dad around,” 

This is a moment she’s forced herself not to think about ever since the first time she properly met Oscar. She’s forced her crush on him to the deepest depths of herself for so long. So now that it’s happening, she doesn’t know what she’s supposed to do. Does she lean in? does she kiss him? Who makes the first move?

Those questions stop as before another one can procure in her mind, Oscar’s stood up from his chair and moved onto the couch. The space between them isn’t even the smallest it’s ever been, but, god, he feels so close.

Oscar’s eyes flicker down to her lips for a moment, and she’s so grateful she put on that lipbalm on just before this. She wonders what his lips would look like if they kissed, if her pink and glossy lipbalm would get on his lips- hard cold evidence of what they did together.

 Her breath catches in her throat as his eyes meet hers once again, “What happens next?” His voice is low, like they’re sharing a secret. It is in a way, no one can ever know about this. It’s going to be their precious little secret, something they’ll smile about when their eyes meet in the paddock, that they’ll get rosy cheeked over at dinner when their fingertips touch. 

The words are on the very tip of her tongue, ‘just kiss me’, her brain is begging her to just get out with it, blurt it out. There’s something in the way he’s looking at her, verging on depraved, like he’s waiting for her to be the one to make the first move.

She bites the bullet, taking control over the situation, “I think we stop pretending this is just friendly,” She conceals the shake in her voice, “And we stop worrying about my dad being a factor in this,”

Oscar’s eyes light up at her words, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.  It’s like he’s been waiting for her to say that, and now that she has, there’s no turning back. “I like that idea,” he leans in closer, his breath warm against her cheek.

last chapter, next chapter

sorry for the cliffhanger!! but i hope u guys liked this chapter and i've already started chapter3, so you wont be waiting too long

taglist: @prettiest-at-the-party, @forza-charles, @sltwins, @sweetwh0re, @lucktales

[solar-wing]

⚣ Heroes of You and Me 💧

⚣🌊 A/N → The way you people get series and 20k+ fics out of me needs to be studied. How was a request SUPPOSED to be a one-shot, turn into a whole multi-part fic. Maybe I didn't feel like cramming over 20k words into one fic again. (and look how that went). But lemme me tell you something, cause I warned yall how I feel about writing for IRL characters. If Sky's actor who's name I won't specify for fear of his pr team getting a ping from this and showing it to him ever posts a reaction of him reading THIS or ANY fanfiction, this and ME will disappear off the face of the earth. I am not above going into hiding and living off the land. anyways, enjoy! MUAH 😘 WARNINGS: Slight Canon Divergence | Emotional Angst | Growing Curiosity and Feelings | Slow-Burn (fuck yall cause I hate slow burns but also still love you) | Jealousy |

⚣🌊 Summary → Magic, monsters, and bad decisions—The new fairies just wanted a peaceful first day considering how much everything had changed for them recently, but now they're dodging Burned Ones, losing magical rings, and trying not to die. Welcome to the Otherworld. What else could go wrong? Wait...don't ask that.

⚣🌊 Words → 26.6K

REBLOGS & replies are greatly appreciated, please! 💛

⚣ ENJOY 🌊

Sky made his way through the steel gates that led him into the courtyard of Alfea College, the late morning sun casting warm rays across the stone pathways. The campus was alive with the hustle of move-in day, the energy palpable as students reunited, chatted, and navigated their way to their respective dorms. Sky slung his duffel bag over his shoulder, taking a moment to breathe in the familiar scent of fresh-cut grass and the distant hum of chatter.

As he surveyed the scene, a familiar sense of unease settled in his chest—a mix of unresolved tensions from last year and the pressure of the responsibilities awaiting him this year. He pushed those thoughts aside, focusing instead on the task at hand: getting through another year at Alfea.

‘Another year’, he thought, his gaze sweeping over the bustling scene before him. Despite the familiar surroundings, there was a tight knot of tension in his chest, a lingering unease that he couldn’t quite shake. It could be the anticipation of his new role as a squad captain, which Silva had been kind enough to only inform him about a couple of weeks before the start of the school year. Whatever it was, he pushed it to the back of his mind and focused on the task at hand.

As he walked though the courtyard though, Sky couldn’t help but notice the contrasting scenes around him. All the smiling faces of friends reuniting after a whole three months apart, animatedly talking to each other about their vacations and showing pictures and funny videos on their phones. Then, there were those who weren’t talking to anyone, but taking every moment they could to take a ‘aesthetic’ photo so they could update their Insta stories. That was his generation for you.

Just as Sky started making his way toward the Specialist hall, a few familiar voices called out to him.

"Sky! There he is, our fearless leader!" Timmy’s voice rang out, pulling Sky from his thoughts. He turned to see a group of his old friends waving him over, their faces lit up with excitement.

Sky couldn’t help but smile as he approached them, his unease momentarily lifting. "Hey, guys," he greeted, offering a firm handshake to each of them. "Good to see you."

"Good to see you too, man," Brandon said, grinning widely. "We were just saying how we were wondering when you’d show up. Thought maybe you’d decided to bail on us."

Sky chuckled, shaking his head. "Bail? You know me better than that. Just taking my time this morning."

While they were catching up, Sky’s attention was momentarily drawn away from the conversation as his eyes scanned the courtyard. It was instinctual, almost reflexive—years of training had taught him to be aware of his surroundings at all times. But what caught his eye this time wasn’t a potential threat; it was another student, possibly a Specialist judging by their build, looking very lost.

Without thinking, Sky patted Brandon on the shoulder, interrupting their conversation. "Hold on a sec," he said, his focus shifting entirely to the struggling student.

He started to make his way toward the guy, acting on an impulse of empathy and something else he couldn’t name. He remembered his first day at Alfea, the mix of excitement and nervousness, and how a small gesture of help could make all the difference. As he approached, he was about to call out when he saw someone else reach the guy first—Sam Harvey, an Earth fairy and one of Professor Harvey’s kids.

“Hey, you must be Y/N. I’m Sam,” the Earth fairy greeted with a warm smile, holding his hand out for introduction.

“Nice to meet you, and yep, that’s me. I’m guessing you're the one Headmistress Dowling assigned to show me around?”

As Sky slowed his approach, the realization that his assumption was wrong—that the guy was indeed not a Specialist but a fairy—stopped him in his tracks. He couldn’t quite place why he felt a twinge of disappointment, but it was clear Sam had things under control. Just as he was about to turn back to his friends, something else caught his eye—a flash of ginger hair, standing in the middle of the courtyard with her bags. She also looked lost, her gaze scanning the courtyard as if she was waiting for someone.

When no one seemed to come, she grabbed her bags and started walking toward the Specialist Hall.

Sky hesitated for a moment, torn between going back to his friends and helping the girl who looked like she was struggling. The decision came easily enough—his natural instinct to help others always overrode everything else. He quickly started toward the girl, his strides purposeful but not hurried.

As he approached her, Sky noticed the way she was carrying herself—there was a certain determination in her step, but it was undercut by the uncertainty in her eyes as she glanced around. She didn’t seem to notice him at first, too focused on trying to figure out her way.

He didn’t quite know how to stop her and offer his help, so he just went with the first thing that came to mind.

“Wow, you are so lost,” he said, falling into step next to her.

Observational.

“I’m impressed with your confidence in the face of complete ignorance.”

Tactful…maybe?

“The issue is, you’re overcommitted. I mean, you’re essentially running.”

Yeah, there’s no word for this one. Maybe an ice cream truck will fall from the sky and save him. His only hope at this point.

“And now that I’m here, you can’t give me the satisfaction of turning around—”

Of course, throughout this entire questionable interaction, the specialist failed to notice her brows furrowing and the even more tense aura of her body language. Men…

“I don’t need help,” she interjected, saving everyone from witnessing a train wreck. A true hero, this girl is. “But thanks.”

“I don’t remember offering it,” he said with a slightly amused breath. “So presumptuous, you must be a fairy.”

“I am a fairy,” she responded, reluctantly continuing the dialogue while still trying to find where she was supposed to go.

As their conversation continued, neither noticed the approaching figure from behind or the eyes watching them from a distance. As Sky was pointing to the fairy hall, Riven, another Specialist and old friend of Sky’s, walked up to his friend from behind, surprising him.

“Quit perving on the first years,” Riven said with his usual condescending tone.

Sky, used to his friend's antics, wasn’t phased by it but did turn to acknowledge him.

“Riv, just give me one second. Yeah?”

“Why? You gonna chase her?” Riven asked, leaning to the side to look past him.

Sky turned his head to see that indeed, the girl had taken off, heading right for the fairy hall. He let out a disappointed sigh, though it wasn’t as bad as the one he felt earlier, which he was still confused about.

“Nope,” he replied before his friend tackled him with a hug. The two boys laughed and caught up while meeting up with the other Specialists and making their way over to the training grounds by the pond.

Sky and Riven made their way to the training grounds by the pond, the sounds of their laughter fading as they approached the more serious atmosphere of the Specialist area. The training grounds were a familiar sight, with well-worn paths leading to various stations where students practiced everything from hand-to-hand combat to more specialized weapons training.

As they entered the area, Silva, the head of the Specialists, was already there, barking orders at a group of first-year students who were fumbling through a basic drill. His sharp eyes caught sight of Sky and Riven, and he gave a nod of acknowledgment before turning his attention back to the recruits.

“Looks like the newbies are getting a warm welcome,” Riven commented, his tone laced with sarcasm as he watched a particularly nervous student nearly drop his weapon.

“Silva’s always had a way of making sure everyone knows what’s expected,” Sky replied, his gaze shifting to the group. “We were all in their shoes once.”

“Yeah, but some of us didn’t look like we were about to wet ourselves,” Riven shot back with a smirk.

Sky chuckled, but his focus was already shifting. He had a responsibility to these students now, not just as a fellow Specialist but as their squad captain. The weight of it settled more heavily on his shoulders with each passing moment, but he knew better than to let it show.

“Let’s get warmed up,” Sky suggested, nodding towards the sparring rings where a few other upperclassmen were already engaged in drills.

Riven raised an eyebrow, clearly catching on to Sky’s shift in tone. “You’re all business today, aren’t you?”

“Just focused,” Sky replied, his voice steady. “It’s going to be a long year.”

Riven shrugged, though he didn’t argue. “Alright, let’s see if you’ve still got it, Captain.”

Did anyone else catch that foreshadowing? Why did that feel like foreshadowing? Uh uh, nope. Take it back, take it back right now!

As Silva continued to give introductory speeches and expectations to the first-years, the rest of the returning Specialists were all warming up, getting back into rhythm after what felt like a long summer. The familiar sounds of weapons clashing, feet shuffling against the ground, and the occasional grunt of effort filled the air, creating a symphony of discipline and focus.

Sky took a deep breath, letting the energy of the training grounds settle over him. This was where he thrived—in the midst of the action, surrounded by the familiar rhythm of drills and the unspoken camaraderie among his fellow Specialists. The weight of his new role as squad captain was still there, but it felt more manageable now, woven into the fabric of his responsibilities.

Riven, on the other hand, seemed content to stretch out the pre-drill banter for as long as possible. He gave Sky a sidelong glance, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “So, Captain, any big plans for how you’re going to whip these new recruits into shape?”

Sky rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “You know Silva’s got that covered. I’m just here to make sure they don’t trip over their own feet too much.”

“Good luck with that,” Riven quipped, his tone light, though his eyes flicked over to the first-years with a more serious glint. “Looks like we’ve got a few who might need a miracle to make it through the first week.”

While they continued sparring with each other, Riven found moments to keep teasing Sky—not only about his new role but also about the ginger-haired girl he caught him with in the courtyard. A joke about Sky being smitten after one chat, and another about how gingers are amazing shags.

Classy, Riven. Classy.

But, of course, Sky, ever the romantic, couldn’t help but feel there was something about her. Yet, his mind couldn’t seem to stay away from the fairy he had been approaching before Sam stepped in.

After their last spar ended with Sky knocking Riven on his butt, they decided to call it. Well, more like Riven decided to skip the rest of the session to go have a smoke in the woods, asking Sky to distract his ‘aggro father figure’ so he didn’t get caught—and thus expelled.

Again, very classy, Riven. Please note the extreme sarcasm.

Though he hadn’t planned to, Sky ended up doing exactly as Riven asked when Silva pulled him into an impromptu spar, using him as an example of what first-years could become, legacy admissions or not, if they showed up and did the work. But then, one of the students had to chuckle, and now they were all getting a vivid story about how Silva lost his father to a Burned One when he was only ten years old.

No one could imagine what it was like for a 10-year-old boy to watch the light and life drain from his father’s body—then to be the one to put their parent down, knowing it was either them or you. A few of the students bowed their heads, trying not to appear affected or ‘weak’ on their first day. But it was understandable why they would be.

Burned Ones had been part of the Otherworld for as long as anyone could remember. They were creatures with humanoid figures that moved faster than a car and were just as ruthless as wild animals. Their charred and blackened appearances looked as if they had just walked out of a raging fire, somehow still alive, but burnt to a crisp, with cracks that glowed like embers, revealing the fiery torment that raged within them. Their limbs were long and skeletal, their fingers ending in claws sharp enough to tear through flesh and bone. But it was their faces that truly terrified—hollowed, with sunken eyes that glowed with a sickly, menacing light, and mouths filled with jagged teeth, ever ready to rend and consume.

The Burned Ones were more than just monsters—they were the stuff of nightmares, their very existence etched into the collective fear of society. Some said they were the remnants of an ancient curse, while others believed they were born from dark magic, a spell that left them behind as twisted remnants of the souls consumed by it. Their appearance haunted the minds of those who dared to venture too close to the shadowed places they roamed.

In every village, town, and city across the realms, the story of the Burned Ones had been passed down through generations. It was a tale told with hushed voices around campfires, a warning to the young and old alike. The Burned Ones were said to be the vengeful spirits of those who had fallen to the darkest depths of magic, their bodies scorched and twisted by the flames of their own corruption. They were symbols of dark times, death, and destruction—a reminder of the consequences of straying too far into the forbidden realms of the magical world. Parents would tell their children to behave, to stay within the bounds of what was known and safe, lest they suffer the same fate as those who became like the ones they feared.

As Silva so beautifully (or questionably and concerningly) put it to Dane, the first-year Specialist who dared chuckle, “Be thankful you’ve never seen a Burned One. But if you do, pray that it kills you, so the ones you love will not have to.”

The other first-years all looked a bit put off—nervous, terrified, or finding something far off to focus on instead. It was clear Silva’s story had shaken them. Dane, who had initially met Silva's gaze with unflinching defiance, now held a stance that communicated fear despite his best efforts to hide it.

Was it a bit extreme? Maybe. But it was also unnecessary.

No one has seen a Burned One in years. Yeah, they’ve got the protective barrier, but if the last sighting was more than a decade ago, then what’s all the fuss about?

Just as Silva finished his tale, a scream echoed from the forest, cutting through the tension like a knife. Riven.

It’s always fucking Riven…

The tension from the training grounds lingered in the air, following Sky as he headed back toward his dorm in the Specialists' Hall with his friend, who was a bit more shaken up than he’d liked to admit, yet still trying to act as if he was fine. Whatever he saw was enough to spark a wildfire of rumors, spreading to every corner of Alfea, and it wasn’t long before the news traveled to the heart of the school—the Headmistress’s office.

Y/N stood outside Headmistress Farah Dowling’s office, the cool stone walls of Alfea surrounding him like a protective barrier. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the meeting ahead. His thoughts were a whirlwind, full of the uncertainties that had plagued him since the decision to come to this school, and even before that.

The office door creaked open as Y/N hesitated, a warm voice beckoning him inside.

“Come in, Y/N,” the Headmistress called, her tone gentle yet authoritative.

Y/N stepped into the office, taking in the room’s comforting atmosphere. Shelves lined with ancient tomes and magical artifacts adorned the walls, while the large stained glass window behind Farah’s desk let in the soft, natural light of the morning sun. Farah herself sat behind her desk, her expression calm, yet her eyes held a depth that made Y/N feel as though she could see straight through to the core of him.

“Please, have a seat,” she offered, gesturing to the chair across from her.

Y/N nodded, moving to sit down, his movements slightly stiff from nerves. As he got settled in the seat, waiting for the Headmistress to begin, the weight of everything hit him hard. He thought about Sam, his new roommate and mentor, and how, despite his helpfulness, Y/N still felt like a fish out of water. Sam had been kind and welcoming, showing him around and making sure he didn’t get lost, but there was still an overwhelming sense of unfamiliarity.

His thoughts drifted to the other students he’d seen around campus—their easy smiles, their confident strides. They all seemed to belong here, like they’d been doing this their whole lives. Y/N, on the other hand, felt like he was constantly on the verge of tripping over his own feet. What if they found out he didn’t belong here? What if they discovered he was just an outsider pretending to be something he wasn’t?

He remembered walking past the training grounds, seeing a few students already practicing. Their movements were fluid, confident, like they were born with swords in their hands. Strangely enough, it reminded him of home for a moment, but then, he remembered these guys were using swords, not guns, and once again, he felt out of place. He could control water, sure, but combat? Strategy? He’d only ever learned those things from his dad, and even then, they were more about survival than thriving in a place like this.

But he was here now, and there was no turning back. He had to make this work. He had to prove—to himself more than anyone—that he could belong here, that he could make something of himself at Alfea.

The silence stretched for a moment as the Headmistress sorted through files before finally speaking, breaking the deafening quiet.

“How was your trip? Painless, I hope?” she asked.

Y/N went to respond, though his words seemed to get caught in his mouth, thinking back to the ‘convenient’ location Miss Dowling had instructed for him and his father to travel to. Close enough to where they resided, but far enough to hide from any prying eyes.

Y/N forced a smile, though it felt hollow. “It was... fine,” he replied, his voice betraying the turmoil just beneath the surface. The journey to Alfea had been anything but painless—not in the physical sense, but in the emotional weight it carried. The memory of his father standing in the middle of the clearing while he traveled through the magical gateway Miss Dowling had set up for him lingered in his mind. The man who had raised him, taught him everything he knew, and kept him and his secrets safe, had watched him leave. It felt a little too surreal and heart-aching for Y/N’s taste.

It was like the feeling of being left behind, only this time around, he was the one leaving and not the one being left. And he wasn’t sure he knew how to cope with that.

Of course, his dad, tough as nails, didn’t shed any tears, but it was still clear as day how hard it was on him too, seeing Y/N step through that gateway, giving him a soldier’s salute as a final goodbye before the doorway closed behind him.

As much as Y/N wanted to be here—needed to be here—the thought of leaving his father behind gnawed at him. His dad had been his anchor, his rock, and now he was an unknown number of miles away, alone. Y/N’s chest tightened with the familiar pang of guilt, the same guilt that had clung to him since the day he’d agreed to come to Alfea.

He remembered the look in his father’s eyes as they said their goodbyes—a mixture of pride, worry, and something else that Y/N couldn’t quite place. It was as if his father knew this was the right thing to do, but it didn’t make it any easier for either of them. The memory of his dad’s last words echoed in his mind: “You’ve got this, kid. I’ll be here when you come home.”

Got what, though? Y/N didn’t even know what he was supposed to be ready for. All he knew was that he had to learn control—real control—over his powers before they controlled him. He could still remember the floodwater rushing through the halls, the panic in his father’s eyes as he tried to contain the situation. And the fear—Y/N’s own fear that he could have hurt someone, that he could have hurt his dad.

Yeah, so much for painless.

Y/N took a deep breath, forcing a more convincing smile onto his face as he looked up at Farah. “It was definitely an experience,” he said, trying to infuse some lightness into his voice. “The, uh, magical gateway was a nice touch. Makes traveling feel a bit more... grand.”

Farah smiled gently, but Y/N could see the understanding in her eyes. She wasn’t fooled by his attempt at humor, and it made him feel a strange mix of comfort and vulnerability.

“I’m glad the journey went smoothly,” Farah replied, her tone warm but measured. “I know leaving home is never easy, especially under such... unusual circumstances.”

Y/N nodded, his smile fading slightly as he looked down at his hands, which were clenched in his lap. “Yeah, it’s been... a lot,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “I’ve never been away from home or at least my dad like this. And with everything that happened, it’s hard not to feel...”

“Out of place?” Farah offered gently.

Y/N looked up at her, surprised by how easily she seemed to understand. He nodded slowly. “Yeah. Like I’m in over my head.”

Farah leaned forward slightly, her gaze steady and reassuring. “It’s perfectly normal to feel that way, Y/N. Alfea is a place of learning, but it’s also a place of growth. You’re not expected to have all the answers right now, or to have everything figured out. That’s why you’re here—to learn, to grow, and to discover your own path.”

Y/N swallowed hard, her words hitting closer to home than he expected. He wanted to believe her, wanted to feel like he could find his place here. But the weight of his powers, the fear of what he could do if he lost control again, was a constant shadow hanging over him.

“I just don’t want to let anyone down,” he confessed, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

Farah’s expression softened even more, and she reached out, resting her hand lightly on his. “You won’t, Y/N. I can see the strength in you, even if you can’t see it yourself yet. It’s okay to be afraid, but don’t let that fear hold you back. You’re here because you have potential, and we’re going to help you reach it and refine it.”

Y/N felt a lump form in his throat, and he nodded, unable to find the words to respond. Farah’s kindness, her unwavering belief in him, was something he wasn’t used to. It made him want to try, to push through the fear and doubt, if only to prove her right.

“Thank you, Headmistress,” he managed to say, his voice thick with emotion.

Farah gave his hand a gentle squeeze before letting go. “You’re welcome, Y/N. You can think of Alfea as your new home. You have people here who want to help you, who want to see you succeed. Don’t be afraid to lean on them when you need to.”

Another moment of silence passed between them, with Y/N rubbing his hands up and down his legs to stir his nerves.

“I trust Sam has been treating you well, yes?” Farah asked.

Y/N hesitated for a moment, then nodded again. “Yeah, he’s been great. Really helpful, showing me around and making sure I don’t get lost.”

Farah smiled at that, a hint of amusement in her eyes. “I’m glad to hear that. Sam is one of our most dependable students. He’s Professor Harvery’s son who you’ll meet when taking your potions, botany, and natural magics courses. I figured he’d be a good fit to help you adjust.”

Y/N offered a small smile in return. “He’s definitely made things easier. It’s just... a lot to take in, you know?”

“I can imagine,” Farah replied, her expression softening. “It’s a big change, but you’re handling it well. And remember, you have people like Sam—and me—here to support you.”

Y/N nodded, feeling a bit of the tension in his chest ease. “Thanks, Headmistress. That means a lot.”

Farah gave him an encouraging smile before leaning back in her chair. “Now, let’s talk about what you can expect this year.”

Y/N straightened up slightly, eager to shift the conversation toward something more concrete. “Yeah, I’ve been wondering about classes and... well, everything really. I want to make sure I’m prepared.”

Farah nodded, understanding the unspoken concerns in his words. “Of course. Your schedule has been tailored to help you develop your skills while also giving you a solid foundation in the broader aspects of magical education. You’ll start with the basics, learning how to use your magic slowly, but safely in a controlled environment. And, to reiterate as I did with the student I had right before you, when I say slowly, I do mean it. Magic can be dangerous and I don’t want you to cause yourself any harm in trying to prove something. But, I do believe you’ll find the subjects we have laid out for you not only challenging but also rewarding.”

Y/N listened intently, absorbing the information. He appreciated the Headmistress’s approach—firm but understanding. It was clear that she valued safety and caution, which was something Y/N could respect, especially given his own fears about his powers.

Farah continued, “You’ve already demonstrated a remarkable degree of mastery for someone your age. That’s not something we see often, especially with powers as complex as yours.”

Y/N blinked in surprise, not expecting the compliment. “Thank you. My dad... he’s been a big help. He helped me learn how to control my powers enough from a young age to hide them for obvious reasons,” Y/N nervously laughed, but Farah’s warm smile kept him at ease. “He used a lot of techniques he learned from the military. Breathing exercises, disciplinary lessons, staying calm under pressure... it’s all pretty much drilled into me. No pun intended.”

Farah’s eyes softened with understanding. “Your father sounds like a wise man. It’s clear he’s done an excellent job helping you harness your abilities. Water fairies like yourself often have been known to struggle with control, given the fluid and ever-changing nature of water itself. But you’ve managed to find a balance.”

Y/N looked down at his hands, which had finally unclenched. The memories of his father’s training sessions flashed through his mind—hours spent practicing, focusing, and learning to control the water that flowed through him like second nature. “He just wanted to make sure I didn’t put anyone... or myself at risk.”

“And he succeeded,” Farah smiled warmly, a sense of reassurance in her gaze. “You’ll also have regular meetings with me to discuss your progress and address any concerns. And you can always reach out if you need help with anything.”

Y/N was about to respond when the door to the office burst open, startling both of them. A Specialist student, out of breath and with a look of urgency on his face, stood in the doorway. Farah immediately tensed, her calm demeanor shifting to one of alertness.

“Headmistress, I’m sorry to interrupt, but there’s been an incident in the forest,” the student panted. “ Professor Silva asked me to inform you immediately.”

Farah’s eyes narrowed slightly, her mind clearly processing the information quickly. She rose from her seat, her authority evident in the way she carried herself.

“What happened?” she asked, her voice steady but laced with concern.

“I’m not sure, but Mr. Silva said it was urgent and asked for you and Professor Harvey to come quickly. In the forest near the training grounds.”

Farah’s expression grew more serious as she turned to Y/N. “Y/N, we’ll have to continue this conversation later. For now, I need you to stay in the main building and avoid the forest. I’ll have Sam meet you to help you get settled into your dorm.”

Y/N stood up as Farah did, the tension in the room palpable. He felt a strange mix of anxiety and curiosity at the mention of the incident in the forest, but he knew better than to pry.

“Yes, Headmistress,” Y/N replied, his voice steady despite the unease settling in his chest, his discipline from living on a military base immediately kicking in as a response to the headmistress’s authoritative tone.

Farah nodded, offering him a reassuring smile despite the urgency in her eyes. “Good. I’m sure everything will be fine, but it’s best to be cautious. Stay close to the main building and try to relax for the rest of the day.”

Well, that was a bit ironic considering she looked anything but relaxed herself.

As she grabbed her coat from the stand near the door, Y/N couldn’t help but notice the subtle shift in her demeanor. Gone was the gentle, nurturing headmistress; in her place stood a leader, focused and ready to handle whatever was waiting in the forest. The transformation was striking, and for a moment, Y/N felt a mix of admiration and a touch of intimidation. It was a reminder that, beneath the warmth, Farah Dowling was a woman who commanded respect and authority in a world that demanded both.

Y/N nodded, offering a small, appreciative smile. “I will. Thank you, Headmistress.”

Farah gave him one last nod before slipping out of the office, her coat billowing slightly as she moved with purpose down the corridor. The door clicked shut behind her, leaving Y/N alone in the quiet office.

As Farah left the room, Y/N lingered for a moment, feeling the weight of the conversation settle over him. The urgency of the situation in the forest hung in the air, but there was something else, too—a sense of unease that he couldn’t quite shake. He knew he had to follow the headmistress’s instructions, but the curiosity gnawed at him. What could be so urgent that it pulled her away from their meeting?

Y/N let out a slow breath, reminding himself that it wasn’t his place to get involved, not yet anyway. He was still the new kid here, barely even unpacked, and already there was so much to take in. His thoughts flicked back to Sam, who had been nothing but helpful since his arrival. Maybe if he found Sam, he could get some guidance on what to do next, or at the very least, some company to distract him from the whirlwind of emotions he was feeling.

He glanced at the door, knowing he should probably try to find his way back to his dorm. But without Sam around to guide him, it felt like navigating a maze. He couldn’t remember the exact turns they’d taken earlier, and the thought of wandering aimlessly through the hallways didn’t exactly appeal to him.

After a brief moment of indecision, Y/N decided it might be worth exploring a bit. If he could find his way back to the dorm on his own, it would be a small victory—proof that he was capable of figuring things out here, even without someone holding his hand.

“Alright,” he muttered to himself, stepping out into the hallway. “Time to see if I can actually find my way around this place.”

He took a deep breath and started down the corridor, hoping he’d get lucky and run into someone familiar—or at the very least, a sign pointing him in the right direction.

“Who actually saw the Shepherd’s body?” Terra, an Earth Fairy and Sam’s sister, asked as she held her beverage, talking with two of her freshly acquainted suitemates, Aisha and Musa. Her usual bright tone was tinged with unease, the curiosity and morbid speculation threading through the conversation like a dark undercurrent. “Maybe he was just old. People get old, die. We all die.”

“That old-age decapitation really sneaks up on you,” Musa quipped, a dry laugh escaping her as they lingered near the snack table at the orientation party. The lively atmosphere clashed with the darker topic swirling around the room, the buzz of gossip overshadowing the usual excitement of the new school year.

The air felt thick with rumors. The discovery of the Shepherd’s body, mutilated and left in the forest just outside the magical barrier, had set the school abuzz. Headmistress Dowling had tried to keep things under wraps, hoping to prevent a panic, but apparently, she didn’t hope hard enough. The news had spread faster than wildfire, twisting through the student body and growing more sinister with each retelling.

“Happened to my nan right in the middle of Bingo,” Aisha added with a grin, clutching a churro stick as she joined the dark humor. “Just... thwop, thwop, thwop. Down the table.” She mimed a head rolling off, her satirical tone not helping much to veil the subtle tension beneath still.

Musa laughed, a sharp burst of sound that cut through the unease for the earth fairy, though she remained quiet. As they continued their conversation, it was in this moment that Y/N strolled into the party. He glanced around, taking in the lively scene, but the undercurrent of tension still being unmistakable. He wasn’t immune to the rumors either; whispers about the dead Shepherd had reached him not long after he left his meeting with the Headmistress.

As his eyes scanned the room, he spotted Sam standing on the other side of the room closer to another beverage table, chatting with a few other students. Y/N weaved through the crowd, nodding to a few faces he recognized from his earlier tour around campus, but feeling that familiar sense of being an outsider in a crowd where everyone else seemed to belong.

“Y/N!” Sam called out as soon as he spotted him, waving him over. “There you are! Glad you made it.”

Y/N offered a small smile, grateful for the warmth in Sam’s greeting, even if the unease from the ongoing gossip lingered in his mind.

“Yeah,” Y/N responded with a small smile, though his thoughts were elsewhere. “Got a bit lost coming from the Headmistress’ office but I made it. I was gonna go back to the dorm but I’d figured I’d check it out.”

"Good call. Everyone's here tonight." Sam gestured around at the buzzing party, cups in hand, snacks being passed, though there was still a murmur beneath it all—a sense of unease they couldn’t quite shake off.

Just then, Terra approached, her expression somewhere between cheerful and overwhelmed, as if she didn’t know where to go. Which, was a bit weird considering both her and Sam practically grew up around Alfea. Her warm demeanor returned quickly, though, as she saw her brother standing with Y/N. Sam immediately gestured toward her as she approached.

"Y/N, meet my sister, Terra. Terra, this is Y/N, my new roommate.”

Y/N extended his hand with a polite smile. “Hey. Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too!” Terra responded brightly, shaking his hand with enthusiasm. “Sam’s told me a bit about you. I hope he hasn’t scared you off yet.”

Y/N chuckled lightly. “Nah, not yet. He’s been a good guide.”

“Good,” Terra said, still holding onto a friendly smile. “I know Alfea can be a bit overwhelming at first. Especially with... you know, everything going on.”

There was an unspoken understanding between them—everyone knew what she was referring to. Y/N gave a slight nod, sensing the weight of what had happened in the forest still hanging over the party. Even though Terra was trying to keep things light, he could tell she wasn’t as carefree as she appeared.

“Everything alright, Terra?” Sam asked sensing his sister’s somewhat tense and despondent mood.

Terra looked a little caught off guard at the question, trying to keep her cheerful demeanor up, but both Sam and Y/N could see through it.

“Oh, I’m good. Just a little early roommate drama, but nothing to worry about. Joys of having five girls in one space.”

Sam raised a brow, a knowing smile playing at his lips. “You mean to tell me you’ve already started trouble? And here I was thinking it’d take at least a week before you drove someone mad.”

Y/N noticed how Terra tensed at the jab. On the surface, it was harmless, the kind of playful sibling banter Y/N had seen between others plenty of times. But something about the way Terra’s smile faltered—how her fingers tightened just a bit around the rim of her glass—hinted at a deeper insecurity. He couldn’t quite place it, but it was as if she was trying too hard to brush it off. Maybe it was the pressure of being likable, of wanting to fit in with her new roommates, that made her so self-conscious.

From what Y/N could tell, Terra seemed like the type who wanted to go out of her way to please everyone around her. That kind of eagerness could easily come across as overbearing to the wrong people. He had seen it before—people who bent over backward to make others happy but ended up standing on shaky ground themselves. Maybe her need to fit in made her more vulnerable to criticism or, worse, outright rejection.

He could see Sam pick up on the shift as well, though his smile remained teasing. "Isn’t Stella in your suite?" Sam asked suddenly, his tone seemingly casual but loaded with implication. Y/N didn’t miss the way Terra’s face fell for just a second—too brief to be obvious to anyone who wasn’t looking for it. The name "Stella" alone seemed to strike a deeper chord.

Y/N's curiosity piqued. He hadn’t met everyone at the school yet, and the way Terra reacted made him wonder who exactly this Stella was. He could sense there was something more to the question, something beneath the surface that Terra wasn’t saying.

“Stella?” Y/N asked, tilting his head slightly. “Who’s that?”

Terra hesitated, glancing between Y/N and Sam before finally answering. “Stella’s... well, she’s the Crown Princess of Solaria. You know, the realm that Alfea’s in.”

Y/N’s brows raised at that. “A princess? Seriously?”

Terra nodded, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Yeah, seriously. She’s... well, she’s royalty, so she’s got that whole ‘above-it-all’ vibe, I guess. She’s in my suite with Aisha, Musa, and Bloom.”

Y/N could sense there was more she wasn’t saying—maybe something about the way Stella acted, or the dynamic between the roommates. Still, he didn’t press. “Sounds intense,” he said instead, trying to keep things light.

“You could say that.” Terra let out a soft laugh, though it sounded a little forced. Her eyes flickered for a moment, as if debating whether to continue. “She’s kind of... used to getting her way, I guess.” Terra hesitated, her gaze briefly shifting to the side before she added, “And then, there’s her history with Sky…”

As soon as the words left her mouth, Terra’s expression shifted, her eyes widening slightly as if she realized she’d said too much. She bit her lip, clearly regretting bringing it up, and quickly glanced at Y/N, gauging his reaction.

Y/N blinked, intrigued by the new information. He didn’t know who Sky was, but judging by the way Terra said it, it seemed like a complicated situation. “Sky?”

“Yeah, Sky’s a Specialist,” Sam chimed in, filling the gap. “Top of the class, actually. He’s… well, kind of Alfea’s golden boy. Everyone looks up to him.” Sam’s expression shifted slightly, as if even he had mixed feelings about the guy.

Y/N nodded slowly, processing the new information. A princess and the top Specialist—there was definitely more to unpack there, but he decided to leave it for another time. Instead, he turned back to Terra, offering her a small, encouraging smile. “Well, it seems like you’re holding your own, right? Can’t be easy.”

Terra seemed to relax a little at that, her smile becoming a bit more genuine. “Thank you, I appreciate that. It’s just... new, you know?”

“Oh yeah,” Y/N said with a chuckle, thinking about his own recent arrival. “I definitely know a thing or two about being new.”

Terra’s mood seemed to lift at that, her smile growing a little brighter. Sam, noticing the shift in his sister’s demeanor, seemed pleased to see her returning to her usual cheerful self.

“Well, since you are new, and I’m positive Sam didn’t show you nearly enough of Alfea for you to know your way around,” Terra began, her voice taking on a teasing lilt, “why don’t I give you a proper tour? We can explore a bit more of the party. There’s so much you haven’t seen yet.”

Sam shot her a mock-offended look. “Hey! I think I did a pretty decent job as a tour guide, thank you very much.”

Terra raised an eyebrow, her expression dripping with playful skepticism. She turned to Y/N, clearly setting up her next move. “How many times have you gotten lost already?”

“Twice,” Y/N admitted, flashing a sheepish grin. Sam immediately threw his hands up in exaggerated frustration, his face contorting into a look of mock betrayal.

“See?” Terra smirked triumphantly, turning back to Sam before looking at Y/N. “I rest my case.”

Y/N chuckled, shooting an apologetic glance toward his roommate. “Sorry, Sam.”

Sam clutched at his chest as if wounded, putting on a show of hurt. “Go on then, leave me behind. Abandon your proper tour guide. I’ll just be here… wallowing.”

Terra shook her head, clearly amused, as she gently tugged Y/N along. “You’ll be fine, drama queen.”

Y/N gave Sam an apologetic wave, mouthing ‘Sorry’ again as they moved further into the crowd, Sam waving him off with a faux-injured expression that quickly turned into a playful grin.

Sam watched as Terra tugged Y/N further into the crowd. “Just don’t let her talk your ear off about plants,” Sam called after them. “I’ve heard it all before.”

“Oh, shut up!” Terra threw back at her brother, laughing now.

Across the party, Sky stood casually by a pillar, his eyes scanning the crowd of new and returning students as they mingled and introduced themselves to one another. Though his posture was relaxed, his mind was far from idle—people-watching was something of a habit at these events, and tonight was no exception.

Yet, despite the throng of lively faces, his gaze kept drifting back to a familiar figure: the new arrival he’d seen earlier. He couldn’t quite place why, but something about this fairy had captured his attention. As he watched them walk off with Terra, a flicker of curiosity tugged at him.

Before Sky could think too much about it, a voice snapped him out of his quiet observation.

“This is a lot of people,” came the familiar voice of the red-haired fairy he had tried to assist earlier.

Sky’s head snapped around, his gaze falling on the fairy who’s name he learned to be Bloom. A smile pulled at his lips as she approached, chuckling softly.

“What? You don’t have parties in California?” Sky played along, pretending not to remember their earlier conversation. There was something playful in the way he said it, but his focus remained split—part of his mind still on the new fairy and his curious departure with Terra.

“Oh, he remembers!” Bloom quipped back, her own smile matching his as she tugged her jacket a little closer.

“Oh, impressed?” Sky chuckled, his tone light as he tried to push thoughts of Y/N out of his head, if only for a moment. He offered Bloom a soft smile, though there was an undeniable flicker of distraction in his eyes.

For a brief moment, there was a comfortable silence between them, the hum of the party surrounding them like background noise. But Sky’s attention was tugged back to Bloom as she gestured to the crowd.

“Where can I go that’s the opposite… of this?” Bloom asked, her voice lowering as her gaze flicked toward the noisy party. “What’s outside?”

Sky blinked, her question catching him off guard. “What, beyond the Barrier?” he asked, incredulity creeping into his tone. His mind raced slightly, trying to figure out if she was serious.

“Mm-hmm,” Bloom responded with a nod, her curiosity clearly piqued.

Sky couldn’t help but smirk. “Well, depending on rumors, wolves, bears… or something much scarier.”

He expected that to be enough to dissuade her, but Bloom didn’t even flinch.

“But no people?” she asked, cutting straight to the point. Her gaze flicked back to him, searching for an answer.

Sky hesitated, his posture stiffening slightly as the weight of his concern settled over him. “Um…” He didn’t really want to let her go out there alone, especially with the tension in the air since the discovery in the forest. Was it his place to offer?

“Perfect, thanks,” Bloom nodded quickly, turning to leave without a second thought.

“Wait,” Sky blurted out, stepping forward and stopping her without actually touching her. “At the risk of, um... mansplaining, it is dangerous outside right now. You probably shouldn’t go alone.”

Bloom’s eyes narrowed slightly, her lips curving into a smirk as she threw back, “Are you offering to escort me?”

Sky’s smile turned slightly sheepish. He hadn’t meant it as an invitation, not really. But as she said it, the words hung in the air between them, and he couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt that this interaction had gone in a direction he hadn’t anticipated.

“Is that what this is? It’s not the worst pickup line,” Bloom scoffed, her chuckle half-masked by something deeper, though her amusement was clear.

“It wasn’t a line,” Sky said, raising a brow, his voice casual but firm. “Trust me?”

Bloom’s expression softened, though she wasn’t quite ready to let her guard down. “Hm. I just met you, but maybe one day I will.”

They locked eyes for a brief moment, a quiet pause settling between them. Sky’s gaze lingered on Bloom, but in the back of his mind, an unspoken curiosity remained—one that drew him back to the quiet stranger who had caught his attention earlier that day. Why his attention and focus kept seeming to rush back to this stranger who he hadn’t even properly met was a bit perplexing but nothing he felt he needed to dissect.

But even if he wanted to, he couldn’t dwell on it any further, as another familiar voice broke through the moment.

“Hey, Sky. Can we talk?” Stella’s voice was light, but there was an edge to it, something demanding his attention.

Sky tore his gaze away from Bloom, his expression shifting as he turned to face Stella. His shoulders stiffened slightly, a hint of frustration creeping in. He glanced back at Bloom, only to see her taking the opportunity to slip away.

Bloom didn’t waste a second, skedaddling into the crowd, leaving Sky standing there with a faint sense of disappointment—and maybe even a little agitation. He sighed, watching her disappear from sight as Stella stepped closer. And while his attention should’ve been fully on Stella by now, part of him still lingered elsewhere, in thoughts of Y/N.

With a slight exasperated breath, he stepped over to face the Princess of Solaria, taking the orange beverage she held out for him in silence with no reaction, though he didn’t drink it, rather opting to wait for her to speak. He could already feel the tension that always seemed to follow their interactions.

"I haven't seen you all day," Stella commented, her tone light but with an underlying edge, something Sky recognized all too well.

“Summer, Stella. All summer,” Sky replied, his voice carrying an exasperated note as he let out a breath. His expression reflected the weariness of someone who had dealt with this dynamic for far too long.

Stella tilted her head, a carefully controlled smile playing on her lips. “You know that girl you were talking to? Bloom? Yeah, she’s my suitemate.” Her words were laced with a mixture of casual observation and thinly veiled warning, though she tried to play it cool.

Sky’s brow furrowed slightly as he met her gaze. “So, what does that mean, Stel? That I can’t talk to her?” He knew where this conversation was heading, but he wasn’t interested in playing along.

“I didn’t say that,” Stella quickly retorted, her voice deceptively sweet, though Sky could feel the tension building beneath her words.

He stared at her for a beat, then sighed, pushing the conversation to the point. “What are you saying, specifically?” His tone sharpened, a touch of sarcasm creeping in. “I’d hate to make you upset. I know what happens when you get upset.”

Their exchange was attracting a few curious glances from the nearby students, a fact that didn’t go unnoticed by either of them. Sky’s gaze flicked toward the onlookers briefly before returning to Stella.

Stella’s smile wavered just for a second, a flash of something like vulnerability crossing her features before she masked it. “I’m sure you’ll do the right thing,” she said, her voice steady but tight.

Sky held her gaze for a moment longer, then handed back the glass without taking a sip. “I always do,” he replied, slipping one hand into his brown leather jacket before turning to walk off, the weight of the interaction already tiring him.

Stella took the glass back begrudgingly, her grip tightening around it as she noticed the eyes of the crowd still lingering on them. She shot them a sharp look, raising her chin in defiance.

"Enjoy the show?" she snapped, her words laced with irritation before she stormed off, leaving the onlookers to exchange glances in her wake.

But as Stella strode away, her focus on Bloom was more than a little misdirected. Sure, she noticed the subtle sparks between Sky and the new girl, and that definitely stung. But, in reality, Bloom wasn’t the one who posed the real threat to her carefully constructed world—not yet, at least. Though bunking just beyond the wall, the redhead was only the start of Stella's concerns.

Because, whether she realized it or not, and whether Sky did either, there was another fairy lingering quietly in the background. One who was already starting to occupy space in the blonde Specialist’s mind, even if no one had caught on just yet. And for now, that particular fairy was flying completely under Stella's radar.

The sun was gradually sinking toward the horizon, its warm light fading as the moon began to ascend into the night sky. Terra had managed to show Y/N far more of the school than Sam had, and with each new landmark or shortcut, Y/N felt his anxiety ease a little more. Navigating the sprawling grounds of Alfea didn’t seem as daunting now, and the prospect of finding his classes in the morning felt less like a challenge and more like something he could manage.

He appreciated Terra's extensive tour. While Sam’s earth magic allowed him to phase through walls and take unconventional routes, the paths he’d shown Y/N earlier hadn’t exactly been practical for someone without those abilities. But Terra's guidance had been a lifesaver, giving Y/N the confidence he needed to feel a little more at ease in this new environment. And it didn’t hurt that he could now say he had another friend beyond just his roommate.

As they made their way back towards the main area where the orientation party was still in full swing, Y/N felt a quiet sense of accomplishment. He’d spent the day getting to know the school and making connections—small victories that meant a lot after such a whirlwind arrival.

When they reached the party, Y/N paused, looking back toward the lively crowd. “I think I’m going to step outside for a bit,” he said, turning to Terra with a small smile. “I need to call my dad, let him know I’m okay and made it through without any major disasters.”

Terra nodded, understanding. “Yeah, sure! It was good getting to hang out with you, hopefully we’ll have classes together. Maybe Sam and I��ll make an earth fairy out of you yet Or at least I can, Sam’s not that reliable..” She grinned, her teasing light-hearted.

Y/N chuckled. “Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Still got to master my own magic first.” With a wave, he stepped away from the party, grateful for a moment of quiet outside.

As he walked off, Terra’s gaze shifted across the canteen, catching sight of Riven. The cocky Specialist was in the middle of harassing what looked like a freshman. Her smile faded, irritation flashing in her eyes. “Great,” she muttered to herself, moving towards the scene, ready to intervene.

Y/N stepped out into the quiet evening, the crisp night air brushing against his skin as he moved away from the hum of the party. The noise, the whispers, and the pressing weight of new expectations faded into the background, replaced by the stillness of the night. Above him, the stars were beginning to dot the inky sky, and the moon hung like a soft lantern, casting a gentle glow across the grounds.

Under the soft glow of the moon, Y/N felt a quiet sense of peace settle over him, a kind of stillness that seemed to resonate deep within his core. The world around him grew quieter, and yet, at the same time, he felt more alive, more in tune with everything—especially the water that flowed in the nearby river. The moon's silver light washed over the landscape, but it also seemed to wash over him, sharpening his senses, making him more aware of the subtle hum of magic pulsing through his veins.

There was always something about the moon that brought him a heightened sense of awareness. Its gentle, luminous presence had a way of amplifying his connection to water, as if the tides within him swelled and receded in perfect harmony with the celestial body above. The longer he stood under its glow, the more he could feel his magic stir, stronger and more defined, like a calm current just waiting to be guided.

It was during these moments that Y/N felt most like himself—connected, powerful, but also grounded. The pull of the moon acted like an anchor, steadying him in ways that the chaotic energy of the day never could. There was an unspoken bond between him and the water, one that felt even more profound when the moon was present, as though its light illuminated not only the world around him but also the depths of his own potential.

Now, sitting on the bench near the edge of the courtyard, Y/N felt that same pull from the moon overhead. The familiar hum of his magic stirred within him, quieter now but still present, like the tide waiting to rise. He glanced up at the bright object, a small, wistful smile tugging at his lips. It reminded him of home, of those nights by the lake, and of the man who had always stood by his side.

A soft pang of longing settled in his chest, and he pulled out his phone. After a few taps, he called his dad.

The phone rang a few times before his dad’s gruff but warm voice answered, “Y/N, about time you called. Thought I was gonna have to send a whole squad in after you.”

Y/N chuckled softly, leaning back on the bench. “Sorry, Dad. It’s been crazy since I got here and it’s a lot to take in. Alfea is huge. You wouldn’t believe the day I’ve had.”

His dad’s voice softened with a note of humor. “Let me guess—got lost, tried to play it cool, but couldn’t figure out which building was which?”

Y/N laughed. “Twice. Sam’s shortcuts aren’t exactly... beginner-friendly. Luckily, his sister Terra gave me a proper tour.”

His dad hummed, the sound low and steady, a quiet comfort even from miles away. "Good. I’m glad you’re finding your way," he said, his voice warm but soon shifting to the no-nonsense tone Y/N had grown up with. "Did Miss Dowling go over the curriculum with you? What’s it gonna be like for drills and practices?” His tone sharpened, slipping into that familiar edge of military discipline, a reminder that beneath the caring father was a man who had spent years in service, accustomed to strict routines and rigid expectations.

Y/N leaned back on the bench, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. His dad’s voice always carried that familiar weight, even in casual conversations—like there was an invisible checklist in his mind, keeping everything measured and focused. "Yeah, we went over it. The curriculum's solid," Y/N replied, trying to keep things light, though he knew his dad would pick apart every detail. "It’s a lot of basics at first—control exercises, learning how to use magic slowly and safely, all that. They’re big on precision and making sure no one gets ahead of themselves too fast. Miss Dowling made it pretty clear that we’re gonna be challenged, but nothing I can’t handle." He paused for a second, remembering something she’d mentioned in passing about her own military background. “Honestly, I think you’d get along with her. She’s definitely no-nonsense—reminds me of you."

He paused, running his hand through his hair, still feeling the weight of the headmistress’s words from earlier. "I’ll have regular check-ins with her too—y’know, to keep track of how I’m doing. She’s real big on making sure we don’t try to prove something and end up hurting ourselves. So, yeah, lots of discipline, lots of control. But it sounds like I’ll be able to figure it out." His tone was casual, but beneath the surface, he knew it was going to be intense—and his dad would expect nothing less than him excelling at it.

“As they should be,” his dad said, though his tone was a bit lighter than usual. “It’s your first day, but don’t get too comfortable. I’m sure you’ve got a leg up on thosen other slackers with what I’ve already taught you, so make sure you’re putting it to good use. Don’t just go through the motions because it’s new. Take it seriously from the start.”

Y/N nodded, feeling that familiar tug of expectation settle in. “Yeah, I know, Dad. I’m not slacking. Miss Dowling’s big on safety and control, and trust me, she’s not about to let anyone take it easy. She’s got this whole ‘slow but steady’ approach with magic, so I’m sure I’ll get plenty of practice.” He chuckled softly, then added, “Seriously, I think you and Dowling would get along great. She’s got a military background too, so she’s all about discipline.”

His dad hummed approvingly on the other end. “Good. Sounds like you’re in the right hands then. Just make sure you keep your focus and set the tone early. That’s how you get ahead.” Even though it wasn’t a drill-sergeant tone, the message was clear: the groundwork Y/N laid now would shape the rest of his time at Alfea.

Y/N smiled softly, the weight of those words familiar but not suffocating—not yet, anyway. His dad had always pushed him, but there was pride behind it. And while the pressure was always there, it felt less about being perfect and more about becoming something better than he was the day before.

Y/N leaned back on the bench, the cool night air grounding him as he listened to the comforting sound of his dad’s voice on the other end. He glanced up at the moon, its light reflecting off the nearby river. "Actually, I’ve already seen some pretty cool stuff here, magic-wise. My roommate, Sam—he’s an Earth fairy, and get this—he can literally walk through solid objects. Like, I’m talking full-on phase through walls, no big deal." He chuckled, the memory of Sam casually disappearing through their dorm room wall earlier still fresh. "And then there’s the girls who use magic to take selfies. I mean, honestly, not as surprising as you’d think, but still, the Otherworld is wild. It’s different here... and kind of the same, in weird ways."

There was a pause, and Y/N could almost hear his dad raising an eyebrow on the other end. "Sounds like you’re adjusting," his dad remarked, amusement slipping into his tone. "Learning any new tricks yourself? Besides dodging magical selfies, I mean."

Y/N grinned, though the question struck a deeper chord than he wanted to admit. "Not yet," he said, his tone light but laced with something heavier beneath it. "They’re big on control here—real slow and steady. Apparently, it’s all about mastering the basics, making sure we don’t accidentally blow up half the school or anything." He let out a small chuckle, but the humor in his voice felt forced, more like a shield than anything else. "Which, you know... kinda makes sense, considering... well, let’s just say that’s the main reason I’m even here."

There was a beat of silence. Y/N’s words hung in the air, his attempt at joking about it doing little to cover the weight of what he’d left unsaid. The memory of that one night—the water flooding in, his dad’s panic—flashed through his mind like a vivid dream he couldn’t fully wake up from. But instead of letting the pain sink in, he threw up his usual defense—a half-smile, a shrug, and a quick change of subject.

His dad was quiet for a moment, the weight of that shared memory hanging heavy between them. "You’ve come a long way since then, Y/N," he said, his voice softer, more careful. "But I get it. Even when you were a kid, you had this way of diving headfirst into chaos and somehow, just barely, pulling yourself out of it. And yeah, it probably felt easier back then, knowing I was always there to catch you if things went south. That safety net, right? But you're stronger now. You’ve learned to handle it on your own. You don’t need me right next to you to pull you back. You’ve got this under control."

Y/N swallowed the lump forming in his throat. He didn’t want to admit how much he missed the reassurance of having his dad right beside him. "Yeah, I guess. It just feels different now. Like, what if I mess up, and there’s no one around to stop it? What if I hurt someone?" His voice wavered slightly, betraying the insecurities that had been bubbling under the surface since he arrived at Alfea.

"Hey," his dad interrupted, that firm yet comforting tone snapping Y/N out of his spiral. "I know it's new, and it’s scary being out there on your own, but you’ve got this. You’ve got the discipline, the training—you’ve always been able to pull yourself together, no matter what. And even if I’m not there physically, I’m always with you. I’m in your head, telling you to keep your feet grounded, your mind sharp. You’ve got more in you than you think."

Y/N smiled softly, his heart swelling with gratitude. "Thanks, Dad. I just... it’s good to hear you say that." There was a long pause, the sound of crickets filling the space between them as the moon continued to rise higher in the sky.

"Good. Now, just to check, you’re not letting any boys distract you from all that hard work, are you?" His dad’s tone took on a teasing edge, a small chuckle filtering through the phone.

Y/N snorted, rolling his eyes even though no one could see him. "Dad, seriously?"

"I mean it! I’ve got to make sure no one’s catching your eye and pulling you off your game. Any eye candy running around there?"

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh at his dad’s playful concern. "The only boy I’ve heard about that’s worth looking at is this Sky guy. Apparently, he’s the golden boy around here, but from what I’ve heard, that’s a mess I definitely don’t want to get involved in."

"Oh really? Sounds like someone’s been doing their homework." His dad’s voice was light, but Y/N could hear the smirk in it. "So, Sky, huh? What’s the deal there?"

Y/N shrugged, his tone casual. "I dunno, something about his ex-girlfriend, drama, whatever. Definitely not something I’m about to jump into on day one." He chuckled, leaning back again as he looked up at the stars. "Besides, I’ve got enough to deal with just figuring out where all my classes are."

"Smart man," his dad replied with a chuckle, but there was a familiar edge to his tone. "Keep your head on straight. Boys can wait until you're the top water fairy in that school, right? And just so we’re clear," his voice dropped an octave, that serious military dad tone slipping through the humor, "if any of those boys give you trouble... well, you know where to find me. I don’t care how far Alfea is."

Y/N smirked, knowing his dad was half-joking—emphasis on half. "Yeah, I’m not about to test that."

"Still can’t believe my son’s a fairy,” his dad muttered, the teasing tone unmistakable.

“Careful, old man,” Y/N shot back with a grin. “Talk like that, and you’ll end up cancelled.”

A loud scoff echoed through the phone. “Cancelled? Please. Your generation’s full of a bunch of soft pussies. Ain’t no-one canceling me.”

As time passed, their conversation flowed easily, with Y/N filling his dad in on his new dorm, mentioning Terra’s bubbly personality, Sam’s easygoing nature, and a few of the other students he’d come across. His dad listened patiently, offering his usual dry comments or a chuckle here and there. But mostly, he let Y/N ramble on, giving him the space to talk through everything that had been building up inside. It was comforting, like a piece of home grounding him in the unfamiliar world of Alfea.

Y/N leaned back, glancing up at the sky again. The moon had climbed even higher, casting a cool glow that bathed the courtyard in silvery light. The gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze and the distant trickle of the river were the only sounds that filled the space around him now, making the night feel even more serene. It was almost too peaceful, in contrast to the emotions still swirling in his chest.

“I should probably let you go,” Y/N finally said, the reluctance clear in his voice. “I don’t want to keep you up.”

His dad’s tone softened, that rare moment of vulnerability slipping through. “You’re not keeping me up, kid. I’m glad we got to talk. And remember, if anything goes sideways or you need anything, I’m just a call away. You’re not in this alone.”

Y/N swallowed the lump forming in his throat, grateful for the reassurance but wishing he didn’t feel so far away. “Thanks, Dad. I’ll be alright... I miss you though.”

“I miss you too, Y/N. But you’re doing great. You’re where you need to be. Keep your head straight, and don’t let anything distract you from that.”

Y/N smiled softly, the familiar comfort of his dad’s words settling over him like a blanket. “I won’t. Talk to you soon?”

“Always.”

“Cool, love you dad.”

“Love you to, kid.”

With that, they said their goodbyes, Y/N holding onto the phone for a moment longer after the call ended, as if keeping the connection alive just a little longer. The night seemed quieter now, and despite the warmth in his chest from the conversation, there was still a restlessness lingering under his skin.

As Y/N stood up, slipping his phone into his pocket, his attention was drawn to movement in the distance. Two girls were making their way back from the forest toward the school—one with bright ginger hair pulled into a ponytail, the other with braids tied up and still in athletic swimwear. He recognized them from earlier in the day. Their voices were raised, the sharp tone of their argument carrying faintly on the wind, though the exact words were lost to him. Still, the tension between them was palpable, enough to make Y/N pause for a moment, curiosity and some small concern bubbling up inside him.

He watched them for a brief moment, before letting out a sigh, deciding he didn’t even want to know what that was about. Whatever was going on between them, it wasn’t his place. Not tonight. He had enough to process without diving into someone else’s problems.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair as the weight of the day settled over him. There was still too much swirling around in his mind, and the emotional pull from talking to his dad hadn’t fully left him. Needing more space to clear his thoughts, he let his magic guide him. The familiar tug in his chest pointed him toward the nearby river, the soft hum of the water beckoning him with its soothing energy.

Y/N took one last glance at the retreating figures before turning in the opposite direction, heading toward the river’s edge. The water called to him, and tonight, he needed that quiet connection more than anything.

“No, you shouldn’t have been out there.”

Bloom’s words, sharp and filled with frustration, echoed as she and Aisha ascended one of the stairways in Alfea’s grand halls. Bloom turned, her body tense, facing Aisha who looked back with an incredulous expression.

“Is that American for ‘sorry I almost set you on fire’?” Aisha shot back, her voice edged with sarcasm. Her arms crossed over her chest as she took a step closer, challenging Bloom's deflection. “You were a runaway train with no idea what you were doing.”

“Which is why I was out there alone—trying to figure it out.” Bloom's tone held the weight of exhaustion as she stormed up the stairs, not wanting to hear another lecture. Her steps were quick and purposeful, as if she could walk away from the guilt building in her chest. Aisha followed closely behind, her eyes narrowing.

“Brilliant idea.” Aisha muttered, her voice dripping with sarcasm, though there was an undercurrent of concern she didn’t bother to hide.

Bloom stopped abruptly, turning toward Aisha with a tired expression. She waved her arms out, a gesture of frustration and defeat. “I’m not like the rest of you. I didn’t grow up here. I don’t have fairy parents. I’ve done magic once in my life and it was...” she trailed off, unable to even finish the thought. Her words hung in the air, weighted with emotion.

Aisha, unfazed, raised an eyebrow. “What? Terrible? I’m shocked. I flooded my entire secondary school after I failed a math test. Taps, sprinklers, toilets... Have you ever waded through human poo? I have. Not pleasant. Sometimes being a fairy means you have to deal with shit.”

The hallway they stood in felt quieter now as Bloom sighed and sat on one of the benches nearby. The weight of her confession bore down on her, and her shoulders slumped slightly. Her voice came out quieter this time, less defensive. “So my... mom and I don’t really get along.” There was a small, almost bitter chuckle that followed. “I know. It’s a shocker. I’m not... exactly the ideal daughter for her. She’d love a cheerleader, and I’m whatever the opposite of a cheerleader is.”

Aisha stayed quiet, sensing there was more Bloom wanted to say. And after a moment of silence, Bloom’s eyes darkened with a memory she wished she could forget. She leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees, her hands clasped tightly together as if holding herself together. She described a vivid memory of her mother instructing her father to remove her bedroom door after a heated argument. The punishment had felt unfair, extreme even, and the anger had built up inside Bloom, festering. 

“That night, I… couldn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, the rage just kept building. Then it happened.”

Aisha leaned in, listening intently as Bloom continued. She spoke of the first time she’d tapped into her magic, unknowingly igniting a fire that blazed a trail from her room to her parents' bedroom. “It was almost like the fire had a life of its own... I don’t remember how long I let it burn. I just remember their screams.”

Her voice cracked as she described the scene—the sight of her parents huddled in the corner of their bedroom, her father desperately trying to shield her mother from the flames that engulfed the room. “My mom...was covered in third-degree burns…’cause of me. Every night after that, I… I snuck out. I was so scared I’d hurt them again that I slept in this creepy-ass warehouse near my house. Until Miss Dowling found me.” There was a bitter chuckle mixed with a sniffle, her hands wiping away the tears that had gathered in the corners of her eyes.

Aisha, who had been silent up until now, finally spoke, her voice softer than before. “All right. Fire story beats shit story. You win.”

A faint smile broke through Bloom’s pained expression, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She looked down at her hands, the weight of her past still pressing on her shoulders. Aisha stood and walked toward the ledge that overlooked the canteen below, her expression thoughtful, as though piecing together Bloom’s story in her mind.

“And your parents had no idea it was you?” Aisha’s voice was steady, but there was a hint of disbelief.

Bloom shook her head slowly, the disbelief mirrored in her own voice. “I don’t know how distant my fairy ancestors are, but... the most mystical thing my parents believe in is knocking on wood.”

Aisha was quiet for a moment, her mind turning over the pieces of the puzzle before her. “It’s just... odd,” she began cautiously. “You drew on a great deal of magic without even trying. It’s hard to believe you’re from a dormant bloodline. Is there any chance you’re adopted?”

Bloom chuckled softly, shaking her head. “No. No, I... No, I’ve heard the story of my birth a million times. ‘Miracle baby.’ I had a heart defect in the womb, but a day after I was born, it was gone.”

Aisha’s expression shifted, her eyes widening slightly, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Oh God. You... You’re a changeling.”

“What’s that?” Bloom asked, her confusion deepening. “Aisha, what’s a changeling?”

Aisha slowly sat down next to her, the weight of her words sinking in. “A changeling is a fairy baby that’s switched with a human one at birth.”

“Wait, what?” Bloom's voice cracked slightly, her confusion turning into shock.

“It’s barbaric,” Aisha said quietly. “It barely happens anymore.”

“That’s not possible.” Bloom was adamant, shaking her head.

“You’re clearly very powerful, Bloom,” Aisha pointed out. “You have to be pure-blooded.”

Bloom slowly rose out of her seat, her voice following suit. “I would know if my parents weren’t my parents, Aisha. Why would you even say that?”

“I’m just trying to help,” Aisha replied, her tone cautious, but her intent sincere.

“Well, you’re not.” She stormed off, her footsteps echoing in the hallway as she passed Musa, who had just arrived.

As she passed, Musa approached them, her eyes flicking between the two. “What the hell did you tell her?” she asked, eyeing Aisha with confusion.

“The truth,” Aisha said standing as well as she slowly approached the mind fairy, still staring after Bloom. “Because someone’s been lying to her.”

The dim glow of the evening light filtered through the stained glass windows of Headmistress Dowling's office, casting long, soft shadows across the room. She sat at her desk, a steaming cup of tea in her hands, its gentle aroma filling the quiet space. Her gaze was distant, her thoughts clearly elsewhere as she took a slow, deliberate sip. The warmth of the tea was comforting, but even that couldn't ease the weight pressing on her mind.

After a moment, Dowling set the cup down gently on its saucer, the faint clink barely audible. Her eyes flicked toward the door across the room, sensing a disturbance, though none had entered. With a subtle movement of her hand, the door silently swung shut, closing the space off to the world beyond.

She exhaled quietly, her expression unreadable, before turning her attention to the far side of the room. The ornate bookshelf that lined the wall appeared ordinary to any unsuspecting observer, but as her hand raised slightly, the wood seemed to shift, the books trembling momentarily as the shelf retracted into the wall, revealing a hidden passageway behind it.

Without hesitation, Dowling rose from her chair and moved toward the secret entrance, her steps soundless on the floor. The passage yawned open, dark and shadowed, as she stepped inside, her figure disappearing from view. The bookshelf slid back into place seamlessly, leaving the office as still and untouched as it had been moments before, save for the faint swirl of steam rising from the now-abandoned cup of tea.

The sun disappeared below the horizon, taking its golden, orange, and pinkish-purple hues with it. The moon now sat comfortably in the night sky, casting long shadows across Alfea’s combat arena. The air was thick with the scent of fresh grass and the distant hum of students winding down from their day. In this quiet, secluded part of the academy grounds, only the steady, rhythmic sound of breathing could be heard—evidence of someone deep in training.

Sky had needed to clear his head. After the party and that tense conversation with Stella, he'd come out to the training grounds to blow off some steam. He hadn’t planned on being out here so late, but training was what he knew best—what gave him clarity when everything else felt chaotic.

As Alfea’s newest Specialist Squad Leader and the son of Andreas, Sky was no stranger to pressure. Even in his second year, the expectations placed on him by Silva, his peers, and the legacy of his father were enough to weigh down even the strongest. And now, the added worry of a possible Burned One sighting made the stress all the more suffocating.

He moved with practiced precision through the drills, each strike and parry sharper than the last. But no matter how many times he tried to lose himself in the rhythm, his thoughts circled back to the burdens he carried. The responsibilities of leadership, the looming threat of the Burned Ones, and the unresolved tension with Stella—everything felt heavy, like a weight pressing down on him.

And then there was that fairy.

Sky couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but something about them kept gnawing at the edges of his thoughts. Maybe it was the way they moved—calm and controlled, but with a kind of unrefined intensity that suggested more power than they even realized. Or maybe it was the way they carried themselves, like they were used to keeping people at arm’s length, though not out of arrogance—more like they were afraid of letting anyone get too close.

It was different from anyone else he’d met. And that look...like they were holding back something deep, something that pulled Sky in even when he should’ve been focused on other things. He’d seen that intensity in their eyes—focused, yet almost searching for something or someone, like a puzzle they were trying to piece together, but couldn’t quite crack.

It was enough to make him pause, to make him wonder if he was reading too much into it. But every time the thought crept in, it wouldn’t leave.

He shook his head, trying to push the feeling away. There was too much going on, too much at stake, to get distracted. But still… his mind kept drifting back, wondering what it was about them that made it so hard to just look away.

Sky paused, sheathing his sword as he took a moment to breathe. His chest rose and fell with the effort, but even the burn in his muscles did little to quiet the storm inside. He sat down on the edge of the raised platform, staring out at the open field, hoping the stillness would help center him.

That’s when he heard it—the faint sound of splashing water, barely distinguishable from the natural hum of the nearby river. It wasn’t much, just enough to make him pause. He stood up, scanning the area, listening intently. The sound of rushing water grew more distinct, and along with it, a faint rustle of leaves. Sky’s instincts kicked in, and his focus sharpened.

Curiosity got the better of him, and Sky followed the sound, moving quietly through the trees that bordered the field. As he approached the riverbank, he noticed muddied footprints cutting through the overgrowth, disappearing into the forest. Someone had been here recently.

He crouched down, inspecting the footprints. They were fresh, still damp, meaning whoever made them hadn’t passed by long before he arrived. A trail led toward the river where the shimmering Barrier of Alfea’s protective force field could be seen in the distance.

Sky knew he should probably report this to Silva or even Headmistress Dowling. It wasn’t a good idea for anyone to be out here alone, especially this close to the Barrier after what had happened in the forest. But something made him hesitate—whether it was a need to prove himself or just an unconscious draw to see what lay ahead, Sky couldn’t say. But whatever it was, he decided to follow the trail himself.

He stepped into the thickening trees, the sounds of the forest growing louder around him—rustling leaves, the distant chirping of insects, and the constant, rhythmic flow of water. The further he went, the more the noise seemed to focus on the river. And as he reached the treeline, stepping into the clearing by the water’s edge, his eyes widened at the sight before him.

Standing near the river was the same water fairy from earlier. Sky recognized him immediately—the way he moved was unmistakable. The fairy’s back was to him, seemingly unaware of Sky’s presence as he practiced his magic, manipulating the water with a grace and precision that was mesmerizing to watch.

Sky’s first instinct was to turn back. They were still within the Barrier, and it wasn’t uncommon for students to seek solitude near the river to practice. Privacy was something Sky valued too, and he understood the need to escape the buzz of Alfea life. But something about the way the water fairy moved held him in place.

There was a seamless blend of power and precision in the way he controlled the water, sending it twisting and spiraling through the air. The fluid motions were almost hypnotic, each arc of water bending and shifting under the fairy’s control before solidifying into sharp, crystalline shapes. A spear, a shield, and then, just as quickly, back to water again.

Sky had always found water magic fascinating, but watching this guy work was something else entirely. There was no hesitation, no faltering. Every movement was deliberate, calculated, with the water responding as if it were an extension of his body. It was clear that he wasn’t just practicing; he was refining combat techniques in a way that was both deadly and beautiful.

Sky found himself captivated, his eyes following every motion, every subtle shift in the fairy’s form. There was a discipline to his movements, a quiet intensity that spoke of years of training. He couldn’t help but admire the control and focus it must have taken to reach this level of mastery. And yet, as much as he was drawn to the magic, he found his attention shifting to the fairy himself.

The water fairy was lean, his athletic frame moving with a dancer-like precision. Sky’s gaze lingered on the way his muscles flexed beneath his shirt, the fabric clinging to him as he commanded the water. There was a calmness in the way he stood, a poise that made every movement seem effortless, deliberate.

Sky shook his head slightly, forcing himself to focus. He wasn’t sure why he felt so drawn to this guy—someone he didn’t even know. But the sense of ease and quiet confidence the fairy exuded was hard to ignore.

As he was about to turn back, his boot caught a branch, the snap of wood echoing through the clearing. Sky winced as the sound broke the stillness, and the fairy immediately turned to face him, his cerulean glowing eyes narrowing with a mix of surprise and wariness.

Four ice weapons materialized in the air, hovering around the fairy in a defensive stance, ready to strike at a moment’s notice. The blue glow of his magic shimmered in the moonlight, casting an ethereal glow around him.

Sky froze, his hand instinctively moving toward the hilt of his sword, but something stopped him. Despite the threat of the ice weapons, there was no malice in the fairy’s gaze. Sky felt an odd sense of trust, like the fairy wouldn’t actually harm him.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” the fairy said, his voice calm and composed. With a flick of his wrist, the ice weapons dissolved back into water, falling harmlessly into the river. “I wasn’t expecting anyone else to be out here.”

Sky let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, his body relaxing slightly as the immediate threat dissipated. He managed a small, reassuring smile. “No, it’s my fault,” he replied, his voice steadying. “I didn’t mean to intrude. I was just… curious.”

The fairy’s expression softened, though his eyes still held a hint of wariness. “Curious?” he echoed, his tone inviting Sky to explain.

“Yeah, I just—” Sky gestured toward the path he had taken. “I saw footprints leading here and wanted to make sure no one was in trouble, being so close to the Barrier and all. You’re new, right? First year at Alfea?”

The fairy’s expression softened, a nervous smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, first year—first day, actually. It’s been a lot to take in, especially with all the rumors about that body found in the forest. I mean, it was probably just a random animal attack, right? But people seem really on edge, even with the Barrier in place.” He glanced at the river, his tone shifting. “I just needed a break—get some peace and quiet. The river seemed like a safe spot. Calm, secure, no distractions. A chance to relax and clear my head.”

Sky nodded, understanding the logic. "Makes sense," he agreed, though there was still a flicker of concern behind his casual tone. "But, you know, being out here alone... it’s not exactly safe."

The fairy’s brow furrowed slightly, picking up on the shift in Sky’s demeanor. "What do you mean? It’s probably just a wild animal, right?"

Sky hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “You really don’t know what everyone’s been saying? About the possibility of it being a Burned One?”

Y/N’s confusion deepened, his brow tightening. “A Burned One? No, I’ve... never heard of that.”

Sky’s surprise was evident as he raised an eyebrow. “Wait, you don’t know what Burned Ones are? Aren’t you from the Otherworld?”

Y/N chuckled softly, the sound almost masking the guarded edge in his tone. "No, not at all. I’m from Hawaii."

Sky blinked, processing the unexpected answer. "Hawaii? You’re from the First World?"

“Yeah,” Y/N replied, his grin more cautious now, though still carrying a trace of humor. “I’m guessing not a lot of people from around here know what or where that is. You’d be surprised, but Sam and Terra actually knew about it. Figured most people here wouldn’t, though, considering how secretive everything’s supposed to be.”

Sky’s smile widened at that. “Hawaii, huh?” His mind immediately drew a parallel to earlier that day, when Bloom had told him she was from California. Another First Worlder. He hadn’t realized how many non-magical realm students Alfea attracted, but it was starting to make him wonder how many more were out there, hidden in plain sight.

“Yep,” Y/N confirmed with a nod, though his gaze briefly flickered away, as if there was more he wasn’t ready to dive into. “I’ve known I was magical since I was a kid—my dad helped me figure out how to control it. But, honestly? I had no idea a place like this even existed. When Miss Dowling first told me about it, I thought she was punking me. I was half expecting to end up in some knock-off Hogwarts amusement park, not... well, here.” He chuckled lightly, the humor genuine, but there was a thread of unease woven beneath the words. “Coming here’s been... a pretty big leap.”

Sky could sense that Y/N was holding something back, like there was a part of his story he wasn’t ready to share. But he didn’t press. Instead, he matched Y/N’s energy with an easy chuckle of his own. “Yeah, I can imagine the culture shock. Seems like we’re getting more and more First Worlders these days.”

Y/N’s smile faltered for a brief second, his guard still up, though he quickly recovered. “Yeah... something like that.”

There was an unspoken tension between them—Y/N was giving Sky pieces of his story, but not the whole picture. And Sky, for all his curiosity, could tell that pushing too hard wasn’t the way to go. Not yet.

The fairy gave a slight shrug, his lips twitching into a small, guarded smile. “Anyway, I’ve got enough of a handle on my magic to be able to take care of myself," he replied, his voice steady, though still carrying that subtle edge of uncertainty, like he wasn’t quite convinced. "And from what I’ve heard, that Barrier is supposed to be impenetrable, right? Should be more than enough to keep us safe. I’m not too worried."

Sky raised an eyebrow, his expression somewhere between playful and cautious. “Supposed to be, yeah,” he echoed, the tone light but carrying a hint of skepticism. “But you know, the rumors swirling around aren’t exactly about stray animals. Burned Ones aren’t your average woodland creatures.”

Y/N’s brow furrowed, his expression caught somewhere between confusion and curiosity. “Still don’t really know what those are, but... sure,” he admitted with a shrug, trying to play it off casually, though a hint of unease lingered in his voice.

Sky couldn’t help but smile at the fairy’s self-assuredness. There was something infectious about the way he spoke, a quiet confidence that made it hard to look away. The specialist shifted his stance slightly, crossing his arms over his chest, trying to maintain an air of casualness. His own expression softened as he took in the guy in front of him—something about him drew Sky in, even if he couldn’t quite put his finger on why.

“Still,” Sky added, a hint of playfulness creeping into his tone, “it never hurts to have someone around who knows what to expect and knows their way around combat. You know, just in case that Barrier isn’t as foolproof as they say.”

The fairy raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eyes. “Confident, aren’t we?” he quipped, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Let me guess... Specialist, right?”

Sky chuckled, feeling more at ease as the energy between them started to feel less tense and more comfortable, even natural. It felt as if they were simply falling into a rhythm that neither had expected but both were enjoying.

“You got me,” Sky admitted with a grin, feeling a warmth spread through him that had nothing to do with the fading sunlight. “I guess I can’t help but be a little protective.”

“And what makes you think I need protection?” Y/N asked, his eyes narrowing slightly in playful challenge. Then, he paused for a second, as if piecing together the puzzle. His gaze flicked over Sky—blond hair, confident stance, and the slight swagger that came with his title. “Hmm,” Y/N tilted his head, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “I’m gonna go out on a limb here and guess you’re the golden boy I’ve been hearing so much about. Sky, right?”

Sky blinked, surprised but intrigued. He hadn’t expected to be recognized, especially out here, and he certainly hadn’t anticipated Y/N’s keen observation. “That’s right,” he said, a hint of curiosity in his voice. “What exactly have you been hearing about me?”

Y/N shrugged, his smirk widening just a bit. “Oh, you know, just that you’re Alfea’s newest squad leader, the one everyone seems to look up to. Plus, it’s hard not to notice when your name’s on just about everyone’s lips today.”

Sky chuckled again, though there was a trace of modesty in his response. “Well, I guess my reputation precedes me,” he said with a grin, but his expression turned a bit more serious as he added, “But you might want to rethink the whole ‘no protection needed’ thing. This place has its dangers, even with a Barrier.”

Sky watched the fairy carefully, his curiosity growing with each passing second. There was something about the way Y/N spoke, a quiet confidence, but also a guardedness, that intrigued him. He hadn’t expected the conversation to take this turn, but it wasn’t unwelcome. In fact, Sky found himself wanting to know more.

“Maybe,” Y/N said with a casual shrug, though his voice carried a darker edge. “It’s not like I’ve been wandering around without a clue. When it comes to magic… let’s just say I’m probably more of a threat to others—and myself—than anything out here could be to me.” His eyes flickered briefly, a subtle tension beneath the surface. “I can handle myself, and I’m definitely not looking for trouble.”

Sky tilted his head, a playful smirk tugging at his lips, but the flicker of curiosity in his eyes gave away that he’d picked up on the deeper meaning behind Y/N’s words. “Maybe you’re not looking for trouble,” he said, his tone casual yet pointed, “but that doesn’t mean trouble’s not out there looking for you.”

Y/N huffed softly, amusement flickering in his eyes as he narrowed them in a playful challenge. “And what makes you think I’m the type that needs rescuing?”

Sky’s grin widened, leaning into the teasing banter. “I don’t know… maybe it’s just my hero complex kicking in.”

Y/N let out a light laugh, the sound easy and carefree, a contrast to the tension that had been hanging between them earlier. “Hero complex, huh?” he teased back, his smirk growing. “And here I was told you Specialists were all about strategy and precision.”

Sky chuckled lightly at Y/N's retort, their easy banter creating a surprising warmth between them. But as the playful atmosphere settled, a silence followed. They exchanged a few lingering glances—curious from Sky, and slightly more guarded from Y/N. There was something in the fairy’s expression, a subtle nervousness, that made Sky feel as though Y/N wasn’t used to being watched so intently.

After a moment, Sky cleared his throat, breaking the quiet. “It’s getting late, and we’ve got classes in the morning. Probably best we both head back to the dorms.”

Y/N gave a slight nod, though he couldn’t resist another jab. “You’re really serious about that hero complex, huh?”

Sky grinned, unable to stop himself from playing along. “You’d be surprised how serious I am about it.”

The tension between them dissolved into a more comfortable camaraderie as Sky offered a small gesture toward the direction of the dorms. “Come on, I’ll walk with you.”

They began their walk back through the forest, the sounds of the river fading behind them, replaced by the quiet rustle of leaves and the distant hum of Alfea. Sky and Y/N moved in step with each other, their conversation light, touching on the campus, the upcoming classes, and the expectations looming over them both. There was a natural flow to their interaction that felt almost... easy.

When they reached the Fairy Hall, Sky hesitated for a moment before flashing Y/N a genuine smile. “Well, here you are. Fairy Hall, safe and sound.”

Y/N chuckled softly, rolling his eyes at Sky’s mock-seriousness. “Guess you weren’t kidding about that hero complex.”

With a final grin, Sky offered a casual wave before turning to head toward the Specialist Hall. “See you around, first-year.”

Y/N watched him disappear into the distance before turning to make his way inside. But as he took a step forward, something caught his eye—a figure slipping out from the shadows near the edge of the courtyard. He paused, narrowing his gaze, trying to make out the person’s features.

It was a girl, the same one he saw earlier walking back with that swimmer looking girl towards the school when they were seemingly arguing. She was still wearing the same clothes, her ginger hair pulled into a ponytail, and she was walking away from the halls, heading toward the forest. 

She wasn’t far enough yet that Y/N couldn’t spot the nervous twitch in her hands, like she was fidgeting with something. As she stepped into the moonlight, something golden caught his eye—small, shiny, like some type of jewelry that was faintly glowing with a trace of magic.

Y/N felt a twinge of unease. He didn’t know why, but something about the way she moved, the way her fingers fidgeted with the golden object, tugged at his instincts. He stood there for a moment, battling in his mind with what to do.

Clearly, she wasn’t heading for the dorms. Something in Y/N’s gut twisted, a nagging instinct that screamed at him to follow her, while his brain—not to be outdone—was urging him to run straight to Miss Dowling and let her handle it. There was the smart choice, and then there was… well, the choice Y/N usually made.

Naturally, he didn’t choose smart.

With a quiet huff, he slipped after her, his footsteps light as he shadowed her path towards the trees. His curiosity—and maybe a touch of concern—grew with every step. She was heading toward the Barrier. Toward the forest. And for reasons he couldn’t fully explain, that only made the gnawing feeling in his gut tighten. Quickening his pace, he stayed far enough back to not alert her, but close enough to see what she was up to. Because apparently, tonight, he was committed to bad decisions.

Aisha and Musa entered the Winx suite, their footsteps quiet as the tension between them grew. Stella was sprawled on the couch, taking selfies, the glow from her magical light casting her face in soft, flattering shadows.

"She's blanking my texts," Aisha said, her frustration laced with a hint of worry.

Musa’s eyes narrowed, her voice sharp with sarcasm as she glanced at Stella. "Strange. I wonder if it's because she poured her heart out to you and you called her a freak?"

Her comment hung in the air, heavy with accusation, but Stella remained unmoved, still engrossed in her phone. Aisha’s lips tightened as she tried to keep her cool.

"Have you seen Bloom?" Aisha asked, directing her question to Stella.

"Not recently," Stella replied dismissively, barely sparing Aisha a glance as she focused on her screen.

Musa wasn’t convinced. Her gaze intensified, the light in her irises turning a faint purple glow as her expression darkened with suspicion. Stella, sensing Musa’s scrutiny, snapped her fingers, dispelling the magical light she had been using for her selfies. She finally looked up, defensive and annoyed.

"Yes?" Stella’s voice held a challenging edge.

"Your face looks so calm, yet you're racked with guilt," Musa said, her eyes never leaving Stella.

"You're a mind fairy," Aisha added, her voice taking on a sharper tone.

Before the tension could deepen, Terra stepped into the room, oblivious to the building atmosphere. She glanced between them, catching the subtle hostility in the air.

"A mind fairy? What's your connection? Memory, thoughts—" Terra started, her curiosity piqued.

"Not a great time," Musa interrupted, cutting her off.

Terra frowned, sensing something off. "Is everything OK?"

Stella’s fingers danced across her phone, ignoring the mounting tension.

"Not really," Aisha said, her frustration seeping through. "I'm looking for Bloom. For some reason, Stella's feeling guilty about it."

At that, Stella’s eyes flicked up, her annoyance flashing before she masked it with indifference. She rolled her eyes, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Could everyone save the drama for drama club?" Stella quipped.

Terra wasn’t having it. "Wasn't she talking to Sky?" she asked, her tone firm.

"And?" Stella replied, a coy smile tugging at her lips.

"And I know what happened to the last person who was 'talking to Sky.' I was here last year, remember," Terra said, her voice rising slightly, as if placing air quotes around the words.

Stella scoffed in response, turning back to her phone with a petulant smile, clearly dismissing the concern.

"Stella, where's Bloom?" Terra’s expression hardened, her tone leaving no room for games.

Stella glanced up through her lashes, realizing she had no way out. There was no escaping the questions now. Sighing, she dropped her phone into her lap, her face reflecting both guilt and defiance.

"She was feeling homesick, so I did a nice thing and I lent her my ring so that she could go back to the First World," Stella admitted, though her tone carried an air of justification, as if she hadn’t done anything wrong.

As they spoke, deep in the forest, far beyond the Barrier protecting Alfea, Bloom hurried through the dense trees, her steps quick and purposeful. The moonlight barely filtered through the canopy, casting a ghostly pallor over the cemetery ahead of her. The air was thick with moisture, the weight of the night pressing down on her as she neared an ancient mausoleum covered in vines and decay.

"Doesn't it only work outside the Barrier?" Terra asked, concern clear in her voice.

"Yes, and there's a gateway in the old cemetery," Stella replied, still acting as if this was all completely normal.

Bloom paused before the weathered stone structure, glancing over her shoulder to ensure she was alone. Behind her, Y/N kept his distance, careful not to be noticed. His instincts were on high alert, something in his gut screaming that whatever she was about to do, he needed to be there.

With a shaky breath, Bloom reached out and pressed her hand—Stella’s ring shimmering in the moonlight—against the cold stone of the mausoleum’s door. A soft glow pulsed from the ring, spreading out like liquid gold until it covered the entire surface. The door creaked open with a slow groan, revealing the darkness inside. Y/N held his breath, his heart pounding in his chest as he watched her disappear inside.

"That's deep in the forest, Stella," Terra pressed, her voice taking on a more serious, worried tone. “You know what’s out there, right?”

Inside the mausoleum, Bloom found herself stepping into what looked like an old, abandoned warehouse—the same one where she’d hidden before Miss Dowling had discovered her. The air was thick with dust, carrying the stale scent of decay and neglect. Every corner felt eerily still, the kind of quiet that pressed down on you, almost suffocating in its heaviness. She glanced around briefly, memories flickering at the edges of her mind, before making her way to the main door. When she stepped outside, the familiar warmth of the California air washed over her, a stark contrast to the cold atmosphere inside.

Unnoticed, Y/N slipped into the warehouse behind her. His eyes swept over the unfamiliar space, the faint tension in the air alerting him to how far they’d ventured. It wasn’t until he followed her through the main door and felt the warm breeze on his skin that he realized, with a sharp pang of surprise, that they weren’t in the Otherworld anymore. This was somewhere else entirely.

Judging by the scenery—the dry hills, the faint scent of salt in the air—Y/N guessed they were somewhere on the West Coast. Probably California. But he didn’t have time to play detective because, despite growing up with a military dad who drilled him in endurance, Bloom was already a good half-mile down the road. He huffed, picking up his pace with a ragged breath escaping from at his lips. Seriously, how was she outpacing him like this?

As Y/N rushed to catch up with her, his mind raced just as fast as his legs. This clearly wasn’t just a casual stroll—she had a destination, and whatever it was, it must have been important with the way she was moving.

Back at the Winx suite, the tension in the air thickened. Just as Terra was about to ask Stella another question, a knock sounded on the door, sharp and urgent. Terra called out, “Come in!” The door creaked open, revealing Sam standing there, looking unusually anxious. His eyes darted around the room, his usual calm demeanor noticeably shaken. 

“Terra, have you seen Y/N?” Sam asked, his voice tinged with worry. “He hasn’t come back to our dorm, and I’ve been looking for him everywhere.”

Terra frowned, exchanging concerned glances with Aisha and Musa. “No, I haven’t seen him since the party,” she said slowly. “He said he was going outside to call his dad.”

Sam’s jaw clenched, and he ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “He’s not answering his phone either. I’ve checked every spot I showed him today and even more but I can’t find him anywhere. He’s just... gone.”

Musa, who had been quietly observing the exchange, tilted her head slightly, her sharp gaze flicking to Sam. For a brief moment, something flickered in her expression—interest, curiosity—but the weight of the situation kept her silent.

“I’m sorry, but who is Y/N?” Aisha interjected, her brow furrowing in confusion.

Sam glanced at her, then sighed, running a hand through his dark-brown hair again. “Y/N’s a first-year fairy, from the First World. Miss Dowling assigned me to mentor and guide him since he’s still getting used to everything here and we’re rooming together. He’s from the First World, Hawaii I think, and he said he’s known about his magic for awhile, but the Otherworld is completely new and—well, kind of a shock for him. But he’s smart. Quick learner.”

Before Sam could continue, Terra spoke up, her tone reflecting her growing concern, “The last time I saw him was at the party. He never came back though. I thought maybe he just needed some air, but if he hasn’t come back, I don’t know where he might have gone.”

Aisha nodded, absorbing the information while Terra’s frown deepened. “So, we’ve got a homesick Bloom who’s probably wandering around somewhere in the First World, hopefully not setting things on fire, and a first-year fairy also from the First World who’s gone missing as well? Perfect.”

Terra’s concern deepened. “I don’t believe Y/N would just go off somewhere without telling someone.”

Stella, who had also been silent as she sat in her guilt, put down her phone again, raising an eyebrow. “Missing? You sure he didn’t just... take a walk to be alone or something?”

Sam shook his head, clearly unsettled. “He’d at least tell me where he was going if he was. I’m telling you, something’s wrong. But, what’s this about your suitemate missing somewhere in the FIrst World to?”

Aisha and Musa exchanged a brief, uneasy glance before Aisha cleared her throat. “It’s... kind of a long story,” she started, her gaze flicking toward Stella, her words slow and deliberate. “But Bloom was feeling homesick. I think she wanted to go home to see her parents.”

Sam frowned, crossing his arms as he took in the information, but it was clear he wasn’t getting the full picture. “And how exactly did she manage to do that? Isn’t the Barrier supposed to prevent anyone from leaving like that?”

Musa’s eyes landed on Stella, her expression unyielding. “She had a little help,” she said pointedly, causing Stella to shift uncomfortably on the couch.

Sam’s eyes darkened, clearly picking up on the accusatory tone in the room. “Help from who?” he asked, his voice growing more intense.

Aisha sighed, still clearly upset but staying as calm as possible. “Stella lent Bloom her gateway ring, so she could go back to the First World.”

Sam’s expression hardened, his jaw clenched. “She’s beyond the Barrier? Alone?” His voice was laced with disbelief, mixed with a rising tide of anger. His eyes darted between the girls before settling back on Stella. “Do you even realize how dangerous that is?”

Stella opened her mouth to respond but closed it again, not entirely sure what to say in her defense. Her face reflected a mix of guilt and frustration, but Sam wasn’t waiting for an answer. He was already pacing, his thoughts spiraling.

Aisha, seeing the worry etched on Sam’s face, quickly put together the pieces. “Wait,” she said, her voice becoming more thoughtful. “Bloom and Y/N… they’re both from the First World, right?”

Sam stopped mid-pace, his eyes snapping toward Aisha. “Yeah, they are. Why?”

“It just seems like more than a coincidence, don’t you think?” Aisha said, her brows furrowing. “They’re both from the First World, both entirely new to the Otherworld, both personally assigned mentors by Miss Dowling... and now they’re both missing.”

Musa leaned against the wall, her arms crossed as she considered Aisha’s words. “You’re right. It feels off. Too much of a coincidence for my taste.”

Sam’s concern deepened, his frustration palpable as he clenched his fists at his sides. “And now they’re both out there, somewhere, probably with no idea of the danger they’re walking into.”

Stella, clearly uncomfortable with the weight of the situation she had unintentionally caused, looked down at her hands, the guilt catching up to her. She wasn’t used to feeling this much responsibility, and it was starting to weigh on her more than she let on.

Aisha continued, her voice growing more urgent as she pieced it together. “Could it be possible Y/N might’ve followed Bloom, especially if he noticed something was off? They could both be in the First World right now, but neither of them have a way to get back.”

Sam nodded, his expression tight with concern. “It’s definitely possible,” he said, the tension in his voice unmistakable. “Y/N gives off that selfless, 'help others first' vibe. He’s the type of guy who’d follow someone if he thought they were in trouble, even if he didn’t know them well. I mean, we’ve only spent one day together, but I could already tell—given what’s he’s shared with me about where he grew up and his dad. If he thought Bloom was in trouble, no way he’d just let her go off alone.”

Aisha nodded firmly. “Then, we need to get ahead of this before it gets worse. We’ll have to tell Miss Dowling, let her know what’s going on. They’re not just two students wandering off—they’re basically fresh prey for whatever is out there beyond the Barrier.”

Sam, his frustration now mixing with fear, glared at Stella. “You had better hope nothing happens to them. This is more than just playing with magic.”

Stella, for once, had nothing to say. She looked away, her face stiff with the realization of what she had set into motion.

Y/N hurried to catch up to Bloom, his steps light but determined. His breath was shallow as he finally spotted her, standing at the corner of a white picket fence, her figure bathed in the soft glow of streetlights. She was motionless, her gaze fixed through a large dining room window. Y/N followed her line of sight, his heart clenching when he saw a couple inside—a man and a woman seated at the dinner table. He didn’t need to guess who they were. He already knew: her parents.

She was talking to them, but not directly. Instead, she held her phone close to her ear, her voice trembling as she spoke.

"Um... What if I... What if I... like, made a mistake?" Bloom's voice was faint, just above a whisper, but Y/N could hear the weight of her words as if they carried the burden of years of doubt.

Even though the phone wasn't on speaker, the soft, distant voices of her parents carried to Y/N's ears. The words were unclear at times, but the emotions behind them—concern, love, reassurance—were unmistakable.

"You're too special for here," her mother’s voice, faint but firm, echoed through the phone. "It's not who you are."

"What if you don't know who I am?" Bloom's voice cracked, her vulnerability clear in the way she clutched the phone tighter, her other hand trembling by her side.

Y/N, from his place of hiding, felt his own chest tighten. He knew this feeling. The uncertainty. The loneliness of being misunderstood by the people who were supposed to know you best. He wanted to look away, to stop intruding on this private moment, but something rooted him to the spot. Everything she said mirrored his own struggles with his father—always trying to live up to expectations, always feeling like he had to hide parts of himself.

Inside the house, Bloom’s mother rubbed her arms absentmindedly, and Y/N caught a glimpse of red marks, faint but unmistakable, like burns. He put two and two together, watching as Bloom’s expression faltered—guilt flooding her features. Whatever had happened, Y/N could feel the heaviness of it through his magic, and he knew, somehow, that it had been her doing.

"No, you're right. Alfea's where I belong now," Bloom said, her voice barely holding it together.

"Bloom, listen to me," her mother continued, her tone softer now. "Whatever you're going through, I know it sucks, but I also know you can handle it. I always knew your path wouldn't be like everyone else's."

Y/N’s breath hitched as Bloom let out a teary chuckle, fighting to keep herself together.

"Not like mine or your father's. That's hard. But at the end of it, I can't wait to see who you become."

Her father's voice chimed in then, warm and supportive. "We love you, Bloom."

Through sniffles and quiet sobs, Bloom replied, "I love you too."

The call ended, leaving a hollow silence in the air. Bloom stood there, her shoulders trembling as soft sobs escaped her. Y/N’s heart clenched painfully. He knew this moment wasn’t for him, wasn’t meant for anyone else. Slowly, he took a step back, ready to retreat and give her the privacy she so desperately needed. But as he turned, his foot made a faint sound against the gravel, and Bloom whipped around, her tear-streaked face locking onto him.

The call ended, leaving a hollow silence in the air. Bloom stood there, her shoulders trembling as soft sobs escaped her. Y/N’s heart clenched painfully. He knew this moment wasn’t for him, wasn’t meant for anyone else. Slowly, he stepped back, retreating into the shadows. The weight of her sorrow hung heavy in the air, pulling at him, but he knew she needed this moment alone. He needed to give her space, just like he had craved so many times himself.

He moved quietly, making sure his steps were soundless against the gravel. His pulse echoed in his ears as he carefully distanced himself from the corner of the fence, slipping further into the darkness of the street. With every step he took away from Bloom, the cool night air seemed to grow thicker, almost pressing down on him with the weight of everything he had just witnessed.

But still, he kept moving, his eyes never leaving her until the distance between them was enough to cloak him in the safety of anonymity. He let out a quiet breath, turning back towards the direction of the warehouse. His mind raced with thoughts and emotions, unsure of what exactly he had just seen but knowing, deep down, that it resonated with him in ways he wasn’t quite ready to acknowledge.

Y/N made his way back to the warehouse, the chill of the night air doing little to calm the whirlwind of thoughts running through his mind. His feet felt heavy, as though they carried the weight of everything he had just witnessed. Bloom’s words still echoed in his head, the vulnerability in her voice striking a chord deep within him. It was a moment he hadn’t expected to stumble upon, and it left him feeling raw, exposed in a way he hadn’t anticipated.

As he reached the entrance of the warehouse, the shadows inside seemed deeper than before, the quiet of the space pressing in on him. Y/N took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair as he glanced around, trying to piece together what his next move would be. The golden shimmer from Stella’s ring earlier had disappeared, and now the doorway to the Otherworld was sealed shut.

"Great," he muttered under his breath, glancing at the door. "No way back. Now what?"

The silence of the warehouse felt oppressive, like it was swallowing him whole. He walked deeper into the space, his eyes scanning the empty room as he tried to figure out how Bloom had opened the passage in the first place. His fingers absentmindedly traced the edge of the doorframe where the gateway had once shimmered. There had to be something, some way to open it again.

But nothing happened. No golden light. No subtle hum of magic.

Y/N cursed under his breath, frustration bubbling to the surface. He felt stuck—both literally and figuratively. Trapped between two worlds and unsure of where he really belonged in either of them. He pressed his back against the wall, sliding down until he was sitting on the cold, hard floor. His head fell back against the brick, his eyes closing as he let out a long, tired sigh.

Y/N didn’t have time to rest, though. Just as he settled down, trying to figure out how to get back to the Otherworld, he heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps. His eyes snapped open, heart pounding. Oh, shit. Was it Bloom? Or worse… someone from this world who wasn’t supposed to know about magic?

The door creaked open, and in walked Bloom, her expression a wild mix of confusion, suspicion, and the look of someone who was two bad decisions away from a breakdown as she immediately spotted him considering he was sitting in the most obvious space.

Y/N froze, like a deer caught in headlights, his mind going into full panic mode. Oh double shit.

"Who the hell are you?" she asked, her voice sharp but laced with exhaustion, as if she didn’t have the energy to be fully angry yet.

Y/N pushed himself to his feet, his hands raised in a gesture of peace. "I can explain," he started, though he wasn’t entirely sure how he was going to explain any of this. He knew how it looked—him lurking around in the shadows after following her all the way from Alfea.

Her eyes locked onto him like laser beams, the glare making him feel as though he’d just been caught red-handed stealing cookies from a grandma’s cookie jar.

"Who the hell are you?" Bloom demanded, her voice sharp but tired, like she just didn’t have the energy to deal with whatever circus this was about to become.

Y/N scrambled to his feet, hands shooting up in the universal gesture of ‘Please don’t murder me.’ "I can explain!" he blurted, though let’s be real—he had no explanation. None. He looked around frantically, as if the walls might suddenly provide some magical excuse for why he was creeping around like a weirdo.

Bloom crossed her arms, her eyebrow raised to the ceiling as she stepped closer, inspecting him like he was some deranged squirrel that had wandered into her personal space. "You’ve got about ten seconds before I call the cops," she warned, her patience thinner than a thread holding up a bad decision.

“Uh, uh... okay!” Y/N stammered, trying not to look like the world’s worst stalker. “So, funny story, really—uh, you see, I, um...” He took a deep breath, his eyes darting around the room as his brain short-circuited. “...I’m not a serial killer!”

Bloom’s arms tightened, not amused in the slightest.

“No, wait! That came out wrong,” Y/N flailed, realizing how insane he must’ve sounded. “Look, I’m a student at Alfea—like, for real! I swear! First-year! Magic! Totally not creepy!” He motioned wildly to his face like that somehow made him look more trustworthy. “I just... saw you leave and thought you might need help? Maybe?”

Bloom’s glare didn’t waver. "So your bright idea was to follow me... to another world... in the middle of the night... alone?"

Y/N blinked, taking a step back. “Okay, in hindsight I can see how that may not have been the most reasonable decision on my part. But I swear, I had good intentions!”

Bloom rolled her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose like she was done with life. “Wow, congratulations. You’re not a serial killer. Gold star for you.”

Y/N took a deep breath, his posture softening as he realized his flailing explanations weren’t getting him anywhere. Time to try another approach. Something less chaotic and maybe a little more… honest.

“Look,” he said, dropping his hands and glancing away, his voice quieter now, more serious. “I know how this looks. Trust me, I get it. But I’m not here to cause trouble. I just—” He hesitated, searching for the right words, something that wouldn’t make him sound like an idiot or, worse, a stalker. “I overheard a little bit of what you were going through... back there with your parents.”

Bloom’s defensive stance didn’t drop, but her eyes flickered with surprise. He pressed on, knowing he had to tread carefully.

“I didn’t mean to listen,” he continued, his tone softer. “I really didn’t. I just... well, I could relate to what you were saying.” He swallowed, feeling that familiar knot in his stomach tighten. “I’ve gone through something similar with my dad.”

Bloom’s expression shifted slightly, a tiny crack in her hard exterior, though she still didn’t move. Y/N took it as a sign to keep going.

“I think we’ve got more in common than you realize,” Y/N began, his voice softer now, stepping forward just a little. “You and me… We’ve both grown up with this, haven’t we? Magic.” He paused, studying her face as she absorbed his words. “The only difference is, I’ve known about mine since I was a kid. I’m guessing you just discovered yours.”

Bloom’s eyes flickered, but she didn’t respond, her guard still up.

“In all that time,” Y/N continued, “I’ve made a lot of mistakes. More than I can count, honestly. And I’m guessing you’ve made some too, right? It’s kind of impossible not to, with magic like this.” He looked down briefly, running a hand through his hair, remembering the weight of his own guilt. “I saw the burns on your mom’s arms,” he said gently. “And, trust me, I get it. That guilt? That feeling like everything you touch breaks, or worse? I’ve been there.”

Bloom’s expression wavered, something flickering in her eyes as she listened.

“I’ve screwed up a lot, uh... Bloom, right?” Y/N said, his voice carrying a mix of vulnerability and regret. “I froze an entire military base, in Hawaii of all places. You can imagine how easy it was trying to explain that to people. I  even almost drowned my dad, who acts like he’s fine, but I can still see him get tense when I’m near large sources of water. I’ve hurt people. People I care about. And it makes you feel like... like you’re dangerous. Like you can’t trust yourself anymore.”

Bloom’s posture softened, her arms loosening as she shifted her weight. For a moment, her expression flickered between exhaustion and curiosity, like she wasn’t sure whether to keep her guard up or let it drop.

“You almost drowned your dad?” she asked quietly, her voice losing some of its earlier edge. There was a strange mix of disbelief and understanding in her tone, like she was processing the idea of someone else living through a situation so close to her own.

Y/N let out a breath, relieved that she hadn’t immediately told him to get lost. “Yeah. I mean, it was an accident, obviously. But... that doesn’t really make it any easier, you know? The people who care about you say they’re fine, but deep down, you can see the way they look at you differently. Like they’re afraid.”

Bloom’s eyes flickered with recognition, and for the first time since their strange, chaotic encounter, she looked at him like he might actually understand what she was going through. She hugged her arms closer to her body, glancing toward the back of the warehouse.

After a beat of silence, she nodded toward one of the side rooms. "Come on. I’ve got a room set up through there. It’s probably better to stay here for now then risk walking back throught the forest. We can figure out the rest in the morning."

Y/N nodded, grateful for the chance before following her, the two of them moving toward the backroms with the grimy windows, likely spaces utlitzed as office rooms in the warehouse. The room was sparse—an old mattress, a few blankets, and some personal belongings scattered around. It wasn’t much, but it was clear this had been her sanctuary for a while, a place to escape from everything.

Bloom sat down on the edge of the mattress, letting out a long sigh. Y/N hovered near the doorway, still a little unsure of where he stood in all this, but feeling that at least the immediate threat of being kicked out had passed.

The room was quiet, the kind of stillness that made Y/N’s skin prickle with unease. He watched as Bloom settled on the edge of the mattress, her hands resting limply in her lap. She hadn’t fully relaxed, though. Her shoulders were still tense, her eyes darting around the sparse space as if she were expecting something—maybe trouble, maybe just more bad news. Y/N shifted uncomfortably, staying near the doorway as if keeping his distance would somehow make this situation less awkward.

For a few long moments, neither of them spoke. The tension hung in the air like a thick fog, both of them sitting with their own thoughts. The silence wasn’t necessarily hostile, but it wasn’t comfortable either. It was like they were both waiting for the other to make a move, to break whatever this strange, shared moment had become.

Bloom kept her eyes downcast, staring at the floor in front of her. Y/N wasn’t sure if she was processing everything or just trying to avoid any more conversation, but he figured it was best to give her some space. His mind was racing with everything they had both just confessed. He wasn’t sure what to say next, afraid to say the wrong thing and make it worse.

After what felt like an eternity, Bloom finally broke the silence, her voice low but not as sharp as before. “So... how’d you end up in the Otherworld?” she asked, glancing up at him, her expression curious but guarded.

Y/N blinked, a little caught off guard by the sudden question. He stepped further into the room, leaning against the wall as he thought about how to answer. “It’s kind of a long story,” he said with a dry chuckle, trying to ease the tension.

Bloom raised an eyebrow, giving him a look that clearly said, I’ve got time.

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ve known I was magical since I was a kid,” he began, his voice quieter now, more reflective. “My dad—he’s not magical, but we found out about my powers early on and he helped me keep them a secret. Tried to help me learn how to control them. But... well, things didn’t always go smoothly.”

Y/N chuckled bitterly, his gaze dropping to his hands as if the weight of his memories pressed down on him. “I did well for the most part, but... there were always these little moments when I lost it,” he started, his voice softening, laden with regret. “We pretty much figured out early on that my magic was influenced by my emotions, but we didn’t realize how much—how intense it could get.”

He paused, taking a shaky breath, the memories clearly weighing on him. His fingers twitched as he remembered that day. “One day, I found out my dad was getting deployed overseas for something really dangerous. And I just... I lost it. I mean, what’s a 16-year-old kid with magic he barely knows how to control supposed to do? Stop the government from sending his dad into a war zone?" Y/N’s voice cracked slightly, the bitterness in his tone deepening. "I couldn’t calm down. No matter how hard I tried, the anger and frustration just kept building, and I couldn’t control it. Next thing anybody knew, every pipe, faucet, and drain on the base started spitting out more water than they probably even held.” He swallowed hard, his shoulders slumping as he relived the chaos he had caused.

Across from him, Bloom remained silent, her expression softening with empathy. She knew all too well the feeling of emotions spiraling out of control, of your magic becoming something terrifying when you needed it to stop the most.

Y/N’s eyes were distant, as if he was back in that room, reliving every moment. “That wasn’t even the worst of it,” he continued, his voice thick with emotion. “When my dad realized what was happening, he tried to calm me down, like he always did. But I was so upset—at the situation, at myself for what I was doing—that I couldn’t get a grip on anything, least of all my magic.” His voice wavered slightly, a tremble beneath his words.

Bloom’s heart clenched as she listened, knowing that feeling of panic, that moment when everything slips through your fingers no matter how much you want it to stop. She watched him closely, seeing the guilt etched into every line of his face.

Y/N’s gaze flickered to Bloom’s for just a second before he looked away again, his voice quieter now. “The room we were in filled up with water faster than either of us could react. It didn’t affect me—my magic just doesn’t, I guess—but it affected him.” His breath hitched, and he swallowed hard. “He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t get out. I was drowning my dad, and I couldn’t stop.”

For a moment, the silence between them was palpable, the weight of Y/N’s words hanging heavy in the air. Bloom could feel the knot forming in her own chest, the suffocating pressure of guilt that Y/N clearly carried with him. She had felt it herself, every time she thought of her mom’s burns, every time she thought of what her fire had done.

“I got a grip—barely—and stopped the water before it was too late,” Y/N continued, his voice strained. “But after that... things between me and my dad were never the same. It wasn’t his fault, really. He didn’t blame me, but I could see it in his eyes—he didn’t trust me anymore. And honestly? I didn’t trust myself.”

Y/N ran a hand through his hair, letting out a shaky breath as he leaned back against the wall. “That’s when Miss Dowling showed up. My dad knew I couldn’t stay at the base—it was too risky. People were paranoid, on edge, waiting for something else to go wrong. I mean, the base in Hawaii nearly froze over like it had been hit by a winter storm straight out of Michigan. One more slip-up, one more incident, and people would start connecting the dots. If they figured out I was the one behind it all… my life would've been turned completely upside down.” He let out a small, humorless laugh, glancing up to meet Bloom’s gaze. “I didn’t exactly fit into the normal world. And it wasn’t like I had a guidebook for being... whatever this is. Alfea became my only choice.”

His voice trailed off, leaving the room in a thick, heavy silence. For a moment, neither of them spoke, both lost in their own thoughts.

Bloom shifted slightly, her arms wrapped around her knees as she looked at him with understanding in her eyes. “I know what that’s like,” she said quietly, her voice soft but steady. “Hurting people you care about because you can’t control it. That guilt... it doesn’t really go away, does it?”

Y/N’s eyes met hers, and for the first time, he saw that she wasn’t just listening—she understood. Truly. It was like she could feel every ounce of his pain because she had carried it herself.

Bloom’s gaze softened further, her voice carrying a fragile weight. “My mom... those burns... I didn’t mean to hurt her, but I did. And I can’t ever take that back.” She swallowed, her voice wavering just slightly. “It’s not just the guilt—it’s the fear. That constant feeling like you might hurt someone again if you’re not careful.”

Y/N nodded, the weight of Bloom's confession settling between them like a thick, shared burden. He could feel the truth of her words, the way they echoed his own experience. It wasn't just about losing control—it was the fact that, unlike everyone else around them, they didn’t grow up in a world that understood magic. The other students at Alfea, as reckless as some of them were, had grown up with people who knew what magic was, people who could teach them how to control it, guide them, and, more importantly, who could understand and forgive their mistakes because they had made those same mistakes themselves. They had families who knew the risks, mentors who had lived through it all, seen the dangers firsthand. The Otherworld wasn’t new or strange to them—it was home.

But for Bloom and Y/N, it was different. Magic had blindsided their lives. Y/N’s dad didn’t know what to do when his son froze an entire base or nearly drowned him. He barely understood the power his son carried, and once he saw just a fraction of it, the fear in his eyes was enough to change everything between them. It wasn’t the kind of fear that came from misunderstanding—it was the fear of seeing something dangerous in someone you love and realizing you have no idea how to protect them or yourself from it. The same fear that Y/N could see in Bloom's eyes when she talked about her mom’s burns. That kind of shift in perspective cut deeper than any physical wound, because it wasn’t just about fear—it was about losing the trust of the people who mattered most, and knowing that no matter what you did, that trust might never come back.

Y/N shifted slightly, the silence between them heavy but not uncomfortable. He glanced over at Bloom, her eyes downcast as she wrapped her arms tighter around her knees. She looked smaller than before, like the weight of her own story had pressed her into herself. His gaze softened, and after a moment, he broke the silence.

“So... what about you?” Y/N asked quietly, his voice low and steady. “I think I put together bits and pieces, but... what’s your story?”

Bloom glanced up at him, her eyes searching his for a second as if weighing whether or not to trust him. She sighed, running a hand through her fiery hair, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly, though her guard wasn’t completely down.

“There's not much to tell,” Bloom began, her voice softer now, a little less guarded. “I grew up in California. Suburbs, you know? My parents are... well, they’re great. Normal. Loving. But they don’t know anything about magic. I didn’t even know until a few months ago.”

Y/N listened quietly, noticing the way her voice wavered just a bit. He didn’t push her—he knew better than anyone how hard it was to relive those moments. Bloom’s eyes remained fixed on the floor, like she was trying to make sense of her own words before speaking them aloud.

Bloom shifted slightly on the mattress, her fingers fidgeting with a stray thread from the blanket. "It started with a fight," she continued, her voice soft but steady. "My mom and I... we don’t really see eye to eye. She’s always been the type who had this image of what her perfect daughter should be—cheerleader, top of her class, the whole thing. And I’m just... not that." Bloom gave a small, bitter laugh, shaking her head as if she couldn’t believe it herself.

Y/N stayed silent, sensing there was more to the story.

"One night, things got really bad between us. I was furious, and I couldn’t calm down." She paused, her hands tightening around the edge of the blanket. "And that’s when it happened. The fire... it just started. It was like everything I was feeling inside was too much, and it just—"

She broke off, swallowing hard, her eyes glossing over with unshed tears. "I didn’t mean to... but the fire spread to their room. My mom... she got burned, really badly." Bloom’s voice trembled with guilt, and she quickly wiped at her eyes, trying to push the tears away. "I could hear them screaming. I wanted to stop it, but I didn’t know how."

The weight of her words hung in the air, thick with the shared understanding between them. Y/N’s heart ached in his chest as he watched her struggle with the memory. He knew that kind of guilt—the kind that stuck with you, that didn’t go away no matter how much time passed.

"They don’t even know it was me," Bloom whispered, her voice barely audible now. "They don’t know what I am... what I did." She finally looked up at Y/N, her eyes filled with a pain that mirrored his own. "I slept in this warehouse for weeks after that. I was terrified I’d hurt them again, that I couldn’t control it. I’d sneak out at night and stay here until... Miss Dowling found me."

Y/N’s brow furrowed as he listened, his heart heavy with the weight of her words. He knew exactly what she meant—the fear, the uncertainty, the crushing realization that no matter how hard you tried, your magic always seemed to have a mind of its own.

“I get it,” he said, his voice sincere. “It’s terrifying. Not knowing when or how it’ll come out again... but also knowing it’s there, waiting.”

Bloom nodded, her gaze distant, lost in thought. “It’s why I came back here tonight. I thought maybe seeing my parents... maybe being here again would help me figure it out. But I don’t belong here anymore, and I don’t know if I ever did.”

Y/N, still leaning against the wall, raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. “Wait, how did you even get here? I mean... it’s not like there’s a direct flight between the Otherworld and California.”

Bloom blinked, coming back to the moment. “Oh, right... Stella,” she said, her tone holding a hint of reluctance. “She gave me her gateway ring. It opens a portal back to the First World.”

Y/N’s eyes widened slightly. “Wait—she just handed it over?”

“Well, not exactly,” Bloom muttered, rubbing the back of her neck. “It was more like I was desperate, and Stella... she understood that. So, yeah, she lent it to me. Honestly, I think it was more of a ‘get out of her hair’ type of thing.” She shrugged, but Y/N could hear the gratitude in her voice, buried beneath the layers of frustration.

Y/N let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “A gateway ring... That explains a lot.” He glanced at her, studying her face for a moment before speaking again. “But you don’t think you belong here? You really think that?”

Bloom hesitated, her gaze falling to her hands. “I don’t know where I belong,” she admitted, her voice soft, almost fragile. “I thought this place... home... would give me some answers, but it’s just made me realize how far away from normal my life has gotten.”

Y/N opened his mouth to respond, but something caught his attention. A faint noise, barely perceptible, coming from outside. It was a soft rustling sound, like leaves being disturbed in the distance, but in the stillness of the warehouse, it felt louder than it should’ve been.

He paused, his body tensing slightly as his eyes darted toward the window. “Did you hear that?”

Bloom furrowed her brow, glancing in the same direction but not seeming overly concerned. “What? I didn’t hear anything.”

Y/N hesitated, his instincts on high alert for a moment before he forced himself to relax. “Never mind. Probably just the wind.”

Y/N had barely relaxed when he noticed something unsettling. It was faint at first, a shadow that didn’t quite belong. His eyes flickered to the wall, where an unfamiliar silhouette moved, just beyond the confines of the room. It wasn’t his, nor was it Bloom’s, and there was no way it could be coming from anything else in the sparsely furnished space.

He straightened up slowly, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. As the shadow shifted again, Y/N felt his heart rate spike, his body instinctively tensing.

Bloom, still sitting on the edge of the mattress, noticed his change in demeanor. She turned, her eyebrows furrowing. “What’s wrong?”

Y/N didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he slowly rose from his sitting position on the floor, standing up on his legs at a snail’s space while looking through  the grimy window above and behind Bloom, peering out into the open space of the warehouse. His breath caught in his throat.

“Y/N?” Bloom asked, more urgently this time, standing up from the mattress herself. She followed his gaze, turning  closer to the window to see through it’s blinds what had petrified him in fear.. The moment her eyes locked onto the scene outside, a gasp escaped her lips.

In the dim light of the warehouse, just a few feet from them, stood a creature that seemed like it had crawled out of their worst nightmares. It was tall and emaciated, with skin that looked like charred, cracked stone. Its long, skeletal limbs hung loosely at its sides, while its head twitched unnervingly, eyes glowing with an ominous red light. The faint shimmer of molten cracks ran down its entire body, giving off the impression that it was a living, breathing furnace that had cooled too soon. The creature’s entire form seemed to absorb the surrounding shadows, blending in with the darkened warehouse as if it were part of the gloom itself.

Its head snapped toward them with a disturbing speed the moment Bloom locked eyes on it, the glowing embers of its gaze fixating on them like a predator that had just spotted its prey.

"Shit!" Y/N cursed, stumbling backward, his heart hammering in his chest as the creature’s burning eyes seemed to pierce straight through the window. Bloom let out a panicked gasp, jumping back in fright, her hands shaking as she stumbled into Y/N.

As she scrambled, her suddenly sweaty hands lost grip of something—Stella’s ring. In the shock of the moment, her grip faltered, and before she knew it, the ring slipped from her grasp, clattering loudly as it fell through one of the metal grates on the floor.

Both of them froze for a moment, eyes wide, as they watched the ring disappear through the grate with a soft metallic clink.

Y/N blinked, staring at the grate in disbelief. "Seriously?" he muttered, his voice laced with sarcastic exasperation. "Of all the times to drop the only thing that can get us out of here."

Bloom looked mortified, her eyes darting between Y/N and the grate. "I didn’t mean to!" she hissed, her voice barely above a whisper as she frantically glanced back toward the window.

The creature was still standing in the open warehouse, its eerie eyes locked on their hiding spot, its head tilting slightly as if trying to pinpoint their exact location.

Y/N shot Bloom a pointed look before his gaze turned back towards the monster on the other side of the wall. "And this is exactly why you people never survive in horror films."

Sky pushed the door to his dorm room open with a weary sigh, his whole body dripping wet from the shower. The towel wrapped around his waist clung to his hips, while droplets of water slid down his skin and into the messy strands of his blonde hair. His muscles ached from the day's training, but his mind raced with a different kind of exhaustion—one tied to the growing web of tension he couldn't quite shake.

As he stepped inside, his eyes widened in surprise. There, sitting on his bed in the soft glow of the bedside lamp, was Stella. She leaned casually on the edge of the mattress, her long legs crossed, and her blonde waves tumbled over her shoulders. The subtle shimmer of her top sparkled in the dim light, catching his attention for a fleeting moment. Her expression, though playful on the surface, had a hint of something more—vulnerability, uncertainty. She watched him, her head slightly tilted, her lips parted as if she had been waiting for him to speak first.

Sky let out a frustrated sigh, his hand brushing through his damp hair. He made his way to the dresser, pulling open a drawer to grab some dry clothes.

"You can't be in here, Stel," he muttered, keeping his back to her as he fished for a his trousers. "If Silva finds out..."

Before he could finish the thought, he felt her presence behind him, warm and close. Stella rose from the bed, stepping softly until her body was pressed against his back. Her hand ghosted over his bare skin, making his muscles tense at the unexpected touch. She leaned into him, her voice a soft whisper against his ear.

"I'll leave before the sun comes up," she murmured, her lips brushing against his shoulder in a delicate kiss. Her fingers traced down the length of his arm, drawing shivers in their wake.

Sky’s jaw clenched as he stepped away from her, turning to face her with a mix of frustration and weariness. "You can't pull this shit, Stel... You broke up with me."

Stella's once-confident demeanor crumbled at his words. She stepped back slightly, her arms dropping to her sides. The glimmer in her eyes dimmed as she looked at him, now appearing smaller, more fragile.

"No, I know," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Sky shook his head, exasperation creeping into his tone. "I didn't hear from you all summer, and then I say two words to a first year?"

"I said I know, OK?" Stella cut in, her voice trembling now, her mask of indifference shattered. "I'm sorry."

Her eyes met his, filled with regret, and Sky’s chest tightened. He wasn’t sure if it was anger, confusion, or something more complicated swirling inside of him, but he couldn't shake the feeling that this wasn't just another one of her games.

"What are you doing here?" His voice softened, searching her face for answers.

Stella hesitated, her gaze falling to the floor before she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. "I got jealous."

Sky’s brows furrowed in disbelief, and before he could respond, she spoke again, quicker this time, as though she was anticipating his reaction.

"Yeah, I know I'm not allowed to, but I did. And I did something really stupid." Her voice cracked slightly as she spoke. "Now they all think I'm a monster."

Sky’s expression softened at that, and for a moment, his heart ached for her. "Oh, Stel..." he started, but she cut him off.

"No, please," she pleaded, her eyes glistening with desperation. "I can't sleep in there, Sky. In a room where everybody hates me." She swallowed hard, her voice trembling with vulnerability. "Please. Tonight, can I just stay with you? Next to someone who doesn't... hate me."

The room was silent, the weight of her words hanging in the air between them. Sky’s gaze softened, and his shoulders dropped as the tension drained from his posture. He could see it now—the cracks in her usually perfect facade, the fear hiding behind her bravado.

"You're better than you think you are, Stella," he said quietly, his voice steady but gentle. "Other people can't see that if you don't."

Bloom and Y/N hit the ground hard, their backs pressed up against the cold concrete wall as their breaths came out in panicked, shallow gasps. The creature's distorted growls echoed throughout the warehouse, sending a chill down Bloom's spine. Her chest heaved, panic clear in her eyes as she whispered in a strained voice, barely able to control her fear.

“What the hell is that thing?” she hissed in a frantic whisper, her hands clutching the edge of the broken concrete behind her.

Y/N's heart was pounding so fast he thought it might burst from his chest. His eyes stayed locked on the ground, too terrified to look up in case the creature’s gaze might catch him through the darkened corners. “I don’t know,” he muttered, his voice shaky, “but it had to have followed us... from the gateway. Guess I wasn’t the only one doing the following tonight.”

They both held their breath, the silence of the warehouse stretching out unbearably. Seconds dragged on like hours, and for a moment, it felt like the creature had moved on. The air around them was thick with tension, each heartbeat deafening in the quiet space.

Then, the silence shattered. Glass exploded above their heads, spraying shards everywhere as the monster’s twisted, clawed hand burst through the window with a snarl. Its guttural growl reverberated through the space as its fingers clawed wildly, searching for flesh.

Bloom screamed, her body instinctively jerking away from the reaching claws. “Shit, shit, shit!” Y/N cursed, scrambling to his feet as they dodged the creature’s grasp, scrambling across the floor. He tried to summon his magic, but his fingers trembled too much. His mind was a chaotic mess, panic overriding any focus he had.

He clenched his fists, his jaw tight as he whispered through gritted teeth, “The one time I need you to flare up and lose control and nothing? Magic is such an ironic, cold-hearted bitch.”

Bloom grabbed his arm, yanking him toward a narrow corridor where a metal gate led into the crawl spaces under the warehouse. “This way!” she shouted, pulling him along as the monster roared behind them, trying to break through the window and wall  as they descended into the tight space. Bloom softly shutting the floor gate in hopes of not letting alerting it to their location.

Her hopes and prayers were not answered.

Their breaths were ragged as they crawled, the clanging sound of the monster’s claws against the metal grate sending vibrations through their bones. The confined space felt suffocating, but it was their only escape. The pipes lining the walls hissed with steam, their warmth contrasting sharply with the cold terror clinging to their skin.

Then Bloom spotted it—Stella’s ring. It glinted just a few feet ahead, on the other side of another metal gate. "There it is!" she cried out, her voice filled with desperation.

She crawled toward the gate, her fingers reaching through a small hole to grasp the ring. But it was just out of reach, her fingertips barely grazing the surface. “Come on, come on,” she whispered to herself, stretching as far as her arm would allow, her voice growing more frantic. “Please, please, please…”

Suddenly, a deafening roar filled the space as the monster crashed through the opposite end, barreling toward them. Its grotesque form moved faster than Bloom had anticipated. Her heart jumped into her throat, panic flooding her senses.

“It’s too late!” Y/N shouted, his hand grabbing her arm, yanking her back just as the creature's claws swiped toward where she had been. The monster's hand snatched the ring from the ground, and with a viscious snarl, it clutched it tightly in its grotesque fist.

Y/N’s mind raced, searching for any sliver of magic he could control. His fingers twitched, and he focused on the hissing steam escaping from the pipes. With a burst of adrenaline, he manipulated the steam, using it to form a scorching barrier that erupted between them and the monster. The creature shrieked in agony as the steam obscured its vision, giving them precious seconds to escape.

“Go, go, go!” Bloom urged, pulling Y/N forward as they crawled through the narrow path, their bodies barely fitting through the tight spaces.

They burst through another gate, kicking it open just as the creature roared behind them, its footsteps growing fainter as they ran back into the main space of the warehouse. Both of them were out of breath, their bodies trembling from the adrenaline coursing through them. They made a break for it, desperate to get away.

As they ran, they nearly crashed into Miss Dowling, who stood waiting for them at the entrance. Her calm, composed presence was a stark contrast to their frantic energy. "Don't stop now," she commanded, her voice steady but firm.

She pointed toward the door where they had entered from the Otherworld. The gateway shimmered open again, casting a faint golden light.

Bloom and Y/N didn’t need to be told twice. They sprinted for the door, their lungs burning as they crossed the threshold. Miss Dowling stayed behind, and with a wave of her hand, she sealed the portal behind them, cutting off the terrifying sight of the monster charging down the stairs after them while she dealt with it.

Once they were back in the First World, both Bloom and Y/N collapsed onto the grass outside the mausoleum, their chests heaving as they tried to catch their breath. Their hearts pounded so loudly it was hard to hear anything else. For a moment, they lay there in stunned silence, the cool night air hitting their sweat-covered skin.

“Are you guys OK?” A sudden voice startled them both, causing Bloom to gasp and Y/N to let out a yelp. They looked up to see Aisha, Musa, Terra, and Sam standing in front of them, their faces etched with concern.

"Yeah," Bloom gasped, trying to compose herself. "Yeah, yeah, I think so."

Y/N, still catching his breath, shot them a bewildered look. “Speak for yourself. I’m over here still trying not to piss my pants. What the hell was that thing?”

Terra frowned thoughtfully, her voice calm but grim. “I’m pretty sure it’s called a Burned One.”

Y/N’s eyes widened in shock, the pieces of his earlier conversation with Sky falling into place. “That’s a Burned One?” he exclaimed, incredulous. “What the fuck? No wonder everyone here is shitting their pants.”

Despite the tension in the air, the others couldn’t help but laugh at Y/N’s outburst, even Bloom managing a small smile.

“I like him,” Musa said with a grin, nudging Terra lightly.

Sam stepped forward, pulling Y/N into a tight hug. “Your first day and you’ve already gone and probably gotten me banned from the mentor roster for life. Don’t do that again.”

Y/N winced, patting his friend on the back. “Sorry, man. I just saw her walking alone and didn’t want something to happen to her out here by herself.” He glanced around warily. “Now I see why everyone’s so freaked about going beyond the Barrier.”

A tense silence followed until Bloom’s eyes widened with a sudden, dawning realization. Her stomach dropped, and her breath caught in her throat. "Wait... where’s Stella?"

The others exchanged confused glances, not understanding the urgency in her voice. Aisha tilted her head, her brows furrowing in confusion.

"She’s at school. Why?" Aisha asked, clearly not following Bloom’s line of thinking.

Y/N, still catching his breath, turned to look at Bloom. His expression shifted from confusion to grim understanding, his face paling as the pieces started falling into place. The heavy weight of what had just transpired settled between them, thick and suffocating.

Bloom’s eyes were wide, a sinking feeling gnawing at her insides as the memory flashed before her—the twisted monster, its grotesque hand swiping at her hand in the crawlspace before Y/N pulled her back. This was not going to be easy to explain to the Princess in the morning.

"That thing just took her ring."

To be continued...

☀️ | Prince Sky Masterlist | ☀️

☀️ | Masterlists | ☀️

[deakyjoe]

Somebody’s Watching Me Epilogue

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader (“Sarge”, she/her pronouns, British, backstory)

Category: slowburn coworkers to friends to lovers with grumpy x sunshine dynamic/idiots in love

Summary: Five years later.

Warnings: domestic things, British/slang terminology

Word count: 700ish (a baby to finish the story)

A/N: Well, it’s been a long journey. And it has been months since I posted the last part. But here we are! At the end! Finally! Thank you for coming along for ride, I’m so grateful for every single one of my readers. I hope you’ve enjoyed Simon and Sarge’s story. And just because their main storyline is over doesn’t mean I won’t post other little things for them in the future.

Consider buying me a coffee :)

"Sarge, I'm telling you that it's fine. They just repackaged it. I'm sure it tastes the same."

You pushed the carton of juice away from where it was being waved in your face. "No! Look! It says that they added a whole extra apple to the recipe."

Simon sighed frustratedly and lowered the carton. "That's good, you love apples."

You groaned, hating it when he was right. "But it's going to taste different. And I hate change!" You almost hated it as much as when he was right and you were wrong, which you'd never admit.

"Do you want the apple juice or not?"

You ignored him and put the carton with your other items of shopping, walking away before Simon could comment.

He caught up to you quickly, his strides much longer than yours. “That was the last thing, let’s go and pay.”

You didn’t answer verbally, just nodded and knew he was smirking at your stubbornness. Simon had always hated the fact that he’d never been able to tame the brat out of you. But you thought your naturally stubborn nature was a good thing. It was the trait that got you to where you were now with your lieutenant.

You joined the back of the line behind an elderly couple and began placing your shopping on the conveyor belt, Simon rearranging it all as you did it to make it look neater.

He insisted his way was more efficient.

You let him believe that.

It didn’t escape your notice when the woman in front of you turned to look at you both as you bickered about the way a two litre bottle should face.

“This way is better, Sarge.” Simon huffed, turning it around.

“But it rolls around that way!” You replied, exasperated.

“Fine. You should be glad I’m so fond of you.”

You scoffed. “I bloody well hope so after all this time. Fond of me? Fond!”

He sent you one of his radiant smiles that you were one of the lucky few to receive. “Would you rather I declare my undying love for you with a dramatic reading of a Shakespeare sonnet in the middle of big Tesco?”

“Wouldn’t go unappreciated.” You sniffed, smiling back at him with all thoughts of the rolling bottle forgotten.

The older woman squinted at the both of you trying, but not succeeding, at subtly tapping at her husband’s shoulder in order to get his attention. He just ignored her.

But when the woman's eyes landed on Simon, the recognition dawned and her face molded into a satisfied one. And then when they strayed to the matching wedding rings on the both of you, she just about jumped in joy.

You stared right back at her, waiting for her to say something. You were sure she was the same woman who'd assumed you and Simon were a couple five years ago when you'd first bumped into each other in this very same supermarket.

Funny how things work out.

She gave you a warm smile which you tentatively returned before she turned back around to pay for her groceries.

Your husband leant down to mutter in your ear. “Is that-?”

“Yeah.”

“Thought so.”

You beamed up at Simon, suddenly very happy at the way things had happened. You always were but sometimes the wonderful nature of your situation really hit you.

“Why’re looking at me with that silly grin on your face?” He grumbled, although he couldn’t hide the softness in his eyes.

“Dunno. Maybe because I get to look at your gorgeous face every day.” You nudged him with your elbow.

He stepped closer to you, tilting his head down to better meet your eyes. “Mhm, for the rest of your life. Lucky you.”

“Very lucky me.” You quipped back. He was being sarcastic and self deprecating but really what he was saying was completely true. You did consider yourself very lucky. And you always would.

Simon could see you were being genuine, as you always were with him. So he decided to return the gesture. “Think I’m the luckier one.”

You just shrugged. He could believe that if he wanted to. You’d spend the rest of your life trying to convince him otherwise. And, boy, did you have a lot of time to do that. Practically forever.

A/N: I re-read a couple chapters of Somebody’s Watching Me and it inspired me to finally finish writing this epilogue. And I’m so glad that I’ve done it now. Thanks again.

[lieslab]

The cut that always bleeds

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Hyunjin X gn reader

Summary: After struggling with the past, you walk out of a date and ghost Hyunjin until he shows up at your place trying to figure out what went wrong.

Genre: Comfort/hurt

Word Count: 3.2K

Trigger warning: Mommy issues, depression, self-hatred, and insecurities.

A/N: To whoever requested this, I'm so sorry. I wanted to post this yesterday and then my internet crashed after I came home from work. It was awful, but anyway, I have all of this finished. It's here in all it's glory and I know you wanted comfort. Most of it isn't until the end, but it's here. Enjoy <3

_ _ _

Grief is such a funny thing. They say you can go your entire life running from it until it finds you in the middle of a sunny afternoon. Sometimes it looms overhead in the weaning hours of a dark and dreary night. Sometimes it finds you in the most unexpected places and at the most unexpected times. 

Your grief fell into your lap in the middle of a romantic evening with your boyfriend. Hyunjin sat across from you, sawing through his medium rare steak. The inside was still a light pink, not yet cooked to a well roasted brown. Oozing with a reddened myoglobin, your stomach churned at the sight of it. 

Your own piece of steak caught in your throat. You forced yourself to swallow and took your eyes away from him. Your once longing appetite slipped away from you. You placed your silverware back along your plate. 

“Mommy, I can’t get it!” 

“Can’t get what?” 

“It won’t cut!” 

The shrill voice of a child caught your attention. You glanced over to find a young girl with her mom sitting at the table across from yours. The mother was all dressed up in a black dress. The young girl was in similar attire with her jet black hair hanging down her back in a long braid. She couldn’t have been much older than ten. 

You watched in silence as the mother leaned over and began to show the young girl how to cut the steak. You weren’t aware of the tears pooling in your eyes until Hyunjin called your name. You glanced back over at him and took him in. 

His eyes were narrowed in confusion. There was a faint wrinkle between his eyebrows as his eyes went back and forth between you and the mother and child beside you. He didn’t know what was wrong, but he hated the sight of you crying. 

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” He reached out a hand to grab yours, but you tugged your hand out of his reach. A wave of hurt flickered in his eyes. 

You forced yourself up on unsteady feet and slipped the wooden chair behind you back. The two of you came to a steakhouse just for a nice change of scenery. Hyunjin had a knack for being romantic. He liked to spoil you with fancy things now and then. 

In your opinion, this place was too fancy for someone like you. Waiters and waitresses served food from metal platters with lids. It was a form of luxury that you had only seen in the movies. The steakhouse was dripping with wealth. 

It was in the way the customers and how they dressed. The clicking of expensive stiletto heels from women and the three piece suits from some of the men. Your nicest shirt and dress pants were nothing like what everyone else was wearing. In your head, you stuck out like a sore thumb. 

“Wait, where are you going?” 

“The bathroom,” you mumbled. 

You stepped away from the table and pushed your chair in. Dazzling bright lights hung overhead and had been dimmed down. Knives and forks scraped along pearl white porcelain plates. 

The further to the back of the restaurant you walked, the more you saw things that you didn’t want to see. Couples sharing dates and plethoras of smaller groups. Wine glasses clinked and the wealth in the air made you feel faint. 

Your mother was someone you hadn’t thought about in quite a while. You tried to outrun the thoughts of the past, but it has a nasty habit of catching up. You were nothing, but a victim of your past. It kept you nailed down to a cross that you couldn’t quite escape. 

The situation began to overstimulate you. The silverware against plates were like nails on a chalkboard. The voices enhanced and became louder. It was all too much and it was suffocating. Your lungs felt restricted and you couldn’t breathe. 

You reached the bathroom and shoved the door open. You swallow mouthfuls of lemon-filled air. The tiled checkered floor was spotless. The mirror, running across the sink, remained free of fingerprints and water droplets. 

This date was a disaster, but it wasn’t Hyunjin’s fault. In the dining area, he sat at the table with the ghost of your presence. The scent of your body spray still lingered. He slowly sipped his red wine with a frown. Your steak had barely been touched and you might have taken one sip from your wine. Whatever you were struggling with, he didn’t understand it. 

He wanted to, but you had a tendency to keep things to yourself. If you kept your problems to yourself, only you had to wear the shackles of life. You didn’t have to chain anyone up with your problems either. You weren’t adding to the weight of the world on their shoulders. This was how you kept yourself safe and how you kept others from leaving. 

There was rot in your heart and you knew it. You have known it since you were a child. Maybe you were born with it or maybe it was something that had wormed its way inside you and burrowed through your body. Gnawing through organs, riding the circular waves of blood, and seeping into your marrow. 

Your mother was sure to never let you forget who you were. You were a maggot, a parasite, the worst of the worst; the lowest form of life that took others for granted. You were a mistake, a lost cause, and nothing, but the dirt on the underside of her shoe.

Nothing you could do would ever make her happy. You could beg for forgiveness on your knees. You could give her thousands of dollars. You could promise to do better, but it’d never work. Your mother’s mind had been set in stone since you were a child. Your whole life, you faced nothing, but her wrath. 

She was cruel and she knew it. Every word spat your way was another invisible slap in your face. You could rip out your heart and your own mother would thank you. She’d crush it and watch the life drain from your eyes. She wouldn’t mourn her child, she’d relish in your death. 

Your eyes began to well up faster and you brushed away the tears. Your fingers gripped the sturdy edge of the sink. You forced yourself to breathe through the urge to sob. You jerked your head back to face the ceiling and sucked in deep breaths, but it didn’t help. 

Growing up without a stable mother was difficult. Everyone deserves a parental figure. Everyone deserves maternal love. The delicacy and sweetness, the cooing and the coddling, the comfort and the sense of safety. 

Maybe you really had been cursed since birth. That right had been ripped away from you and you were left with nothing, but an ache. You could try to patch the superficial wound, but sometimes cuts need stitches. There was nothing there for you to stitch up the gaping hole. It was wide open and infected; oozing with a longing for a mother that’d never be filled. 

You could try to fill it with parasocial relationships. You could distract yourself with social media. You could read a thousand books and watch movie after movie, but the truth is that there will always be a bit of an ache. 

It will occur in moments when it’s not supposed to. It’s hard to heal from something that you never had properly to begin with. Parental love is something that’s irreplaceable. Don’t we all just want a little love? 

When the door flung open and another person entered, you jerked your body up straight. You sucked in a final breath, wiped away your tears, and you hurried out of the bathroom. You didn’t give the other person time to ask if you were alright. You ducked out of the heavy wooden door and took off. 

Weaving through the tables, you found Hyunjin with his back turned to you. The flap of butterfly wings brushed against your stomach before your stomach acid dissolved them. You pushed that giddiness away and forced your feet to move. 

He was sipping his wine when you approached. He paused mid-sip and glanced up at you. “Are you okay?” 

“I have to go.” 

“What?” 

“I’m sorry, but I have to go.” 

“Wait, I don’t understand. Did something happen? Did I offend you or something? Baby, I-” 

“Mommy, can we go to the park after this?” 

“Sure. If you really want to, we can get ice cream too.” 

“With sprinkles?” 

“Of course, with sprinkles.” 

It was the final nail in the coffin. You could feel your heart starting to burst in your chest. You found your wallet in your pocket, fumbled for cash, and slammed it down on the table in front of Hyunjin. He looked at you entirely frazzled, but you didn’t catch it. 

“I’m sorry, this should be enough to pay for everything.” 

You walked away without another word. Too shocked to stop you, Hyunjin watched you go. He didn’t know what to say to you. Did you just dump him in the middle of your date? The two of you had been dating for a while. 

All he could do was sigh and sip more of his wine. When the waiter approached and asked if everything was alright, all he could do was ask for another refill on his wine. He couldn’t understand what was going on in your head. What did he do wrong? 

Later that evening, he attempted to text you, but you never returned it. The next morning, you didn’t return his call. One evening grew into another and then another and then another and then another. 

You saw all of it; the bursts of text messages, begging for some sort of explanation. The vibrations of phone calls where his name was still left under the cheesy contact name you gave him since the two of you began to date each other. 

The longing you once had for him had turned into an empty hollowness. If your own mother wouldn’t want you, then why would Hyunjin put up with you? He deserved something better than you. Someone smarter, someone prettier, someone who wasn’t rotting from their past. He deserved better.

And you? You’d continue the sad journey of life. You were giving up the relationship for Hyunjin. He didn’t know it now, but soon he’d learn how rotten you were. You’d push him away until he’d rip off the rose tinted glasses and see the reality of what you were; a monster created with a heart of glass and gnashing teeth. What little beauty laid in the world, you destroyed it with a single touch. 

Your plan was flawless and you were executing it perfectly. Every painstaking voicemail Hyunjin left, you didn’t respond to. You didn’t bother opening them, you sent them straight to the trash. You left him text and call you because, in some twisted way, it was comforting. It was comforting that he still wanted you, despite everything. 

That was an awful way to think, but you couldn’t help it. You had always wanted to be wanted and here was someone wanting you. You wanted to give him an explanation, but you were too afraid. You didn’t want to admit that you weren’t good enough for him. You didn’t think you’d be able to get out the words without bursting into tears. 

So you let yourself rot. You got up and went to work and then collapsed in your bed. The world around you became hazy as the dark bags grew beneath your eyes. The knots in your hair became tighter and your clothes became more and more loose. You didn’t know how to put yourself back together again. 

Nearly a week later, the texts and calls stopped. It all stopped and you were relieved and yet heartbroken. Speckled confusion stained your soul. Everything was okay and yet, it was one of the worst things to feel in your life. Once again, you were alone. 

Curled up into a ball on your bed, you fell asleep. You didn’t bother curling beneath the blankets under your body. You didn’t try to fight the wave of sadness that left you exhausted. You let yourself rot again. The tumultuous state of your mind seeped out into your apartment again. 

You didn’t eat much and when you did, you didn’t have the energy to do the dishes. They were starting to overflow in the sink. Your laundry hamper was filled with clothes and bursting over the top. The trash needed to be taken out, but you couldn’t muster the will to do it. Life didn’t get to you often, but when it did, it was bad.

The banging on your door caused your eyes to open. Encrusted with sleep, you struggled to make sense of the noise. You laid there listening, but it didn’t stop. Over and over it went again and again. 

You didn’t know how long it took you to pull your aching body up. You were still hazy from the dreamless sleep. With a yawn, you stumbled to the front door, fumbled with the lock, and jerked it open. 

Hyunjin’s eyes were wide when he saw you. Your eyes were glassy and red. You must have been crying at some point. He gently stepped toward you and cupped your cheek. You blinked while trying to make sense of his sudden appearance. 

“What are you doing here?” You croaked. 

“Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine.” 

“No, you’re not.” 

“You should go.” 

“Why?” He stepped closer and crossed his arms over his chest. “Give me one good reason why I should go.” 

“Hyunjin, please, I-” 

“Did you find someone else?” 

Your face scrunched up in shock, “huh?” 

“Is that what this is?” 

“No! No, it’s not that!” 

“Then what is it?” 

Your bottom lip began to quiver. He softly called your name and gently cupped your face. “Sweetheart, what is it? Trust me, I can handle it.” 

“I don’t deserve you,” you whispered with tears glistening in your eyes.

“I don’t think that’s for you to decide. Let me in and we can talk about this together.” 

You stood in your doorway blocking the entrance. He stared at you and silently refused to budge. After a brief silent battle, you finally caved and stepped aside. He glanced around your apartment. You had drawn all the curtains, so it was nearly entirely dark; it was incredibly depressing. 

He wanted to ask, but he stayed silent instead. His eyes found you and you rubbed your eyes again. Still half asleep, you had yet to realize if this was a dream or not. 

“Are you going to tell me why you ghosted me?” 

“I don’t deserve you,” you mumbled again. 

“What do you mean by that?” 

“I’m not on the same level you are. I’m not as beautiful and I’m ugly. You’re more talented than I ever will be and I-” 

“Woah, woah, woah!” He held up a hand to stop you with wide eyes. “Honey, where is this coming from? Is that how you’ve felt the entire time while we dated?” 

It killed you. That last sentence. The truth was that he made you feel like the most beautiful person in the whole world. He made the colors around you feel brighter. Your heart grew when you were with him. It was the closest thing to normal that you ever got again. 

“Yes,” your voice came out higher. 

He recognized your dishonesty right away. “Why are you lying to me? What’s really going on with you? Why won’t you let me in? Why won’t you let me care about you?” 

Your lip quivered again. You couldn’t stop the tears from falling down. You didn’t bother hiding the sobs as you fell to your knees. Hyunjin rushed towards you and tugged you into the warmth of his arms. You cried and cried and cried some more. 

You blubbered through the situation with your mom. How the mother and daughter at the steakhouse reminded you of the past. How much you longed to be wanted and desired. The warmth of a mother that never quite reached you. On and on you went. 

By the time you were finished, you were utterly exhausted. Your head was buried in Hyunjin’s chest and he soothingly rubbed your back. A period of silence lingered between you before he spoke. 

“I’m not your mother and I can’t take away the hurt that she caused, but I can try. I don’t care what negativity she told you because none of it is true. With you around, the birds sing a little louder and the sun shines a little brighter.” 

“You have a tendency to bring love with you wherever you go, did you know that? You try to understand and make room for everyone in your life. You always listen and you try your best to help people with their problems.” 

“I’m sorry you didn’t get the mom you deserved, but your mother couldn’t be more wrong. You’re not an awful person and you don’t deserve to die. I can’t believe she said something like that to you.” 

He let out a soft sigh and closed his eyes. “You mean everything to me and I love you; all of you. Every flaw, every scar, every pore. I’ll take you as you are and not how your mother thinks you should be. You’re perfect how you are.” 

His cheek dipped down and rested on the back of your scalp. Your arms were wrapped around his ribs. Tears silently trickled down your cheeks and seeped into his shirt. 

“I’ll stay here as long as you need me to. Please don’t push me away. I want to love you like I always do and like I always have. My love for you is sincere and it’s not something I take lightly. You’re one in a million and no matter what you think, I wouldn’t be happy with someone else. I want you and that’s it.” 

After a few more beats of silence, he broke it again. “Are you hungry?” 

You shook your head, but your stomach growled at the same time. Hyunjin chuckled and tightened his grip on you. “I think you’re lying and you need food. We’re going to get food, but first-” 

Curiously, you lifted your head up. Your glossy eyes met his. His heart panged with a wave of agony. He couldn’t believe your mother had destroyed you and abandoned you with these vile thoughts. This self-hatred and insecurities, he hated that you struggled so much. 

“You know what happens to liars?” 

You shrugged. 

“They get tickled as a punishment.” 

Your eyes widened as he grinned. You scrambled and tried to get away, but he was faster. His fingers went directly to your stomach and he began to tickle you. You squirmed and laughed, trying to free yourself from his wiggling fingers. 

Despite everything, your laughter lit his heart ablaze. You were his and he was yours. He’d never stop reminding you of how much he loved you. No matter how long it took, he’d be here until his dying breath if he had to be.

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

Masterlist

Taglist and inbox rules

[ladykailitha]

The Harrington Pattern Part 9

As you guys wanted, here's me doubling up on posting days. It will (hopefully) be twelve hours apart so that each chapter can get some love.

In this chapter we have a lot of flirting between Eddie and Steve. The Party being "meh" *shrugs shoulders* at Steve being bi. And Robin being the most soulmate a guy could ask for.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

MY TAG LIST FOR THIS STORY IS CLOSED!!!!

@mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @emly03

****

That night they were all gathered to watch the amateur theatrical society put on Much Ado About Nothing.

Even the ones who had been reluctant to join in were doubled over in laughter at the trick the Prince pulled on Beatrice and Benedict. The way they cried when Hero was accused of cheated on Claudio. And cheered when it was resolved happily ever after.

Mike complained about it all the way to the car. “We were forced to read this play in eighth grade and I hated it. I never knew it was funny.”

Eddie put his arm around his shoulder. “That is the unfortunate side effect of the education system. They suck the joy out of all of everything.”

“Normally I’m rolling my eyes at Eddie’s rants,” Robin said, “but I’m going to have to agree with him on this one. They just want sanitized versions of everything.”

Steve nodded. “Like what’s with the jump in American history when we stop in eighth grade at the Civil War and then all the way to WWII in eleventh grade, with only a brief mention of WWI as it related to WWII. Are they really trying to tell us that nothing happened in those eighty years of note? Like the fuck?”

Mike blinked at him. “Holy shit, I never even realized.”

The kids looked around at each other in shock.

“They push math and science,” Eddie continued, “but shit on everything else, except sports.”

He winced when realized what he had said. He looked over at Steve with an apology on his lips, but Steve was nodding.

“And they have to be the right sports, too,” Steve agreed. “Wrestling, swimming, soccer...anything outside the big three baseball, football, or basketball. Trust me, I got a lot of flack on being on the swim team. It was ‘gay’.”

“What?” Will squawked. “Why?”

Eddie licked his lips. “Little, teeny, tiny uniforms.” He emphasized the point holding his fingers not that far apart.

Dustin snorted. “Can’t be any worse than the basketball shorts.”

Steve looked upwards as he chewed on the bottom of his lip.

Dustin’s eyes bulged out of his head. “How much worse are we talking about here?”

“Speedo.”

Lucas frowned. “What the fuck is a Speedo?”

Eddie was practically vibrating in his skin. “Can I tell them, Stevie? Can I please?”

Steve let out a little sigh. The sigh the Party lovingly called his mom sigh. It was the sound he made when he knew no mater what he did it was going to end badly for him, so he just...let it happen.

He waved at Eddie to go ahead.

“Instead of swim trunks, that have a leg on them,” Eddie crowed, “Speedos are swim underpants. They cover the junk, the ass, and that’s it.”

“And you deliberately wore these things?” Max asked in interest. More interest than Lucas or any of the guys were comfortable with.

“I’m good at it,” Steve said, blush creeping up his ears and down his throat from the stain on his cheeks. “The uniform wasn’t as bad Eddie’s making it out to be.”

Gareth snorted. “Nope, they really are that bad. There was a period of time where–”

Eddie slammed his hand over Gareth’s mouth. “There’s no need to tell them about that, Gare.”

Steve looked over at Brian.

“Your senior year Eddie forced all of Hellfire to watch your meets.”

“Bri!” Eddie protested.

Steve looked over at Eddie and raised an eyebrow. “You like the...what was you it called it,” he said tapping his finger on his lips, “the ‘little, teeny, tiny’ uniform, Eds?”

Eddie threw his arms in the air. “I am but a gay man in a small town, so sue me!”

“I always preferred the lifeguard uniforms at the community pool,” Steve said. “Less wedgies.”

“Babe,” Eddie scoffed, “those shorts and tank left very little to the imagination. At least with the Speedo you knew what you were getting. With the lifeguard uniform it was all fantasy.”

Steve laughed. “I bet you were the kind who faked drowning to get CPR from their favorite lifeguard.”

“I can honestly say, I’ve never done that.”

“Yeah?” Steve asked all smiles. “Can you prove that?”

Eddie got up close to him and whispered, “Yeah, darlin’. I think I would have remembered you rescuing me before the Upside Down.” He winked at him and sauntered off. The rest of the band hastily said their goodbyes and hurried after their ride home.

Steve’s face was as red as his old life guard uniform. “Right. Let’s get home, yeah?”

Dustin eye’s narrowed at him for a moment. “Steve Harrington, are you crushing on my DM?”

The remaining eight looked at Dustin in shock.

“Dude!” Will hissed. “You can’t just ask that in public! What if someone overheard you?”

Dustin looked around and waved his hand around him. “There is literally no one here. I wouldn’t do that if I didn’t think it was a safe time to ask. But I’m going home with my mom as soon as she gets here and I will not be stymied.”

Steve ducked his head. “And if I did like boys, that would be okay with everyone?”

Everyone just looked around at each other and there was this collective shrug.

“Do you still like girls?” Max asked, genuinely curious.

Steve nodded shyly.

Lucas frowned. “You can like both?”

“Like David Bowie!” El said with her serene smile. “He likes both. Freddie Mercury from Queen, too.”

Steve snapped his fingers. “Exactly like that, El!”

Her smile grew.

“It’s okay if you like Eddie that way,” Mike said softly.

All the heads snapped to look at him.

He rolled his eyes. “Yes, okay. I have a lot to work on regarding the whole Lucas thing, but I’m not a complete ass.”

“Thank you,” El said and kissed his cheek. “You just have a lot growing up to do. We all do. We just need to give each other the chances to do so safely. Or at least that’s what Joyce keeps telling me.”

Steve gave her a hug. “Thanks, Supergirl.”

He looked out at all his friends. The people who were more his family then his own parents.

“I might have a small...” he raised his finger and thumb, “crush on a certain metalhead DM who recently joined the Party in March...”

Robin scoffed. “And by little he means huge!” She spread out her arms all the way out.

Dustin’s head snapped around to Steve. “If you two get together, he better treat you right. You deserve it.”

Steve blinked. Considering how Dustin had worded his original question, he had been sure that Dustin was going to him not to break Eddie’s heart.

He gave Dustin a hug and kissed the top of his head.

He really shouldn’t have doubted this kid.

Just then, Claudia pulled up in her station wagon and Dustin, El, Will and Mike all piled in after saying their goodbyes.

“He totally has the hots for you, by the way,” Max said dryly.

Steve blinked at her for a moment. “How do you know that? Does he spend all his days learning alt rock on his guitar or something for me?”

Max just blinked at him. “Huh. You aren’t as stupid as I thought.” And then she just started walking toward the car.

Steve scratched his cheek thoughtfully. “So to make sure I got this right, Max is saying Eddie has the hots for me because he’s been learning my favorite songs for me on his guitar?”

“That’s what it sounded like to me, man,” Lucas said with a half shrug.

“I’m with Lucas on this one,” Robin agreed. “So maybe you should do what I’ve been suggesting for the last three weeks and you know ASK HIM OUT!”

Lucas giggled.

“Shush you,” Steve admonished. “Get to the car.” He pointed at Robin. “You are spending the night with me to help plan out something cool.”

Robin saluted and Lucas just rolled his eyes and they all walked to the car to end another great night at the fair.

****

“Let’s play to your strengths,” Robin said, sitting cross-legged on Steve’s bed.

“Sports, sewing, and history,” Steve said, ticking them off on his fingers. “Fat lot of good that’s going to do me. It’s not as though I can whip out something overnight as a token of my affection.”

She rolled her eyes. “It doesn’t have to be something fancy. You could do something small. Like maybe use that fancy red thread you got at the weavers yesterday.”

He blushed. “I wouldn’t know where to start. Everything I know how to make is either winter stuff or something he’d never use.”

“He uses that handkerchief all the time,” Robin pointed out. “You could do something like that.”

Steve flopped dramatically on his back. “Not if he knew it was made from that fancy thread I got. He’d want to protect it.”

Robin had to give him that one. Because that would be an Eddie thing to do. And while the sentiment was sweet it would make Steve sad that he never used it.

Suddenly Steve sat up. “Oh!”

She blinked at him. “What’s ‘oh’?”

“He was telling me just last week,” he explained, “that the bag he used to hold all his dice for their game got a hole in it and it kept spilling the dice all over the inside of his backpack!”

Robin grinned. “Let’s pick out the best material to match that pretty thread.”

Steve nodded. “I just have to make a quick phone call to find out how big the bag should be and I can have this done in no time at all.”

He called Dustin and told him his idea. Dustin was ecstatic and told him everything he needed to know.

Robin and Steve then dug into his material stores and picked out a nice black felt and a satin red lining to make doubly sure Eddie wouldn’t lose the dice down the gaping maw that was his backpack.

He then showed Robin how to make patterns and cut them. Then he got to work.

Even with how easily Robin got bored, she watched the whole time with fascination. How he embroidered his pattern into what would be the front of the bag. How quickly and evenly Steve stitched the pieces of cloth together. He explained the process every step of the way and her eyes just lit up.

He turned the bag right side out and fitted it with silver draw string. He pulled it taut and held it up to Robin to see.

She reached out and gently took it from him. “That’s so cool. You do a bunch of these at work and send them to Katie as way to gauge reactions to your work, while you make bigger pieces.”

Steve licked his lips. “You really think these would sell?”

“And I think Eddie would be pleased as punch that he got the first official Harrington Pattern design.”

Steve took it back from her and smiled. “That would make it even more special, wouldn’t it?”

Robin grinned. “Yes, yes it would.”

He threw his arms around her. “You’re the best soulmate anyone could possibly ask for.”

She blushed but held him tight. “You too, Stevie.”

When Steve finally pulled back he tapped his finger on his lips. “Now what to make you.”

Robin squealed. “But you already made something awesome. The pirate costume was amazing, you don’t have to do more just because you made Eddie something.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Yes, but I just tailored the clothes. I didn’t make them. I want to make you something.”

She scoffed. “Like the only thing I need are gloves for marching band. Since I have to have hand-me-downs, they are either too tight or way too big.”

His eyes lit up. “I’ve never made gloves before. That would be fun and interesting to try.”

“How would you even measure something like that?” Robin asked, a small amount of hope creeping into her voice.

Steve grinned. “Do you remember those ugly ass hand turkeys they made us draw in elementary school?”

“Yeah, so?”

“Just. Like. That.”

Her eyes went wide. “Wait are you serious?”

Steve just grinned.

****

Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13

I'm not 100% sure my history experience in school is universal in the US, but in order to bridge the gap you actually had to an elective history class called Twentieth Century. Like it was straight up bullshit. And before you ask, you can bet your ass I took that class. It was taught by my favorite teacher. Of course I took that class.

Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @microbiology @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @danili666 @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @justforthedead89 @vecnuthy @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @dragonmama76 @scheodingers-muppet @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @thespaceantwhowrites @paintgonewrong @mogami13 @beelze-the-bubkiss @croatoan-like-its-hot @retro-vagabond @sani-86 @pansexuality-activated @y4r3luv @dauntlessdiva @vampire-eddie-brain-rot @lololol-1234 @nightmareglitter

[yawntu]

Tsyeym

A/N: Yo I thought I posted this last night, took shrooms. Finally just woke back up came and checked and was like no way no one has interacted w this fic and then realized i never pressed post. Rotxo deserves more love so I decided in a little fic for him. Switch x Switch couples are just my cup of tea. This is not my fav but I am a sucker for love and romance. It’s grammarly proofread but not beta read 🤭 (might be looking for another beta reader)

pairing(s): Rotxo x f!Reader, platonic!Ao’nung x f!Reader (briefly)

word count: ~8k

warnings: NSFW / MDNI, Size kink, stomach bulge, face sitting(f!receiving), Cunnalingus, Cumswaping maybe?, Spit, he’s a messy eater you can’t tell me otherwise, beach sex, Jealous!Rotxo, he’s just so sweet and pretty, Unprotected, love taps on your butt, “girl” is used, it’s pretty soft for the most part, he’s obsessed and def a simp

na’vi glossary: sayrìp : handsome, skxawng : moron, tsyeym : treasure / precious

Playfully scrapping had become increasingly popular amongst your friend group since you had been introduced to each other's cultures all those years ago. It was commonplace to play amongst yourselves. Just earlier in the evening you and Ao’nung had just almost spoiled your dinner by shoving each other's faces into the sand after a slap-boxing horseplay over some crustacean turned into a rather enthralling spar that had both of your fathers rooting for and coaching from an imagined sideline (and mothers who were doing more yelling and hooting in excitement then offering tactical advice).

Rotxo had even watched in amusement as it seemed Ao’nung had succeeded in neutralizing you with a knee on your back. Unfortunately, Ao’nung had been a fool and got off of you to turn to his father with a grin. It took you only seconds for you to contort yourself into a crouch and launch yourself into the back of his legs sending him forward onto his knees. His shock gave you enough time to maneuver both of your palms onto the back of his head and dramatically push his face right down into the sand,

“That is for punching me,”

And Rotxo couldn’t help the pang of jealousy at the fact that your pretty thighs straddle his best friend's back. Or the fact that jealousy grew into a painful lump in his throat when Ao’nungs arm hooks behind him to support your frame as he almost barrel rolls half onto his back to pin your thigh under his body and halt your assault with a laugh.

All your family and friends are laughing at the two of you, and your mothers coo as they watch you wipe sand off of Ao’nungs face. Rotxo couldn’t stop the bitter resentment that bubbled in his chest at the sight. He hated feeling this way. He hated the way you made him feel not quite like himself.

Which is why he does his very best at keeping it hidden. Not that it’s hard for him to forget the resentment he feels for you the second you give him your attention. Even only hours after the disgusting display of affection with his best friend. When you kindly ask him to accompany you on a walk he can’t even think about how upset he had been. Even now while your chiding voice disrupts the peacefulness of your walk and the beauty of the light beginning to set over the reef.

“You’re mad because I will not spar with you?”

He cuts off your words. The duck of the young warrior's head, so he could speak to you face to face as you walked down the beach only insults you more. Had he been on the side closest to the soft waves you’d have no doubt shoved him onto his ass into the assaulting water. Obviously that is what you were angry about-

“Is it because I cheat when I fight Ao’nung? If he is so stupid as to keep turning his back on me after all this time then he is at fault,”

You sound genuinely confused as you try desperately to make sense of why Rotxo would rough house with Lo’ak or Neteyam and even Kiri but not you. It’s funny how conceited you sound even as you’re practically bouncing next to him and pestering him like a bug. Rotxo knew a little better than most though regarding the inner workings of your mind. It wasn’t that you were conceited- you were just stupidly confident. He didn’t doubt, however, that one way or another your small frame would beat him simply because he knew you wouldn’t dare give up until you did.

“Besides the fact that I vividly remember when you bit Tinangey in the cheek,” Rotxo try’s to defend his unwillingness to hit you with an annunciation to his story by holding two of his second knuckles to the apex of your cobalt cheek. Long, thick fingers curled against your glowy skin. The same place you had bitten the longed-haired, round-faced, barely tolerable boy all those years ago when you fought. Though in your defense Ao’nung and the group of boys had started a very real fight, and you had only followed in your brother's shadow of retribution.

“And I happen to hit much harder than Ao’nung does,” he adds.

For a second, Rotxo feels like he exudes your same confidence. It’s not an unwarranted comment, however. Ao’nung was less than a head taller than him, but Rotxo had grown into quite an impressive specimen. Wide and as immovable as the waves that crashed outside of the reef you do not venture past. That was more than half the reason why you wanted to spar with the Talioang of a man so terribly.

“You are no fun,”

He can’t help but frown at your words. He knows you aren’t serious- would you spend as much time with him if you did not find entertainment in him? The same insecurity that causes resentment to bubble in his stomach rears its ugly head once more. For a second he feels like he could believe that you had been aware of how he felt and that you used him for validation.

“You should be more thankful to me,” he chides, baring his fangs slightly in a half grinned snarl, “that I refuse to knock any more brain cells out of you,”

You complain he doesn’t horseplay with you the way the others do, but at this moment he organically wraps one palm around the back of your head to pull you into him slightly, so he could cruelly rub his knuckles against the crown of your head.

Because he does roughhouse with you. Rotxo always played with you. Was always there to entertain you because the idea of other men wrapping their hands around the pliable flesh of your flowing form made the ugliest parts of him surface. If it wasn’t Rotxo entertaining you it was your siblings or his best friend. As he had not made any formal claim towards you out of his nerves, unfortunately, had to tolerate it regarding his future Olo'eyktan.

You’re just a terrible little cretin that found delight in the chaos you left in your wake. It’s why you, Lo’ak, and Kiri get into so much trouble. It’s why you poked at Ao’nung. He can swear there’s a part of you that does it just to cause strife in his heart.

He can’t be bothered with pondering over the legitimacy of his accusation partially out of fear that he’s projecting, and perhaps you are just like Ao’nung. Though mostly it’s because of course you are swatting your delicate little hand at him and grumbling about how you’re smarter than him and that he was the stupid one to think otherwise.

It’s endearing how you walk backward as the two of you playfully bicker and fight. Though like always- Rotxo is catching your intended slaps and redirecting your arms to swoop past him. Sometimes even grabbing at your forearms so you can’t help but be pulled around haphazardly by him.

“You are so fucking annoying,”

Your shriek comes as Rotxo almost effortlessly maneuvered you to spin forward and walk ahead of him, while he pinned your arms across your chest. You both stumble over each other's feet as you can’t help but laugh over the fact that he’s made your arms an effective straight jacket. You wiggle and writhe and it halts his walking while you try to dig your heel into the top of his foot. It only results in one of your wrists being let go of and you being spun around like a toy by him.

He had half let you stumble while he used the momentum of your arms to spin you, but he was quick to grab hold of your other wrist, propping you right up.

You were out of breath from the game but you were thankful for the view he presented you with. The violets and oranges of sunset suited the aquamarine of his skin. Dancing between the intricate tidal markings on his body, and forcing your eyes to dance across the defined arms, chest, and neck that were covered in bold black lines. You feel a little silly, being so flustered before him with your whole face purpled. You can help it because he looks pretty at the moment. Absolutely beautiful like always. Like no one you had ever seen before.

Rotxo is quick to heave you up in the air and shake you around. Ruining the view that had just begun to calm you down. Riling you into hysteric laughter while playing with you as if you weighed nothing. You shake in his arms and toss your body around like a mad-woman and you’re cackling just like one.

When he begins to feel merciful you land on your feet, with his arms still pining your hands and arms against your ribs that are rapidly rising and falling. With the welcomed breaths you instantly go back to chastising him.

“That is not sparring, fish-boy! You were just being an imbecile.”

You’re snapping an arm fee so you can poke him in the chest. He can’t help but roll his eyes at your attempt and take your hand to lightly ‘smack’ your face with it.

“You are ridiculous,”

He tried to emphasize his words with a similar assault by your other hand but you offered resistance,

“If you just took me seriously I-“ you’re cut off as you struggle to keep him from playfully making you hit yourself. Thrashing your head around wildly. And he’s just laughing above you because he thinks it’s stupid that you assume he just thinks you can’t fight and that’s why he won’t spar with you. For Eywas sake he watches you win regularly.

It’s like you could read his mind without tsaheylu and the mention of your victories emboldened you. He hadn’t even noticed your leg raise to wrap around his locked knee leisurely supporting his weight while he tormented you.

He had buckled backward under the weight of his massive frame embarrassingly quickly. You had expected him to let go of your wrists as he fell, but he did not. Opting to drag you down into the sand with him.

He tries to control the mauve that dances across his skin but this is the reason he didn’t spar with you. He can tell himself it’s because he hates seeing you get hit, and that his heart breaks and chokes him any time he thinks about striking you even in that situation.

He knows however, it’s because he can’t be this close to you. He can already feel his ears perking up towards you and his eyes relaxing while he stares up at you. How pretty. Your sapphire skin was dazzling under the cool violets and dwindling oranges of an almost completely set sun. The stars had even begun to twinkle behind you between the other shining moons.

“You are the worst,” your pants finally die down, to match your soft glare,

“Is that so?” His cheeks dimple as he grins wildly up at you as you adjust to straddle his chest more comfortably.

“Yes. I swing at you and you don’t even try to hit me back.”

And there’s another attitude laced plop to his chest. More follow as you use said pops to enunciate your following words,

“You just toss me around like I am useless and cannot fight! You know I can. Yet you only fight my brothers, how are you meant to get better if you don’t-“

He stops listening to your scoldings. He doesn’t care what you’re saying when his heart beats against your inner thighs. When he can feel the pudge of your hips practically pooling on him begging for him to grab at it. Why couldn’t you connect the dots? Why were you so stupid? He can’t help but laugh at you, there’s even a bit of a bitter snide behind it. Even though he thinks it’s endearing how badly you wanted to prove yourself to him. He cuts you off abruptly,

“Go and fight with Ao’nung,”

And it’s got your pretty siren eyes widening at his words.

“What does he have to do with anything,”

The sight of his sea-foam eyes rolling into the back of his head has your snarl fixed down at him,

“Can’t step on the Olo'eyktan’s toes can I? Huh?”

He has an expression you’ve never seen cross his face before. Not on Rotxo’s. Not the sweet boy who you had spent so much time with,

“What are you talking about, Ro?”

Ro. You dare call him Ro at a time like this. It makes him sit up on in elbow, grabbing at the top of your now elevated thigh,

“What do you mean what am I talking about? Why do you need to spar with me when you can practice with him? Unless it’s just some weird mating thing you guys have going on-”

He’s never seen your face screw up quite like it is now. Red-faced at his accusation not out of embarrassment but out of anger. Angry that he’d made such a brazen accusation. The first outbreak from Rotxo leaves you stumbling over how to answer him, and you notice he looks hurt at your stunned silence.

“Yeah, ‘course that’s what it is. You make it quite obvious-“ and you feel him start to move under you- probably to get up and apologize and tell you you had to walk back to the village now because even with the hurt salted embarrassment he feels now he’d never leave you to walk back alone. Never let you be in danger. You know that and it makes you more upset,

“Don’t tell me what I do and don’t make it obvious. I am not your fucking ilu- you do not know what I’m thinking.”

Your left hand reaches for the wrist of the hand that holds your thigh while your right pointer and middle fingers aim down at him accusingly.

“So you have no interest in him?”

Rotxo is speaking faster than usual. A trait you had noticed followed Rotxo anytime he was too hyped up. He was the softest boy you had ever known yet the gentle buzz of adrenaline that leaked out of his too-quick breaths reminded you that he was in fact a Metkayina warrior.

“Mhmm,”

You’re honestly surprised it has taken you this long to notice the mutual affection he had harbored for you. Blinded by your insecurities, the sight of him frantic over the idea of your affection belonging to someone else made you squirm.

“I suppose he would be a fine mate now that you mention it-” and you smile down at him, hoping he knows you’re kidding. That you just don’t know how to talk about your feelings “considering no one else seems to be all that interested in me,”

And you feel him go ridged under you, round eyes fixated on your own. You think he’s annoyed a little bit, staring dumbfounded at you. But you feel his fingers dig into the meat of your thigh.

“Was this your plan? Torment me into doing what you want?”

You don’t know if it’s the chill of the eclipses sea breeze or the fact that Rotxo’s voice was as modulated, deep, and mesmerizing as always, yet his face held the same intense stare that the Metkayina warriors were renowned for. You’re embarrassed at the way you twitch as he props both hands on your thighs and adjusts himself back into laying straight back.

“Nu-uh, but is it working?” And you're purring above him, flicking your tail across his stomach. It only added to the overstimulated feeling throbbing at the front of Rotxo’s skull. An uncomfortable pendulum swinging him between ecstasy at the sight of your pretty form sat on his chest and misery over the fact that he still couldn’t shake the insecurity that you were toying with him.

“No-“ He curses a crack in his voice with a swallow, “I will just stay tormented,”

His hands are warm as they paw at the top of your thighs. He can’t help but feel like he’s on fire at your position, at least the sand was starting to cool in the dark. It helped keep him from sweating below you even as he pants at the sight above him. Your knees are pushed under his arms and nestled against his ribs and he worries you can feel his heart pounding. You made the air hang hot around his head.

You’re nervous at how intense his dusk sullen aqua eyes maintain their contact with you but he doesn’t have a choice- if you scooted up less than a foot you’d be sat right on his face- there’s nothing he’s ever wanted more.

“Lost in thought?”

He cringes at your voice. Not knowing how you always get him like this. How you always have the high ground. He doesn’t know why he’s honest with you,

“I do not want you to fight with Ao’nung like that anymore.”

And you grin at him and place your palm on his cheek,

“Is that so? That means you will spar with me now?”

He couldn’t wrap his head around your obsession with being hurt? Did you pester everyone to fight with you like this? The thought makes his body move on reflex, craning his neck enough to open his mouth wide and comp down onto the exposed skin of your thigh. You bounce on his chest, pulling at his hair back with a whine in response.

“If you are jealous you can just say so you do not have to bite me, you child.”

He can only smile because it’s his hair you’re yanking at. You’re sitting on him and-

“I’m not jealous. Not in this moment anyways,”

One of his hands slides up your hunched forward torso, and he’s pulling you down by the woven fabric of your top. You’re not sure if he’s pulling you down to kiss him. You figure with the state of things though a kiss wasn’t an unwelcome advance, and you’re not surprised when his head lifts to kiss you back.

It’s better than any silly fantasy you had ever let yourself drift into because he’s warm and real and he’s kissing you like you’re fragile because he wants you to feel safe enough to be fragile. He wouldn’t have wasted so much time becoming a competent warrior if it wasn’t to keep you safe.

“How could you think I’d want to share a brain with Ao’nung huh? I’d kill myself.” you smile against his lips, “as if I’d ever want him over you,”

And he knows you’re not lying to him as the fluff of your tail tickles against a throbbing vein in his lower stomach. How could you be lying when you’re hunched over uncomfortably while you straddle him just so you could purr into a kiss? His big hands cradling your cheeks makes you ignore the ache in your spine, and you thank Eywa he’s so big as to add ease to the position.

By some stroke of luck, his hand travels down your spine as if to soothe the ache while your tongues swirled against each other. Despite the trembling ache that plagued your lower stomach at the endearing turn of events, Rotxo kisses you, softly. As if you’re not dying for him. Even though you straddle him his chest and move against him to relieve the pressure he inflicts on you. You’re very obviously making out with him. Willingly letting his mouth explore yours at his own pace. You can’t help but slide down his torso so you could lay on top of him properly.

You couldn’t get over how wide you still had to spread your legs to straddle his waist. Even though you laid over him caging his body under yours he engulfed you. You need to breathe far earlier than he does, and he finds it cute how you huff against his lips to catch your breath.

“You’re not going to let Ao’nung touch you anymore, ya?”

And he can’t help the dopey pitch of his voice as he catches your lips in a quick kiss. Not when you’re beaming down at him.

“Only if you touch me instead,”

You sound so coy considering you’re giggling above him. And when you enunciate your words with another kiss he can’t help the obnoxious chortle that leaves his lips- that’s until you bite at his bottom lip slightly,

“You are too bossy,”

But he kisses you the way you want him to. Pushing his nose against yours. He doesn’t think he can like anything more until he feels your hips grind against the lower abs of his stomach- that tighten and flex at the feeling of your now twitching core.

The confidence the both of you had mutually worked up to had you lost in your own world. You know it’s unbecoming of you both to be caught in such a situation but you had enough confidence in your privacy and even less confidence in your own self-control to do anything about it.

“Sit on my face,” it comes out as a gaspy whisper between your clanking teeth while you grind against him, “Let me take care of you instead,”

It makes you whimper above him and he swears it’s some sort of nirvana.

“I-I’ve never-” and you are mad at how wet the inside of your mouth is and yet it still offers no solace to the lump in your throat

“No’ gonna make you,”

You’re not sure if the sound of him slurring into your mouth makes you moan or the fact that your tail finds and runs across his erect member behind you.

“Obviously want you to,” and his palm is on your cheek, “wanted you on my mouth since you plopped down on me,”

He’s kissing you between his words and you know he means it. You can hear it in his voice. He just about died of excitement when he felt you propping yourself up on your knees.

Now that you’re back up he can admire your pretty body once again. He thinks this is the first time he’s ever seen you not take the lead. It made him blush- realizing how shy you had suddenly become. He’s gentle when he reaches for your thigh again, sliding up until his fingers reach the fabric of your tweng,

“Can I?”

You wondered how the sun would rise in the morning when it was trapped in his smile. Looking up at you as if you were Eywa herself. How could he possibly think you don’t want him to untie it?

You don’t know how to say yes without embarrassing yourself, so you do what any rational woman would do when the love of their life was laid between their legs. You reach up to the fabric tie of your beaded top, and let it fall from your body, plopping down in the sand next to you.

You can’t ignore the throb that plagues you at the widening of his eyes, how they instantly drop to your breasts. The only cover from his eyes are the few strands of hair.

You’re almost shocked at his fumbling fingers. Too excited to uncover you and too large for the delicate fabric, yet like all things that required a gentle hand- Rotxo succeeded at his task quickly. Obediently you let his palms guide your hips up. He is rewarded with one more sway of your tail over his quickly hardening length as tosses your bottoms in the opposite direction of your top.

You're breathing heavily when he cranes his neck to look at your most intimate flesh,

“Oh, Eywa,”

He can feel himself leaking all over his stomach at the sight of your bare cunt against his torso, and the warm feeling of you dripping could drive him to madness.

“C’mere, give me you.”

You listen of course. He feels bad that he likes you best like this. Tentatively crawling up his large chest to place your legs on the side of his head.

He doesn’t feel bad for enjoying the view of you hovering above his face. He can’t believe he had done this. He can’t believe you’re swollen, sticky, and wet for him.

His hands are wrapping around the fat of your thighs to pull you into open-mouthed kisses against your thighs. You’re mad it feels so good- he’s not even touched you and yet your thighs twitch where he kisses.

You reward him with a real moan at the quick swipe of his tongue from the bottom of your leaking hole right across your clit. Though he didn’t truly know what he was doing, he knew what he wanted to do. That was enough. You seemed to like what he was doing regardless. He likes kissing you. Feeling the way your lips twitch against his. His tongue finds a comfortable rhythm exploring your folds. You tasted like nothing he had ever eaten before. He couldn’t compare you to anything else- and there wasn’t a thing in Pandora he’d rather in his mouth.

Though you're panting and wiggling your hips in front of his face he still wants to give you more. Wants to wrap his arms around your thighs and take care of you the way you should be taken care of. He doesn’t know why he has such a need to take care of you, especially since you had caused him so much grief. He knows you’re more than willing and capable of handling him mating you without any of this - but he can’t help it. He wants to spoon-feed the world to you; do everything for you. Even if it means doing all the work to get that pretty pussy of yours to cum in his mouth.

His desire to take care of you is probably why one of his big hands finds your hips. Why it slides across your smooth skin and his thumb hooks under your tail to push you down and forward onto his wanting mouth.

“I said sit-” he speaks into your cunt, the vibrations of his voice making you clench your stomach.

He can feel his dick jump at the way you cry at the feeling of him grinding your sensitive pussy against his wanting mouth, legs clamping down against his blood-rushed ears. When he finally slides his tongue into your twitching hole again he can’t help but reach down to squeeze at the base of his throbbing dick. Just for a second, he could pretend you were clamping down on his cock and not his rapidly exploring tongue. You’re too busy following along with the motion Rotxo’s hand around your tail provides for you to notice what he’s doing, however. When you’re so blissed out that you lean back to brace your hands onto his chest he can’t help but take in the sight of your thrown-back head. Your hair was behind you now and he could watch the night sky illuminate the swell of your breasts. He can’t be bothered to feel bad at watching you so vulnerable and unaware when he’s the one to cause it.

With the added space of you leaning off of him slightly, he was able to drag his face across your leaking cunt as if he were a starved animal ripping into a meal.

You feel dirty- for the way your head quickly snaps forwards to watch the way he shakes his head back and forth between your legs. There’s no hiding the mess below you at this point. The twinkling night does little to hide the slick connecting you to him. And you feel yourself leak even worse when his relaxed eyes blink open and he catches you staring at him. When he slows his movements to take in the look on your face.

“Ro- don’t- Rotxo-“

Embarrassment is evident in your voice despite the fact he feels like his face is burning brighter than yours. He can’t seem to wrap his head around the fact that you’re sitting on his face, you’re letting him eat you out.

He wraps his lips around his new favorite part of your body, sucking the nerve into his mouth with a cruel pop. Kissing it after you cry out,

“You feelin' good?”

His words are soft, as you feel his thumb caress the underside of your tail. You only try to sit back down on his face with a wiggle of your hips. Rotxo has finally found a happy middle ground where he felt confident with you, however. Gripping your tail tighter to keep your greedy cunt off of his face.

“Answer me,”

And with his words comes a gentle graze of his sharp teeth against the pulsating sticky skin of your clit. He’s never heard you make the noise that responds to his assault. A cry or a hiss he wouldn’t know- but it was his new favorite sound. He’s only licking you- it’s only at the work of his tongue that your legs are shaking so prettily on his cheeks.

“Yes- yes you know I am-“ You start, “can you keep going now?”

It’s the fake polite voice you use that makes him scoff. He finds it endearing how badly you try to grind yourself against him in the same rhythm he had previously helped you with. But with his grip on your tail, and the punishingly slow strokes of his tongue against your slit you stayed bubbling on the edge. You’ve never been so pliable for anyone before, he thinks. He’s never seen you so whiney over anything.

“Rotxo please!”

Your please is a little too mean. It wasn’t you asking him to make you feel good. You were being bossy and rude. Red face screwed up in frustration as if you had still been scolding him for the fact he wouldn’t hit you. Maybe it’s why his other hand leaves your hip for a second to swat at the fat of your ass.

Between you sidling forward onto his face, and the fact that your pretty little tail wagged across his painfully hardened cock he couldn’t help but moan right into you.

The guttural moan of his deep voice sends a shock wave up your body that has one hand digging into the sand next to his head and the other hand pulling at the mess of curls on top of his head. Maybe he understood your annoyance at his stubborn desire to hold back before. Because right now you are doing the same.

All he wanted was for you to cum. So one hand returned to your pretty tail to help you grind your clit against his face. It was cute how you tensed at the feeling of the tip of his fingers that had risen up against the hole that so willingly leaked all over him. You don’t even give him a chance to ask if you’re okay with it before you sink back into his fingers, ruining the kiss Rotxo had just begun assaulting your clit with.

The sight of spit connecting his swollen lips to your cunt, and the feeling of one of his finger reaching deeper in you than you had ever been able to touch makes you tremble above him. He’s rocking you against his face while he begins an almost punishing assault on your hole.

In his defense, he wasn’t truly aware of how punishing the pace was. The only thing he was focused on was the steady ripple of your ass against his knuckles. So blissfully unaware of how much louder your voice had gotten. The wet sound he was greeted with as he slid a second finger inside you only spurred the speed of his hand more.

“I- I… Ro I feel-”

And he feels the tip of your tail softly lay across his aching cock as though to anchor yourself as you arch forward into his face, thighs trembling. He moans at the ache of his scalp as you pull him into you and he can’t help but open his eyes wide.

Eywa is Rotxo glad he did. He knows he’s going to remember this for the rest of his life- the view of your pretty legs choking him in a vice grip and pussy clenching up on his fingers while you practically scream. You don’t listen to yourself though, not when you’re preoccupied with the sound of him slurping against you. As if he’s never enjoyed something more- and he’s smiling against you as he alternates, scraping his teeth against you, and sloppily kissing you though your orgasm. All while his fingers still slowly curl inside of you.

You feel like you should be embarrassed, panting above him- trying to force oxygen into your deprived lungs and brain. He doesn’t make you feel awkward though. Not even for a second. Not while he’s petting your thigh and smiling up at you between his movements.

“You’re alright?”

The hum of his voice was questioning. You couldn’t help that part of you felt as though he was telling you that you were alright though. Maybe that’s why you felt so at ease.

“Better than alright,”

Your coquettish grin has him pawing at your thighs to scoot you back down off of him. Even though he’s never enjoyed doing something more than taking care of you, the feeling of your tail twitching against the tip of his throbbing cock had raised an unfamiliar pain in his stomach. Besides, the sinful sounds you had been making for him; the pretty dazed face had coaxed you into had made him confident enough to not want to be under you any longer.

You instinctually wrap your arms around his neck as you feel him begin to sit himself up. One arm wrapped tightly under your ass (giving himself the luxury of wrapping one of his meaty palms around the meatier fat of your ass) to keep you from sliding down into his lap until he had sat up completely, and could position you comfortably.

You can’t help but smile at how disheveled he looks. His hair is all askew from you yanking at it and his face is completely blushed and wet from all the effort. The way the corners of his lips twitch into a smile by the time your bare slit makes contact with him is almost mischievous in a way. As if he was expecting the gasp that falls from your lips as he drags you down across the tweng that painfully constricts the parts of him that hadn’t hardened out of it. It finally relieves some of the pressure knotting at the pit of his stomach. You could never wrap your mind around how sitting on his lap could be so calming yet intimidating. You can’t help but reach for the sand covered curls at the back of his head pulling desperately to fill the gap the height difference caused. Wanting nothing more than for him to bless you with another kiss.

Of course, he obliges. He doesn’t think he could ever deny you a single thing now. Not when you’re grinding down onto him while kissing him. Dragging the fabric across the both of you, and Eywa when you run your tongue across his lips with a giggle he has to stop himself from cumming between the both of you.

Feeling the way his tip leaks against your belly button has your heart beating so impossibly fast that the rattling it causes in your rib cage hurts.

“We do not have to do anything else,”

He doesn’t want to remind you. He really does not. He wants nothing more than to sink you down onto him- but he doesn’t want you to feel pressured. To feel unsafe. If you had never touched him again he’d have lived happily with this moment like gold in his memory. He thanks Eywa however, when you whine at the insinuation, thread your fingers around his kuru, and your pretty snarl makes contact with his own teeth.

“Don’t make me go and find Ao’nu-”

You don’t even finish your hiss before he swats at your ass again, appreciating the way your skin recoils, and thighs tremble at his sides and for you to yelp into him. How dare you say his name with your hand where it was? Has he been too nice to you these years? Too gentle with you?

“Watch it,”

You had heard Rotxo growl before. Never at you- but you had seen what he was capable of when he did get aggressive with people. Yes, he was a sweet and gentle boy- but he was also rowdy, brawling, and all too bellicose. But because he was normally so saccharine to you, you had forgotten all about the rest of Rotxo. Big, honorable, and strong Rotxo who you had seen slam down elder warriors with years of experience on him like they were weightless. Those same muscular, intricately tattooed arms were now using the fat of your hips and ass to grind you down against him. As if to make up for the cruelty of your words your other hand reaches down, and though you had frustrated him he can’t help but buck his hips into you at the feeling of your hand sliding down the hood of his cock so you could run a thumb across his exposed tip.

“I want you. I thought I was being pretty obvious. Reya makes fun of me for it.”

You don’t know why you whisper to him, you don’t think you had ever been as soft-spoken before.

“I am just stupid-”

And his frustrations leave him at the feeling of your hands loosening around both his hand and kuru. He can’t help but slide his face against yours, slotting his nose against yours. He breaths against your face once before he speaks,

“You are not a stupid girl,” and there’s a kiss placed on your cheek under your eye as one palm raises to cradle the opposite one, “you are at least smart enough to undo a knot, yeah?”

He keeps his usual warm and syrupy baritone voice, yet there’s a condescending undertone to his voice that shoots straight down to your core. It makes your ears flatten against your head, and your eyes widen. He was almost bitter that all it took to intimidate you was to imply he wanted to impale you on his cock. Why did he waste all this time becoming such a revered deep-sea diver and warrior?

“Or are you, pretty girl?”

There’s more jest in his voice; his heart swelling at how cute you were when you weren’t being a menace. So cute in fact that he can’t help but kiss the crown of your head as he watches both of your hands reach down to untie his tweng. He supposes he could have just yanked it down, but he can’t help the rush that flows through him at the sight of you doing it. He swears he’ll ride this high for months- felt like he could fight a nalutsa all by himself.

That’s until he sees you sit up on his knees and realize what you’re going to do- what you want to do. It finally sinks in for him. You want him. Your fingers are on his kuru, your cums on his face- you chose him. Suddenly the sea breeze isn’t enough to keep him from overheating. He’s too aware of the sound of the waves and the sand that covers his back and hair and the fact that-

“Sayrìp,”

His eyes instantly leave your swollen pussy and raise to your face, locking with your eyes obediently. You smile up at him and he’s sure his pupils are as wide as yours.

“Are you okay?”

How can he not be okay when you're kissing his mandible? Teeth teasing against the pulse you’ve risen should drive him to dizzying madness but only acts to ground him back into reality,

“Jus’ cannot believe you’re here with me.”

It gives him a chance to swallow the lump in his throat,

“Who else would I be with, skxawng?”

And you're grasping at the base of him to hold his heavy leaning cock steady; he whines at the sight of your spit drooling past your pretty lips and hisses at the feeling of it plopping against him. He supposes you could use all the help you could get if you hoped to take him.

As you slide the girthy blunt tip against your slit he rewards you with a moan. A deep sound that reverberates against his chest. It makes you all too eager to try and sink down onto the tip.

But Rotxo’s arms are stronger than you and he doesn't want you to do that, so he uses that strength against you. Despite being so giving and nice on the regular, rolling over and letting you boss him around and do what you wanted he was going to mate you the way he wanted to, and you were going to take it.

When the jolt of his hands moving to hold your hips in place makes your pussy flutter against his tip he has to remind himself of that before he loses all of his resolve and pushes you down onto his length in one swift movement. The thought made him cringe. He didn’t waste all this time opening you up for him just to hurt you,

“You going to let me mate you, tsyeym?” He asks

If you think you could roll your eyes without invoking the hunter's wrath you would have. He was acting as though you hadn’t been pulling and tugging on his prettily kept braid since you had first felt his imposing length against you.

“I am not above begging,”

Though you’re chuckling softly in his ear your fingers are dancing down his kuru, and when your finally twirl the ends of his hair covering his tswin around your slender fingers he can’t help but slide just the first couple of inches of him into you. He can’t tell if he feels your fingers caressing his nerves more or the far too-tight ring of your pussy sucking him into you.

“Ma’Rotxo-”

Your free hand braces yourself down on his bicep, digging your fingernails into his flesh as if you’re the one overstimulated.

“Thought you were tough, huh?” He chides, “Wanna fight with me but can’t even take me bullyin’ my cock into ya, huh?”

If you were mean you would have tugged on his braid, giving him a semblance of the perineum sting you felt at the girth of him-

“Don’t be an asshole to me, Rotxo.”

You’re trying to be bossy still and it doesn’t suit the fact that your body feels so pliable in his hands. He doesn’t even dignify you with an answer, not when he wants you to be flush against his hips. Not when he wanted you to feel as much of him as you could before he made you feel even more. He feels a little bad that you’re so small in comparison to the Metkayina people. Though an embarrassing part of him loves the idea of spending the rest of his life drilling into your warmth until you’re molded to him he worries about how sore you’d be in the morning. He promises himself that he’d be extra kind to you tomorrow- tend to anything you could want. He will take care of you as a thank you for the way you were about to let him use you.

You couldn’t think of a time when Rotxo hadn’t taken care of you- this felt no different. So when you feel one of his hands caress you on the mission to reach around your body and pull you apart further so that more of him could slide inside all you do is huff and give into his guidance.

“Look at you,”

He sounds winded at the feeling of you clenching against him. You’re surprised he enters as easily as he does. Surprised the pressure doesn’t hurt as bad as you feared it would. Especially when one of his thumbs moves over your clit in soft quick motions,

“Just gotta relax a lil’ more.”

His eyes are fixed down; watching you take him inside of you. He doesn’t even care anymore that the end of his braid is held in your soft hand. He ignores the uncomfortable throb that shoots through it. He only has to endure seconds more of it before he’s rewarded with the slippery plap of your hips meeting. He feels bigger than ever when your hands leave their respected body parts to grab at his cheeks. He’s sure you meant to kiss him but you only managed to moan against his open mouth.

“That’s my girl,” he kisses you, “Took it all so good.” another kiss,

“Fucking Metkayina- too big,” Of course, you’re grumbling right now. Of course, you have a grumpy little voice even when he’s in your guts.

“You are rude,” one of his arms wrapped around you and pulled you flush against him, partially to appreciate your warmth but mostly so he could reach around and grab your own braid.

“Shouldn’t even touch this now, huh?”

His soft eyes give him away, and he knows you know him too well. You know that once you pull his braid over his shoulder that he’d rush to bring yours closer.

You were right of course, he’s quick to hold the bioluminescence of your tswin’s tendrils painfully close to his own. There’s something that makes your stomach tighten painfully at the sight. There was something so exciting about the fact that you were so close to being with him- all you had to do was dip your hand forward. The thought has you rolling your hips down against him to alleviate the throb of your clitoris. It’s all he needs before his other hand leaves your hip to grab your wrist that holds his tswin.

“Look at me,”

You’re so good for him. So obedient when your eyes instantly snap from where your hands almost make you one- to his eyes. He thinks you’re so beautiful. Sultry and warm and so undeniably wild. So easily he gives into the magnetic force that’s been trying to convince him to pull your tswin into his.

He thinks his heart stops at the way your eyes haze over and you melt into him. The way you practically purr as he feels his lap grow wetter. Now you were all of those things- but you were also his.

“Oh, Eywa,”

He feels bad for how roughly his one arm pulls you into him, he feels how much fuller it makes you feel but he has to feel your heartbeat against him. He thinks this is bliss- that he can’t get anything better than this. Then you begin scooting your hips back and forth against his. His hands are too quick to reach for your hair, digging his fingers into it.

The pretty way your face screws up as your pace quickens has him star-struck. The echo of your pleasure tickled his lower stomach. He can’t help but lift his hips to meet yours; the slapping sound of skin as you bounced against him is enough to spur him into near madness. Both of your throats are caught- stunned in silence over the sheer amount of feeling tsaheylu adds.

He feels bad because he knows you feel so good going at your own pace and using him to fill yourself to your heart's content. He can’t focus on that guilt when he has such an uncontrolled need to be on top of you. His hands halting your hips have you confused, and you’re only more shocked when he’s heaving you up and tossing the both of you until your back is against the sand and your hips are hiked on his firm thighs.

He doesn’t even give you a second to take in the change, slipping himself all the way into you in one fluid movement, palms returning to the fat of your hips so he could roll and grind down into you. He loves the way you clench as he rolls across your g-spot. The view is beautiful, and the way your hands reach between your thighs and rub your fingers against yourself for him only drives him further into ecstasy.

“So pretty for me,” He loves how easy it is to make you clench and throb. “My pretty mate,”

His eyes are fixed on the way your breasts bounce at the power of his thrusts and the way your stomach bulges. He knows if he focuses on your pretty face he’d be finished the way your wide eyes don’t focus on anything and the dark purple stain of your blush. He’s never quite seen your markings glow so bright. He’d never live down finishing before he even got a chance to fuck you properly- before he could really appreciate the view. So he grabs at your hips and wiggles you side to side in an effort to stimulate you further,

“Let me fuck you for real now baby,” and his hand travels up your legs that are bent against your bodies, straightening one leg over his shoulder so he could kiss your calf. How could you say no when he asks so sweetly while he was so deep inside of you?

“Please? Can you please move again?”

He forgot you could be so polite when you want to be. He’s all smiles, starting at a comfortable pace. His speed picked up quickly as he could use your whole leg as an anchor, but he still stays relatively shallow. Just to give you enough time to adjust before he picks up a punishing pace.

He knows he’s fucking you entirely too loud. He knows the way you moan under him is entirely too loud. He knows the nighttime waves aren’t loud enough to drown out what he’s doing to you but all it does is spur him on. He wishes you’d be louder but he knows you have more dignity than he does.

How can he slow down when you’re telling him he’s so good? You’re gasping as he falls forward onto one hand for more leverage. Still holding your hips up by one leg so he could slam into you. The change of position has you dragging sinfully across him and it almost distracts you from the sound of his grunts. It was magnifying seeing him worked up over you- he wasn’t even in a rut and had desired you so deeply.

“Gon- Shit. Roxto 'm gonna cum,”

The way he reacted to your words is what sends you over the edge. The way he hunches over and begins to slam into you while his eyes bore into yours. The sloppy sound of you cumming all over him and your eyes rolling into you head bring him closer more than the feeling of you clamping down on his cock. He didn’t think you could squeeze tighter and it’s embarrassing how easy you make him cum. Just barely enough time to slip out and shoot himself all over you.

He means to hit your stomach honestly, expecting it to pool where you had been slightly folded. Except he had forgotten how worked up you had gotten him- how badly he had wanted to cum in you. The sheer amount that painted your warm stomach and azure boobs should have embarrassed him but the sight of his cum shooting further and globbing on your chin and lips consumes him. You lay half folded under him, grasping onto him while you panted. Covered in his cum. No one could get near you without knowing you were his.

He can’t help but act on his desires and lean down to cage his big arms around you. Running his tongue up your chin and across your lips. You taste the salt on his lips when he immediately kisses you, and at the bite of his teeth, you’re opening your mouth so he can spit him into your mouth.

It should be raunchy and make you feel like a whore but he does it so softly and kisses you so libidinously that the swirl of his tongue against yours has you both purring into each other's mouth.

You’re perplexed at how quickly he’s back to sweet Rotxo. Kissing you gently and caressing skin that just knew the punishing grip of his strength.

He’s tall when he sits up on his knees, and now that he’s not hunched over rutting into you it truly dawns on you just how much bigger he is than you.

He scoffs as he looks around him and you’re almost confused until you watch him lean over to grab both of your bottoms before he’s grinning down at you and scooping his hands under you.

His cheeks hurt from smiling at the sound of you giggling foolishly at him as he heaves you into the air. You're both red-faced and covered in sweat and sand and he can’t wait to walk into the cooling water with you in his arms.