#having seen almost nothing of the world and having done almost nothing except work a stupid fucking job that doesn't matter

[ohbutwheresyourheart]

work is probably the number one thing that makes me want to kill myself because there is just no escape from it. there is no alternative that isn't dying one way or another. so why not just throw myself out of a window if I'm going to want to kill myself every day anyway and will never be able to escape it for anything better and will just grind myself further and further into misery and not even have anything to show for it?

[aspenmissing]

ᴀʀᴄᴀɴᴇ: ʀᴇɢʀᴇᴛꜰᴜʟ ᴍᴏᴍᴇɴᴛꜱ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ/ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ-ɪꜱʜ

6115 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴀᴄᴄɪᴅᴇɴᴛᴀʟ ʜᴀʀᴍ

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ᴏᴜʀ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ ᴀɴᴅ/ᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ʀᴇɢʀᴇᴛꜰᴜʟ. ʜᴏᴡ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ʀᴇꜱᴘᴏɴᴅ.

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx/ᴘᴏᴡᴅᴇʀ

JAYCE

The dim glow of the workshop’s lanterns flickered softly, casting long shadows over the polished metal surfaces of Jayce’s creations. His hands moved with precision, the soft hum of machines and the rhythmic tapping of his tools filling the space as he focused intensely on his latest project. His mind was consumed by his work, as it often was during times of pressure, and for the moment, everything else in his world faded into the background.

Except for one thing: Y/N.

She stood at the entrance to the workshop, watching him in silence. He didn’t even notice her standing there for several moments. The light music that played softly from the small speaker on the corner of his workbench filled the space, but it only highlighted the growing distance between them.

“Jayce…” Y/N finally spoke, her voice tentative, almost hesitant. She hadn’t meant to interrupt, but the silence had stretched on for far too long.

Jayce didn’t look up from his work, his brow furrowed in concentration. “Hmm?” His response was curt, distracted.

Y/N’s heart sank. She had grown accustomed to the intensity of Jayce’s dedication to his research and inventions, but it seemed lately like there was always something pulling him away from her. She stood there, waiting for him to acknowledge her, to invite her into his world like he used to, but nothing came.

“I was thinking… maybe we could spend some time together tonight?” Y/N suggested softly, stepping a little closer to the workbench. Her voice was gentle, not wanting to push him, but wanting to feel that connection again—the one they used to share so effortlessly.

Jayce finally looked up, his eyes tired but focused. He hesitated, glancing back at the project in front of him, then back at Y/N. His expression softened for a brief moment, but then the weight of his responsibilities seemed to pull him back.

“I can’t right now,” he said, his voice quieter than before, almost apologetic. “There’s too much I need to finish. I’m close… so close to figuring it out.”

Y/N nodded, understanding the passion in his voice, but it did little to ease the ache in her chest. She had seen this before—the way Jayce would lose himself in his work, pushing everything else aside until he felt he had done enough. But this time felt different. This time, it wasn’t just his work pulling him away. It was as though he had built an invisible wall between them, one that no amount of pleading or patience could break.

“I get it, Jayce,” Y/N said, trying to keep her voice steady. “But when was the last time we actually spent time together? Just the two of us? It’s been weeks… months, even.”

Jayce looked at her, and for a moment, there was a flicker of guilt in his eyes. But it quickly vanished, replaced by a weariness that seemed to settle deep in his bones. “I don’t have time for that right now, Y/N. I need to focus.”

Y/N felt her stomach twist, a sharp pang of hurt cutting through her. “I’m not asking for much, Jayce. Just… a little of your time. It doesn’t have to be anything big, just—”

“I said I don’t have time!” Jayce interrupted, his voice rising before he could catch himself. He immediately regretted the sharpness, but the damage was done. He saw the hurt flash across Y/N’s face, and something inside him crumbled.

Y/N stood there for a long moment, her lips pressed together tightly as she held back the tears that threatened to spill. She didn’t know what to say anymore. Jayce’s work had always been important to him, but it had never felt like it came before her. But now, in this moment, she wasn’t sure if she was even part of his world anymore. His ambition, his goals, seemed to consume him entirely.

“Fine,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I get it. I’ll leave you to your work.”

She turned to walk away, but before she could make it to the door, Jayce called out her name.

“Y/N… wait.”

She paused, but didn’t turn around. She didn’t want to see the look in his eyes right now, didn’t want to see the guilt or the frustration. He had already made his choice, and it wasn’t her.

Jayce’s voice softened as he stepped toward her. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. I just… I’m close to something big. You know how important this is to me. I can’t stop now.”

Y/N slowly turned to face him, her arms crossed over her chest as if to protect herself from the weight of his words. “I know, Jayce. I know how important it is. But don’t you see? You’re pushing me away”

Jayce swallowed, the words hitting him harder than he expected. He had always prided himself on his work, but he had never meant to let it overshadow the one person who had stood by him through everything. But now, as he looked at Y/N’s hurt expression, he realized the truth: he had been so focused on proving himself, on achieving greatness, that he had forgotten to nurture the relationship that mattered the most to him.

“I’m sorry,” Jayce said softly, taking a step closer. “I don’t want to push you away. You mean everything to me.”

Y/N shook her head, her eyes filled with unshed tears. “It doesn’t feel like it right now, Jayce.”

The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. Jayce reached out, gently taking her hand, his thumb brushing over her skin as if trying to convey everything he couldn’t say. “I don’t want to lose you, Y/N. I’m just… afraid I’ll never be enough.”

Y/N’s heart twisted. She could see the vulnerability in his eyes, the fear that had driven him to bury himself in his work. She stepped forward, pulling him into a gentle embrace.

“You’re already enough,” she whispered into his ear. “But you can’t keep pushing me away. I need you too, Jayce. Not just as someone who can fix the world, but as the person you are. The person I love.”

Jayce’s arms tightened around her, the weight of his regret heavy on his chest. He held her close, savouring the feeling of her warmth, but knowing that he had a long way to go to make things right.

“I promise,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ll do better. I’ll make time for us. I swear it.”

And in that moment, Jayce realized that he couldn’t afford to lose her—not for his work, not for his ambitions. Y/N had always been his anchor, and he couldn’t let go of the one person who truly understood him.

It was time to rebuild what had been broken. And he would do whatever it took to make it right.

VIKTOR

Viktor’s lab was a quiet, sterile environment, lit only by the soft glow of arcane machinery and the faint hum of the chemical reactors working in the background. The air always smelled faintly of oil and metal, a testament to the ambitious scientist's unyielding drive to push the boundaries of his experiments. Tonight, however, the atmosphere was different. Tonight, it was filled with an undercurrent of tension as Viktor prepared for his latest, most daring experiment yet.

“Y/N, you don’t have to do this,” Viktor said softly, turning to look at her with a mixture of concern and determination in his eyes. He stood tall despite the cane he leaned on, the weight of his past decisions and ailments making his movements a little slower, but still purposeful. “I can run the experiment alone. It’s too risky.”

Y/N, however, stood resolutely next to him, her hand resting gently on the table where the prototype of the new device sat. It was a marvel of engineering and alchemy, a machine designed to unlock the potential of Hextech technology in ways that had never been done before. She had always admired Viktor’s genius, his drive, and his unflinching pursuit of progress. And while she understood the dangers, she trusted him completely.

“I’m not afraid, Viktor,” she said with a small, reassuring smile. “I want to help. You’ve been working on this for so long, and I’m right here. I trust you.”

Her words seemed to settle some of the unease within Viktor, but a part of him still hesitated. He had always put progress above all else, but with Y/N by his side, it had become more difficult to keep his heart and mind from conflicting. She had become so much more than just an assistant to him, so much more than someone who helped him. She had become his partner, and the thought of risking her well-being gnawed at him in ways he wasn’t used to.

But she was persistent. Her faith in him was unwavering, and with a soft sigh, he nodded. “Alright. But you promise me, if something feels wrong, you’ll stop, yes? Don’t be reckless for my sake.”

Y/N’s smile widened. “I promise.”

The two of them worked together in synchrony. Viktor carefully adjusted the settings on the device, while Y/N followed his instructions to the letter, her focus sharp. The energy in the lab seemed to vibrate with anticipation, as though the world itself was holding its breath, waiting for the experiment to begin.

Viktor’s fingers hovered over the final switch, and he glanced at Y/N one last time. “Are you ready?” he asked.

She nodded. “Let’s do this.”

Viktor flipped the switch.

For a moment, everything was still. The machine hummed to life, its core glowing brightly, and streams of energy surged through the air. Viktor’s heart raced as he watched the device’s progress on the monitors, his breath caught in his chest. But then—just as quickly—something went wrong. A burst of energy erupted from the machine, more intense than he had anticipated. The surge knocked both of them backward.

Y/N lost her footing, her body tumbling toward the ground. Viktor reached out, but his cane slipped in the chaos, and he couldn’t catch her in time. The floor was cold against Y/N’s back as her head hit the hard surface with a sickening thud. The world around her spun in a blur, and a sharp pain flared across her skull.

“Miláčku!” Viktor shouted, his voice laced with panic as he rushed to her side, his cane discarded on the floor. His hands trembled as he cupped her face, his eyes frantic as he checked for any signs of serious injury. (Darling)

Y/N blinked slowly, her vision still blurry, but she tried to focus on his face. “I’m okay, Viktor,” she mumbled, her voice groggy. “Just a little dizzy… nothing serious.”

He breathed a sigh of relief, though his face was still drawn with concern. “I should have never let you do this” he whispered, more to himself than to her. His hands shook as he gently helped her sit up, his voice tight with guilt. “I put you in danger. I... I should’ve been more careful.”

“Viktor,” Y/N whispered, reaching up to place a hand over his. She could feel the tension in his fingertips, the weight of his regret. “This wasn’t your fault. I agreed to help you, remember? I knew the risks. This isn’t on you.”

But Viktor couldn’t shake the overwhelming sense of responsibility he felt for her safety. She had trusted him completely, and in that moment, he realized how much he had taken for granted. His pursuit of science, his desire to change the world, had come at a price. A price that could have cost him the person he cared most about.

JAYVIK

Y/N had always admired the dynamic between Jayce and Viktor—their partnership, their unyielding dedication to their work, and the bond they shared despite their differences. She had tried to be supportive, stepping into their world of Hextech whenever she could, even though she wasn’t a scientist herself.

But tonight, everything had unraveled.

It started with a simple misunderstanding. Jayce had been pacing the workshop, his frustration palpable as he ranted about deadlines, council meetings, and the pressures of Hextech’s growing influence. Viktor, meanwhile, was hunched over his workbench, tools in hand as he adjusted some intricate device with the precision only he could manage.

Y/N had tried to help in her own way. She suggested taking a break, maybe grabbing something to eat, or just stepping away from the lab for a while. But the suggestion was met with resistance. Jayce waved her off, muttering something about needing to stay focused, while Viktor barely acknowledged her, too engrossed in his work to respond.

Feeling dismissed, Y/N’s patience snapped. “You two are going to run yourselves into the ground!” she exclaimed, her voice sharper than she intended. “You’re so obsessed with your inventions that you’re forgetting everything else—including the people who care about you.”

The words hung in the air like a heavy weight, and for a moment, the room fell silent.

Jayce was the first to react, his brow furrowing as he turned to face her. “We’re doing this for everyone, Y/N. For Piltover. For Zaun. You know that.”

“And you think that excuses shutting people out?” Y/N shot back, her frustration bubbling over. She turned to Viktor, who still hadn’t looked up from his work. “And you—do you even realize how much you’ve been pushing yourself? You’re not a machine, Viktor. You need rest too.”

Viktor finally looked up, his golden eyes narrowing slightly. “This work isn’t about convenience, Y/N. It’s about progress. Sacrifices must be made.”

The words stung more than she expected. “Sacrifices?” she repeated, her voice faltering. “Is that all I am to you? A sacrifice?”

Jayce stepped forward, his expression softening as he reached out to her. “Y/N, that’s not what he meant—”

But Y/N pulled away, shaking her head. “I’m trying to help, but it feels like I’m just in the way. Maybe you don’t need me here at all.”

The moment the words left her mouth, she regretted them. Jayce’s face fell, hurt flickering in his eyes, while Viktor’s expression hardened into something unreadable.

“Miláčku…” Viktor began, his tone quieter now, almost pleading. (Darling)

But she was already backing toward the door. “I’ll leave you to your progress,” she muttered, her voice shaking as she turned and walked out of the workshop.

=

As the door clicked shut behind her, the silence in the shared apartment was suffocating. Y/N’s chest felt heavy as she retreated to the guest room, a place she rarely used but tonight felt necessary. She couldn’t face Jayce and Viktor—not after the way she’d lashed out at them.

Lying awake in the unfamiliar bed, Y/N replayed the argument over and over. She’d let her frustration get the better of her, and now all she felt was regret. Jayce and Viktor were trying their best to change the world, balancing immense pressure with their passion for Hextech. Instead of supporting them, she’d only added to their stress.

Eventually, exhaustion claimed her, though her sleep was restless and shallow.

The next morning, the faint scent of something warm and savory roused her. Y/N blinked against the soft light filtering through the curtains, her senses slowly sharpening. It smelled like… eggs? And toast? Was that coffee, too?

Curiosity outweighed her lingering guilt as she slipped out of bed and padded down the hallway toward the kitchen. Her heart clenched at the sight before her.

Jayce was at the stove, his broad shoulders hunched slightly as he flipped something in a pan. Viktor stood beside him, a bit awkward with his movements but focused as he carefully poured coffee into a mug. The kitchen table was already set with plates of food—scrambled eggs, toast, and a small bowl of fruit.

“Morning,” Jayce said, glancing over his shoulder with a sheepish smile. His voice was soft, hesitant. “We, uh, made breakfast.”

Viktor turned to her as well, his golden eyes scanning her face for a reaction. “It’s not perfect,” he said, gesturing to the table, “but we wanted to… apologize. For last night.”

Y/N’s throat tightened, and she had to blink back the sudden sting of tears. “You don’t have to apologize,” she murmured, stepping closer. “I’m the one who—”

“No,” Jayce interrupted gently, turning off the stove and placing the pan on the counter. He faced her fully, his expression earnest. “You were right, Y/N. We’ve been so caught up in our work that we’ve been neglecting everything else. Including you.”

Viktor nodded, his voice quieter but just as sincere. “Your concerns weren’t unwarranted. We… forget sometimes that there’s more to life than progress and deadlines. You were only trying to help.”

Y/N felt a tear slip down her cheek, and she quickly wiped it away, smiling despite herself. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like you weren’t doing enough. I just worry about you two. You’re both so driven, and I don’t want you to burn out.”

Jayce approached her, his arms opening slightly in invitation. “We’ll try to do better. For you. For us.”

Without hesitation, Y/N stepped into his embrace, feeling the tension from the night before melt away. Viktor joined them after a moment, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder. The three of them stood there in the warmth of the kitchen, a quiet understanding passing between them.

When they finally broke apart, Jayce gestured to the table. “Come on, before the food gets cold. Viktor even made coffee.”

Y/N chuckled, taking a seat and letting herself relax as they sat down together. The food wasn’t perfect—Jayce had overcooked the eggs slightly, and Viktor’s toast was a little burnt—but it didn’t matter. What mattered was the effort, the thought behind it.

In that moment, surrounded by the people she cared about most, Y/N realized that no argument, no misunderstanding, could break the bond they shared. Together, they’d figure out how to balance their passions with their lives. And together, they’d always find a way back to each other.

VANDER

The Last Drop was unusually quiet for a change, with the patrons gone and the dim lantern light casting a warm glow over the upstairs room. Y/N and Vander sat at the small table, a nearly empty bottle of whiskey between them. Laughter spilled from their lips as they reminisced about the past, their cheeks flushed from the alcohol they’d both indulged in.

“You’re slurring your words, big guy,” Y/N teased, pointing at Vander with a playful smirk. “Can’t handle your drink anymore?”

Vander let out a hearty laugh, shaking his head as he poured the last bit of whiskey into their glasses. “Says the one who’s giggling like a schoolgirl,” he shot back, his grin widening. “You’ve had just as much as I have.”

They clinked their glasses, the sound ringing out like a toast to their shared camaraderie. Y/N couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed so much, her sides aching from their banter. But as the whiskey settled into their systems, the laughter turned into something lighter, more carefree.

It was Vander who suggested the tickling match, his mischievous side coming out in a way it rarely did. “Bet you can’t take me down,” he said, leaning back in his chair with a cocky grin.

Y/N narrowed her eyes, rising to the challenge. “Oh, you’re on.”

The playful scuffle started as harmless fun, with Y/N darting around Vander’s large hands, trying to tickle his sides while dodging his counterattacks. Their laughter filled the room as they stumbled around, their movements slightly clumsy from the alcohol.

But then, in one uncoordinated motion, Vander’s hand swung a little too wide, catching Y/N squarely on the nose.

The room seemed to freeze.

Y/N gasped, stumbling back as her hand flew to her face. A warm, wet sensation met her fingertips, and when she pulled her hand away, she saw the telltale red of blood.

“Oh, no,” Vander muttered, his voice low and panicked. The buzz from the whiskey evaporated in an instant, replaced by a wave of guilt and worry. “Sweetheart—”

“I’m fine,” Y/N interrupted, her voice muffled as she pinched her nose to stop the bleeding. But her words didn’t stop Vander from rushing over, his large hands hovering near her face, unsure of what to do without making things worse.

“Let me see,” he insisted, his voice steadier now but still heavy with concern.

Y/N relented, tilting her head back slightly as Vander gently cupped her face, examining her nose with a care that belied his size. “It’s just a bloody nose,” she said, offering him a small smile despite the situation. “No big deal.”

But Vander didn’t smile back. He grabbed a clean cloth from the table and carefully pressed it to her nose, his brow furrowed deeply. “No big deal? I hit you, Y/N,” he said, his voice tight. “That’s a big deal.”

“It was an accident,” Y/N said softly, placing a hand on his arm. “You didn’t mean to, Vander. We were messing around. It happens.”

“Still,” Vander muttered, his jaw clenched. “I should’ve been more careful. I could’ve really hurt you.”

The sight of him so distraught tugged at Y/N’s heart. She reached up, resting her hand on his cheek and forcing him to meet her eyes. “Hey,” she said gently, her voice steady despite the lingering sting in her nose. “I’m okay. Really. Accidents happen. But if it makes you feel better, I’ll let you pamper me for the rest of the night.”

Vander huffed a small laugh, though his eyes were still clouded with guilt. “Pamper you, huh?”

“Yup,” Y/N replied with a grin, her usual humour returning. “I expect a warm drink, a blanket, and maybe a foot rub.”

That finally earned a chuckle from Vander, though it was tinged with a hint of sadness. “You’ve got a deal,” he said, his voice soft.

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close as they sat back down at the table. “I’m still sorry, Y/N,” he murmured. “You mean too much to me to let something like this happen.”

“I know,” Y/N said, resting her head against his chest. “But you don’t have to beat yourself up over it. I’m not mad, Vander. Just maybe… let’s save the tickle matches for when we’re sober next time.”

Vander let out a low laugh, his grip tightening around her in a protective embrace. “Deal,” he said, his voice warm and full of gratitude.

And as the night went on, the incident became just another memory to laugh about later—a reminder of how much they cared for each other, even when things got a little out of hand.

SILCO

The room was dim, the only light coming from the faint glow of the neon signs outside filtering through the cracked windows. Silco and Y/N stood across from each other, the tension in the air palpable. The weight of their argument pressed down on both of them—words had been thrown like daggers, each cutting deeper than the last.

"You don't understand!" Silco's voice was low, tinged with frustration, but his usual coldness was absent. He was angry, yes, but there was something else—fear, desperation—that lingered beneath his words.

Y/N’s face was flushed with anger, her voice quivering as she retorted, "I understand perfectly, Silco! You think you're the only one who’s sacrificed? The only one who’s had to make hard choices?" Her hands were clenched into fists at her sides. "You’ve built this empire, but what have you really gained? Power? Control? At what cost?"

Silco’s jaw tightened, his fists trembling at his sides. The scorn in her words stung more than he cared to admit. He opened his mouth to respond, but instead, a primal instinct surged through him. He raised his hand, palm open, as if to gesture angrily, but the movement was much too sharp, too quick. It was a motion born out of years of frustration, a gesture that, in his mind, had always been a warning.

But it wasn’t the hand that struck her—his intention never was. It was the movement itself that made Y/N flinch, her body jerking back as if she expected a blow.

The sight of her flinching—of seeing the fear in her eyes—stopped Silco dead in his tracks. The realization hit him like a sledgehammer, his heart sinking into the pit of his stomach. He never meant for it to go this far. He’d raised his hand out of pure instinct, a lifetime of anger and hurt flooding to the surface, but Y/N—Y/N, the one person he allowed into his world—had flinched.

Her eyes were wide, her expression one of shock, her breath catching in her throat as she looked at him. It wasn’t fear of him—he realized that in a split second—but fear of the violence he represented. It was a look he’d seen in so many others throughout his life, but never from Y/N. The thought that he had made her feel this way broke something deep within him.

"Y/N..." Silco’s voice faltered, the anger draining from him. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest as he slowly lowered his hand, the weight of his regret crashing down on him. He hadn’t meant to scare her. He had never meant to make her feel small, weak, or vulnerable in front of him. And yet, that’s exactly what he had done.

She didn’t move, her body tense, as though still bracing herself for something worse. Her wide eyes met his, searching for an explanation that he could not provide, and that broke him even more.

"I didn’t... I didn’t mean it," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. He took a cautious step toward her, his hands trembling as they hovered in the air, unsure of what to do, how to fix what had just been shattered. "I... I'm sorry. I’m sorry."

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence between them felt suffocating, heavy with the realization of what he had almost done. He could see the tear that had formed in the corner of Y/N’s eye, a silent testament to the pain he had caused her.

Before he could say another word, Y/N spoke, her voice barely audible. "You scared me, Silco." Her words were simple, but they cut through him like a blade.

A broken sigh escaped him, and in that moment, all the walls he had built around himself—walls he had so carefully crafted to protect him from weakness—crumbled.

"I never wanted to hurt you," he said, his voice strained with emotion, each word feeling like it came from the very depth of his soul. "I swear to you, I never wanted to make you feel like that."

The cold exterior he had always worn—his calculated control, his ruthless demeanour—began to crack. He couldn’t stand the thought that he had made the one person who mattered to him feel this way. Y/N was more than just someone to him; she was the only person who saw past the monster he’d become. She saw the man beneath the anger, the man who was capable of love—real love, not the twisted, possessive affection he was used to.

Slowly, cautiously, Silco closed the distance between them. His hand reached out, his fingers trembling slightly as they brushed against her arm, then slowly slid around her back, pulling her into him. The warmth of her body, the softness of her skin, sent a wave of guilt and longing through him.

Y/N didn’t pull away. Instead, she rested her head against his chest, her hands gripping the fabric of his jacket as if holding onto something solid, something that still felt like home. She didn’t speak, and neither did he. The only sound in the room was the steady beat of their hearts, somehow in sync, despite the chaos that had just unfolded.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he whispered again, his voice hoarse. “I never want you to be afraid of me.”

Y/N's arms wrapped around him, returning the embrace, but this time there was no tension, no fear. Just the rawness of emotion, of two people who had hurt each other, but who could still find solace in each other’s presence.

“I know,” she murmured softly into his chest, the words carrying more weight than anything else. “I know you didn’t mean it.”

For a long moment, neither of them moved. They simply stood there, in each other's arms, finding comfort in the stillness. Silco wasn’t sure if he could undo the hurt he’d caused, but he knew one thing for certain: he would spend every moment of the rest of his life making sure that Y/N never had to flinch again when he raised his hand.

And that, in a strange, painful way, was a promise that broke his heart and rebuilt it at the same time.

POWDER/JINX

The explosion had rocked The Last Drop, sending shockwaves through the tavern as smoke and debris filled the air. No one had been hurt, thankfully, but the mess was impossible to ignore. Y/N had been upstairs in Silco’s private office when she heard the blast, and her heart sank as she rushed downstairs to find Jinx standing in the center of the destruction, looking sheepish but almost proud of her work.

“What did you do?” Y/N’s voice was sharp, the frustration bubbling to the surface. Her eyes scanned the wreckage—the broken tables, the charred walls—and then locked onto Jinx, who was standing there with her arms crossed defensively, a nervous smile on her face.

“I didn’t mean for it to go off like that,” Jinx muttered, her eyes wide with guilt. “I just wanted to... I thought I had it right, but it... I don’t know.”

Y/N didn’t have time for explanations. She grabbed Jinx’s arm roughly, her grip firm as she pulled her away from the wreckage. “We’re going upstairs, now.”

Without another word, Y/N dragged Jinx up the stairs to Silco’s office. The tension between them was thick, and Jinx didn’t resist. It was obvious that she knew she’d messed up, but she didn’t know how to fix it. She didn’t know what to say, either.

Y/N threw open the door to Silco’s office and practically shoved Jinx inside. The office was silent, the only noise being the soft hum of the air and the distant echoes of the tavern downstairs.

Silco, who had been at his desk working, looked up at the commotion. “What’s going on here?” he asked in his usual calm tone, but his eyes flickered with interest as he saw the mess Jinx had caused.

“Jinx almost blew the entire place up!” Y/N snapped, the anger in her voice still raw. She wasn’t sure if it was frustration with Jinx’s recklessness or just the overwhelming fear of what could’ve happened. Either way, she wasn’t backing down.

Jinx shrunk back from the two of them, her usual bravado slipping away. She couldn’t stand being scolded—especially by Y/N, the one person who always showed her care.

“Do you even think before you act?” Y/N’s words cut through the silence like a knife. “What were you thinking, Jinx? You could’ve hurt someone—or worse, hurt yourself!”

Jinx opened her mouth to speak, but the words caught in her throat. Her eyes welled up with tears, her hands trembling. It wasn’t supposed to go this way. She hadn’t meant for the explosion to be so big, hadn’t meant for it to create such a mess. But now she was being yelled at, and Y/N’s disappointment stung more than she could bear.

“I... I didn’t mean to...” Jinx whispered, but her voice was so small it barely registered.

Y/N’s frustration hadn’t dulled, but the sight of Jinx standing there, vulnerable and scared, made her pause. “You’re going to hurt someone if you don’t learn some control, Jinx. This is why I’m so worried about you. You act first and think later, and it’s dangerous.”

Jinx’s lip quivered, and she finally broke down. She didn’t want to cry, but the tears came anyway. “I’m sorry,” she sobbed, her voice trembling with the weight of her emotions. “I didn’t mean to... I just wanted to... I just wanted to do something big. Something that would... matter.”

Y/N’s heart softened, the anger dissipating as quickly as it had come. Jinx wasn’t a bad person—she was a broken one, and Y/N could see that. But the anger was still there, and it felt like there was nothing Y/N could do to fix this in a single moment.

Silco stood from his desk, his expression unreadable as he walked over to Jinx, placing a firm but gentle hand on her shoulder. “You need to understand the consequences of your actions, Jinx. Not everything can be a game. Some things, like what you just did, are dangerous.”

Jinx nodded silently, wiping her tears away with the back of her hand. “I understand,” she whispered, though the words felt hollow. She didn’t know if she really understood, or if she was just trying to make them stop shouting at her.

Y/N let out a long, heavy sigh, the tension leaving her shoulders. She walked over to Jinx and placed a hand on her arm, her voice softer now. “You’re not a bad person, Jinx. But you have to be more careful. You have to think about the people around you, okay? You’re not alone in this.”

Jinx looked up at her, the tears still visible in her eyes. “I don’t wanna mess up anymore... I don’t wanna disappoint you.” Her voice cracked, the weight of the apology heavy on her heart.

Y/N’s heart ached at the words. She reached out, gently cupping Jinx’s face in her hands. “Jinx, you haven’t messed anything up. You’re not a disappointment. You’re just a kid trying to figure it all out. But you can’t keep doing this. You can’t keep putting people at risk.”

Jinx sniffled, looking down at the floor, her fingers clenching and unclenching nervously. “I just wanted to do something... I just wanted to make something explode... I wanted to be... important.”

Y/N sighed, her heart aching for the girl standing before her. “You are important, Jinx. You matter. But making explosions isn’t the only way to prove that. You’ve got so much more to offer. Just... just stop before you make another mistake, okay?”

Jinx nodded slowly, her lip trembling as she wiped her eyes again. She wanted to say something, but the words wouldn’t come.

Y/N’s heart broke a little more as she watched Jinx retreat back to the door. She knew this wasn’t the end, that the girl would need more than just words to change her ways, but it was a start.

Jinx’s sobs echoed in the hallway as she ran from the room, retreating to her bedroom, where she could cry without anyone seeing her weakness. Y/N stood there for a moment, feeling the sharp sting of regret in her chest. Maybe she had been too harsh.

After a moment of hesitation, Y/N quietly followed after her, her footsteps soft as she approached Jinx’s room. She knocked lightly on the door, her voice quieter now. “Jinx?”

There was no response, but she could hear the soft sounds of sobbing from inside. Y/N opened the door slowly, stepping inside. Jinx was sitting on her bed, her back to the door, her arms wrapped around her knees.

Y/N sat down next to her, her voice low and gentle. “Jinx, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

Jinx looked up, her red eyes filled with the hurt that she had been trying to hide. “I just... I don’t want you to be mad at me. I don’t want to be... a burden.”

Y/N pulled her into a tight hug, her hands running through Jinx’s messy hair. “You’re not a burden. I care about you, Jinx. And I just want you to be safe. You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to try.”

Jinx sniffled, clinging to Y/N, her small frame trembling with the weight of her emotions. “I’ll try... I won’t do it again.”

Y/N held her closer, knowing that this wasn’t the end of the journey, but for now, it was enough. She would always be there for Jinx, no matter what explosions she caused or mistakes she made. Because, despite everything, Jinx was family. And Y/N wasn’t going anywhere.

[hemlock-dreams]

Hypothetically, if you were going to write hunting!spider as a fic, how would you do it? Like, where would the story start—with Peter as the bartender, or his backstory? Would you flash back to his old universe?

-🕊️

Like this: ITS A FIC NOW!!

Check is out: Here!

Peter hasn’t worn the suit since here got here. He hasn’t done much in the last two months of his new existence beyond haunting New York like a phantom, trying to figure out who he is and where he stands in a reality that hasn’t been unfortunate enough to have a Peter Parker in the first place.

Or a Spiderman.

Strange hadn’t been kidding about the magic. Peter feels like the victim of his own hubris, asking for a clean start, a world where no one knew him. He’d asked and he’d been delivered.

Almost. 

The world is there, technically, but it’s like looking at a painting he’s seen a thousand times, only to realize the details are off. It’s the phones with the home button on the bottom, the different slang, the green money, all his favorite songs with wildly different lyrics, so many painful differences- a slow death by a thousand cuts.

Peter thought it would be easier, like a new beginning stretching out ahead of him, the sea-breeze smell of a fresh start after stepping out of Ryker’s. 

But Uncle Ben isn’t waiting for him at the docks this time. Nothing is waiting except the uncanny arms of a city that used to know him. Like running into an ex after years apart, recognizing the same general shape, but being strangers all the same.

Damn it. He should have asked Strange to take his memories too.

At least then Peter would know what to do with himself instead of haunting Brooklyn at night like a ghost, fighting the cognitive dissonance of taking turns he used to know like the back of his hand, only to be startled when they lead into dead-ends or open out into streets that shouldn’t exist.

That’s why he hasn’t worn the suit. Because forget being Spiderman, who the hell is Peter, here?

His melancholy is interrupted by a woman’s voice, faint if not for Peter’s enhanced senses.

“Listen, you’re a sweet guy, but I don’t like mixing work and my personal life.” The voice is extra sweet in the way women get when trying to talk themselves out of a dangerous situation.

No matter the lifetime, Peter can’t ignore that.

So he changes course, beelining towards the source with silence that’s more instinct than experience. He sticks to the shadows, easily avoiding the few flickering streetlights between him and the alleyway. His night vision pierces the darkness, tracing down the detailed shape of the tall, lanky man cornering a woman in the middle of the alley. 

He’s leaning, off-balance, clearly drunk, and boxing her in with one leather-clad arm, “Come on, Scarlett. I been asking for your number for weeks. Just one date, give a guy a chance, huh?”

Well, it was comforting to know that no matter the timeline, scum remained scum. 

“Paul, you’re wasted.” The woman- Scarlett, is draped against the wall, seemingly at ease and deceptively loose-limbed, even as she fists a set of keys between her knuckles, “Why don’t we have this discussion somewhere a little nicer? There’s a cute cafe that’s open tomorrow-”

“Fuck that. It’s always one excuse after another with you,” The guy- Paul- snarls, swaying from one foot to the other. The frustration is a ticking bomb,  “Why are you bein’ such a fucking bitch?”

Like clockwork, the slurs come out, and a peaceful resolution is no longer an option.

Scarlett realizes it too, because the hum of anxiety lacing her syrupy-sweet tone finally bleeds into her body. Her muscles lock, visibly entering fight or flight. 

That’s Peter’s cue.

“Is there a problem?” Peter’s voice is like a knife in the dark, popping the bubble and making the two flinch.

“Who the fuck are you?” Paul sneers, face slack and ugly from drink. “The fuck you think you’re doing, butting in?”

Peter ignores him, glancing towards Scarlett, who flicks her eyes between them and the rest of the alleyway. Unfortunately, there’s only one entrance and he’s blocking it. Out of options, Scarlett plasters herself to the wall.

“This is between the lady and me.” Paul is still talking, stumbling towards Peter, “But I’m a nice guy, so I’m going to give you a chance to turn ‘round and walk away.”

“Generous, but I’ll have to decline.” Peter murmurs and crosses the distance, invading his space before the man can respond. The promise of violence always lights something in Peter’s stomach, but for all the man’s shit-talking, the fight, if it can even be called that, is pathetic. Paul is so drunk Peter can taste it in the air, and his spidersense doesn’t even bother kicking in as he dodges one wobbly punch after the other. 

He doesn’t bother dragging it out. It only takes one good fist to the gut to drop Paul to the ground, followed by one good kick to the chest to keep him there. The aftermath is anticlimactic, awkward silence punctuated only by the rattling wheeze of the unconscious man beneath him.

Even pulling his punches, Peter probably cracked his ribs. It would take more effort than he’s got to feel sorry, especially since Scarlett is still glued to the wall, eyes trained on him and practically vibrating with adrenaline.

Slowly, Peter creates some space, backing out of the alleyway so he’s not obstructing the exit. “You gonna be alright?”

“Yeah.” Her reply is curt and wary, but Peter isn’t offended. He knows what he looks like, looming in the dark with his ratty clothes and unkempt beard. Best thing he can do to convince her of her safety is to walk away. 

So he does just that, and he’s almost halfway down the block when he hears her behind him, clacking heels loudly in the chill night air, “Wait!”

Peter pauses, turning around. 

Scarlett stops a few meters away, clutching the strap of her gym bag over her chest. “Sorry. That was rude of me. Thank you.”

Under the streetlights, her face is striking. Her bright green eyes are smoky and sensual, with bold cheekbones and dark lips framed by wisps of red hair falling out of a messy bun. She’s exactly the type of woman Peter would fantasize about back in Rykers, the kind he would see on pinups in Marko’s cell- tall and feminine, with lean legs and a waist Peter could span with both hands. 

The resolute look on her face reminds him so much of M-

He shunts that thought as soon as it appears.

“Don’t worry about it,” Peter responds with a shrug. He’s not stupid enough to lecture a grown woman about walking the streets at night. “Was there something else?”

Scarlett chews on her lip, eyes flicking back to the alley before settling on Peter for a few long beats. Whatever she sees in him makes her sigh, and some of the tension leeches from her shoulders. “Feel like walking a girl to her job?” 

Peter is a little surprised, and he takes a second to consider, mostly so he doesn’t look threatening, then nods, “Where to?” 

“Maggies.” At his confused look, she raises a brow, “Saint Margaret’s?” 

Still not ringing a bell, “Is that a…church?” He doesn’t remember any Saint Margaret’s in his Brooklyn, and it just reinforces that fish-out-of-water feeling that’s been choking him for the past few months.

“A church, sure.” Scarlett snorts derisively, laughing under her breath. When Peter doesn’t join in, she shoots him a wide-eyed look, “Oh. You’re serious. It’s an dance bar”  

Walking at night makes more sense now. That, and the obvious stage name. “I don’t know where that is. I’m…kind of new in town.”

“I can see that,” She says, and the gold of her hoop earrings catches the light as she falls in step beside him. Peter keeps his strides short and even, staying in her line of vision as they walk. It doesn’t escape his notice that she’s still got her keys between her knuckles, though they’re no longer clutched in a tight fist, “What brought you to New York, Mr. Good Samaritan?”

“Peter.” He says. “I was looking for a fresh start and kind of washed up here,” Peter feels like he’s being called out on some lie, as if anyone glancing in his direction will peg that he doesn’t belong.

But Scarlet is just nodding, unawares, “Nice to meet you, Peter. And I get it. That's why I moved here, too. It might take a bit of time to get your bearings, but it's worth it when you do." They’re heading down the street, taking a turn on 81st that should have led into a main thoroughfare but doesn’t, instead turning into another little set of streets full of gated-off shops covered in graffiti. Even the gang signs don’t look the same. He tries not to think about it.

“I appreciate what you did,” Scarlett is saying, “Paul’s been a pushy bastard but I thought it was all drunk bravado, you know? I never believed he’d actually follow me. I’m glad you were there, but I’m sorry it had to end in violence.”

Resorting to violence is one of Peter’s favorite pastimes, but he’s absolutely not going to admit that out loud. Instead, he hums, tucking his hands into his stained hoodie, “Some people only listen when it's fists talking. Hopefully the lesson sticks.” Peter frowns, “You said he followed you, does that mean he knows where you live?”

Men like that tend to hold grudges. Especially if they've been had their head knocked around in an alleyway.

“Thank god, no.” She shudders next to him, gripping the strap of her bag a little tighter at the thought, “He caught me coming from my day job. I’ll have to tell Weasel to put him on the blacklist for the club though…and change my shift. Ugh.” 

Peter nods in sympathy. Shiting schedules between two jobs is going to be a nightmare. “Weasel?” 

“The owner of Maggie’s.” She clarifies.

“Your boss is named Weasel?” Yikes. Peter can’t imagine what kind of shit someone had to do to earn that nickname.

“Yeah.” She laughs, “But don’t let the name fool you, he’s weird but he’s decent. There are lots of other clubs in the area but Weas lets us have a bigger cut than most other places. Plus, we get to set our own rules.” 

They cut the street, avoiding some dark patches where the streetlights gave out.

“That’s good.” Peter agrees, “Otherwise this is a pretty sketchy walk for a small paycheck.”  

It really is a sketchy walk, and his spidersense pings at odd moments, though nothing comes out of it save the odd junkie that wanders out of the shadows.

“I’ve had worse,” Scarlett shrugs, finally tucking her keys back into her purse. The stiff line of her shoulders has completely melted away now that they’re in what Peter assumes is familiar territory. “This is nothing compared to my last job.” 

“Which was?” 

“Telemarketing.”

Peter would rather take his chances soloing Thanos. “Point taken.” 

“We’re almost there. Just down the road.” Scarlett points one long acrylic nail toward a looming brick building punctuating the street. Peter wouldn’t have given it a second thought if not for the single garish neon sign of a scantily dressed nun at the corner, directing his attention towards a nondescript door.

“Welcome to Saint Margaret’s School for Wayward Children,” Scarlett enunciates each word with an eyebrow waggle, grinning when Peter cracks a smile. “Finest entertainment this side of Brooklyn. Thanks for walking me.” 

Peter doesn’t doubt it, especially if Scarlett is where they set the bar for dancers. “No worries. Stay safe, yeah?” Then he turns, intending to keep walking until his head is empty.

Scarlett pauses with her hand on the door, “You’re not going to come in?” 

“Not really my scene.” A true statement, one that doesn’t have to acknowledge that Peter is capital-b Broke. Hard to get a proper-paying job when he doesn’t legally exist. He’s done a few gigs under the table, but the last few weeks have left Peter sleeping on empty rooftops with an emptier stomach. 

“Really? I was hoping I could treat you to a drink. It’s the least I can do.” Scarlett sounds disappointed.

“You don’t owe me anything.” 

She puts a hand on her hip, “Fine. Let’s consider it a celebratory drink then.”

“For?”

“Ugh,” Scarlett rolls her eyes. There’s no way she doesn’t know how charming that is. “For getting rid of Paul. Making new friends- whatever you want.”

Peter huffs a small laugh, “Friends? We just met.” 

It’s not an outright refusal, because Peter is weak for the first real taste of human contact he’s had in months, and Scarlett smirks like she scents blood, “What can I say? I got a good feeling about you.”

Peter snorts. Now that’s a first. 

“C’mon, Tiger. One drink. What have you got to lose?”

Peter exhales a long, slow breath, “Nothing.”

[margotw10bis]

Because We're Friends.JJK [m] Welcome Back 2

bestfriend!Jungkook x female Reader

Genre: drabble; smut (basically just porn)

Words: 3.8k

Synopsis: Things are back to normal with your best friend, except that Jungkook is now guiding you to the restroom of the restaurant to fuck you.

Warnings: oral sex (m. receiving); dom!jk/sub!reader; unprotected sex; rough sex; public sex; praising kink; big dick jk; hair pulling; hands restrained; spanking; crying of how good sex is; some bitings; cum eating (i think that's all)

Part 1

A new thing appeared in your relationship with your best friend: a huge, heavy silence on the night he came back from military. It's not like you're willing to talk about it and you came to think that acting like nothing happened is actually a good way to preserve your friendship. And time seems to give you affirmation.

It has been three months since 'it' occurred and Jungkook hasn't tried to get into your pants again. He hasn't acted strange, hasn't acted shy or ashamed. He is just his normal self — the sweet and kind best friend that you know.

For you, it's quite the same, even if you were first afraid that it might change things between you and your best friend. You were a little reluctant at first to hug or initiate physical contacts with Jungkook but when you realized that your friendship wasn't in danger, you just started to act like usual.

Everyone was and is happy in the best of worlds.

So why is Jungkook harshly squeezing your arm while he is dragging you towards the restrooms of the bar?

He pushes the door, quickly pushes you inside and almost slams the door behind you two. You've never seen him like that: furrowed brows, clenched jaws and even blacker eyes. He looks like he could commit a murder. He is definitely mad and the way he is breathing — deeply through his nose — is a clear sign that he cannot calm down.

You can only look at your feet like a child who is about to get scolded. For what? You have no idea... The night was going so well. It was nothing out of the ordinary since you were with Jungkook and a few of your commons friends at the bar you used to go before Jungkook's military service. Really, everything was normal. Jimin was making jokes, Hoseok was getting drunk sipping on his beer, Namjoon was trying to explain to your best friend a theory on physics. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Except that Jungkook got suddenly angry when Mingyu wrapped his arm around your shoulders. It's not even like it hasn't happened before. To be honest, you got closer to Mingyu when Jungkook was in the army, not that he could have ever replaced your best friend. Yet, you got to spend more time with Mingyu and you got to genuinely appreciate his company. Hanging out with your friends, it was not rare that Mingyu got a little... tactile with you — nothing inappropriate. And if Jungkook were truly honest, he'd admit that Mingyu was just acting like Jungkook has done with you a hundred of times.

But Jungkook won't ever admit it because Mingyu is not your best friend, Jungkook is. Jungkook is the one who came to your place at midnight to get rid off a spider because you were afraid. The one who got to run to the convenience store to buy tampons for you. The one who fucked you on his couch. Not fucking Mingyu.

And now your best friend is boiling with rage that Mingyu dared to be this physical with you. Why would you let a man touch you like that? If you need someone to touch you, you should ask Jungkook, just like he did during his welcome back party.

"You have nothing to say?" Jungkook asks harshly and you don't even know what to answer

You find the floor very interesting right now and you hope that your best friend will too so you can distract him. Unfortunately, it doesn't work.

"When did you get this close to Mingyu?" He questions after loudly sighing

You're quite surprised by this question. Is Mingyu the reason of his sudden anger? It doesn't make sense. Mingyu and Jungkook are indeed close friends. Is it bad that you are also friends with Jungkook's ones?

"When you went to the army" You mumble, not knowing if your answer will smooth or worsen the situation

It seems like it's the second one as Jungkook clenches his jaws again and you're afraid he'll break his teeth.

"Are you that desperate to be fucked?"

Your eyes immediately widen and your mouth falls open. What the hell?!

You would argue if your best friend's lips are not crashing into yours in only one second. This harsh kiss brings you back to the first — and only — time you were intimate with Jungkook. The same overwhelming sensations build in your body, heat your body. Jungkook kisses you firmly, just like he wants to punish you, his teeth clenching with yours from time to time.

Out of instinct, you wrap your arms around his neck — his hair is longer now and it is tickling your fingers — and his hands travel down to squeeze your ass and bring you as close as possible to his body.

It's quite easy to forget that you shouldn't do that with your best friend, especially in a public place but you can't think anymore. And when you clearly feel your panties getting wet and you moan at a rough spank on your right asscheek, you realize that Jungkook was right: you are desperate to be fucked by him.

You genuinely thought that you concealed that night. You locked it far, far, far away in your brain but body memory? It doesn't lie. Now that you can feel Jungkook again, you can't distract your brain from your needs, aka Jungkook's cock.

You haven't had sex ever since that time on your best friend's couch and you didn't realize as much you missed it until now. Somewhat, you haven't even looked for another man because you had the feeling that no one could make you feel like Jungkook does. And now, you're sure of it.

The way he is manhandling you is insane and so fucking good. You let him push you against the countertop and press his hard cock against your lower belly. You get even hornier when Jungkook captures your lower lip between his teeth and bites on it, making you bleed a little.

"You haven't answered my question" He whispers with a deep voice, his lips brushing against yours and driving you crazy "Do you want to get fucked that bad?"

Cockiness and smirk paint his face but you cannot deny.

"Yes" You concede and you're surprised not to feel ashamed by your confession — after all, Jungkook is your best friend and you've never felt the need to lie to him

Jungkook grabs one of your hands and guides it to his crotch area. You gasp when you feel how hard and big he is in your palm.

"Did you miss this dick?"

You nod, biting your swollen lower lip.

"Then show it" He orders

You immediately get that he is back to his dominant side, the side that he only seems to show during sex and gosh, it turns you on.

With a swift move, Jungkook steers your body so your back is against the door and exerts pressure on your shoulders to get you on your knees. You look so fucking submissive this way and Jungkook really has to control himself: for that, he takes one second to exhale deeply before his eyes land once again on you and your innocent face. You're faced with the impressive bulge in his pants and your cheeks are burning, which makes it impossible for you to take your eyes off of it and your mouth waters.

"Are you going to be a good girl and suck my cock?" He asks while unbuttoning his dark jeans

"Yes" You whisper, mesmerized by his hard member being unwrapped

You know Jungkook's dick, you even had it in you but jeez, seeing it face-to-cock it's something else... It's so big, so thick, how can you even take the tip in your mouth? However, you just can't wait to have just one physical contact with it and you squirm as you try to give a tiny friction to your soaked pussy.

"Open wide for me, baby" He says, his voice softer but his tone cockier

You execute and you literally drool when Jungkook pushes his tip on your tongue. He tastes so good that your eyes roll back. To get fully control, he keeps your head still against the wooden door and starts some light strokes, testing the waters — or more like your gag reflex. When he goes too deep, you choke but rather than to push him away, you look at him with your watery eyes to tell him that you're okay.

"Fuck, baby, don't look at me like that" He curses lowly

You look way too innocent with your big eyes glistening with lust and tears, which is a huge contrast with your mouth full of cock.

Your silent permission and the pleasure growing in him, Jungkook can't control himself anymore: he starts settling a quick pace while fucking your mouth. His dick twitches whenever you choke around him. At this point, you don't know if your chin, covered by a mix of saliva and pre cum, is wetter than your cunt.

You can feel Jungkook's hands tightening around your head as his pleasure builds up. He doesn't acknowledge that he is tugging on your hair but it's okay — you actually like it. He frowns and rolls his head back and you can't help but think that he is really, really hot like that.

"That's my good girl" He praises when you try to caress the downside of his dick with your tongue despite it making you choke

It's so fucking scandalous to have your mouth used like this by your best friend in a fucking restaurant. And gosh, the way the door jiggles loudly every time he deep-throats you is so arousing. You're sure — and so is Jungkook — that if someone gets close to the restroom, they will definitely hear the loud sounds of this messy blowjob, your gaggings and the light grunts of your best friend.

You try your best to keep your mouth open as much as you can, denying the ache of your jaws. You won't admit it but you think that you're more turned on than Jungkook right now — and that says a lot regarding how hard he is at the moment. When your eyes land on his dick, you realize that despite being at the back of your throat, a good part of his length is still untouched. You're amazed by how huge Jungkook is, and you just can't wait for him to fuck you like last time.

You get to take a huge gulp of air when your best friend finally pull out of your mouth. Both your lips and his dick are coated in saliva, making the scene extremely hot. Even your top is wet by the drool that escaped your mouth during the blowjob and Jungkook smirks when he thinks that not only Mingyu but everyone is going to see it when you'll step out of this fucking restroom.

Your best friend helps you to stand up and urges you to lean on the countertop. Facing the mirror, you're speechless at your reflexion: you look like a maniac! Your makeup is basically ruined with mascara smudged around your eyes, your foundation is completely gone on half of your face and your lipstick is everywhere except on your lips.

Automatically, you attempt to fix a little bit your messy hair but Jungkook catches your attention when he buries his face in the crook of your neck, pressing his hard and wet dick against your ass and earning an impatient whine from you. You would love to scold him for sucking on the thin skin of your throat because you would like to avoid making it obvious that he fucked you but you can't: your brain is far, far, far away on the pleasure island.

"I'm gonna fuck so, so good, baby" He purrs and you suck on air "Rest your head on the counter for me"

You nod before executing and you can't help but moan when you feel your jeans and your soaked panties getting slide down your legs. You cannot see what Jungkook is doing but you feel his hot breathe on your asscheeks, drawing goosebumps on your skin.

Suddenly, a harsh slap lands on your ass. While you're doing your best to conceal your tears, your best friend watches in awe the red mark appearing. But because he could never get enough of just one spank, he gives you another one.

"Do you know how beautiful you are like this?"

He doesn't really need an answer, and he doesn't let you answer anyway since he slaps your butt again. You hiss every time and the tears roll down your cheeks but gosh, your pussy is so wet that it's embarrassing...

"Spread your ass for me" He orders

With shaky hands, you grab your cheeks and show your intimacy to Jungkook. You feel so submissive right now, so exposed but at the same time, you know damn well why you're doing all of that: you desperately want him to praise you. You liked it so much the last time and he hasn't praised you a lot so far. This thought makes you pout but you hide it by turning your face a bit against the cold marble of the countertop.

"Look at your little pussy" He coos "So fucking cute, all wet for me, right?" You nod but Jungkook gives your clit a rough slap to which to react by a loud whine and a sob "Didn't I tell you already to answer when I ask a question?"

"Sorry" You reply with a timid voice "It's all wet for you"

"Good girl" Jungkook says as he enters your dripping cunt with two fingers "Gonna stretch you a little"

Your moans get louder when he combines his fingering with circles on your clit with his thumb. It's like you have no self control as you grind in his hand. You are looking for your release and the way his digits explore your inside is divine. However, Jungkook is not looking for your orgasm: his finger-fuck is only practical. He just has to prep your pussy before entering you with his — huge — cock.

You pout when your best friend pulls off his fingers from your wet cunt. You turn your head to protest but what you see makes you speechless. Jungkook is licking your juices on his fingers and hums in delight — he embodies sins so well. He whispers something like "sweet" but you're not sure as he speaks so lowly. Jungkook is way too sexy to be handled. Just seeing him doing that makes your legs weak...

Rather he is not aware of your inner thoughts or he doesn't care, Jungkook brings you back to the moment when he grabs his dick at the base and brushes his tip on your sensitive bud. The sweet moan that you make is music to his ears and he presses harder just to hear it again.

'What am I going to do with you?' He thinks to himself. You look so precious, so kind and innocent but he knows damn well that you loved how he fucked you rough last time. It boosts his ego to be the only one to acknowledge this part of you. No one, not even your closest friends or your ex-boyfriends, knows it and it's driving your best friend crazy. A sudden wave of possessiveness takes control of his actions and he starts drawing hickeys on your ass.

Satisfied by his work, he goes back to his initial mission: fucking you.

He takes his time to push his tip into you, trying as best as he can not to hurt you. Sure, he fucked you already but you're still tight — especially with the way you're keeping your asscheeks spread for him — and most importantly, you're still his best friend. He doesn't want to hurt you, even when his horniness is blurring his vision.

"How are you feeling?" He grunts when the tip of his cock has disappeared

"So good" You reply, your voice full of lust

You absolutely love how stretched you feel, so much that a shiver of pleasure runs down your spine. At this point, you know that you love your best friend's dick and you don't know if you can get enough of it... It's so big that the border with pain is constantly brushed. And this feeling is even more obvious when Jungkook pushes deeper and deeper until your pussy is full of his cock.

"You're so big" You whine out of delight, the slight burn of the stretching makes your eyes watery

"Missed your tight pussy" He says between gritted teeth as he focuses on where your bodies connects — he is amazed by how well you're taking his dick

Your words definitely enhance his ego. Jungkook secures his big hands on your shoulders and wastes no time. He starts pounding you, harshly. The force that he uses shakes your whole body and you now understand why he holds you by the shoulders: otherwise, you'd be crushed into the countertop. It's so good that your mouth hangs open and no sound can't form as air is kicked out of your lungs.

You can't help but press your hands on the marble to be a little more steady. However, now that your ass is free, the very loud and sinful sounds of your skin clapping fill the room. It's so hot that your pussy clenches around your best friend's cock. You absolutely love the sensation of your asscheeks being slapped by his lower abs and thighs, enhanced by his harsh dick strokes.

However, for your best friend's taste, you're a little too free... In order to rectify that fact, Jungkook grabs your arms and pins them in your back thanks to a good grip of his right hand. You hate to admit how much to love it and how wet it makes you. Jungkook is so dominant when it comes to sex and you happily fulfill the submissive part that he wants. Fucking you like this, hard and deep, is overwhelming. So much that you don't acknowledge that tears roll down your cheeks and drool down your chin.

"You missed with cock, uh?" He teases you, his smirk noticeable in his voice

"Yes, yes, yes!" You chant, delirious

"You should have told me, I would have fucked you already" He whispers in your ear like a seductive snake, burying his hard member even deeper "We're friends right? And friends help each other when they're in need"

You don't quite know what to answer to that but it doesn't really matter because Jungkook gathers your hair in a fist ponytail and roughly tugs on it to lift up your face.

"Look how naughty you look, being fucked in the fucking restroom like a whore" He says and god, he is right

You look like a mess. Worse, lust is written on your whole face. You couldn't deny that you didn't like that, especially with the way your cunt tightens. You are definitely aroused by the way Jungkook fucks you in this very place.

"You're such a good little whore for me" His words of claim are accompanied by a bite on your shoulder that makes you whine

"Kook" You moan but don't know what to say

Your brain is not working as it should. All you can think about is how good this huge cock is making you feel. You absolutely love being pounded like this by your best friend.

"You should cum soon, you don't want someone to find out how naughty you are, do you?" He teases but your walls throb and Jungkook looks at you with a mix of surprise and awe in the mirror "Such a slut! You actually love that!"

In one second, he grabs your waist and without even pulling out of your pussy, he presses you against the door and remains to his rough fuck.

Your boobs and cheek are squished against the wood and you're quite panicked by the way the frame shakes every time Jungkook bottoms up.

"Go ahead, let anyone know how good you're being fucked" He mocks you but fuck, that's so hot that you can't help moaning his name "Say it louder" He commands and you obey

You're feeling too good to feel ashamed that someone has certainly heard you groaning your best friend's name. To be precise, a mix of groans and sobs.

"I love fucking your cute little pussy" He praises as a vicious hand travels down to reach your clit

The circles drew on your sensitive bud make your legs weak. You look for support as your hands clench around Jungkook's strong arm around your waist.

Jungkook's fingers are nothing shy. Quite the opposite: his circles on your clit are fast, making you seeing stars. You whine and moan and cry of how good is it, especially combined with his hard pounding.

"I'm gonna come" You notify

Jungkook presses his fit body against yours and whispers in your ears with a sweet tone that contrasts with his behavior:

"Go ahead, baby, cum on my cock"

You lose it.

Your best friend's fucking and his soft, caring voice are a menace. The tension that was building in your stomach releases all over you and your whole body shakes with your orgasm. Your nails dig deeply in Jungkook's arm flesh but he doesn't care. Not when you're so cute crying and cumming on his cock right here, right now.

"That's my good girl" He coos and gosh, you're embarrassed by the way your pussy clenches while you just came

"Kook, you need to—" You sound desperate and Jungkook cuts you off

He suddenly pulls off, leaving your soaked cunt empty and you immediately miss him. He gestures you to get back on your knees and you understand what he wants. While you open your mouth wide, you watch in awe your best friend jerking himself off. Fuck, he looks so hot! The way his abs flex, his biceps jiggle, his veiny hand works on his huge cock — coated with your own juices... You're losing your mind. That might be the sexiest thing you've ever seen.

Out of instinct, you poke your tongue out, maybe just to have a chance to taste his length again. For Jungkook, it's a vision of heaven. His very sweet and innocent best friend, completely ruined in the restroom of a restaurant where all your friends are, waiting to swallow his cum. That should be illegal — quite sure that is it, to be honest — but he wouldn't trade this view for nothing.

"You're going to swallow it all, right?" He purrs, faking innocence while he is pure evil

You nod obediently and your best friend cannot resist anymore. With a low growl, he pushes his tip on your tongue and shots his white and thick cum in your mouth. You swallow the salty liquid and, like you know he'd appreciate it, you show him your empty mouth.

"That's my good girl" He approuves, giving a gentle peck in your forehead, letting you know that he is back to his usual best friend behavior

You stand up on shaky legs and gasp at your reflexion in the mirror: you need some work to make you presentable again.

"So" Jungkook starts while he shoves his soft dick back in his briefs and pants "Tell me when you need something. You should feel free to speak your mind, Y/N, because we're friends, best friends"

You nod to him in the mirror, a shy smile on your lips because how do you tell your best friend that you love when he fucks you?

[rjthirsty]

"I'm Pregnant" with IkePri

We've seen how dating, their first time, and engagement proposals pan out, but what Cybird will never deliver to us is that pivotal moment that MC tells one of the LIs that she's expecting.

This is just my idea of how it will work out with each suitor. MC is AFAB, and all suitors are AMAB. Obvious mentions of pregnancy lie ahead. Just a fun little exercise to test out drabbles. 

[7/21] Jin, Chevalier, and Gilbert done

Jin

Jin is the king of pulling out, but somewhere along the line, he slipped up and it resulted in nothing so he started to get lax. Somewhere along the line, you two stopped worrying about it. More times than not he still denies you the creampie that it turns out he enjoys seeing seep out of you. But now you're late, and maybe you two should have been more vigilant.

It's hard to find the words. You confirmed it with a physician, and you know you need to tell him, but having a baby with a commoner churns up trauma for Jin, and you're afraid he'll turn you out.

He's worried. You have never looked so ashen. When you said you needed to talk, he dropped everything to give you time. His large hand palms your cheek. He dips down to look into your eyes. And in a voice that has helped you through countless times he says “Whatever it is, it'll be okay.”

“I'm pregnant.” You finally manage. 

Shock leaves him wide-eyed in surprise. It takes him a moment to zip through the thoughts that spring into his mind - a million possibilities, questions, and outcomes on what he'd do if this day had ever come. Then a grin lights up his face and you almost miss it as he wraps his arms around you and lifts you off the ground to hug tightly to him, spinning around from the sheer joy of having a child with you.

He's better than his father. And you're not his mother. And the world is a different place with the two of you together. He's more excited than you thought he'd be. He talks to your stomach even before the child can hear him. He wants to princess carry you everywhere. And he introduces you as the mother of his children.

Chevalier

The way Chev looked at you after you told him the news was chilling - not because it was his icy stare that had silenced rooms and struck fear in children, but because you had never seen him… scared. He was scared. The news was not happily recieved as you thought it would be.

As the two of you prepared for bed and you talked of your day, you broke the news with excitement and turned to see him stunned and staring. “Chevalier?” You called to him. His eyes cut from your belly to your face.

“It's okay. You're not a beast, and I'm not afraid of you.” Attempting to soothe his worries, you moved closer and slowly snuggled into his chest. “I'd be lucky to have a child just like you, because you're an amazing man.”

He relaxed in your arms, his own arms surrounded you as he dropped his chin to put his lips on your head. “I'd rather have a child like you who can love someone like me. You may never understand him if he's like me.”

“But I don't need to to love him.”

From that day forward, Chevalier dove into reading about medical studies and other literature on pregnancy, labor, and delivery. He stated checking up on you more often and bringing you all sorts of items said to help with pregnancy issues. He would have delivered your child himself except thankfully Clavis helped you talk him out of it. There are some things you'd rather he not be in the middle of.

Gilbert

“Do you want me to tell him?” Walter asked, a serious note in his voice.

“No. I want him to hear it from me.”

You knew the news of family was not a joyous thing in Obsidian. Especially for Gilbert. The land of deceit and decay, where families had murdered families for generations. Where the Emperor carried the sins of the Obsidian line that had wrought death and bloodshed countless times across this kingdom and others.

Gil had wanted to end it. To stop his line from continuing. And here you were, pregnant with his child. He wouldn't hurt you you were certain, but he might actually lock you up this time in order to prevent anybody else from hurting you. He could if he wanted. But living like that would leave everyone unhappy.

In order to prevent another bed-chaining, you visit him in his study. Before you made it two steps inside the room, he stood from his chair and moved towards you, worry clouding his face. He felt your anxiety. Something was not right with you, and he knew it.

“I'm fine,” you assured him as he quickly looked you over. “I just… have something to tell you.”

Gil's perfect smile covered up his momentary worry. “Surely, no one has bothered my little rabbit. Yet your heart is racing like the day we met.”

“No, no one has bothered me.” You step closer to him and wrap your arms around him, trapping him in place. With a lean of your back, you lock onto his single red eye to show how serious you are, and plainly explain, “I'm pregnant.”

His hands fly out, snatching you close to him as he squeezed you against his chest, holding onto you like you might somehow slip away if he were to let go. This is not the first time he has done this. You brace against him, giving him at least a few seconds of his desperate hugging before it begins to feel like he'll crush you. It always goes like this. 

“Gil! Gilbert, please. I can't breathe.”

He relinquished you, and as you gasped lungfuls of air, he scooped you up and strode out the door. “Wait! Gil! Where are we going?”

You were used to the palace by now that you knew he was headed towards his bedroom. Even if he didn't answer, you could already see how this was going to go. “Put me down! I am not going to be locked up and hidden away. That is not how you treat people you love.”

“Do you presume you can order me around?”

“No, but if you do this, I will never forgive you.”

Gilbert slowed his steps and came to a stop. In his eye you could see emotion wavering, and while you hadn't learned how to read him as well as he knew how to read you, you had learned to see the different sides of him that he only shared with you. 

“Now,” you began calmly, “I'll make some tea, and we can talk about this. At a table. With no shackles or rope.”

“I’m so weak to your requests. At least let me lock the doors so no one can bother us.”

“You can lock the doors if I get the key to them during our talk.”

Gilbert's biggest fear is losing someone he loves. He recognizes he has desires to control and cage MC to keep her safe from others, but he also knows those desires are not acceptable. He's at the mercy of his emotions, and despite being a genius, he often acts on whims, especially relating to MC. I'd love to explore this further. See how far we can push him.

[sewersaga]

HOPEDRUNK EVERASKING: moze, jing yuan, aventurine x reader

header art creds: nixeu on patreon! pls go support them bc this is almost exactly how i picture reader lol

pairings: foxian reader x unnamed individual (for the plot,) foxian reader x moze, foxian reader x jing yuan, foxian reader x aventurine(end game), (all separately but in the same timeline she's an old slutty fox ok)

warnings: implied sa/coerced sex, trauma tm, sexual cotent (the closest i'll EVER get to smut, too much yapping, none of the pairings except the last one are healthy so if you're a moze or jy stan idk what to tell you, no names are used on purpose but it's pretty obvious who's who, the first man is not a canon character!! read this for more context on the last few paragraphs

bee talk: this is an extension to the aforementioned fic set in @kii-nami and i’s hsr universe! (hence the mention of her gorgeous angelic lovely glorious oc alisa in the last section) i owe her my high school diploma and firstborn child

word count: 11.5k

When you were a little girl, you dreamed of a fairy tale romance.

You’d hide your face behind your books, pretending to study the various medicines and their uses so not as to fail your tutor’s harsh examinations, but your mind was worlds away. Back then, nothing was off limits, nothing too selfish, too rash, too inconceivable. 

Yes, a noble youth would indeed one day sweep you off your feet, and take you far, far away from this life filled with pressures and scorn. It was a naive little dream, but it was all yours nonetheless. 

At night, awake amongst your schoolwork and your notes, you’d imagine what such a man would be like. He had to be handsome, of course. Charming. Being rich would be a nice bonus, too.

He had to be able to make you laugh when the expectations of your family made you want to curl up in a ball and cry. And when you inevitably shattered, he’d have to be willing to piece you back together again. 

When you were a young adult, freshly graduated and bright eyed, you learned that real life romance didn’t work that way. You couldn’t just conjure up an image of your ideal suitor and expect him to materialize before you like magic. Still, your heart had an irksome little tendency to attach itself to the wrong people. 

The first one came to you, bruised and bloodied. 

Battle had wrought upon him its fair share of injuries, crimson red in various states of drying smeared upon his tanned skin. Despite his condition, the only wound you were tasked to stitch was a small gash on his chest, a few centimeters below his collarbone. 

Despite not being new anymore,  the contusions your brother assigned you to treat were nothing more than busy work for someone of your knowledge. You got the feeling he wanted to keep you as far away from the horrors of war as possible, but one didn’t need to see dying men to hear their mournful cries. 

The man winced as you stitched his laceration closed, casting his gaze somewhere behind you, fixed upon the dead and the dying that surrounded him. “Did you need more painkillers?” 

He blinked, turning back to you as if remembering your presence. “No. It doesn’t hurt.”

“Oh,” You spoke softly, your hands never halting their ministrations. The wound was small enough that you were already almost done, and considering his overall condition, the pinching pain of the needle was probably the least of his worries. “You flinched, so I thought I was hurting you.”

“It’s not you,” You felt his gaze upon you, and hyper focused on your work, you refused to look into his eyes, afraid of what you might find there. “Have you ever seen a patient die?”

You stopped abruptly, his sudden inquiry leaving you sufficiently rattled. “What?” You looked up, but his attention was elsewhere, focused upon the other wounded patients in various states of agony. Realizing he wasn’t going to elaborate and meant exactly what he had asked, you sighed. “Not one of my patients, no. But in this line of work, people are always going to die.”

He laughed, and you bristled, tying off a surgeon’s knot with more force than intended. “Aren’t you too young to be speaking like that?” He craned his head to look down at you, his tail swaying slowly behind him with mild amusement. “How old are you, anyways?”

“Not much younger than you,” You replied, beginning the final stitch. “Haven’t you ever learned it’s rude to ask a woman her age?” He chuckled again, and you poked the skin of his chest. “Stay still, or I’ll never finish.”

“What if that’s what I want?” He asked, rather brazenly, and you shook your head almost subconsciously. 

“I don’t care what you want,” You tied off the final knot. “And unless you want to end up like those dead patients you care so much about, make sure to keep this clean.” You put your instruments to the side and he leaned back, letting out a sigh of relief. You realized then that despite what he had said, the process had been rather painful, if not uncomfortable at the very least. “And try to stay alive, alright?”

“Sure, sure. I look forward to seeing you again.” He stood up, stretching with a light groan despite the mangled state his body was in. You watched him limp away with mild horror as he threw you an absentminded wave. 

“You won’t.” You stated resolutely, but he was already too far down to hear you. 

He was right, of course. You saw him again on many, many different occasions. Sometimes he’d have a minor wound that just absolutely required your attention. Other times he requested a consultation with his favorite medical professional over whatever splendid meal your brother and the other cooks had prepared for dinner. The night he stole you away from the camp, you realized you’d fallen for him.

You watched him under the waning moonlight, sharing a bottle of rice liquor he’d somehow taken from the field hospital. He’d worked his way into your heart rather easily. But it wasn’t a bad thing then, your vulnerability, your propensity to fall wholly and completely.

“You’re such a liar, [Name].” Despite addressing you directly, he didn’t meet your gaze, his own fixed upon the stars. 

“What do you mean?” He took a swig of liquor. There were so many stars that night. 

“You act like you don’t give a shit,” You scoffed abruptly, snatching the bottle from his loose hold. The liquid burned your throat. You weren’t yet used to drinking, and your mind felt clouded with a heady sort of fogginess. “But you care about every single one of those patients more than anyone else.” 

“I don’t.” You shake your head, blinking away your disorientation. You stared ahead, and your head felt so heavy that your body began to lean upon him almost subconsciously. “I don’t care.”

“You’re a liar,”  He repeated, much softer. His hand cautiously wound its way upon your back to adjust you to an upright position, but found itself more comfortable around your waist. You didn’t move, nor did you complain. “It’s not a weakness, you know. Caring about people.”

“You think I don’t know that?” You spoke bitterly, but hardly above a whisper. He was so close then that you could hear every breath, feel the rising and falling of his chest. He lifted the bottle to his lips with a shaking hand. “If I care about them, and they all die, then what does that leave me with?”

“Your heart,” He was so close then. Your head felt so heavy. The stars were blurry and bright. “Your empathy. Lose that, and then there would really be nothing left of you.” 

“You have the wrong idea of me.” You were hardly aware of the way you were nuzzling yourself further into his side, conscious only of the warmth of his body, and barely of the words he spoke almost directly into your ear. 

“You can say that, but you know that I’m right,” The hand around your waist pulled you closer into himself, as if such a thing were even possible. Your vision was hazy, and every sensation felt amplified. “I like you, [Name].” You parted your lips to respond, but they were met with the mouth of the bottle that he held to your lips. You swallowed as he tilted it upwards, no longer feeling the pain of its acrid taste upon your tongue. His free hand found your chin as he set the bottle somewhere on the ground beside you, wiping a stray drop of liquor from your bottom lip. 

“I like you, too.” You said those four words for the first time, your face in his tight grip. He kissed you, tasting like rice liquor and fallen stars. 

He wasn’t anything like that imaginary lover you’d dreamed up as a little girl. Not even close. But still, you loved him, and he needed you. 

You had information he didn’t have, secrets discussed in clandestine rooms by ailing officers receiving treatment. You had a body to keep him warm at night, his grip upon you as tight as it was that night he kissed you under the stars. You gave him everything you had, even when the only thing you wanted was to be left alone.

Or, perhaps, the only thing you wanted was to be wanted. It didn’t matter, because everything soon came crumbling down, coating you in ashes and stardust. 

There was so much death, so much destruction. Had you known he was working with them you would have never—

But you had. You had unknowingly done the worst thing you could have ever done. And it was already done. They were already dead. There was nothing you could do to save them. 

So, you had no choice but to leave. Traitor, rogue, fool. All of these descriptors could be attributed to you. But they could never call you a liar, for you had never loved him with anything less than your whole heart. 

The second one appeared to pull you from the endless shadows of the abyss.

Some years after the disaster, you remained in the most desolate corners of the Yaoqing in an impromptu self imposed exile. Every night you’d lay down restlessly, tortured by the cries of the dead and damned echoing in your ears, and every morning you’d wake up with their blood between your teeth. It was an unbearable sort of existence, but every cell of your being knew that you deserved it. 

And you knew that you weren’t the one who suffered. Not really. You knew it was your cross to bear as the one responsible to live with the guilt of what you had done. Running away was selfish enough, and you found the endless punishment of remembering your misdeeds each and every day to be more than fitting. 

And thus you punished yourself, every single day. Cold river baths, freezing nights spent underneath the elements, deadly medicine trials. You’d do anything to feel a fraction of the pain and suffering you’d indirectly wrought upon others.

Yes, you’d continued to hone your skills even under such circumstances, collecting medicinal herbs and creating various antidotal elixirs in the subconscious hope that one of them would kill you.  It was a self centered, cowardly wish, but it was all yours nonetheless. 

Each night you spent in exile, those long dashed dreams of romance turned into feverish vignettes of death. It teased you, seduced you relentlessly, and each time you awoke in a cold sweat, wasting away further and further by the day. Your obsession with self deprivation quickly grew out of hand, and you hadn’t realized how sick you were becoming despite the evidence making itself known upon your person. 

One night, you danced with death itself. It held you like you were the finest treasure in the world, kissed you like you were too good to give up. Death dripped venom upon your lips, and you swallowed it like sweet ambrosia. 

And then, it disappeared into nothing, crow-feathered and equally as fleeting. 

You didn’t wake up that morning. Or the next one. Or the morning after that. 

They told you that you’d been asleep for five days. The kind folks of a small village on the fringe of the Yaoqing had diligently cared for you, patched up the wounds from your exposure to the elements and nursed you through your medicine and hypothermia induced fever. 

They didn’t know who you were, of course. News traveled slowly to this region, and to them, you were simply a weary, sick traveler in need of their aid. 

It took a while to get them to tell you how you’d ended up here in the first place. Your impromptu research “base” had been far from all facets of civilization, you’d made sure of that fact. And of course, you weren’t exactly in the state to ask many questions when you’d first woken up. 

Once your fever had finally broken, the woman caring for you became candid about the good samaritan who’d saved your life. “He was an odd gentleman. Didn’t say a single word. Dark clothing, hood over his head, ashy hair. Brought you here cradled in his arms like you were a treasure.” You weren’t sure how to respond. 

You left early the next morning while the village was asleep. The night was so quiet, and with the whispers of your deal with death at your heels, you made for the forest from whence you came.

It took an entire day to make it back to your previous spot. Whoever the man was who brought you to your caretakers had to have had either superhuman speed, strength, or both. Not to mention the gall to disappear before you could thank him properly. 

It didn’t matter. Now that you were healed, you were ready to settle into your old routine.

But you realized while collecting some herbs for an antidote that it seemed a little odd to continue your pursuit for reprieve when someone, mysterious as he may be, had put so much effort to drag you from the abyss with his bare hands. 

Almost subconsciously, you dropped the handful of plants you were holding. Your body moved on its own while your mind remained preoccupied, searching every dark corner of the area for some sort of sign. The wind obfuscated your search, rustling the leaves of the trees, and your shadow taunted you with its insistent presence as the sun set in the westward direction of that little village.

Having thoroughly run through your options, you stopped in the middle of a clearing. You noticed for the first time after your long day of travel that you were exhausted, and suspected that perhaps you hadn’t fully healed from your bout of illness. Instinctively, your gaze drifted to a patch of the herbs from earlier just a few meters away from you, the bright flowers seeming to beckon to you. You stood up, intending to heed their call. Perhaps now was as good a time as any to—

“Looking for someone?” A quiet, almost uncertain voice spoke from the farthest reaches of the clearing. You froze, lithe fingers brushing against the leathery petals of the poisonous flower. 

Frightened and suddenly hopeful, you glanced over your shoulder only to find no one there. You turned your attention back to the flowers, and the wind pummeled at your back with unknown urgency. A ghostlike tap on your shoulder, and you turned around to find him standing behind you. 

Tall, hooded, clothed in dark hues, and ashen haired, he looked exactly as the woman had described him. Despite having shown himself to you, there was an air of insecurity to him, as if he was unsure of exactly why he’d done what he did. 

Still, he tilted his head at you inquisitively, seemingly content to stay silent until you’d given him an answer. 

“Yes,” He didn’t react, continuing to stare at you in that odd, unreadable way. “What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here?” He returned your question, his gaze flickering toward the patch of foliage behind you. “And after I took you all that way to the village.” 

“It was you.” You responded incredulously rather than answer his question. “I’ve been wanting to thank you, but they say you disappeared before I even woke up.” You tilted your head at him, mirroring his actions. “Why?”

“There was no further need for my presence.” He stated bluntly, once more glancing behind you. You fidgeted with your hands behind your back like a guilty child. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

“Oh,” You were sufficiently caught off guard by his lack of willingness to allow you to skirt around the question. “Well, I thought I might have left some things back here. Medicines and such,” You unwittingly and rather tellingly gestured to the plants that seemed to be so very intriguing to him. “Just wanted to come back and check.”

“Wrong answer,” He stated matter of factly, and your eyebrows furrowed. “You didn’t have much with you, but I left all your belongings and medicines with the villagers.” He blinked, his expression as unchanging as if he hadn’t completely called your bluff. “I made sure to warn them that one dose too many could kill the average Foxian.”

“How did you manage to carry me and my stuff too?” You quickly redirected the conversation, crossing your arms over your chest and sincerely hoping to distract him from discovering the real reason behind your return. 

“Simple. I have pockets.” He showed you the insides of his cloak, which were indeed outfitted with handy storage pockets. “And you aren’t exactly hard to carry.”

You reluctantly decided to continue your interrogation, much to your shared dismay.“Well, how did you find me here in the first place?” This particular question seemed to succeed in making him uncomfortable and he blinked quickly, seemingly caught off guard. “And why did you bring me there?” 

He closed his eyes momentarily, sighing resignedly. “I just happened to be passing through. You were unconscious, so I brought you to the nearest village.” He turned over his shoulder, walking back in the direction of the wooded area. “You ask too many questions.” 

“Well, thank you.” You called after him, quieter than intended. He didn’t respond.

He made it a few more steps towards the dense thicket before stopping abruptly, throwing a glance over his shoulder. “Aren’t you going to follow me?”

You hesitated. “Where?” 

“Back to the village. You’re still sick.” He stated as if his intentions were entirely obvious. You blinked, incredulous. 

You followed him back, of course, complaining and bitching. Because he was right, you were still sick. And he had to carry you most of the way there, which was rather awkward because this time you were actually conscious. 

But the main reason you allowed him to take you back to the little town was because he hadn’t properly answered your question about why he even saved you in the first place. Because there’s no way he simply stumbled upon you in the middle of a desolate forest, far from the rest of humanity, to say nothing of cell service. A part of you wondered if he just wanted someone to be indebted to him.

You weren’t sure, but you didn’t get that impression. He was blunt, but undeniably kind, stolid, but somehow charmingly awkward. And if testimony from the villagers was to be believed, he was most talkative around you and others could hardly receive even a grunt from him. 

And after profusely thanking the kind folks that had so selflessly cared for you in your hour of need, and a week’s worth of well needed rest, you felt significantly better. Of course, your physical condition was back in good shape, thanks to a superfluous amount of meals cooked by your host and devoured by you (and that man never seemed to have an appetite, if the amount of his food he tried to discreetly add onto your plate meant anything,) and you regained some common sense. 

Yes, after some time with the villagers, who were entirely content with living a simple life far out of the reaches of the Xianzhou modern conveniences, you learned three simple truths. 

The first. What use were you to anyone if you suffered until you were nothing at all? You quickly busied yourself with day to day tasks—doing laundry, helping make meals, treating the scraped knees and skinned elbows of the children—and you learned that the better state of mind you were in, the more you could do for others. And that mysterious companion of yours seemed to have a sixth sense for whenever your guilt and self-loathing began to take over, and was so good at distracting you that you didn’t even know you’d been distracted until your attention was successfully diverted. Sometimes at night, plagued by images of the horrors you’d seen unfold before you, you’d hear rustling by your bedside. Thinking you were imagining things, you’d close your eyes again, only to open them blearily and find him standing by the window, his back towards you. You didn’t know why, but the fact that he stayed with you even then made it easier to fall asleep.

The second. Isolating yourself made things impossibly worse. Your unfounded fear that everyone could smell the evil on you and would treat you like a pariah was proved false daily by the kindness of your hosts, who treated you like a member of their own family. And even when the villagers left you alone, that crow feathered weirdo remained stuck to you like your shadow. As annoying as it may have been at first, it kept you away from your own thoughts, even if you were just sitting in comfortable silence. 

“Do you ever even sleep?” You asked one night across the still darkness, his back turned to you as he gazed out of the small window at nothing in particular.

“I don’t need to.” He didn’t turn around, but you knew you still had his full attention.

“Everyone needs sleep.” You teased lightly, tiredly.

He sighed. “Let me rephrase that. You need to sleep more than I do.” 

“I think I’ve done enough sleeping,” He didn’t respond, but you caught him glancing over his shoulder at your form in the small makeshift bed, sitting upright amongst the pillows. “Do you want to sit with me?” You weren’t entirely sure what possessed you to ask. You were even less sure what possessed him to agree, fixing you with an uneasy stare before awkwardly sitting beside you on the pallet.

You stayed up the entire night talking. Or, rather surprisingly, he did most of the talking. Neither of you discussed anything important, but his calm company was soothing, and as he spoke quietly of ordinary things, you found yourself closing the distance between the two of you. You moved gently, slowly, and at the same pace he unstiffened, allowing you to rest your head upon his shoulder.

You fell asleep like that sometime during the early hours of the morning. And perhaps you were dreaming, but you swore you felt a gentle hand stroking your hair as you drifted off.

And thus, the third truth was the most frightening. A part of your heart had attached itself to that man, for as eccentric as he was, he never left your side. At first, you attributed your feelings to the sole fact of him having saved your life, but as the days crawled on, that irksome flutter in your chest persisted. And the more time you spent with him, the more he began to talk, and the more you began to listen. You were never any good at that before. But with him, it came as naturally as breathing.

The first time you kissed him, he melted into you.

He had been laying beside you on the pallet, having become more comfortable with the casual intimacy and reassurance the two of you shared. Your faces were close, so close that you could feel the warmth of his breathing fanning across your face, how it quickened when you brought a gentle hand to the cut of his jaw. You spoke his name softly, and it seemed like he stopped breathing completely. “Thank you.” You whispered across the pillow. Then, you pressed your lips gently to his. 

Yes, he melted into you like it was something he was waiting for his entire life. And perhaps it was, because his existence seemed like a terribly lonely one. And every time he shut his mouth for fear no one would listen to a word he had to say, the piece of your heart he carried with him wrenched in his hand. 

He held you so tightly that the both of you feared if he let go you’d shatter. You were the first to relinquish your grip.

You left the village after a nondescript period of time, preemptively mourning the loss of the simple life shared with its inhabitants and your unorthodox benefactor. You’d all mutually decided it was the best decision for you, and although your next destination was as of yet unknown, you found yourself caring for the implications of the future less and less. 

It wasn’t out of a sense of nihility, though. In fact, it was quite the opposite, for that man who stayed by your side day in and day out had managed to possess your thoughts enough that you were unable to think of a future that didn’t have him in it. 

So, you traveled, sticking vehemently to the fringe towns on the outskirts of the Yaoqing where whispers of the current events of the more inhabited areas were few and far between. You slept beside him in their various inns or in the houses of generous townspeople, his watch by the window relinquished for an insistent focus on the way you breathed while you slept. 

You didn’t really know your way around your homeland, having only left the city on the grounds of your self banishment. So he led the way, sometimes carrying you, always holding your hand as you forged an unknown path with no destination in particular.

At least, that was the impression he had you under. 

“Looks like we’re getting closer to civilization.” You commented offhandedly, having just checked out of a month’s long stay at a riverside inn. The place had been lovely, and you relinquished your cold baths for warm soaks in the hot springs (which had taken an insurmountable amount of convincing for him to join you, which he only did when you reminded him that you had already seen him naked, a fact that left him sufficiently flustered.) 

He simply grunted in response, and you furrowed your eyebrows, for he usually was more than willing to entertain even your most frivolous remarks. Yes, something was different that day, and he’d hardly spoken a word to you despite maintaining a loose hold on your smaller hand. “Am I allowed to ask where you’re taking me?”

He didn’t answer. Your stomach twisted as you came to a horrifying realization. How stupid you’d been to not realize—

“We’re heading towards the city, aren’t we?” Thinking aloud, your words were less of a question, and more of a conclusion. He stopped abruptly, lowering his head. “When were you going to tell me?”

“I didn’t know how,” He spoke almost shamefully, his gaze still fixed upon the earth. “You know it’s what’s best.”

You dropped his hand, betrayed now that he had finally confirmed your suspicions. “I don’t know that. You know I’m never going back there. Who sent you? I should’ve known that they would do this.“

“[Name],”  He turned to face you. You didn’t say anything. The wind rustled through the trees. He sighed. “It was General Feixiao. She��“

“General? So she’s a general now?” It was your turn to cut him off,  scoffing bitterly with your venom tipped canines on display. “A promotion or two, and she’s sending her crows to take me back there. I should’ve known.”

“I don’t know what you think you know, but you’ve got it all wrong.” He almost looked hurt, but you didn’t care. It didn’t matter. All of this to bring you back to the place you never wanted to see again, and to think you’d fallen in love with him—

How foolish you’d been. How idiotic for you to have been led astray by that wind that rustles feathers and claims naive hearts. 

Dusk approached. Your shadows lengthened. “I’m leaving.”

“If that’s what you want, then I can’t stop you.” He spoke, sounding bereaved. You wondered if he knew he still held your heart in his hands, the pumping blood cascading through his lithe fingers. 

“It is.” Perhaps you were a liar, for you knew what you wanted at that moment, and it wasn’t to leave him here, hope-drunk and silently begging you to stay. 

And it was your duty to deny yourself of the things you desired. 

You walked back into the direction of the woods as the sun set, the abyss claiming you once more. Your dreams dissipated like shadowy wisps as he left for the city, taking a piece of you with him.

And you left, as you’d promised to do, for you’d never lie to him the way he had to you. Not ever.

The third one offered you wisdom in a golden chalice, and you drank it gratefully, the warm wine burning your tongue as it slid down your throat.

The Xianzhou Luofu was positively the last place you’d ever expect to end up following your retreat back into the darkness. But alas, you had concluded that as long as you stayed on the Yaoqing, there’d always be someone trying to drag you back from whence you came. And you weren’t going back there, not ever. 

Getting there was the first challenge. Luckily, some of that man’s directional expertise had rubbed off on you, and you managed to head due south, following directions from the inhabitants of the places you stopped along the way until you made it to a smaller port city. 

When you smuggled yourself amongst the cargo on an unattended ship— something that would likely be next to impossible these days, you suppose— you had no idea where the vessel’s final destination was to be. You could’ve ended up on an entirely different planet for all you knew, and you didn’t care. The only thing you knew for certain was that you had to go, and it didn’t matter to you where. 

And you’d definitely underestimated the difficulty of the trip. You thought after traversing almost the entire perimeter of the Yaoqing, you could handle anything, and frankly, you had incorrectly concluded that you were small enough to hide comfortably on the cargo ship. 

You’d been terribly wrong. And funnily enough, you also failed to consider what would happen if the ship wasn’t as unattended as it had been once it finally arrived to its recipients. Luckily, it wasn’t a very long trip, but it was long enough to bring that thought— along with a sense of insurmountable dread— to mind.

And how incredibly stupid of you it had been to fall asleep halfway through the ride. 

You were shaken awake an unknown amount of time later by an uncomfortable prodding. You sat up straight, fluffy ears standing at attention. You rose fast enough to hit your head on a nearby crate, and looked through hazy eyes at a pair of Cloud Knights, one staring at you with alarm, the other seeming amused. “This piece of cargo wasn’t on the shipment list.” The latter sheathed his sword, the hilt of which must have been that mysterious poking that had woken you from your deep sleep.

You blinked the shock away, recovering as fast as humanly possible. “Double check that list. You must not be looking close enough,” You deadpanned, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, stretching out your legs. “Gonna tell on me?”

His companion spoke, a hand resting nervously on the hilt of his own blade. “We’re required by nature of our job description–”

“I don’t give a fuck about your ‘job,’” You groaned, standing up, brushing the dust and cobwebs from the peachy fur of your tail. “Are you turning me in to your boss or not?”

The nervous, younger looking Knight turned to his companion for an answer, who shrugged in response. He turned back to you, and despite the bite to your voice, you realized you likely looked thoroughly disheveled and even more exhausted despite your little cat nap. In fact, if you could see his face, he likely would be looking at you with unadulterated pity. “Zhi Peng, look at her. We can’t just…”

“Haitao. Zhi Peng,” A deep, coarse voice sounded from the distance. Both knights startled, sharing a brief glance that remained unreadable behind their helmets. “What’s so interesting over here?” The man known as Haitao cursed under his breath. Zhi Peng looked like he was about to wet himself. 

“What do we do?” You whispered, but neither man responded verbally, and while Haitao shifted to cover your smaller form, Zhi Peng remained frozen in place, horrified. “Is that your supervisor or something?” 

Haitao simply nodded. “What are you two doing?” The supervisor called, and his voice sounded closer. 

Your eyes widened with fear. Haitao cursed again. “Just stay quiet.” 

“Zhi Peng, tell me immediately what is happening?” The supervisor hissed, and you heard the meek knight in question let out a strangled cry that sounded oddly like he had been grabbed by the breastplate of his uniform. 

“The cargo. There’s a stowaway in the cargo.” Zhi Peng managed through a choked voice, and there was a thud as he was released upon the ground. You scoffed quietly, your sharp canines digging into your bottom lip. Didn’t take the fucker much pressure to cave in, did it? Although you did feel bad that he’d been tossed around on your behalf. 

“Haitao. Is this true?” The knight who had you trapped beneath his form glanced once more at you, and then at his officer.

Then, he grabbed your arm tight enough to bruise, shifting to reveal your presence. “Yup. Found this little fox hiding amongst the military shipments.” 

“Mother fucker.” You hissed. His grip on your arm tightened as he dragged you in the direction of the disembodied voice that you’d heard earlier, which belonged to an even larger man in a slightly different uniform. Just your luck to get discovered by the most spineless little grunts out there. You couldn’t have been captured by an officer, or even a general?

The larger man scrutinized you, his shielded gaze lingering upon you for longer than you were comfortable with. “I know who this is.” 

You blinked. “That isn’t possible.”

“Yes, it is. You’re the nurse that deserted the Yaoqing army all those years ago,” You froze. So he did, indeed, know who you were. Again, just your fucking luck. “We keep close military contact with our allies.” 

“I prefer ‘medic,’” You deflected, shooting Haitao the nastiest look you could muster as you attempted to wrench free of his grip. “Even ‘practitioner' is acceptable.” The man refused to relent, and you let out a noise akin to a snarl as your bicep began to burn.

“I don’t care what you are,” The officer brushed you off as easily as swatting a fly, and your eyebrows furrowed with further annoyance at being treated so trivially. “Do you two remember your orders for a fugitive situation?” He addressed his two underlings, who vehemently nodded with a chorus of yes sir’s.

“Fugitive situation?” You protested, unable to ignore the way Zhi Peng flanked the unoccupied side of your body. “That’s not what this is.” The other soldier grabbed your other arm, although significantly gentler than his companion. 

Ignoring your objections, the officer continued to deliver orders to his men, who began to march you behind him as you headed somewhere entirely unbeknownst to you. 

You asked quite a few questions on the way there. Where are you taking me? Am I going to jail? Will there be a bathroom? Are you sending me back to the Yaoqing? I’m hungry. Although the last of which was more of a statement. 

The point being that none of your objections nor your questions received competent answers. And the moment you reached an area you would later learn to be called the Exalting Sanctum, the soldiers on the other side of you promptly let go of your arms. Before you could even massage the pain of their grasp away, their officer had grabbed you again. “You two are dismissed. The General will know what to do with her.” 

The knights bowed respectfully to their supervisor before departing, both sparing you a second glance over their shoulders, one you met with a look that hopefully conveyed just how much you despised them. Once they were out of earshot, the larger man grabbed you by the back of the neck. “Now listen here,” You yelped as he leaned down, his gruff voice directly in your ear. “The General has requested you be brought directly to him for whatever reason. I personally couldn’t give less of a shit what happens to a traitor like you, but clearly he finds you useful in some way,” You were unable to control the tear that spilled from your watery eyes at the pain of his large hand tightening around your neck. “So you better not fuck this up for yourself, alright?” 

You didn’t move, warm teardrops streaming down your ruddy cheeks. Realizing he wasn’t going to relinquish you until you responded in some way, you nodded, with quite a degree of difficulty considering his hand was still indeed wrapped around your neck. He released you, and you fell to the ground, coughing. He didn’t wait for you to catch your breath before taking you inside.

“General,” He led you up the carpeted stairs in the General’s office, the deep red color suddenly foreboding as the man’s words echoed in your mind. What use could the General of the Luofu possibly have for you if not to punish you for your desertion? You were so stupid, in fact, in a lifetime of stupid decisions, this was by far the stupidest thing you could’ve ever done— “I’ve brought the Yaoqing’s fugitive.”

The Cloud Knights stationed along the landing of the stairs didn’t spare you a passing glance as you approached the General’s desk. The man let go of you, instead shoving you in his direction before bowing chastely. “I know it’s been a while since we discussed the protocol for her discovery, so I thought I’d bring her here for you to decide what to do with her.”

White haired, long-lashed and heavy-eyed, the General regarded the man before him with complete disinterest. “Thank you,” His gaze landed upon you, the sorry state you must have been in, and his serene expression faltered momentarily. “But, please, remind me where in the protocol it states that it’s acceptable to treat a woman so barbarically,” Slowly, tiredly, he rose from his desk, approaching you where you stood shakily upon your sore feet. “It’s deplorable.” 

For the first time, your impromptu captor was speechless. “Sir, I…”

“No explanation is needed. You can expect further disciplinary notice in the next few days.” The General refused to even meet his eye, his attention instead focused concernedly upon you. “You are dismissed.” 

He didn’t say anything to you immediately upon the other man’s departure, still scrutinizing your visible condition— the bruises on your arms from the Cloud Knights, the dirt and dust still clinging to your clothes from the cargo ship— and you sighed. “Am I under arrest, General?”

He blinked, genuinely surprised. “Not at all.”

“Then what’s my punishment?” You shrugged, shifting your weight. “You know, for treason.” 

He raised an eyebrow at you, and for some reason you got the feeling that you two were each having completely different conversations. He gestured to the chair behind his desk. “Have a seat.” 

“That’s your chair.” You raised an eyebrow, and he simply nodded in confirmation. Realizing he wasn’t going to continue until you sat down, you sighed, doing what you were told. Your feet were killing you from being cramped up for so long, anyways.

Once you had made yourself comfortable, he began to speak. “You’re not under arrest, nor are you receiving any punishment.” 

“Then why did you request for me to be brought here immediately upon my capture?” You fiddled anxiously with the fabric of your clothes, anticipating his response. “With all due respect, General, sir, it’s a bit confusing.”

He stared at you for a moment, unreadable, before suddenly bursting out into boisterous laughter. “Ah, it is, isn’t it?” Your mouth fell open, surprised by his swift change in demeanor, but he didn’t seem to notice. “Allow me to explain. I’m well aware of your talent as a medical practitioner. And considering that you currently owe a debt to the Xianzhou Alliance’s military, well…” He gently rested his palms upon the desk, leaning over you in a way that was more expectant than imposing. “We’d like you to work with our branch of the Alchemy Commission.” 

“Me? Work for the Alchemy Commission? That’s all?” You were unable to suppress the breathless, incredulous laugh that escaped your lips. “Forgive me, sir, but that’s a rather light punishment.” 

“I already said you weren’t being punished.” He raised an eyebrow, simultaneously amused and concerned. “Is that what you want?”

“I don’t know. But there’s one thing I don’t want.” You bit your lip, considering the possible ramifications of telling him exactly how to torture you most effectively. “If you don’t intend to punish me, then don’t send me back there.” 

“Right. You were rather lucky to end up here, aren’t you?” He chuckled once more, and who knew the Luofu's General was so good-natured? You supposed a man like that needed some entertainment to liven up his day. But it wasn’t going to be you. 

“I wouldn’t call it luck,” You scoffed bitterly, absentmindedly moving your hair from behind your shoulders. You saw his eyes widen in shock, and realized with embarrassment that your subconscious movement had exposed to him the bruise that the brute of an officer had left from his grasp upon your neck. “Oh. Ignore that. That officer of yours got a bit too handsy.” You shrugged, despite the tears you’d swallowed down after the initial incident threatening to rise back up in your throat. 

“That seems to be putting it rather lightly, don’t you think?” His good mood was effectively dashed, his worried gaze fixed upon your neck. Suddenly self conscious, you moved your hair to cover it once more. “And rest assured, after his behavior today, he is no longer any officer of mine. That isn’t how my men operate.”

You scoffed, recalling the behavior of the low ranking Cloud Knights before you’d even met the officer. “If you sincerely believe that, you don’t know your men at all.” You gasped sharply upon realizing the ramifications of your words, quickly backtracking. “Forgive me, that was incredibly disrespectful. And I’m already in this position—” 

“It’s alright. I suppose I do have some more work to do on the ground as opposed to sitting up in this stuffy old office all the time.” He sighed, offering you a small, reassuring smile. 

“Sir, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but this place is beautiful.” You gestured to your comparatively luxurious surroundings.  “Not exactly what I’d call ‘stuffy.’” Anything beats that dusty shipment container. 

“Anywhere can become stifling if you spend enough time there. Beauty has nothing to do with it. I’m sure you know that just as well as I do.” He laughed awkwardly, almost self-deprecating. “Ah, look at me, rambling on again. I’ll alert your supervisor at the Commission of your arrival. Your lodgings will be arranged at a nearby inn, so go wash up and get a good night’s sleep.” He reached for a spare piece of paper that rested upon the surface of his desk, quickly scrawling the name of the inn for your reference.  “Your work begins at sunrise tomorrow.” 

You gingerly took the paper from him, folding it gently before sliding it protectively into the pocket of your shorts. “I don’t know what I did to deserve such generosity, but thank you. Sincerely.” 

“You don’t have to thank me. You’ll pay off your debt soon enough.” He placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. Neither of you moved. As if realizing the impropriety of his actions, he quickly retracted his arm, instead offering you a small nod.  “Go.”

You rose from your— his — chair and made for the exit, already envisioning the hot shower and warm inn-cooked meal you were going to have. Suddenly remembering the constraints of respect, you froze halfway down the stairs, turning to offer the General a stiff, clumsy bow. 

You left with his almost-fond chuckle at your heels, intending to scrub the remains of your idiocy from your skin. 

The Luofu branch of the Alchemy Commission was significantly different from the one back home. Although the work hours were just as insane, its employees genuinely enjoyed their jobs, if your master was anything to go off of. 

Dark brown haired with cutely pointed ears and deep ruby eyes, Lingsha was incredibly skilled, and just as well-composed. She smelled lovely, too, a fact you noted as she showed you where each of the supplies were located.  As she explained the rules with which the Luofu’s branch operated, you found your mind wandering elsewhere, wondering what kind of woman you’d be if only you had a calm spirit, to say nothing of impulse control. 

“I diagnose ailments a bit differently. I’m sure you’re familiar with aromatic therapy?” Lingsha spoke as she stood before a presently empty cauldron. A nice, herbal scent lingered around it, and you concluded that she had to smell so nice from working around aromatics every day. 

“Yes, we use it quite a bit on the Yaoqing. I’m definitely not as skilled as you are, though.” Your intentions on your first day were to emphasize your competency without seeming too confident. The last thing you wanted was for your new boss to think you were trying to outshine her in any way.

“Anyone can learn, and you already have the background, so don’t worry about that.” Lingsha had mercifully not seemed to glean that impression from you, treating you with kindness despite you really only being there to work off a debt wrought by your own stupidity. “I can’t teach you how to utilize the cauldron, though.”

You nodded, offering her a small, grateful smile. “Let’s get to work, shall we?” 

Despite your feigned eagerness to get on the job, she tried to breach a different, non-work related subject with you come lunch break. “You know, I once traveled far from home too.”

Unimpressed, you chewed your braised pork. “Really?”

“I followed my master when she was banished. It was quite jarring at first, but I learned so much and improved my craft.” She picked at her food with her chopsticks, seeming to favor attempting to connect with you over shared circumstances more than eating. 

“I see.” You, on the other hand, did not much enjoy having your meal interrupted by useless talking, no matter how good the intentions behind it may be. 

She sighed, noticing your unwillingness to converse. “All of this to say, I understand how you feel.”

Do you? You found yourself wondering, almost shamefully, for the woman’s intentions were clearly to make you feel more comfortable working away from home. But being young and irrational, you couldn’t help but believe your situation was undeniably unique. 

Of course, it wasn’t, nor were your experiences anything special. And realizing this, you kept your mouth shut, simply nodding in respectful acknowledgment of her statement. 

You finished the rest of your lunch in silence, your new mentor finally recognizing that you weren’t quite in the mood for conversation. You did, however, catch her sending a few fleeting glances your way, sometimes concerned, sometimes curious. 

The first day of your impromptu apprenticeship ended with barely any further words exchanged between the two of you. You parted ways with a few polite goodbyes, and you beelined for the closest restaurant with a myriad of conflicting thoughts swarming your mind. 

And the work did get significantly more bearable the longer you did it. Even the early mornings were alright, considering you had to get up in the wee hours of the morning back as a medic for the Yaoqing. Not to mention, with the minor ailments being the only ones Lingsha initially sent your way, you felt like you were back at the army hospital with your brother stifling you beneath his scrutinizing glare. It was all rather banal.

You weren’t the only one bored almost to death by day to day work, however.

The first time the General stopped by your office for a check up, you were on your best behavior. Convinced he was only there to observe your progress, you prepared to conduct a thorough examination  that addressed all of his concerns. 

“So, you’re telling me you’re experiencing extreme drowsiness.” You read from your notes, taking this far more seriously than you should’ve. He was indeed a patient, after all, and an important one at that. Even if he was just bullshitting you, you were under a medical obligation to heed his concerns. 

“Yes, doctor. My eyes are simply too heavy to hold open.” He spoke dramatically, although you got the sense he was holding back a laugh. 

“I’m not a doctor,” You simply stared, incredulous. “And there’s not much I can do for you in that regard. I can make you some tea?”

“Tea would be lovely,” He smiled up at you, although even with him being seated you were nearly at eye level.  “Come to think of it, I have the most wonderful tea set at the Seat of Divine Foresight.”

You raised an eyebrow. “That’s a bit of a walk from here, don’t you think?”

“If you don’t want to travel all that way, I can bring it here.” He rose from the chair, towering over you once more as he made for the door. 

“Oh, you wanted me to drink the tea with you?” You began to follow him, and he sent you a mirthful glance over his shoulder. 

“You were the one who suggested it after all.” He noted, almost offhandedly, and you paused to consider the offer. 

“Well, I suppose I could take a lunch break right about now.” You also supposed that he’d never intended to leave the clinic without you, anyways. 

Agreeing to let him steal you away from your duties was a mistake. Because one lunch break became two, which became three, which became entire shifts once you realized Lingsha could easily handle the steady trickle of patients herself, and the General would always provide her an excuse for your absence— however ridiculous it may be. 

You met with him a few times outside of those sleepy afternoon hours, too. Once he realized your passion for fine Luofu cuisine, and having an impressive appetite of his own,  he took you to all of the best spots, and watched you fondly as you inhaled your meals. You’d share drinks afterwards, and without fail, he’d walk you back to the inn, sometimes with a gentlemanly hand hovering over your back so your tipsiness didn’t get the better of you on those tricky stairs.

And that was all it was, communion, camaraderie. Until the night you invited Lingsha along for dinner and drinks by way of apology for shirking your duties. 

You had far more of that familiar rice wine than usual, likely due to anxiety that the woman in question hated you for your truancy. After a few shots, you were limber and loose, your inside thoughts spilling from your tongue as if it were the most normal thing in the world. 

The General, despite his size and tendency to be able to hold his liquor, seemed a bit more far gone than usual, too, if the way he laughed and spoke quite louder than usual in response to your jabbering was anything to go off. Lingsha, in contrast, drank slowly, mindfully, sipping at her beverage while eyeing the two of you with a mix of concern and amusement. 

And neither of you really noticed when she gracefully ducked out, citing her early shift in the morning as her reason for departure. Your witty banter continued, your knee brushing his beneath the table, his much larger hand resting atop yours on the wooden surface. 

You kept drinking, of course. And things progressed. Very quickly. And you were, as always, horribly stupid. 

You remember him paying the bill, taking your hand as you stood up, swaying on your feet. The night was humid and starless, the condensation in the air contributing to the haze in your mind. He had a loose arm wrapped around your waist as you started in the direction of the inn. 

You remember, rather boldly, asking instead for a tour of his place. You remember him agreeing. 

His house was quite spacious. You stumbled past the entrance and he caught you, laughing intoxicatedly. You didn’t make it past the kitchen before he had you leaned up against the counters, his face centimeters away from your own. He was saying something, but your brain wasn’t registering. Rather than responding, or even asking him to repeat himself, you raised up on your tiptoes to kiss him. 

Yes, things did progress rather quickly from there.

That wasn’t to say you didn’t remember— or enjoy — anything you partook in. In fact, you recall being rather entrenched in bliss as he had you pinned beneath him, your legs wrapped tightly around his hips to pull him impossibly closer. Your long nails clawed at the skin of his back and you were too far gone to tell him it was too much, or not enough, you weren’t really sure. Whatever the sensation was, it was incredible, your toes curling as he mouthed at the sensitive skin at the junction of your neck, a deft hand sliding between your bodies to push you over the edge. 

It was too much. And it wasn’t enough.

You woke up the next morning, somehow satisfied, moderately hungover, your face having been buried in his broad chest. Naturally, he was still fast asleep,  breathing serenely beneath you as long lashes brushed against his cheeks. 

And naturally, you sat up, oriented yourself, dressed, and left. 

It wasn’t anything you’d ever done before; slept with someone you cared about and left without another word. But you had a feeling it was the only way to do this without ripping yourself apart again, without leaving a piece of yourself behind beneath his once-pristine sheets.

And despite the way every single thing between the two of you had been turned on its side after a single night, you found yourself sitting behind his desk once more during your lunch break as he smiled down at you, gaze lingering on the poorly concealed marks just above the neckline of your shirt. You tugged it upwards as you’d been doing all day, but it was no use, for he leaned down to kiss you as if there weren’t numerous guards stationed around the entrance.

And you let him, like that’s how it was between the two of you all along.  

Which was to say that those breathless nights spent at his place after work became a frequent occurrence. And when you’d show up early to work the next morning, half asleep and abnormally chipper, Lingsha would only raise a suspicious eyebrow before telling you to rewash your hands and get to work. 

“I’ve always been quite curious if a Foxian’s sense of smell is as refined as mine.” Your mentor commented offhandedly after the two of you had just seen off a young Foxian patient who was experiencing abnormal tail shedding. Lingsha had performed some aromatherapy and sent the poor girl home with some oils to apply to the area on a strict regimen. 

You shrugged, your fingers absentmindedly and protectively rubbing through the silken fur of your own tail. “I wouldn’t say ‘as refined,’ but I’ve certainly got a good nose.”

She hummed in acknowledgment, peeling off her gloves. “Really? So can you detect the scent of other people on yourself?”

Your eyebrows furrowed as your hands continued working through your fur, unsure of the relevance behind her line of questioning. “Sometimes.”

“So, you must be well aware that you smell entirely of the General.” Your ministrations froze.

 You turned slowly to face her, only to see her expression as unchanged as before, examining her pristine cuticles as if what she’d said was the most normal thing in the world.  “I’m sorry?” 

“It’s not an unpleasant smell, it’s just so overbearing that your scent is layered all the way at the bottom.” She diverted her attention elsewhere, assuming an air of nonchalance as she began to rearrange her bottles of scented oil.  “What did you do, roll around in his bed or something?” 

You opened your mouth to respond, only to close it once more. “...No comment.”

“Aeons above. There’s my answer.” Lingsha groaned, setting a glass vial down with slightly more force than was necessary. 

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to.” You responded coyly, the embarrassment giving way to an unfamiliar yet deep seated urge to make her even more uncomfortable as a twisted form of deflection.. 

“That’s not entirely true. I want some answers.” 

And boy, did you answer her many, many questions. In fact, the remainder of your lunch hour was spent detailing the progression of the affair between you and the General. You were mildly disappointed that you missed out on spending the time with him, but you figured you could make it up to him in a rather meaningful way later that evening. 

Besides, the look on Lingsha’s face as you spoke— an amalgamation of shock, incredulity, and curiosity— was well worth it. And if the woman didn’t trust you before, she sure did now that you took the time to describe your sex life in intricate detail— in response to her insistent prompting, of course.

You met up with him that evening. And the next. And the one after that. And despite your habit of slipping out in the early hours of the morning like a creature of the night, you stuck around one morning. 

It was the dawn of your weekly day off, and you were positively exhausted from work and a myriad of other, irrelevant things, no thanks to the man who slept soundly beneath you. And even though you’d slept well enough yourself, you couldn’t help but feel restless as your cheek rested against the bare skin of his chest. 

You knew this was casual. It didn’t mean anything. Both of you understood that. But as you watched him sleep, your thumb absentmindedly tracing the mark beneath his eye, something familiar stirred in your chest. You didn’t want to leave. 

The feeling persisted as you ate breakfast with him, neither of you acknowledging just how far from the norm this was. It intensified as you stepped into the shower beside him, unwilling to leave each other alone for even half a system hour. It threatened to swallow you whole when he brushed your hair, large fingers raking through the damp strands as you leaned into his touch, horribly infatuated by the whole situation. When he kissed you in the pavilion after you walked him to work, you felt like you were drowning. 

What a stupid woman you were, you thought as you sat on the arm of his chair, his free hand wrapped around your waist as he pretended to focus on whatever dull paperwork sat on his desk. When the Master Diviner walked in, his grip tightened despite the look of unadulterated distaste she sent your way. “I had something important to discuss with you, General, but it seems you’re presently occupied.” Her words were dripping with acrimony, but you were too far beneath the waves to care. 

He hummed without sparing a glance towards the small woman. “Yes, I am presently inundated with paperwork,” His large palm slid further downwards, digging into your hip behind the desk. “If it can wait, we can discuss whatever it is at a later time.” 

The woman blinked, inhaling sharply at the shameless display before her. “Fine. I’ll come back at a much, much later time.” The General’s gaze remained fixed on the paper despite his attention clearly being elsewhere, if the hand caressing your backside said anything. “Or never.” Fu Xuan muttered to herself as she left, likely wishing to take her brain out and wipe it clean of the last five minutes. 

The more he made it clear he didn’t care who knew what existed between the two of you, if anything, the more you fixated on it until it was all you could think about. You’d been burned once, twice, by relationships wrought by your own selfless devotion, and you’d fallen into this one while caught in the throes of your own greed. So perhaps, it had to be a sign that this could work? 

And no matter how hard you tried, you could not stop yourself from craving his complete affections, in sharing every aspect of your life with him. Even though he was so often unreadable, you knew deep down that a part of you had stuck with him. You only prayed it was significant enough to last. 

One night, you held his face in your hands as you straddled his abdomen, and despite holding some of the control, you let him take everything from you that you had to give. When the both of you were thoroughly satisfied, he kissed you like you were his, and in all ways but one, you were. 

Your mouth didn’t give either of you much time to bask in the afterglow, for the moment you’d shifted to untangle yourself with him, it spoke without your common sense’s consent. “I’ve been thinking.” Perhaps this was a bad time, but you supposed there never was an ideal one for these sorts of conversations. At least you’d waited until he wasn’t inside you any longer. 

“Have you?” He said, his voice still low and rumbling in a way that made you shift uncomfortably atop him. “What about, my dear?” He pulled you down so your chest was flush against his, pressing a quick kiss to the side of your temple. 

You let out a quick gasp, trying to disguise the way his affection had left you reeling. “Us.” 

“What’s there to think about?” He responded good-naturedly, teasingly tugging at your tail.“We’re here, aren’t we?”

“Yes, but…” He clearly hadn’t yet grasped the seriousness of your train of thought, for his wandering hand abandoned the fur of your tail to grab a handful of your backside.  “Hey.” You warned, swatting it away as he laughed, unashamed.  “I guess I should start by asking this. What do you want from me?”

He blinked, his expression sobering as he finally caught your drift. “Whatever you’re willing to give.”

You scoffed. Despite your heart hoping otherwise, you should’ve known he’d dance his way around your questioning, ever-skilled at circumlocution.. “That’s a cop out.”

“I still don’t understand what you’re asking.” He clarified gently, his hands rubbing soothingly up your sides. Your annoyance deflated significantly, your body welcoming his touch. 

“Fine. I’m asking if you want me to be your girlfriend. Partner. Whatever you want to call it.” His hands halted their ministrations as he looked up at you, his expression indecipherable. 

“Where is this coming from?” He spoke after a beat had passed, tilting his head at you with what seemed like genuine confusion. Whatever it was angered you, because if he really had no idea what you were talking about, he must have been fucking you with his eyes closed. Because it was clear as day to the Cloud Knights, Lingsha, Fu Xuan, everyone who saw the two of you together, what was happening. 

“The fuck do you mean, ‘where is this coming from?’” Your annoyance morphed into a sense of betrayal, spilling from your mouth like murderous venom. “You take me out to dinner multiple times a week, I sit in your office all day like your little pet, I practically live at your house.” Then, the betrayal melted away to hurt.  “And still, I can’t tell exactly how you feel about me. That’s where it’s coming from.” Your sentence ended far softer, far more vulnerable than you intended it to. 

And he noticed, for a large palm came to cup your cheek in his hand, ready to wipe away the angry tears that threatened to fall. “[Name]—“

You pushed his hand away. “Answer my question,” You intertwined the hand you’d used to reject his touch with his own, still unable to part from him no matter how obstinate you felt he was being.  “We can take things slow if that’s what you want. No labels, or anything. I just need to know how you feel.”

You’d barely finished your sentence before he pulled you down to kiss him, slow and sweet. “I thought it was abundantly clear how I felt about you,” He spoke almost against your lips, your fingers still laced together, pushed up against the headboard. “You’re an incredible woman, [Name]. Witty, headstrong, beautiful,” His free hand brushed your bangs away from your face, coming to rest once more on your cheek.“But I cannot give you that which you desire.”

You hesitated, blinking confusedly at him.“What do you mean?”

“You know what you want, a trait that is inexorably admirable,” He paused, his gaze flickering away from your own to collect his thoughts. “But I know who I am, and it won’t be any good for you.”

Another cop out. Your canines dug into your bottom lip as you felt the pressure of your returning tears behind your eyelids. “You’re not being truthful.”

“I am.  I only want the best for you.” So that was how it was. Fine. You weren’t going to embarrass yourself any further by crying in front of him. You had lost so much in that moment, but you couldn’t let go of your fragile pride.

“I think I should go.” You dropped his hand, leaning back upon his thighs. 

He swallowed, looking reluctantly away from your watery eyes. “Perhaps that may be what’s best.”

You left that time, defeated and embarrassingly heartbroken. But it didn’t stop you from going back to him quite a few times, somehow convinced that what you desired deep down would change. But never once did you expect him to mold himself to your expectations, shouldering the blame for the failed relationship all upon yourself.

You were foolish then. For believing you could ever rid yourself of the desire to be loved wholly and completely. For believing you could change yourself rather than choose a different man to love. For suppressing your own heart beneath layers of impenetrable armor.

He taught you many things about yourself, rather inadvertently. You learned you could be alright on your own. You learned that love and sex were a gamble, a way to gain leverage on others without revealing the vulnerability that lay within your own losing hand. And you learned to stop denying yourself of the superficial little things you wanted, because you’d concluded that your heart’s deepest desire could never be fulfilled.

These lessons were incredibly valuable, and you held them close to your heart even as you sat aboard the mysterious Astral Express, gazing out the window at the vastness of the universe with your palms laying defeated in your lap. 

The fourth one took you entirely off guard, two lightning strikes in an open field, an asteroid upon a barren planet, a winning ticket out of a million losses. The chances of finding him in this life were astronomically low. But he was miraculously, blessedly lucky. 

Alisa would know more about this than I do. That is the thought that always crosses your mind in situations like these, when you watch him on the rare nights he sleeps peacefully, and something in your chest overwhelms you so much you fear you might die in his arms. You’d spent ages telling yourself you were never meant for love, and that little girl’s dreams of a fairy tale romance were never yours. But here you are, not only deeply enamored, but literally engaged, evidenced by that bewilderingly expensive gemstone on your ring finger. 

You can’t help but feel like you’d experienced everything in your life just for this terribly mundane moment, if not just for the way he looks fast asleep.

And perhaps you know more about love than you care to admit, for you’d proven your past self wrong on several occasions. You were alright on your own, sure, but you are far better with him by your side. Maybe you’d gambled your way into his heart, but your vulnerability is no longer a weakness. And now that you have the one thing you’d always desired, everything else is background noise. 

He means everything to you, you realized then. He is your heart, your ultimate weakness, your one in a million. You couldn’t leave this time, for there is nowhere else to go. 

You rotate the gold band on your finger absentmindedly, curling yourself even further into his body. He subconsciously pulls you closer, and you hide your face in his chest, smiling fondly to yourself. You hope he knows he’s stuck with you forever now. This love is blessedly and irrevocably yours. 

[scoupsakakitty]

Chapter 1: The Dream and The Distance

Being the 14th member of Seventeen wasn’t something y/n had planned for. Joining one of the biggest K-pop groups in the world felt like a dream and a nightmare wrapped into one. The stage, the screaming fans, the lights… it was everything she had worked for. But what no one told her was how hard it would be to keep everything else in her life together.

The rehearsal room was quiet except for the soft hum of the air conditioning. She stood in front of the mirror, sweat dripping down her temple as she replayed the choreography in her head. Y/n was never one to settle for “just good enough.” As the lead dancer, every move had to be sharp, every line perfect.

“Take a break, y/n,” Dino said, walking up behind her with a towel around his neck. He was panting too, but unlike her, he had already accepted that they’d done enough for the day. “We’ve been at this for hours.”

Y/n turned to him, shaking her head. “Just a little more. I keep messing up the turn in the second chorus.”

“You’re not messing it up,” Dino said, rolling his eyes. “You’re overthinking it.”

She sighed, but before she could argue, their leader’s voice echoed through the room.

“Alright, that’s enough for today,” Scoups said, clapping his hands to get everyone’s attention. “Go home, get some rest. We have a full schedule tomorrow.”

Y/n glanced at him through the mirror. Scoups always had this calm authority about him, a way of making everyone listen without raising his voice. She admired that about him, though she would never say it out loud.

As the other members began packing up their bags, y/n stayed behind for a moment longer. She was too tired to argue but too restless to leave just yet.

“You okay?” Scoups’ voice broke her thoughts. He was standing by the door, watching her with that careful gaze he always had.

She nodded quickly, forcing a smile. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just need a minute.”

Scoups didn’t push. “Don’t stay too late,” he said before walking out with the others.

Once the room was empty, y/n let out a long breath and sat on the floor. She pulled out her phone, checking the time. Almost midnight.

Her finger hovered over her messages for a moment before opening the chat with Se-Hun. There were no new texts from him. The last message was from her, sent hours ago: Hope your classes went well today. I miss you.

No reply.

Biting her lip, she typed another message. Are you free this weekend? Maybe we can call for a bit? Then, after a moment’s hesitation, she added, I miss you.

She stared at the screen, waiting, but nothing came. The little “seen” indicator didn’t even pop up.————————————————————————————-Her mind wandered back to when she and Se-Hun first met. It was two years ago, during a particularly intense practice session. She’d pushed herself too hard, trying to nail a complicated move, and ended up twisting her ankle badly. The pain had been unbearable, and she’d been rushed to the hospital.

That’s where she met him.

He had been a young medical intern then, working late shifts in the ER. She remembered how calm and kind he was, even as she winced from the needle while he took her blood for tests.

“You don’t like needles?” he’d asked, noticing the way she squeezed her eyes shut.

“I hate them,” she admitted through gritted teeth.

He had smiled a small, lopsided grin that she still remembered to this day. “Don’t worry. I’ll make it quick.”

And he did. After that, they’d ended up talking while she waited for her X-ray results. He’d told her about his dream of becoming a doctor, and she had shyly shared things about her Idol life.

Something had clicked between them that night. He’d given her his number, and what started as a few texts quickly turned into hours-long conversations and eventually, a relationship.

But now, things were different. The connection they’d built felt like it was slipping through her fingers.————————————————————————————-The next morning, the members were gathered in the van, heading to a photoshoot. Y/n sat by the window, her head resting against the cool glass. Dino was next to her, scrolling through his phone and occasionally laughing at something he found funny. She envied how carefree he was.

“Did you sleep at all?” Mingyu asked from across the aisle.

Y/n blinked, realizing he was looking at her. “A little,” she lied.

He gave her a skeptical look but didn’t press further. That was the thing about Mingyu he always noticed when something was off, but he never pushed.————————————————————————————-The day passed in a blur of cameras, lights, and makeup. Y/n smiled when she was supposed to, posed when directed, and laughed along with the others during breaks. But her mind was elsewhere.

By the time they were back in the dorms, she was emotionally drained. She had just stepped into her room when her phone buzzed.

Finally.

She grabbed it quickly, seeing Se-Hun’s name on the screen.

Hey, sorry I’ve been busy. Classes have been crazy. Maybe next week?

Her heart sank. Next week? That wasn’t the first time he’d pushed her off.

I understand, she replied, even though she didn’t. Good luck with your classes.

She tossed her phone onto the bed and sat down, burying her face in her hands.

“Y/n, are you okay?”

She looked up to see Dino standing in her doorway. He always seemed to know when something was wrong.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she said, forcing a smile.

He didn’t buy it. “You know you can talk to me, right?”

Y/n hesitated. She wanted to tell him everything—to spill out all the frustration and sadness that had been building up. But she couldn’t. Not now.

“I know,” she said softly. “Thanks, Dino.”

He gave her a small smile before leaving her alone.

————————————————————————————-

Later that night, the group gathered in the living room to watch a movie. Y/n sat between Dino and Mingyu, trying to focus on the screen, but her mind kept wandering. She glanced at Scoups, who was sitting across from her.

For a brief moment, their eyes met. He gave her a small, reassuring smile, and something about it made her feel… safe.

It wasn’t much. Just a look. But it lingered in her mind long after the movie ended.

Small Reminder: You are perfect as you are. Don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise.🌙

[consultingskeletondetective]

Virginal, chapter 2

Michael had left you alive, and you couldn't begin to fathom why. You know all you can do is try and forget it and move on with your life.

Except...Michael has followed you home.

masterlist ❤️🖤 ao3

chapter tags: serial killer, murder, death, violence, blood, gore, weapons, knife, female reader, non con, stalking, hair pulling, forced orgasms

The police hadn’t caught him yet.

It had been almost a week since your encounter with Michael Myers in the woods on your way home from work, and he’d been on the run ever since. You hadn’t reported what had happened to the authorities, even if you’d been on the verge of it many times. You’d spent the whole week waking up in cold sweats with a gooey and shameful mess between your legs at the memory of Michael’s large hand on your neck, or the sense-memory of his cock pressed heavy and dangerous against your core. The way he’d used you, fucked you, like his own little plaything haunted you.

No one could know what he’d done to you, no one could know how you felt about it, even if the guilt gnawed at you. Maybe if you’d told someone, they might have caught him by now, and people might still be alive. But there was a part of you, a part of you you wished you didn’t have, that reminded you that if Michael wanted someone dead, then there was nothing any earthly power could do to keep that person alive. Michael left no survivors.

Except for you.

It had been on the news religiously all week; police were baffled by his location and utterly at a loss for his motivations and patterns. Michael, it seemed, cared not a bit to cover his tracks. He even seemed to decorate his murder scenes artistically, propping bodies up and, blurred though they were on the television, reminding you of a sick and gruesome game of action figures. They were Michael’s bodies, to do with as he pleased. Twelve people he’d killed since he found you. Twelve. That the authorities were aware of, anyway. The thought chilled you to the very core.

You’d learnt from the heavy reporting that Michael Myers had been being held at the Westbrook Sanitarium for the criminally insane, not four miles from where you worked, and he’d escaped that night he’d taken you - thrust against your weak body until he came on your cunt like a wild animal. 

You were the first person he’d come across, apparently, and after years of solitude, Michael had some frustrations to take out on you. You knew well who he was, you recognised that mask and that boiler suit the second you’d seen it. You’d grown up with stories of the boogeyman who’d murdered his sister the same as everyone else, thrust into the spotlight when he’d escaped from Smith’s Grove Sanitarium a few years ago and murdered a bunch of teenagers on a spree. You’d seen the youtube video essays and buzzfeed articles on the stoic killing machine who’d baffled psychologists and doctors up and down the country, maybe even the world. You’d walked past books in shops written about this monster, his silence, his rage, his gore and death and damnation were a part of your culture. It made it easy to forget that Michael Myers was real, and not just some fictitious product of a sick mind. He became very real to you that night, your own personal boogeyman.

You’d learnt that Michael Myers was no man, he was an evil spirit, a hell-sent silent demon, a ghost - one that was haunting you. 

You turned the television off and went into the bathroom, shucking your clothes into a messy pile by the bath as you stepped under the cool spray of the shower.

It was a warm day, your skin over-hot, and you welcomed the clammy dribbles down your back. You washed quickly, fingers pressing too familiar over the lips of your pussy, you expected them still to be swollen, puffy from use where Michael had rutted his scorching and elephantine cock against you like a beast in heat, but it wasn’t. It was like it hadn’t happened. Except it had, of course, because you still wore him on your skin. His fingertips were in every bruise, his grip was the ache in your bones with every groan of your sore body. It was like he’d marked you, made your tiny body a part of his eclipsing form. 

You shook your head frustratedly to yourself in the bathroom mirror before flicking the lightswitch off and making your way to your bedroom. You couldn’t think of him every moment for the rest of your life, you couldn’t live in fear of the boogeyman. He had left you alive, and you had to live with that. Michael was gone, and you’d never see him again. 

You pulled a short nightdress on, the flimsy material to combat the hot and sticky night you anticipated, and you made your way to the kitchen to fill up your water bottle to take to bed. 

The outside light was on.

It wasn’t yours, but your neighbours. It was motion-sensored, you knew that because it blinded you every time you stumbled back from a night shift.

You frowned before crossing to the door, to close the blinds over the glass so no one would be able to see into your home in the middle of the night. Your hand tangled in the string before it froze, along with the rest of your body. Like your blood had frozen to ice inside you and made you a dead weight to the floor.

Michael was standing under the light, 50 yards away from your door. He was staring sightlessly at you through the empty eyes of his mask, utterly emotionless. His hands rested unclenched by his sides, his back razor-straight as always. He was just watching. His form gave no indication of how long he’d been there. Maybe hours.

Fear shot through you and the string began to shake violently in your grip as you stared at him. He’d come to finish what he’d started, you realised in horror, he’d noticed his mistake in leaving you alive. Was it so you couldn’t tell the police? Was it just that you needed to die, he’d had you in his grasp and that was that, a rageful itch under his skin that wouldn’t be quenched until your blood was soaking his hands?

It didn’t make sense. He was stood in the street, bathed in your neighbours motion light like a bloody homing beacon. Surely they’d seen him. Surely someone had seen him and called the police? Why weren’t there any sirens? It was deathly quiet. Just you, him and the wind. Maybe it was a fever dream, a sleep paralysis nightmare and your demon had returned to you.

He began walking leisurely towards the door, his pace bone-tinglingly unhurried as ever, before he stopped at the glass and peered down at you. You shrank, paralysed with fear. You’d somehow forgotten just how big he was. He might have been two foot taller than you, and just as broad, taking up the whole of the door so he blacked out any light behind him. That was as good a metaphor as any to describe Michael. The darkness followed him. 

You didn’t know why you weren’t moving, dazzled, you supposed somewhere in the back of your mind. A monster brought to life, in front of you, enough to convince yourself that you were dreaming.

His fist shattered through the glass, shards of glittering ice hitting the kitchen floor as his hand curled down to find the handle. You screamed, backing off so violently your back hit the fridge and tears wept down your cheeks until they were quite literally soaking the front of your nightie. This was no dream. It was a nightmare incarnate. 

Even his violent outburst seemed calm somehow, shattering your backdoor into shards of glass like it was nothing. His large hand found the door handle and began to rattle it, and the noise caused your brain to snap back to where it needed to be.

You forced your eyes from him, pushed yourself away from the fridge and scurried into the living room. The front door was in your sights. You didn’t know precisely what you planned to do with yourself when you got outside, your brain hadn’t made it that far yet. All you knew was that you needed to survive, and you had no chance of that locked in the same cage as this rabid animal.

You grabbed for the front door handle with a hiss of accomplishment, throwing your gaze back over your shoulder to ascertain how much time you had. No time. Michael was already in the living room, walking towards you like he had all the time in the world. You shrieked in pure terror at his towering form as you flung the door wide open, the concrete of your front step was cool on your barefoot but the sensation barely lasted a second as fingers tangled roughly in your hair and yanked you roughly until you fell onto the carpet. The open-palm of Michael’s free hand slammed the front door shut, cutting off your exit, and the oak creaked under the force of it, the foundations of the house damn-near shaking.

You scrambled onto your knees, screeching, crying, grasping at his hand in your hair, wincing when every flex of his fingers yanked at your scalp, tearing individual hairs out by the roots. He had to bend his back to hold you to the floor, his emotionless mask looking down on you. His breathing was barely audible over your devastated screams. You couldn’t move.

“Please, please, please, Michael, please don’t kill me. I didn’t tell anyone, I swear! I won’t! I don’t want to die, please let me go, please, please-”

You could barely beg, your throat hoarse, your words sobs. He didn’t respond except to drag you into the middle of the room by your hair, kicking the coffee table aside to make room for you both in the middle of the floor. One of the wooden legs of your poor table snapped under his boot before he tossed you down like a ragdoll. Your back hit the carpeted floor and it shook your whole frame. You instinctively planted your palms on the floor behind yourself, to crawl back, to spring up, you didn’t know.

Michael’s boot came to rest on your bare thigh, his weight utterly solid and you wailed as he pinned you to the floor. Your nightie had ridden up, not to the point of indecency, but enough that his boot kissed your flesh. You froze as fresh tears streamed down your face, remembering exactly what he’d done the last time he’d had you like this, as if just realising how acutely vulnerable you were in this position. Were you even wearing underwear? You didn’t think so. His boot was mere inches away from your exposed cunt, all he’d have to do was push your dress up and he’d see everything. See how fucking wet you were. You hated yourself.

“Please,” you tried again, voice barely a whisper as you looked up at him. Submissive, you realised, prey before a predator, begging for its life. “What do you want?”

He didn’t move, you could barely tell if he was breathing, just staring down at you as everything else in the world fell away. His hands were still loose by his sides, no knife, you noted, but a grim red-hued dirt on the rough palms of his hands you could identify without too much guesswork. Your stomach rolled.

His hand raised and you jolted, expecting pain, to be struck, stripped, killed. 

How long had he been searching for you? Maybe he’d never left, maybe he’d been one step behind you all week, watching you sleep, watching you shower - were those twelve people dead because they lived close to you? Did you kill them?

His large hand came to rest over the front of his crotch and your mouth fell open. Not again. Why me? You were already shaking your head, breathy hitching sobs racking through you.

“No, Michael, please -”

He toed your thigh with the steel-gap of his boot, shoving it to the side, affectively opening your legs and you wanted to close your eyes, the feeling of vulnerability and shame as he spread your legs for him hurt something deep inside of you, you felt dirty and shameful in every one of your nerves. Your slick was soaking the back of your nightie and probably your carpet too. What the fuck was wrong with you?

He fell to his knees in front of you, in a way that could only have hurt, but he didn’t make a sound as his large, gore-stained hands gripped your bare thighs and tugged until you were lying in front of him. You squeaked, your legs not quite touching his, more left hanging in the air as he scraped his calloused hands down your thighs in a way that definitely didn’t make your heart speed up, no more than it was already hammering, before his palms were flat on your inner thighs, pressing them apart and into the floor. You tried immediately and desperately to close them and his grip on you tightened to the point of extreme pain, your femurs tremoring dangerously like they might snap if you moved even an inch.

You stilled completely, you couldn’t tell where he was looking, but it seemed to be right at you, that emotionless masked expression, or lack of, giving you nothing, but you could feel the rage and the dangerous power wafting off of him, you could feel the coiled strength in his fingers, the strain of his bicep muscles in his boiler suit as he held you immobile and you swallowed, shivering in fear and pitiful acceptance as you stopped struggling. If you had any hope of getting out of this alive, and as uninjured as possible, you had to stop fighting. 

His pathetic, mewling hole, your brain supplied almost bitterly.

Once apparently satisfied you’d stopped struggling, MIchael’s grip on your thighs lessened somewhat, leaving deep red bruises regardless, and he shifted forwards on his knees, taking up more space between your legs, as he rucked your nightie up to your belly, sitting back a little just to stare at your pussy, exposed and dripping and vulnerable, as if getting a good look at the wet little hole that had made him come so hard the last time. 

Your cheeks burned boiling hot as he looked at you, your thighs twitching conspirately to close but you forced yourself to try and calm, utterly impossible, you trembled like a newborn foal.

He dipped his head between your legs and your back arched, startled, wondering what he possibly meant to do, particularly, your horrible brain chipped in, with a mask over his face. You could hear nothing but that breathing, before it was sucked in, the nose of his mask just nudging your folds and making you jolt. 

Was he - was he smelling you? 

He made no noise, his body shifted an inch. What was he doing? It was like he was searching for something. He kept his nose buried against your soaping heat for a few more moments before he apparently found it. Then he was sitting back up again. Your knees were nearly knocking together in terror when his hands, fuck, how were they so big? framed your cunt, pulling at the flesh of the tops of your thighs, spreading your folds, revealing the vulnerable pink flesh of your seam, your clit.

Oh fuck.

He prodded you with a long finger a few times, painful sharp jabs until he caught the rim of your opening and sunk in to the knuckle. It burned, it burned so hot, you clenched painfully around his finger. Fuck, it felt like the size of a cock all on its own. But the finger was withdrawn as quickly as it had breached you, like a fucking dip test, but no less rough on the way out and you grimaced. You had a pretty good idea about what was to follow, and the anticipation of the pain alone was enough to make you cry again. 

“You don’t have to do this,” you tried again pathetically, wondering somewhere in your mind why you were trying to distract him from fucking you, when the alternative was his heavy hands shattering your collarbone until your heart was pierced by your own brittle dagger. Survival, you kept saying to yourself, one day you might believe it, you were trying to live. Nothing else. Nothing else.

He’d already unzipped his boiler suit, you could just glimpse a sliver of pale flesh beneath but he undressed himself no further, reaching down into his trousers and pulling his cock free. 

Fucking hell.

It was a goddamn fucking monster. It sat snug in Michael’s large hand, long and thick, crown red with blood and dribbling precome, it curved up slightly, in a way that was designed to attack that spot inside of you, and when he dropped it, it dipped, bobbing against his boiler suit, so heavy under its own weight it could barely hold itself up, but it did, his cock stood proud and to attention, ready for action, as he shifted down a little, hands once more finding your thighs and hauling you practically into his lap. He threw your legs over his broad hips, stretching your thigh muscles, as his cock rested hot and heavy on your pelvic bone, like a leaden weight on you. Oh fuck, you were so fucked. It was near enough the size of your thigh, and you knew it was going to wreck you.

You jerked your hips uselessly, trying in vain to put some distance between you and Michael’s thick cock, you’d never had a partner that size before, you’d never even had a toy that size. It wasn’t going to fit, it was as simple as that. Except he didn’t care.

He pressed his hips up, taking you with him, lifting your back clean off of the floor so your spine was arched uncomfortably. He paid you no mind as he gripped the base of his erection and slipped himself down through your folds.

He was silent, calm and ferocious as he pressed forward against you with so much pressure that it hurt. You could feel his heaviness hard against your pelvic bone and you trembled in fearful anticipation of what was about to happen.

Finally, Michael found what he was looking for and his thick cockhead breached your hole barely a centimetre but still you gasped, already undone by being so violently penetrated by not even a goddamn inch of that fat unforgiving head. 

Michael surged forward, in triumph perhaps, or just in a hurry to get his cock stuffed deep into you as quickly as possible, but your traitorous cunt was wet enough that he slipped straight back out again, whole cock fucking upwards and jamming through your folds, gliding gloriously against your clit. You let out a loud moan and he stilled entirely except for the throb of his cock against you. You clapped your hands to your mouth and forced your eyes to the ceiling. You hadn’t meant to do that. You didn’t want to give him the sick satisfaction. It was the last thing you could keep for yourself.

Michael was a fast learner, it seemed, because this time he inched a little more slowly inside you until a good inch of solid cock was spearing you open. You thought you might die, knees knocking against his hips helplessly as he forcibly stretched you obscenely around him. You will take me, I will make it fit.

Only when he was firm in you, and you were surely going to pass out from pressure alone, did he plunge his hips forward, his whole cock sinking to the hilt in one brutal thrust. 

The pain, fuck the pain was indescribable, burning, aching, stuffed full, stuffed beyond full - he didn’t care - he didn’t care that he’d probably just ripped you in half, stretched you so full you were more cock than you were yourself anymore. He didn’t care you were crying, shivering, he cared that you were an open, wet heat to warm his cock in. 

Those blood-stained, murderous hands gripped your hips and an ache blossomed in your bones, your skin beneath his skin turned white to red to near-black with bloodied pressure-bruises as he gripped you hard enough you fully believed he intended to shatter bone. He could, you knew he could. It was enough to lose yourself to, you were going to pass out, you were going to die from the stress and agony forced upon your weak and small body. This was how he was going to kill you.

He moved, shifted his heavy length inside you, nudging spots of your flesh where a cock was not meant to be. He pulled out incrementally, shoved back in and oh - oh .

Your thighs shook again, trembled, as spiralling pleasure mixed with pain and your pussy clenched around his cock, contracting around it as he thrust in again, as if traitorously and deliriously pulling him in to you, to where that thick and hot pressure felt the best. He thrust in again, harder than before, faster than before, immediately picking up an athletic, robotic pace as if he were half-way through a marathon fuck, thrumming with energy. You had no time to adjust, no time to build-up - you were there immediately, clenching uncontrollably on Michael Myer’s mercilessly hard cock, your cunt fluttering and clenching on every brutal, animalistic intrusion, until you couldn’t take it anymore. There was no edge, there was just falling.

You yelped, back arching up even more than it already was, legs squeezing the small of Michael’s back as your poor cunt spasmed, coming hot and hard until you felt your own slick dribbling down the backs of your thighs. Michael didn’t stop for a second, he didn’t even slow, you nearly choked on your own spit.

He was utterly devoid of anything, breathing heavy and focused, no movement except the piston of his hips as he fucked you deep and unforgiving until you were sure his thick crown was kissing at your cervix. 

Your head was hazy, eyes unfocused, you had absolutely no control over your overworked cunt anymore, whining pitifully as you came around him again, lathering his cock in your traitorous spend, praying every time that he’d slow, but he didn’t, and you felt that molten lava in your core building again until you were covered in a sheen of your own sweat, spent, exhausted. He didn’t care. He wasn’t done yet, he wanted more. He took it.

He angled his hips up, chasing a sensation, you weren’t prepared for it. He hammered into you until his hip bones were slamming against your inner thighs with enough force to shake your entire body. His cock against your sweet spot was like a punch to the gut and you screamed. Pain, pleasure, you didn’t know anymore as your hips convulsed and jerked, clamping down on him hard enough that if he were a normal man, he wouldn’t have been able to move.

But Michael was no normal man. 

He held your hips down, taking your clenching orgasm for himself as he slammed into you. Being fucked into your leg-shaking release was like being volted off of this ethereal plane and into another, your eyes whitened, your brain slowed to juddering holt as dizzying, mind-numbing ohmyfuckinggodthisfeelssogood short-circuited your entire being.

Michael slammed into you one final time, unable to withstand the vice-like grip of your velvet walls any longer before he was stilling completely, his cock an erupting volcano inside of you that spurted hot white heat against your walls, filling you utterly.

Your mouth opened in shock, or exhaustion, as your whole body trembled, jerking uncontrollably in the aftershocks.

He didn’t linger. His hands left your hips first, the bruises behind ached immediately, black and devastating to your skin where even taking a breath in bothered them. Then he snapped his hips back, swollen cock slipping free of your drenched heat, sopping with white. He let it hang there, between his legs, a stark contrast against his boiler suit, and you trembled with undignified arousal. Your cunt felt wrecked, stretched wide, forced open to accommodate him, and yet your body still somehow ached for more. No, you were terrified, fighting for your life, this wasn’t real. None of it was.

He stood, using core strength alone, leaving your legs to fall heavily to the floor. They ached where the muscles had been stretched, kicking the pain in your back and your hips into eleventh gear. You’d been twisted like a pretzel for too long. You frowned. How long had he been fucking you? It felt like no time at all, it felt like days.

You pulled your nightie down as far as it would go, scrambling your legs together despite the way they twinged. You could feel him squelching between your thighs and your untouched clit twinged pitifully.

When you gathered the courage to look up at him, you saw that he’d tucked himself away and zipped himself back up. He stood tall and menacing over you, gargantuan in your living room, his head near-touching the ceiling. He was peering down at you, that devoid mask giving nothing. The utter silence was as terrifying and deafening as any death cry.

He cocked his head ever so slightly and you winced, fight or flight response, before he was turning on his heel and heading back to the kitchen.

Terror rocked through you, vomit-inducing, head-spinning terror, and you were on your feet in a heartbeat. Your mauled insides and your ruined hips complained at you but you ignored it. They would mean nothing if you were dead. Which you were about to be. He was going for a knife, surely he was. He -

The creak of the kitchen door caught you by surprise, but it took a few long minutes for your heart to stop thudding loud enough for you to realise that he wasn’t coming back in. After a few breaths, your curiosity got the better of you and you crept into the kitchen. The back door was shut, except for the hole gaped in the glass by his fist, of course, and the kitchen was empty.

You were careful with your bare feet to avoid the shards of glass on the floor, not that it would make massive amounts of difference to your ruined body, before you shakily peered through what remained of your door.

The motion detector light was on, the street was empty.

Confusion and shame rocked through you with enough force to make you tumble and you had to grip the countertop to keep yourself upright.

How on earth were you still alive? For a second time? What did the most infamous serial killer in the country get from keeping you alive?

A hot, wet hole to come in.

You could feel the ache between your legs like Michael was still there, it was a glorious, horrible burn, trembling pleasure, irrefutable depravity - the best fuck of your life.

What did that make you?

Everything was eerily quiet. Your water bottle still sat on the side. If it weren’t for the broken door and the shards of glass, it would be easy to imagine that Michael hadn't been there at all.

Except for the warm come dribbling down your thighs where he’d marked his territory inside you. You swallowed. Whether you were his next victim or his fucktoy - you couldn’t escape that you were his. And you knew, even now, with terrifying certainty, that Michael Myers was not going to let you go.

link to chapter 3

[moonchildstyles]

rêvasser

élan part two: harry was too observant. y/n worried he could see the cracks in her walls.

wourdcount: 12.8k+

—————

Fran🫧

      send me a pic of your nails when ur done!!!! 

After answering with an agreeable response, (Y/N) flicked to an email from her stylist. Details were being rehashed over what she wanted to wear to the 132 Gala coming in the next few weeks, Dom again trying to push her in the direction of a darker outfit while she gravitated towards her usual palette of softer hues. Outside the window, glimmering buildings swept by with too many cars on the street and too many people, not paying attention, trying to cross the pavement. 

Harry was a silent wall beside her, quiet and stiff. Just like usual. This was the first she'd seen him since the pilates incident. Though he was in a substantially better mood than that last meeting, even giving her a slight smile when she climbed into the SUV beside him, (Y/N) still heard the round of reprimanding he doled out for her. 

She'd happily take Harry over her father, though. Now that, for the first time ever, he'd followed through on a threat (i.e. getting a bodyguard for her), there was a level of worry tied to any contact involving her dad. But, he hadn't called at all this week—not even a passive-aggressive text sent her way. When she had texted him that she finally RSVP'd to the upcoming Gala like he'd been hounding her to do just a week prior, he'd left her on read. While she much rather preferred this limited contact, she had a brewing worry that something worse was in the works if he was willing to ignore whatever information Harry had relayed or anything he'd read in the press.

But, she'd take what she could get. Focusing on the Gala with prepping and planning was something she'd happily let take her attention, even if the whole bodyguard/handler/professional babysitter thing was going to be hard to ignore given that Harry would have to accompany her to any and all events surrounding the event.

Though there was one thing her mother did instill in her before she divorced her husband and began jaunting around the world with (Y/N) left at home: Nothing could ruin a good nail appointment. Not even the presence of a bodyguard was an exception to that rule as far as (Y/N) was concerned. 

"Thank you, Sully," she chirped, stepping out of the SUV with a wave over her shoulder. Harry predictably followed right after her, the soles of his shoes patting against the concrete. "You don't have to come with me, if you don't want," she told him, stopping him before he could close the door behind and prompt Sully to leave, "It's kind of a long appointment, so if you wanted Sully to take you to get something to eat or whatever, I'm sure he'd be okay with that." 

While she couldn't imagine Harry taking her up on the offer, at least not after the clear line he made earlier in the week, she still felt it was something she should give as an option. Nail appointments weren't very exciting if you weren’t the one in the chair.

"No, thank you," Harry answered without a lag, closing the door behind him with a slam. He didn't even look at her as he spoke. 

Turning on her heel, (Y/N) took in a deep breath and moved on. Stepping through the front door held a moment of deja vu with the way Harry trailed behind her silently. The women manning the front gave her the same curious looks as the waitstaff at the brunch shop though they all treated her with more familiarity after coming to her regular appointments for almost two years now. 

"Hi! Welcome in, (Y/N)!" the same blonde woman that always greeted her said, her eyes floating above her shoulder to find Harry, "How are you?" 

The shining smile that earned her a top spot in the rumor mill bloomed on (Y/N)'s lips, "I'm doing perfect, thank you! You?" 

"Same as always," she chirped back, the same answer she always gave despite never detailing what the same even entailed. "You're in with Carlotta this morning, right?" 

"I am," (Y/N) beamed, stopping at the front podium with her designer purse hanging from the crook of her elbow. 

"She'll be right with you," the girl started, pointing in the direction of Carlotta's usual station over her shoulder, "You can take a seat at her station while you wait." 

"Got it, thank you," (Y/N) said, voice ever-pleasant and rehearsed. 

Taking the first step towards her chair, she saw the way the eyes of the other woman reached around and spotted Harry. He'd been seen at her side enough times to be recognizable to the right people, unfortunately. "Are we checking in for two appointments today or do we just have a friend tagging along?" 

"Just a friend," (Y/N) answered quickly. Hopefully the word friend would work through the media circuits just as well as everything else being said. 

Taking her seat at her usual station, (Y/N) made herself at home with a cross of her legs and her purse hanging from the hook drilled into the table. Harry pulled a vacant seat to sit beside her, taking the outermost side to leave her bookended by the wall and his body. Protector instincts, she figured. 

It wasn't long for him to begin to squirm, a fidget to his fingers. 

"Sorry," she whispered to him, pulling her phone from her bag to find the photo she was using for inspiration. 

A pinch appeared in Harry's brows. "What do you mean?" 

Keeping her voice low, she left her attention on her phone while she spoke, "I know it takes a bit to get used to knowing people are watching you, so..." 

It wasn't a surprise to feel others' eyes on her though it had been a while since her presence was notable to the staff here at her nail shop. The addition of a friend at her side was surely something that was garnering her more attention than usual, but Harry clearly wasn't used to it with the way he couldn't settle where he sat. While she was sure there were times that Camila and Monroe, his previous employers, were photographed with eyes on them, she couldn't imagine it was at the same level as she was currently going through. 

He'd get used to it. Maybe. 

Shrugging his shoulders, Harry swept his gaze around the room. "It's a little different, but I can handle it." 

She didn't doubt that. She couldn't imagine there was much Harry couldn't handle. 

Soon enough, Carlotta came out from the back with a fresh pair of pink gloves on, her usual smile, and big bouncy hair. 

"Good morning, honey! How are you?" she asked, brown eyes glimmering in the bright sunlight streaming through the sweeping windows. (Y/N) saw the second she seemed to register the extra guest at her side. 

"I'm good, thank you," (Y/N) greeted, stretching her hands out for Carlotta to have a look once she took her seat across. "How are you?" 

"Good," Carlotta sang, prying her eyes away from Harry to glance at (Y/N)'s nails, "What are we thinking for this set?" 

As much as (Y/N) was sure Carlotta wanted to ask about Harry, and why he was the first extra to ever come with her to an appointment like this, she kept her focus. She listened as (Y/N) went through and showed her the simple inspiration photos she had in mind from grazing through instagram. Glossy nudes with a sparkling French tip was the request at the moment, something easy before the elaborate set she would be getting right before the Gala night. 

The appointment went on as normal, Carlotta keeping her conversation to (Y/N) and the rapport they've built over the years. She was sure her tech was waiting for her to bring Harry into the flow, but (Y/N) didn't deviate from the route they'd already embarked on. Besides, Harry was much too involved in his brain and his job to be answering any kind of questions Carlotta may have wanted to ask. 

Despite Harry's perfect patrolling and the perfect distraction Carlotta was being, it wasn't long after she had started filing and shaping (Y/N)'s acrylics that there were titters and hushed whispers to be heard across the studio. Harry stiffened beside her, his jaw hardening as he scoped out the sound. 

Peeking around him, she saw a group of teenaged girls giggling around a single station as if they were waiting for their own tech to arrive. Two of them had eyes on her while the third was looking at her phone that had the camera conveniently facing towards where she and Harry were sat. The second they realized they were caught, the trio clammed up and looked away, phone disappearing under the lip of the table. Rushed whispers were exchanged between them though none of them dared to return her gaze. 

While (Y/N) was used to the treatment, something inside her ticked. It was another set of photos taken without her consent that would build towards another narrative that was anything but true. She was more than accustomed to that, this week had been enough already. More photos of herself was the last thing she wanted. 

Nonetheless, there was no way she could react other than with a smile and brushing off the moment. Still, she won't be called "kind" or "warm", she'll be called stiff. At least it wasn't "bitch", though.

When the girls caught her smiling, they gave her a small wave before erupting into more giggles in their corner of the studio. Harry barely held back his scoff as he watched the scene. 

Carlotta had gone quiet the second (Y/N)'s attention had shifted. They both saw as Harry shot a stiff look towards the girls, even when they were too caught up in themselves and whatever was going on in their phones to notice.

"Sorry," (Y/N) whispered, leaning towards Harry. She was hyper aware of Carlotta's quiet presence, but she couldn't forgo addressing the moment with the way Harry was reacting. "They'll be over it soon, it's okay." 

Harry only shook his head.

She wished she knew what was going on in his head. She wanted to know what he thought of that moment, what he collected from the way she reacted, or how much he was beginning to regret taking this job now that so many eyes scrutinized him. 

"Do you like this, or were you thinking a little bit sharper on the edges?" 

Carlotta's question pulled (Y/N)'s attention back to her nails, right where it needed to be. 

—————

"I'll be right back," Harry murmured, standing from his spot as he scoped out the bathroom. 

(Y/N) sent him off with a quiet okay, her attention placed on the sweeps of the small brush going across her nails.

"So," Carlotta nonchalantly mused, her gaze stuck on her work, "you know I don't believe everything I read, but I have to ask... Is that the guy?" Guiding (Y/N)'s hands under the lamp, Carlotta flicked her gaze up to look at her client through the fan of her dark lashes. 

With her back stiffening and lips thinning, (Y/N) didn't know what to say. Despite the conspiratorial smile on Carlotta's face, (Y/N) didn't feel like she was in on the joke. Her nail tech was one of the closest people to her in a funny way (nail appointments sometimes felt like therapy after a long week, and too many times had (Y/N) shown up hungover beyond repair), so it cracked at her shell just a bit to know that random stories could wriggle into the mind of someone who actually knew her. 

Shaking her head, (Y/N) gave her a mild smile. "It's not like that." She paused before offering up the rest of the story. "He's my new security actually." 

"Like a bodyguard?" Carlotta bubbled, taken aback as she paused in her line work of the French tip she was making. She seemed to mull over the possibility before nodding her head some. "I guess the stories have gotten a little out of hand, recently." 

"Yeah," (Y/N) offered lamely, "He'll at least make it sound a little bit more intimidating when I need photographers to get out of my way when I'm trying to get to my car." 

Swallowing around her dry throat, (Y/N) suddenly found it hard to speak about it all. Other than Francesca, most people didn't want to hear about how "hard" her life was; it was a joke, as if there was no way she could have anything negative happening. While in many ways that was true—she had a home, income that she never had to worry about, and the kind of time to indulge in herself that she knew many others didn't—but that didn't negate the fact that there were unique challenges in her life that wore on her. She hated to think about Carlotta listening to this and talking to her coworkers later about her spoiled client. 

Lighthearted as always, Carlotta's features lit up with a smile as she guided her hand in for the final round of drying. "I'm sure he will with those shoulders." 

Just in time, Harry returned with the conversation quieting then. Only a round or so more of drying with her hands under the lamp was needed before Carlotta was doing her ending spiel of how best to take care of the acrylics despite the fact (Y/N) was a longtime client with some of the best retention she'd ever seen (at least that's what Carlotta told her). 

"I love them!" she bubbled to her tech, standing up from her spot with her hands spread out to catch the clean lines of the French and crisp edges in the shaping. "Thank you so much." 

"Of course," Carlotta said, rounding her station to offer (Y/N) a loose hug, "I'll see you soon for your Gala nails, right?" 

"Right—hopefully, I'll have an idea ready then." A round of pleasant, albeit a bit forced laughter sounded between them. 

Goodbyes were shared before Carlotta went about cleaning up her station and (Y/N) and Harry were silently heading up to pay for the service. Only, (Y/N) was stopped with a rushed call of her name, the voice high-pitched and jittery. 

Stopping where she stood, Harry beside her ready to step in at a moment's notice, she turned to see that trio of girls, their own nails glimmering with paint and artificial length. They all looked at her with hopeful eyes and flushed cheeks. They were young—as young as (Y/N) was when she started traipsing around town by herself. She hoped they were being careful and looking out for one another. 

"Yes?" she pleasantly chirped, lashes fluttering in a quick blink. 

One of them dared to shuffle forward in her Prada sandals, sparkling iPhone clutched in her hand. "Can we get a picture with you?" 

Without a second thought, (Y/N) answered with an "Of course! What are your guys' names?" 

High on her attention, they flushed and giggled, hands shaking as they took turns to introduce themselves. The one with the phone in her hand—Izzy—was the ringleader it seemed, the most fearless of the trio though she seems just as incredulous to the fact (Y/N) was actually speaking to them. 

"You're, like, my favorite person on Instagram, bestie," Izzy chattered off, too-white smile beaming, "My parents hate that I follow you, but I don't care—I think your outfits are cute, and I can't wait until I'm old enough to dress like that without them telling me no." 

While the girls laughed and giggled, getting into position for the photo, (Y/N) tried to play along with a bubbling smile. It was more than uncomfortable to hear that these girls' families hated her, as well as hear about how much they couldn't wait to wear the same ensembles as she. At least, they were being nice.

Honestly, (Y/N) hadn't even thought that the outfits she posed in were something that should be reprimanded. She dressed in a way that made her feel pretty. She hadn't thought that the summer dresses she'd favored these last three months would be a subject of debate in households she didn't even know existed. 

Suddenly the off-the-shoulder bodysuit and pair of high waisted jeans she was wearing weren't enough. She wished she had pulled on a sweater despite the heat outside.

Nonetheless, (Y/N) just laughed along, playing the part long enough to keep them happy before retreating for the day. Taking the offered phone, she turned towards Harry with it stretched out towards him.

"Will you take a picture of us, Harry?" she asked, acknowledging him for the first time since he grew stiff when the girls had initially spotted them. 

"Sure," he answered gruffly, his gaze on her intense as usual though there was more curiosity than scrutiny this time around. 

The girls posed around her, arms around her waist and beaming smiles directed at the camera. Harry tapped the screen a couple of times while the girls giggled at her sides. The breakaway was seamless afterwards, Harry passing back the borrowed phone and (Y/N) slipping away from where she was swaddled between them. 

"It was so nice to meet you guys," she beamed, "But, we really need to head out. I'm sorry!" 

"Totally fine, thank you," Izzy spoke for them, bouncing on the balls of her feet, "Maybe we'll see you at our next appointment." 

"Maybe," (Y/N) laughed just before offering a wave as a final goodbye. 

Her smile stayed stiff on her cheeks as they walked away, though the girls must not have gauged their volume very well with the way she could hear them clearly over the growing distance. 

"That's her new boyfriend, Sydney! The one that she left Damien before, remember? He's the one in those pics from the other day," Izzy chattered off, much too loud to be appropriate in a place that would be considered a spa. And, because the subject of her gossip was within hearing range. 

It was an interesting thing to be a few teenaged girls' favorite villain. Even with the way they seemed to like her, they still would believe that she'd lie and cheat and fight like that. 

Harry was a solid, silent pillar beside her. He was a brick wall following wherever she went, only giving out a curl of his lips when he was acknowledged and he knew it was polite to do so. He stayed quiet up until he was escorting her through the plaza to meet up with Sully. 

"Do y'ever get used to that?" he asked, voice just a hair louder than the click of her heels over the bricks under her feet. 

"Hm?" she sounded, paying a little too much extra attention to the photo she was trying to take of her nails to send to Francesca. 

"Having people watch you all the time and take photos of you. Do you ever get used to that?" he detailed, casting his eyes around to where Sully could be waiting along the curb. 

Shrugging, (Y/N) tossed her phone into her purse. "I mean, kind of? It's been happening since I was in high school, but it's definitely been a little different lately just with... everything being posted about me and all." A beat passed once Harry spotted their car, the route changing as she followed after him. "I think I get it on the easier side, though, compared to others. At least people aren't attacking me or anything, right?" 

Harry's lips thinned at her words, jaw tight. "Right." 

Definitely the wrong thing to have said. 

Replaying her words with Harry's icy reaction, (Y/N) wanted to cringe. Why did she even say that? Of course he wouldn't think that was funny or even lighthearted when his entire job was to keep her out of harm's way. 

For a split second, she wanted to tell him about the letters and the photos she received. She wanted him to know that she knew that facet of her existence was serious—that she took his job seriously. But, that topic was more than off limits—something that would no doubt end in a phone call from her father and a one-way ticket to a Swedish cabin with no internet or link to the outside world for a minimum of six months. 

(Y/N) followed Harry to the SUV, silent as ever as there was no way to really recover from her slip. He held the door for her to slide inside before he came in next to her. 

Sully, the perfect breath of fresh air, twisted in his seat when they filed in. A broad smile could be seen under his moustache. "Let me see," he told (Y/N) offering a hand out for her. 

Happy to show off her nails, she gave her hand to him. "They're a different shape than normal, but I thought they would look nice with the French tip." 

"They're amazing," he smiled at her, the same response he always gave her when coming back from a nail appointment. "My daughter is going to want some just like that when she sees them on her phone." 

Settling back into her seat, (Y/N) smiled. "Let me know, and I can set up an appointment for her and everything. She'll just need to take care of them." 

"I'll tell her you said that," he told her before twisting back to face forward in his seat, "Anywhere else for the day?" 

From the corner of her eye, she could see Harry observing the moment. Just like usual.

She could go and start some prep for her Gala night outfit, take a look at Vivienne Westwood and Dior, but the idea of Harry being her only companion after her misplaced joke wasn't something she had much interest in. She, at least, needed Francesca for something like that. 

"Just home today, Sully. Thank you." 

Sitting in the back of the SUV, bench seat shared with Harry, (Y/N) felt exposed. She just hoped she was making the right moves under those watchful eyes. 

—————

Heaving a sigh, (Y/N) listened to Francesca with her phone pressed to her ear, her gaze cast across the New York skyline. 

"I'm sorry," Fran pouted through the line, (Y/N) practically able to hear the flutter of her lash extensions through the receiver. "If I had known, I wouldn't have promised I could make it." 

"It's okay, it's not your fault," (Y/N) soothed, chewing her bottom lip, "I can move my fittings to later in the afternoon, maybe? Would that work?" 

"You know how my mom gets when she comes into the city," Francesca sighed, sounding exhausted before the day had even started, "Her and her husband are back on that thing about me being a gallery owner, so you know they're planning on taking all day to make me realize how much of a dream it is for me—I just don't know it yet."

(Y/N) couldn't help the itty, bitty smile that touched the corner of her lips. How silly the two of them were; Francesca's worst problem is her mother wanting to gift a gallery to her, while (Y/N) squirmed at the thought of having a personal security guard follow her to keep her safe. 

Nonetheless, she did feel her heart deflate a bit knowing that her best friend wouldn't be accompanying her to something they both loved doing. As a bonus, Francesca would have also been acting like a buffer between she and Harry. Now she was going to be left with him sitting and brooding in the corner with his criticizing gaze while she twisted and turned in a multitude of mirrors.

"I'm sorry, (Y/N)," Francesca said again. 

"It's okay, don't worry, okay?" (Y/N) repeated, hearing the sounds of the city from her free ear as the morning rush began and wouldn't stop until late at night. "Tell them I said hi, and I'll send you pictures of my favorites. Maybe we can still do our alterations together if everything matches up?" 

"Yes, definitely! I'll see you tomorrow night and we can talk about it more then." 

"See you tomorrow," (Y/N) settled, sinking into her lounger, "Love you." 

"Love you, too, bestie!" 

With that, (Y/N) pulled the phone from her ear and ended the call. Out on her balcony, the morning chill touched at the bare slashes of skin revealed by the open, crochet knit of her cardigan. Despite growing up with a fear of heights, sitting up in the balcony of her high-rise apartment, it was easy for (Y/N) to luxuriate in the thin air and clear out her brain for even a moment. 

She was going to get through today. Even if she is photographed today, if she receives an intrusive letter, if another story is spun dragging her name through the rain and mud, she was going to make it through. Besides, she loved going to Fifth Ave; the fashion houses were her second home in the city. She couldn't back out on them now, not when her stylist pulled rank and ensured she would have a private fitting at Vivienne Westwood and a tour across an archive of Dior jewelry just for her. 

(Y/N) was just going to have to trust the opinion of sales people who worked on commission and were too scared to look her in the eye half the time. To be fair, they hadn't steered her wrong just yet, even if they never really looked at the way the garments fit her, just because that would require a longer than a single second glance at her. 

Taking in a deep breath, (Y/N) reminded herself: she was going to get through today. 

A buzz in her hand alerted her, taking her from the skyline and back to her phone. 

Sully👑

      I'm here and ready whenever you are.

At least she would get to see Sully this morning. It was always a good day when he was there to ground her. 

Trekking through the building, (Y/N) gave her usual smile to the uninterested doormen and avoided eye contact with the man who was tapping away aimlessly on his phone, another person waiting to be buzzed up, she was sure. 

Peering through the glass doors, she saw the SUV on the curb, Sully having made his way to sit just outside the entrance. He was stationed outside the car, his hand poised on the door handle to help her in. Even with the deep tint on the windows, she was sure Harry was waiting inside. A silhouette with too nice of a profile to be wasted on a security detail.

Sully's features softened into a grin when he saw her step outside of her building, his usual all black attire just as immaculately pressed as always. "Good morning, Ms. (Y/N)," he greeted, hand on the door to pull it open for her. 

"Morning, Sully," (Y/N) reciprocated, the long form of her cardigan fluttering behind her. 

Just as she suspected, Harry was waiting patiently on the bench seat of the SUV when Sully pulled the door open. He didn't look up as she slipped inside, crossing her legs once the seatbelt was secured across her form. 

"Good morning, Harry," she murmured in the quiet of the leather interior.

Glancing up at her from where he had been tapping away on his phone, Harry took her in in a brief sweep over her form. He brought his knuckle up to his nose, brushing underneath the tip. "Good morning." 

The sound of Sully's door slamming shut brought (Y/N)'s attention forward from where she was stuck on the flickering green of Harry's eyes. "Now to Ms. Francesca's apartment?" 

"No, actually," (Y/N) clarified, shifting in her seat, "Franny's mom is coming into the city today so she had to cancel." 

"Oh no," Sully genuinely pouted at her through the rearview mirror, eyes meeting hers, "I'm sorry, (Y/N). Straight to Fifth Ave, then?" 

"Yes, that's perfect," (Y/N) chirped, feeling Harry's gaze on her through the interaction, never once did the shift to Sully. "Vivienne first, please. Dior after." 

"Got it." 

Pulling away from the curb, Sully was the expert driver he always was, slipping them seamlessly into the traffic without so much as a jostle over the pavement. Cars were slow moving at this time in the morning, but she knew he would make quick work of the distance. 

"Jus' us today?" Harry piped up, his voice a low gravel that had (Y/N) pulling her gaze on her nails to land on him. 

Swallowing, she nodded. "Yeah. If you don't want to sit through all the dress stuff, though, I'm sure Sully can take you elsewhere while I'm busy. I can just let you know when I'm ready to move to the next spot." 

No hesitation before he spoke again: "No, thank you. I'll be staying with you." 

She didn't expect any other answer if she was being honest, but it was the polite thing to ask. 

With no room to argue, (Y/N) fell silent, leaving just the sound of distant car honks and the light radio melodies playing. The route to the Vivienne Westwood location on Fifth Ave was a familiar one, even with the traffic and swerving drivers it didn't seem so long from where (Y/N) sat. She gazed out the tinted windows, the world looking just a little bit blue. People in too high of heels to be walking on the crumbling sidewalks with brand name shopping bags tucked under their arms were blurs beside her as Sully toured them through the city, 

The car slowed when the storefront came into view, the elegant font of Vivienne's name bold over the crystal windows. 

Sully sent them off after helping (Y/N) onto the concrete, promising to return as soon as he received word that she was ready to move on. Harry was her silent shadow as she stepped over the sidewalk like a runway. The mannequins in the windows were corseted and perfect, standing on thick platforms with sparkling jewelry. An effortless smile stretched across her lips as she pushed the door open, the brassy golden handle warm under her palm from the New York heat. 

Her heels were muffled as she stepped over the eccentric carpet. (Y/N) swore she could breathe just a bit easier in here. Many of the shops along this Avenue were the closest thing to being at home, especially when she was growing up and itching to do anything but be at home with her parents. She had an abundance of nice memories tied to these stores and brands; summers spent with Francesca and a credit card, impromptu fashion shows with pieces that wouldn't go together on a runway. While there were more than a couple of workers that became annoyed with them after only a few minutes of the duo walking into the shops, these places were the easiest escape. 

Sweeping her gaze across the shop, she took in the elaborately dressed mannequins and clean shelving. Everything was lit up on display, highlighting the contrasting colors and the punk-inspired pieces that gave Ms. Westwood her name. Racks and displays were scattered throughout, leading the walkways like a twirling river of black and white streaks. (Y/N) gravitated towards the racks with the signature structured corsets of the Westwood brand, draping fabrics and glimmering pearls. 

The entire space was quiet, her stylist—Dom—having made his calls and ensured the space would be free of any other shoppers while (Y/N) was getting her fitting done. (He was a little paranoid when it came to others leaking looks and style choices when it came to events like this Gala. It had happened once a few years earlier with a different client, and he seemed to have never forgotten). That left the entire morning free for (Y/N) to try on all of the imported pieces they had picked from the archives and Harry to brood around her like a temperamental potted plant. 

It didn't take long for a familiar head of coiffed blonde hair to appear around the corner of a jewelry case. A too-white, too-straight, too-perfect smile was plastered across his face—the kind of smile (Y/N) was halfway sure was fake, but that was just commission-based customer service. 

"Will!" (Y/N) greeted with a matching smile, breaking the ice as she turned on her heel to face him fully.

"(Y/N)! How are you, my love?" Will bubbled, posh accent wrapping around her name. He was adorned in his usual all black suit, velvet accents lined throughout. The length of the flared pants made him look that much taller, long limbs strong. The classic Vivienne Westwood pendant had been refashioned into a broach he pinned to his lapel, chains falling from around the Saturn that glimmered like the gunmetal manicure on his fingers. Something shimmery rained over his eyelids, just punk enough to fit Vivienne but high class enough to please those that guarded Fifth Ave like a dragon's treasure. 

When Will approached her, hands delicately held out with his lips puckered, she didn't hesitate to turn her cheek and indulge in the air kisses he always made a fuss about. Though it made her cringe, like one of those girls she knew in private school that spent the summer abroad and suddenly started speaking in an accent and bringing up their travels at any given moment, she enthusiastically partook in the greeting. 

Best behavior was required in shops like this, the associates tending to be some of the worst gossips and best storytellings in the city. If she was anything but perfect, with the way the media was already latched onto her, it wouldn't take much convincing for someone like Will to sell a story to any publication. 

"I'm doing so well now! I was hoping I'd be paired with you for my appointment." 

He waved her off with an incredulous face. "Well, of course they'd pick me. They only give you the best, hunny!" 

A round of laughter erupted between them, something that sounded just as fake as it felt in her throat. Harry was notably quiet, watching everything unfold. He didn't bother to try and step in to introduce himself, observing as always. 

"Come, come," Will gestured, inching towards the grand fitting room plotted in the back of the shop, "All of these gorgeous archive pieces made it in last night, just for you! I shouldn't be surprised, you and Dom have such wonderful taste, but I just love to see it, really." 

Will chattered to her as he escorted them through, bubbling about how excited he was to show her the garments as well as see them on her. While she knew a portion of his personality was a customer service front, he was one of her favorites here. He was more positive than uppity, unlike most of the other sales people she'd run into during her time perusing this street. 

Making it to the large fitting room in the back, (Y/N) immediately spotted the white garment bags hanging from the single stall. It was a large room that could have easily fit in stall after stall, but instead was used as a luxury space for only a single patron. Plush carpeting was installed under their feet, black lightning bolts breaking up the creamy white. A shimmering chandelier hung above the circular dais situated in front of the three-sectioned mirror on the far end of the room, crystals dripping from the wrought iron branches almost low enough to graze the head of the person standing on the dais. Cozy chairs were pushed throughout, the space anticipating guests, along with the tray of champagne glasses and a chilled bottle awaiting serving. 

Finding a pause in the chattering, (Y/N) asked, "Are any of the girls helping today, or is it just us?" 

"Just us!" Will chirped, carefully uncorking the bottle of frosty champagne, "Dom made it especially clear that he didn't want anyone unnecessary to be here; he said he wanted to make sure no one could leak anything." 

"Sounds like Dom," (Y/N) sighed with an affectionate smile, dropping her purse onto one of the houndstooth printed armchairs. 

Harry found his own chair silently, sinking into the cushioning though he didn't seem to relax much at all. His gaze stayed alert, looking around the entire space—probably looking for any cracks as if a supervillain could swing through the drywall and take her captive. Or, anything (Y/N) could damage should she finally snap in his presence.

She wondered what he thought, not three weeks into the job without a single tantrum that she knew her father had prepared him for. Hopefully she was showing she wasn't as much of a problem as her father was convinced. 

Shrugging out of her cardigan, (Y/N) caught the way Will eyed Harry. He swept his gaze over, analyzing the same way Harry analyzed everything else. 

"But, I see you brought a friend," he tittered, looking at her with that sly gaze. Harry didn't even flinch at the first acknowledgment of his presence. 

Keeping her demeanor perky and bright, (Y/N) made a point to look confident—but not too proud. She didn't want to look like she was showing off a significant other, so she couldn't smile too much, but she still had to smile just enough not to look shy or smitten. She didn't want to give Will any reason to describe her as being "bashful, over the moon for her new man". 

"Yes, that's Harry," she gestured to him, Harry barely offered a small smile when he took a second to look in their direction, "He's my bodyguard" 

"Bodyguard?" Will asked, blonde brow raised in an arch. 

Sighing, (Y/N) politely took the offered glass of bubbling champagne from Will's hand. "You know how it goes sometimes," she started, sipping delicately from the flute for a chance to pause, "Photographers have been a little crazy lately, so I figured I might need a little extra help." 

"Oh I'm sure," Will bubbled, looking at her with a furrowed brow feigning concern, "With everything that's happened with Damien, I bet those paparazzi can't get enough of you." 

He eyed her the same way he eyed Harry, as if there were details he could glean from her with just a glance. He was hoping she would spill, give him something to whisper over. 

Shrugging it off as nonchalantly as possible, she took another careful sip of her champagne. "Anything for a photo, you know," she said, rolling her eyes as if being hounded for personal information and photos of intimate moments was nothing more than an inconvenience. "But!" she perked up, popping her hip with a spark to her voice, "I want to see what Dom picked out for us!" 

Hooked by her excitement, Will caught the giddy way she talked and reacted with his own enthusiasm. "Okay, okay, sit down and close your eyes," he instructed, waving her back into her spot, "Because, you are going to freak." 

Doing as asked, (Y/N) settled into her seat with her eyes fluttering closed. She could hear Will padding away, leaving her with just Harry though if she hadn't already known he was there, she would have assumed the complete silence meant she was alone. She couldn't imagine being so quiet all the time, alert and scrutinizing. She wished she knew what was going on in his brain. 

The zip of garment bags and rustling of fabric drew closer as the time ticked on another minute. With the way her heart peaked, her giddiness was no longer an act. This is the stuff that made these events worth it for her; she loved playing dress up as a girl, and this was just the same but even prettier, in her mind. She could pretend to be a real princess this way. 

"Okay"—a pause for dramatic effect—"open," Will said, a smile clear in his voice. 

Blinking her eyes open, (Y/N) saw the flash of pearl pink laid hanging in front of her. Will held the padded hanger up for her to take in the entire gown, his free arm behind the skirt to help put it on display under the light. The fabric looked like liquid pearl, tinted in a pastel, cool pink that glimmered with a golden sheen in the light. It shifted before her eyes, showing shades of silver and purple, metallic and pearl. A blend of everything pretty in the world, (Y/N) decided. The top was the signature corset that she loved from the Westwood designs, the neckline featuring a deep scoop to show off her chest, structured and tight. The skirt was a length that would drag behind (Y/N) as she walked, draping down from the corset with a thigh high slit up the side. The sleeves to hold it up were nothing but a three-tiered string of pearls, each loop bigger than the last to rest lower and lower on her arms when she put it on. 

While there was a small collection of garment bags hanging up behind Will, (Y/N) couldn't imagine looking at another gown after this. It was too beautiful—the perfect personification of her thoughts that she had jumbled together to Dom during a late night FaceTime. She couldn't have ever imagined her scattered thoughts coming together enough for him to know exactly what dress from the Westwood archive to request for her. 

But, this was exactly it. 

She almost felt as though she needed to wait, to make sure it didn't just melt off of the hanger and drip onto the floor. She wanted to ensure it was real before she became too excited.

"Dom picked a couple from the archive and a few from the most recent runway, but this is my favorite," Will told her, his tone conspiratorial like he was sharing a secret just for her, "I think it would look gorgeous with your coloring, too. And, I know you're a pearl girl, so." 

Standing from her seat, she abandoned her glass of champagne on the side table. She was sure her eyes were too wide on her face, taking in all of the gown as if it would disappear if she blinked too long. 

"Are you kidding?!" she bubbled, "I love this! I almost don't want to see the others, I love this so much." 

Will shook his head immediately. "No, no, no, we're playing Barbie today, you're still trying on the others. But, I'm happy we're on the same page with this one." 

In a split second, (Y/N) saw something flourish in Will's eyes. The corner of his lips quirked up, too sly of a curl to be innocent. He turned towards Harry, showing off the dress just as grandly as he did for her. 

"What do you think, Harry? This would look gorgeous on her, don't you think?" 

Harry, the master of nonchalance and being chronically unbothered, barely batted an eye when Will caught his attention. If not for the fact (Y/N) knew who he was and what his job entailed, she would have thought he was one of those people from Williamsburg, where it was cool to be uncaring. Fortunately, she knew he genuinely couldn't care less about what was going on in this fitting room as long as (Y/N) wasn't being assaulted or causing property damage.

His eyes fell over the gown, sweeping over the details in that scrutinizing way he always looked at his surroundings. "It looks nice, yeah. I don't know much about this kind of stuff, but 'm sure it would look nice on her." 

A beat passed. Will waited for more, waited for his digging expedition to come up with results. Harry only blinked. 

"Okay, well!" Will moved on, smile a touch stiff. He turned towards (Y/N) with those same bright eyes. "Let's get you all tied up into this, and then we'll see for sure."

(Y/N) eagerly allowed Will to usher her through the door to the changing stall, eyes flitting to the dress as soon as she could spot it in the mirror. He didn't waste a second before he started chattering to her about some drama that apparently happened when the garments were dropped off the night before, trivial things that were embellished for the sake of getting her to laugh. (Y/N) wanted to say she listened intently, enjoying the way he prattled on and told the story as if it were a myth, but she honestly couldn't spread her attention between him and the dress that was beginning to swath around her body. 

Her day clothes were dropped to the floor at her feet, leaving her in undergarments before Will helped her into the dress, the corset stiff with the boning straightening out her spine. The beginnings of the look came together before her eyes, the fabric forming around her body the tighter the corset was zipped. The skirt seemed to be dripping off of her body the way it moved under the light, molten and sticky. With the slit opening up as high as her hip, the pearl glimmer stood out against her skin. Will helped her push the straps of her bra down, sliding them into the sides of the corset to make it look that much more real. 

Times like these were the only moments (Y/N) felt as if she could be photographed—wanted to be spotted. She loved dressing up, she loved feeling pretty in her skin, she loved these kinds of special moments. It never got old to her, feeling the glide of silky fabrics on her skin, the glimmer against her skin tone, looking like the princesses she used to idolize when she was a kid. 

Twisting and twirling in the mirror, (Y/N) could feel the smile curling on her lips. 

"Well, what did I tell you?!" Will beamed, standing back in the mirror to meet her eyes in the glass, "Better than the runway, my love!" 

"You're so sweet," she told him, a pout on her lips as she matched his eyes in the mirror, "Thank you." 

"Let's go look in the big mirror, see it from all the angles," Will prompted, reaching his hand out to help her step off the circular, raised platform in the dressing room. 

(Y/N) followed him through the door, letting him take her to the three panel mirror at the head of the room. He held the skirt for her as she stepped onto the platform, her feet chilled through her socks once she was steady. He fanned the gown around her, the split showing off the stretch of her bare thigh. She stood tall with her posture corrected with the corset, but the confident tip of her chin had everything to do with the way she felt in the dress. 

Running her hands over the fabric, she followed the ripples in the pearl with her eyes. Seeing herself like this, she didn't care what her dad had to say about her, the tabloids, or the rumors. She liked what she saw in the mirror, and that was enough. 

"Do a spin, look at the back," Will instructed, hands clasped together with his own smile beaming on his features. When (Y/N) did as much, showing off the deep dip in the back that showcased the planes of her back and the seamless lines of the corset, his smile only widened. "Classic Vivienne," he murmured, impressed as if it were his own work, "What are you thinking for your hair?" 

Using her hands to loosely emulate the idea she currently had in her head, (Y/N) craned her neck as she looked in the mirror. "I'm not sure yet, but I think Dom had something vintage in mind. Big and drape-y to show off the dress, but I haven't talked to my hair stylist yet." 

"Jewelry?" Will asked, circling around her as if appraising a diamond.

(Y/N) launched into a description of what she and her stylist were thinking, imagining the Dior pieces glimmering against her skin and the way her hair would tickle her collarbone when she turned her head. She could already see the set of pearly nails that were going to be on her fingers, the tiny bag that she was planning on hanging from her elbow the whole night. Her bare feet shifted to be sheathed in the perfect pair of Manolo's she knew Dom was going to insist she wear to go along with the gown. 

Everything came together with each twist and turn of her body in the mirror, pearls and crystals sparkling in her mind.

Will chatted away to her, telling her something about how the skirt could be altered to lower the slit (something she was not interested in doing, honestly) and how glimmering crystals could be added here and there. She offered him a bubbly smile in the mirror, nodding along, though she might have been a little too absorbed with the way she felt in the gown to be paying any real attention. 

In the mirror, with a twist to show off the back once more, (Y/N) caught sight of Harry. Just as usual, he looked at her with those ever-observant eyes. Even from the distance he was sitting away in the long room, she knew he was watching everything. 

This time, though, he sat with his elbows crossed over his knees, leaning forward as if he couldn't see enough. A furrow of his brow shaded his eyes. Though he tended to keep his eyes latched to her anyway, he looked earnest this time; like there was more he was trying to find before him. 

(Y/N) swallowed. He hadn't even realized she was looking at him, she didn't think, at least with the way he didn't shy away when she found him staring. Or, he just didn't care. 

Maybe, she could argue, he found Will as a possible threat being so close and so touchy with her. That was his job anyway, see those kinds of possibilities where she normally wouldn't. And, he took his job seriously. 

"I know we've pretty much picked already, but let's take a picture and try on the others," Will propositioned, pulling her out of her head, "We'll send them to Dom and see what he thinks, right?" 

With a flutter of her lashes and her gaze disengaging with Harry's form, she straightened her falling smile. "Right! My phone's over there, if you want to take the pictures really quick!" 

With her phone in hand, Will began snapping photos of her, (Y/N) posing and smiling with every angle on display for her stylist to analyze later. The moment erupted into giggles as the posing became more ridiculous, Will fueling her with the ways he angled her phone and goaded her to get more and more wild. 

All the while, (Y/N) could feel Harry's eyes on her. 

She found she didn't mind having his eyes on her. 

—————

In front of him, (Y/N) twirled and twisted while her friend took photos of her. Harry watched the whole time, cataloguing the way the dress formed around her body, the silk sliding over her skin and glimmering under the light. 

Harry's chest felt tight. He couldn't take his eyes off of her. 

She looked gorgeous.

In the front of his mind, he knew well that he would do better to be paying attention to their surroundings, watching her friend's hands, anything that actually pertained to his job. 

But, he didn't. Instead, he watched his client. Even when she caught him.

—————

"Yes, sir, we're on the way." 

Harry's voice was gruff and low as he spoke on the phone, (Y/N) listening in from where she sat next to him in the SUV. She played with the slowly dulling edges of her nails, pretending as if she had no idea as to what her dad was saying and asking on the phone to Harry. 

She pretended not to catch the way he glanced at her from the corner of her eye, his gaze sweeping over her form before he was facing forward once more. "Yes, sir—she's dressed appropriately." 

(Y/N) had to tune it out then. She didn't care to hear more of the checklist Harry had to go through in order to approve her walking out of the house. She felt more than exposed; under a microscope with everyone awaiting her downfall. 

Not soon enough, it seemed the end of the phone call was finally nearing. Harry shifted in his seat as he spoke, giving a time estimate to their arrival before a mild "See you soon." left his lips and the call ended. 

Biting back a sigh, (Y/N) sunk into her own seat that much more. 

Of course, her father would call Harry over his actual daughter. She couldn't be trusted to give honest answers, obviously. Some days she felt disappointed over the way he acted with her, other days saddened for the little girl inside of her that ached for her parent's love, but days like this brought anger to the surface. She couldn't fathom how important he must think he was to believe he could speak to and about her the way he did.

Though the thought of looking at—let alone speaking to—him today was making her more than annoyed, she was already on her way to the country club and she couldn't back out now. At least she could eat as much as she wanted and buy just as many drinks all on her father's card.

He was going to be way too enthralled with his stupid country club friends—and Harry—to even acknowledge her, anyway. Whenever she was invited to see him on the green, she was meant to be nothing more than a pretty accessory, to show that he was a family man too, not just a ruthless businessman. She was there to be gazed upon by men way too old and way too married to be looking at her the way they did, but that was part of the reason she was called upon.

By the time the structure of the gated country club came into view, (Y/N) was already reading through the familiar menu in her head. She was going to buy the entire patio a round of drinks, she decided. Maybe even two rounds. 

Going through the gates, Sully pulled them to the front of the building. The golf course stretched for miles around the main building, perfectly green and manicured, gorgeously maintained attractions throughout the holes with fountains and elaborate sand traps. The perfect kind of course for people with too much money and not enough actual understanding of the game. Around the back were the tennis courts and pool, everything warm blues with mosaic tiles, waitstaff crawling all over the place to tend to every whim of the clientele.

The bistro was her father's favorite part, though. That was where the whiskey was served.

He only pretended to care about golf just so he could laze around the club and smoke cigars in the afternoon and drink whiskey with people too stupid to realize he only saw them as dollar signs. 

She could only hope he'd already had a chance to drink this morning with his friends, leaving him too sloppy to care if she snuck off to play some tennis or out to the koi pond in the garden. Maybe, Harry would even become too distracted with her father, too wrapped up in the schmoozing and drinks and promises, to follow her out. Maybe she could get a real chance to be alone this afternoon. 

Sully helped (Y/N) out of the car as Harry waited for her on the walkway, the grand building behind him full of warm woods and golden fixtures. Large glass windows almost filling the complete space of the walls showcased the inside of the villa, the view only obstructed from the amount of greenery planted outside, tall bushy trees and manicured hedges acting as shades. 

Keeping her tennis skirt from riding up her thighs, she used Sully's hand to steady her as she stepped onto the stone walkway. 

"Thank you," she told him, voice quiet compared to the nature-esque sounds that came from the club and the various activities others were partaking in. 

Sully nodded at her, gentle smile on his cheeks. "I'll be back soon. Do you want me to wait for your father's cue or yours?" 

"Mine," she answered immediately. If it were up to her father, she'd spend the entire evening here with no end in sight. It would probably turn into some unwanted date with a random man he thought would be good for her.

Sully's smile was understanding as he nodded to her. "I'll be here as soon as you need me." 

With that, she shared her goodbyes with her driver before joining Harry at his silent post a few feet ahead of her. He barely glanced at her before he started leading her into the club, opening the door for her to step ahead. He once again took the helm as he led her through the country club, (Y/N) standing back in favor of lagging behind. He might not know the club as well as she, but he at least knew where her father was expecting to meet them. This way, he would be the first person they saw, as well; that could buy her a couple extra seconds of being off before slipping into her role. 

Walking into the Bistro, (Y/N) was greeted with the familiar smile of the waitstaff that knew her well. They didn't stop them as she gave a small wave, already assuming she was there to meet her father at the most boisterous table in the restaurant.

It was easy to spot him in the otherwise polite eatery, other patrons quietly dining with fresh tans or aching sunburns from the time outside. Sidelong glances were sent in the way of her father's table, some envious, others annoyed. She could deeply relate to those who were fed up with his noise. He was always much more bothersome after a few drinks. 

Men gathered around him, clustered around his small table. (Y/N) recognized most of them. Some of them elicited a stiffening in her spine, her guard going up the much further in case their eyes wandered too close to her, others she knew as investors he most likely originally meant to meet here, and some she didn't know at all. It was still easy to suss them out, anyway; it was the giddy smiles on their faces and the way they barely drank, that showed they were people who had been fighting to be invited to the table and were way too excited to be in such a close orbit to her father and his friends. Gullible, the only way to describe them. 

Twisting her Cartier bracelet around her wrist, (Y/N) tipped her chin with faux-confidence and plastered her tabloid-famous smile the second they stepped into the dining area. Harry was still in the lead, glancing at her over his shoulder once he also spotted their intended table. 

Her smile didn't waver, ensuring he didn't catch any kind of reaction that could be relayed to her father. 

The second her father turned to face them, stopping his conversation short, she knew the whiskey in his hand was not the first of the day. His eyes were glazed and warm, less scrutinizing but still nowhere near kind. 

He lit up when he registered Harry's presence. "There he is!" her father shouted across the restaurant, a waiter's steps faltering at the outburst. 

Stepping just out from behind Harry, (Y/N) noticed the way her father's gaze didn't deter from her bodyguard; a man he had met for the first time only a few weeks prior. In some ways, she was relieved to be ignored—it was easier this way, she knew—but other parts of herself were sore from the sting of being nothing worth noting to her dad. 

Harry gave a small wave, still a touch too far away to give his own greeting back. At least he was being courteous of the other diners. 

"This is the Harry I was telling you all about," her father continued, much too loud for the space though no one corrected him, "He's my daughter's handler." 

Noises of recognition rattled around the table, some pretending, others giving knowing smiles. (Y/N) didn't dare to think about the stories he shared about her and Harry. He would no doubt be painted as a shining knight, clean and unwavering in control, while she would be left to be the troll of the story, the one being needing to be controlled. 

Once they were near enough, those surrounding the table stood to introduce themselves to Harry, offering hands to shake and exchanging pleasantries. Harry took it in stride, his deep voice sticking out from the too-excited greetings of the others. 

(Y/N) stood quietly behind. She could feel a pair of eyes or two falling upon her, but she was largely ignored in favor of Harry. 

It's better this way, she reminded herself. None of these men's attention was worth it. 

Feeling more like decor than a person, (Y/N) stood and watched as Harry was roped into the conversation, even taking a seat her father pulled up. All the while, her father sang Harry's praises, a hand clasped over his shoulder. Harry was just so smart, and qualified, level-headed and strong. (Y/N) had been so much better-behaved even—she might even be ready to be a wife instead of running around the city with her friends. Who knew it was a babysitter his wild child needed to finally calm down; another man to tell her what to do. 

That comment made her smile dip. She hoped no one noticed. 

The table erupted into laughter at his comment, jovially agreeing as if she wasn't standing right there. Harry was the only one to look at her from over his shoulder, a smile notably missing from his lips. He matched her eyes for a lingering moment before he dropped his gaze.

"Right," he said once he rejoined the conversation, the word missing the same enthusiasm the rest of the table held.

She stood for a moment longer, listening in as she fiddled with her bracelet, before she started inching away. "I'm going to go," she mumbled, noting the way no one seemed to look in her direction but Harry, "Probably get food or something." 

(Y/N) turned on her heel then, half expecting Harry to follow, though she was sure the bigger priority was to stay with her father than continue babysitting her. She could feel the eyes of other patrons on her as she left the table, but she didn't stop to reconsider before she was slipping out through the backdoor. 

The patio was bathed in bright sunlight, country club members lounging in the warmth with cocktails in hand while waitstaff meandered through the wrought iron tables. She didn't pay anyone any mind as she made her way through, giving smiles to those she made eye contact with before glancing away in favor of making as small of an impression as possible. Though it was generally frowned upon by the club to exploit its high profile members with covert photos or posting any details about the dealings within, that didn't mean it didn't happen. She knew more than a few times stories of her time at the club had been leaked to the press along with blurry photos, and she definitely didn't want that to happen again today with the way her father was shouting her business across the entire dining room inside. 

Stepping off the stone patio, she made her way towards the gardens. A short hedge "maze" made most of the garden, leading her through with flowers littered around the space, small fountains, and a koi pond glittering in the center. Other than the tennis courts, this was her favorite space at the club. 

The scent of the vibrant flowers beckoned to her, drawing her into the mini maze. A small smile took over her features, reaching out to caress the soft petals of the blooming roses. Fluffy bumble bees flittered between the blossoms, their tiny bodies covered in pollen as they went to each plant. A soft buzz filled the air as she walked, her careful footsteps over the plush grass adding to the delicate noise. It was easy to block out the rest of the commotion like this; the thumps from the tennis court, splashes from the pools, and the chatter from the patio all melted away. Trickling from the tiny waterfall fountains led her closer and closer to the center. 

Zagging through the maze, she felt the sun warming her shoulders around the straps of her tank top. That same warmth seeped through to her bloodstream, floating her to the clouds just a little bit. 

This was the first time she'd been out without Harry at her side. She'd almost forgotten what that felt like. 

To be fair, she was beginning to get used to the feeling of having an extra shadow following her everywhere she went. That unsettling edge she had tied to having a security detail had begun to dull, finally. She didn't completely mind knowing that someone had eyes on her at all times, whether he was checking for her safety or for her bad behavior to peak. It wasn't something she would consider a normal feeling yet, but she could get there.

Hopefully, though, she wouldn't have enough time to get used to him. Hopefully, he'd be relieved of his post before she got that far. 

With the lack of stories being printed about her, she even hoped that her father would grant her freedom sooner rather than later. The only things she saw about herself tended to be things about her summer outfits, or analyses of her instagram posts. Nothing major had been posted since Damien. She had to be on the right track if rumors about her were losing traction.

Falling back down to earth, (Y/N) grounded herself as she gazed down into the koi pond. The concrete barrier was carved with roses, the reliefs matching the actual blooms coming through in the hedges. The fish were graceful pops of color in the clear water, bright calico coral tones shining under the sun. Lilly pads with tiny flowers floated on the surface, allowing the kois to move like ghosts underneath. This was her favorite spot in the gardens, making it easy for her to sink to her knees with her hands perched on the lip of the barrier and gaze down at the creatures. 

That childlike urge in her to reach out and pet the fish rose, wishing she could treat them like pets. (Y/N) almost wanted to laugh at herself with the way she had to remind herself to keep her hands to herself. 

Suddenly the sound of footsteps sounded through the maze. They were close enough (Y/N) could hear the quick pace, the purpose someone would have to have to breeze through the leisurely maze like that. 

For a split second, her muscles tensed, her lungs squeezed. Her first thought made her want to run. 

The letters. 

Whoever wrote them didn't want to hide anymore. They waited until she was alone like this. They could do and say anything they wanted here. No one would even know with the cover of the hedges. 

Her heart raced in her chest when they grew close enough (Y/N) swore she could hear the sound of the grass crushing under the intruder's feet. Her breath caught in her throat. 

She whipped her head around just in time to see someone breaking into the clearing.

It was Harry. 

He had a scowl on his face, shoulders tensed, and eyes hard. He stopped in his tracks when he saw her sitting there in the grass, legs folded underneath her. 

(Y/N)'s hand fluttered up to her throat, a sharp exhale leaving her lungs. It was just Harry, he reminded herself. 

"Jeez, you scared me so bad just now," she breathed, sinking from how hard she had been tensed in wait. 

"Sorry," he said, lips thin as he shifted his gaze to the koi pond behind her. 

Though he looked just as closed off as he usually did, his demeanor matching his dark clothing, there was a bit more of an edge to his aura. If she didn't know any better, (Y/N) would think he was angry. 

He heard her say she would be out back, she knew that. He couldn't be angry at her when he didn't follow her out of his own volition. Right?

A slight pinch knitted her brows together as she looked up at him. "Are... Is everything okay?" 

Not shifting his gaze from where he had landed them on the blooms of roses in the maze, he gave her a curt nod. "Yes." 

"Okay," she said, unsure of what else to offer in the quiet of the maze. Awkwardly, she rose to her feet, brushing nonexistent dirt from her tennis whites. 

A beat passed before (Y/N) turned to face him once more, finding his gaze already on her. "You can keep walking if you want. I didn't mean to interrupt you," he said, his voice low as if to match the buzz of the bees. 

"Are you sure?" she asked, still catching the storm in his eyes even if it had settled some. 

Only a single nod was given in response. 

With that, (Y/N) was the one to lead him through the maze. Harry was a welcome ghost behind her, silently following. He didn't complain with every lingering step between the blooms, didn't bother her as she felt the softened rose petals, didn't push her through in annoyance of the bees flying around their heads. 

The second half of the maze seemed to relax him from the way she saw his shoulders relax, his gaze softening the longer they spent away from everyone else. She almost wanted to take him back to the beginning when they finally finished, the end of the maze opening up to a stone walkway that split with two avenues. One took them back to the bistro's patio, the other to the golf courses. 

"Are you hungry?" 

After the quiet that followed them through the maze, Harry's voice was a shock. 

"Yeah, actually." (Y/N) answered after a beat.

"C'mon," Harry said, gesturing for her to follow after him as he started down the pathway rounding back to the restaurant. 

The patio was just as bustling as when she had slipped through earlier, the expansive windows allowing her to peek inside and find her father still holding court. Pushing through the small gate that separated the space, the waitstaff turned to look at them from the pinched creak the iron hinge gave. 

A familiar woman smiled from where she stood at the extra hosting podium stationed outside. "(Y/N)," she brightly greeted her, "Are you dining with us after all today?" 

A short glance was spared in Harry's direction before (Y/N) was nodding. "Yes, please. Thank you." 

The familiar hostess quickly seated them, menus and glasses of water left on the table. The waitress would be only a moment away, they were told. The service was always on the quick side whenever (Y/N) was here; they knew good and well who her father was, and the club loved a generous member. 

Harry was quiet as they were waited on, looking over the menu as if it were a textbook to study. He didn't even look up when the fair-haired waitress made her way to their table. She introduced herself as Carly, though (Y/N) already knew her well enough from the last handful of times she had been dragged here by her dad.

"Before we start, were you wanting to open up a separate tab today, Ms. (Y/N), or put today's meal on your father's?" she asked, her smile bubbly as she relayed the same question they always posed. 

"On her father's." 

Flicking her gaze from the waitress, she saw Harry still looking at his menu as if he hadn't just spoken. That storm had returned to his gaze, a pinch appearing between his brows. 

Carly was silent, looking between the two of them. 

"On my dad's tab, please," (Y/N) confirmed, offering a soft smile before the silence had time to settle for too long. 

"Perfect," Carly answered, writing down whatever message needed on the pad in her hand, "I'll give you guys a moment with the menu and come back and take your order. Sound good?" 

"Sounds good," (Y/N) answered for them both, perfect smile on her lips until their waitress stepped away. 

Silence settled between the two of them, Harry still focussed on his menu. Though it was a bit bold for Harry to assume they were going to be dining on her father's dime, she couldn't deny it was a little funny. That was her own plan after all, she just hadn't anticipated his vehement agreement. 

Soon enough, their waitress returned. "Had enough time?" she posed, reaching to her apron pocket for her notepad.

Glancing at Harry, she saw the small nod he gave. "I think so," (Y/N) answered, already familiar with the menu enough to not have to glance through. 

"Great," Carly chirped, pulling her notepad out, "Any drinks? Starters?" 

Before she had a chance to order her raspberry lemonade, Harry piped up, "A whiskey on the rocks, please. And, the coconut mango cocktail." 

There was a beat that passed as Carly wrote everything down. (Y/N) looked at him with raised brows. That was not at all what she had expected; wasn't he still on the clock?

For the first time, he glanced at her over his menu, something loaded in his eyes as he tipped his chin towards the leaflet with all the drink specials printed. 

"And, for you?" Carly asked, facing (Y/N). 

"Um," she fumbled, "Can I get a glass of Chardonnay please? And the raspberry lemonade." 

(Y/N) didn't plan on drinking her wine, but felt as if she needed to match Harry in the ordering process at least. 

"Alright, I will get all of that going for you, and I'll be back to take your lunch orders." With that, their waitress left, her notepad snapped shut and her gaze just a touch wary between them. 

(Y/N) couldn't blame her. 

A moment passed before (Y/N) dropped her menu to lay flat on the table. Harry looked up at her through his lashes. 

"Are you really going to drink all of that?" Honestly, she wondered what a drunk Harry would look like. 

"No," he deadpanned, "But your father is still going to pay for it whether I drink them or not." 

The smile that tugged on the corner of (Y/N)'s lips was something that she couldn't help. It was out of character for the person she thought Harry to be—a loyal follower of her dad—, but definitely something she would have (and has) done herself. 

"Right," she answered, gaze shifting to the menu in search of the most expensive items she could spot. 

Maybe, Harry was closer to being on the same page as her than she thought.

—————

"Thank you, Carly," (Y/N) said as she signed the check, quickly passing it back to their server. 

"Of course," Carly beamed. Her smile only widened when she saw the three digit tip on the line for her. "Thank you, Ms. (Y/N)." 

(Y/N) didn't linger then, knowing Sully was up front waiting for them to be taken home. "Ready?" she asked Harry as she stood from her chair. 

"Ready," he answered, much more relaxed than at the beginning of their meal. 

Ignoring her father, (Y/N) left the bistro behind. He probably didn't even remember inviting her out for the day. It didn't matter, though, she thought. 

He'd remember the three extra appetizers and handful of drinks left untouched on their table.

—————

rêvasser is to daydream in french.

I know it's a little light on harry at the start of this story but more exciting stuff is coming!!!!! thank u sm for reading, sorry for any mistakes, and if you have any fun ideas or anything please let me know !

[realityinsuspense]

one step closer | chapter 3: a broken bowl

--summary: "me and him? in one apartment? yeah, right. nothing is going to happen." ~~ two strangers living together. not talking and just going about each other’s lives. that was your plan. that’s how you’ve always done things, and you’ve gone far doing so. so when you have to suddenly move into a new apartment with your new roommate, you expect almost nothing. almost.

--pairing: mingi x fem!reader

--genre: strangers to lovers, fluff, a little angst, #mingi is cold and standoffish, #eventual mutual pining

--a/n: hey all!! sorry for the slowest update in the world ahfdkafkdj but here is chapter 3! enjoy, and if u would like to be part of the tag list pls let me know :) i just started one hehe

words: 5.2k

~

chapter 3: a broken bowl

Life at the apartment continued on as usual. With the now split chores and clear communication between one another, you and Mingi settled back into that routine. And it was great! Peaceful—just how you liked it. And you’re sure Mingi liked too.

It was Wednesday evening. You were back at the apartment after another busy day of work and you were absolutely exhausted. You were also starving as well, so you headed to the kitchen to prepare an easy meal for dinner: instant ramen—the spicy kind. The thought immediately made you salivate. As you gathered two packs of Indomie from the pantry, you felt your phone vibrating in your pocket: an incoming call from Hongjoong.

It’s been a while since he’s last called you, and you missed him, mentally noting that you had to get lunch with him soon. It was an easy decision—you wanted to talk with your best friend. But before pressing the green answer button, you glanced at Mingi’s door from the kitchen. He’s home early today surprisingly. Knowing he’s behind that door and could possibly enter the kitchen at any moment, you quickly run to your room and grab your headphones; you wanted your conversation to only be heard by you of course.

You pressed the button, and you were greeted excitedly by your best friend.

“Did you get San’s invite to his birthday party?” Hongjoong asked immediately. You grabbed a big pot and filled it with water.

“Yes. Trust me, the amount of times I’ve heard about this party already,” You smile to yourself and adjusted your headphones.

“Ah, this guy…I am looking forward to his birthday nonetheless,” You could tell Hongjoong is also smiling on the other end. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen him too.”

Funnily enough, Hongjoong was also friends with San and Yeosang. He happened to attend the same University as the best friend duo, where they were all classmates for four years. It was only a coincidence that you all so happened to become friends. What a small world, you remind yourself.

“Oh you know San, he’s doing great! Yeosang too…And what about you? How’s your friend?” You teased. The last time you spoke with your best friend, he admitted he was slowly developing a crush on his long time neighbor. It excited you—romance gossip was always the best. You couldn’t help it, as a hopeless romantic yourself.

“Oh stop! Nothing much has been happening,” He laughed . “But I would say, we’ve been talking more and more.”

“What if you invite him to San’s?” You suggested. “I would love to meet him.”

“Ahh, yeah, but I think it’s maybe too soon for that,” Hongjoong said. “But I do want you to meet him one day. He’s great…”

“I can’t wait!” You exclaim. The water on the stove is boiling now, so you dump your noodles in and start separating the packets of seasoning.

“Well, what about you? How’s your life these days?” Hongjoong’s voice rings through your headphones as you carefully stir in the noodles.

“It’s been going good,” You chirp. “Nothing much going on either.”

“Hmmm…how is your roommate by the way? You haven’t told me much, except that he’s a mess.” He chuckles.

“Well that situation has been fixed, but honestly…” You ponder this. How is Mingi?

Ever since the chores incident, life at the apartment has been sailing smoothly again. In fact, you might even think the conversation even improved the atmosphere of the apartment. It felt a little bit more comfortable living there. Moving pasts the silence and nods, you guys now greet each other with a “hello” or “good night” here and there. The air feels less awkward and less tense. Both your schedules still work out, except you notice that recently, he’s been coming and staying home earlier than his previous hours…But you don’t think about it too much. You guys still manage to work it out! Again, you guys still keep to yourselves. Everything is still separate and unknown. Strangers, but not really strangers. Unraveled mysteries. Roommates. That’s what it feels like.

“He’s okay. We really don’t talk much though. We kinda just focus on our own things, you know?”

“Mmm…” You hear Hongjoong’s tone shift slightly. You could tell that it’s his turn to do the teasing now. “That sounds so boring!”

“Hey!” You chuckle. You turn the stove off to the perfectly cooked noodles. “It’s fine by me. I’m just here to live okay.”

Now, where is that strainer?

“Interesting,” Hongjoong says. “So… is he cute?”

“What?!” You exclaim a little too loudly after opening up the cupboard above you. You spot the large silver straining bowl, all the way on the top shelf stacked on top of your other large bowls. Did I really put these here? “What’s up with that? San asked the same thing.”

Hongjoong laughs in response. “Well, you are a single woman living alone with a man. That’s like a couple living together, no? And God knows how long you’ve been single for. I mean-wait, is he single too?”

“I don’t know about all that!” You quietly “yell” into your phone, your voice a low murmur. This is the last type of conversation to have especially since Mingi is just a room away. You glance at his bedroom door again, happily still shut.

For some reason, you feel your face flush. You felt a little embarrassed at the mention of your almost nonexistent love life once again, this time a bit more direct. And to have this thought about Mingi? Of all people! It was absurd. While you loved romance gossip, it wasn’t an exception when it came to you. Now you were finding yourself giving this little speech of justification once more. “Co-ed roommates exist you know? Besides, maybe he does have a girlfriend. But anyway, me and him? Nothing. Nothing is going to happen. And even if there was ‘something’—which there won’t—that would compromise our contract. I’m just here as his roommate to live in.”

You gently push yourself up onto the kitchen counter, your eyes locked on the stack of bowls.

“Relax, I’m just joking,” Hongjoong defends, but you could hear him grinning like crazy. “But, I don’t know…shouldn’t roommates at least bond?”

“Bond over what?” You were leaning over the cupboard, with your arm almost reaching the bowl. If you knew any better, you probably would’ve gotten a chair to help you instead. But you were too distracted, and for some reason, willingly determined, as if you knew that it was entirely possible for you to reach such height. Your fingers just barely brushed over the cool bowl holding the strainer. What you should know, was that willingness did not always equal logic.

And your desperation for reaching for the bowl at the top shelf backfired. Your fingers tried to grab hold of the bowls, but the weight made you feel unsteady, slipping out of your grasp.

CRASH

“Fuck!” You ducked just in time. But the stack of bowls toppled over and shattered on the floor, a big pile of broken ceramic pieces scattered everywhere. And of course, the strainer lying on the floor as well, perfectly unharmed.

“What happened?!” Hongjoong’s voice rang through your headphones. You carefully landed both your feet on the floor, worried of stepping on any broken glass despite the house slippers.

“Oh shit,” Your eyes went wide after scanning the broken pieces—intricate designs of blue were shown throughout. “Ugh…this isn’t good. Hongjoong, I’ll call you later, okay?” He obliged, and you promised to update him. You stood in shock at the mess in front of you.

These bowls weren’t yours.

They were Mingi’s.

And you broke them.

A million thoughts were bursting and running through your mind. Why did I think these were mine*? Why was I so distracted? I should’ve known better. Maybe I’m just really exhausted? Ugh. No excuses. Oh he’s gonna kill me. These looked really expensive. What do I say to him?*

Hurriedly, you begin to sweep the damage that had been done. But barely just starting to clean up, you hear the sound of his bedroom door opening. Fuck. At that moment, you so badly wished his life schedule didn’t change all of a sudden and that he wasn’t home. But there’s no point in hiding. He was going to find out eventually; it’s time to face it.

Your heart rate picks up as you hear the shuffle of footsteps get closer to the kitchen; you painfully continue sweeping the broken mess.

“What was-” Mingi begins as he enters the kitchen. His relaxed face turns tense at the sight of the scene before him, looking down at the broken bowls. “What the hell happened?”

You jolt up and duck your head down in apology. You suddenly feel his eyes glaring into you.

“I’m so sorry, it was an accident! I-I thought that the bowls were mine and I stupidly tried reaching for them and then I..dropped them.” Your words felt pathetic, your body feeling hot with embarrassment. You gingerly lifted your head to make eye contact with him.

You were scared out of your mind for some reason, that same intimidating feeling returning.

Silence. You scan his face for something. But his expression remains tense and indifferent, his dark hair falling just above his dark eyes. It’s hard to know what he’s thinking. But there’s no doubt in your mind—he has to be pissed.

“I can buy you a new set, I-” You blurt out at an attempt to break the painful silence.

“Don’t bother,” He says coldly, his tone full of anger and disappointment. “This further proves my point. I know we live together, but we really can’t bother with each other. Otherwise shit like this happens. The chores was already enough, and now you’re breaking my stuff.”

The words slap you in the face, and you can’t help but feel silenced. It was an accident! You wanted to yell, but you couldn’t find the courage to. You would never break those things on purpose. He must be upset; they must’ve been important to him. But even so…

Even if he was speaking the truth, it still felt mean.

It still hurt.

Mingi picks up some remaining scattered pieces where he stands and throws them in the trash bin. You continue to clean up as well; it feels like you’re holding your breath the entire time until both of you finish cleaning the mess. You were ashamed.

After you hear his bedroom door shut, you let out a heavy sigh, feeling a mix of disappointment and anxiety. Your noodles have gone cold.

—

That entire night, you were fueled with guilt. It makes sense to be upset about broken dishware, but it’s not like you were completely ignoring the problem. Nor were you were trying to break them on purpose. You took responsibility, apologized, and offered to purchase a replacement. Yet, Mingi refused. You began to feel worse after realizing how well you two were finally cooperating, and that living together became easier and more comfortable. He even made stronger efforts in keeping the apartment clean.

The next morning before you left for work, because you couldn’t go on without action, you slipped a small envelope of money underneath his door. It was for the bowls.

Mingi’s being upset with you bothered you to the core.

Well rightfully so, you did just destroy a very nice ceramic set of dish ware. And it didn’t look cheap, so it must’ve costed a fortune. Maybe that’s why he seemed to mad.

It only makes sense to replace it then. Besides, it would be rude of you not to. It was a gesture in your nature and out of courtesy. It was something you could do to fix the problem. But you were unclear of what Mingi wanted. What could he possibly want? What could I possibly do to fix this?

And as you were on your way to work, you felt your phone vibrate. While you were expecting a text from Hongjoong (who you updated on the situation afterwards by the way), you were surprised to find a new message from your roommate. What great timing, you thought to yourself.

song mingi (roommate): don’t need the money.

Well that was fast. But the text made your stomach churn. Seriously, this guy is so blunt. You chose to ignore the message, guilt creeping into you once again. Your thoughts followed you to work, clouding your upcoming busy day.

“That’s weird,” Yeosang scrunches his eyebrows together. “Who gets that upset over a set of bowls?”

Once again, you confided in your work friends. It was lunch time at your guys’ usual table, and you were stirring the spoon in your bowl of soup mindlessly. You were relieved it was finally lunch time, because the whole incident and text message was bothering you all morning.

“Agreed, that was totally unnecessary,” San says, eyes glued to his phone.

“Just forget about it y/n. It was clearly an accident! You’re too nice for your own good.” Yeosang presses.

“Yeah y/n, don’t stress about it too much.” San added.

“But I can’t!” You groan and throw your head into your hands. Yeosang sighs seemingly in defeat and takes a bite of his burger. “I feel guilty out of my mind.”

Just when things were starting to feel okay. Just when Mingi showed some kind decency towards you, it had to go south immediately. Things were just starting to feel comfortable and at ease. You two were finally cooperating as roommates, greeting one another, and being accommodating to one another. It was a peaceful coexistence that has once again been jeopardized—this time by you. Who would’ve thought living would become even more difficult.

“Well, if you feel that bad. I think you should just get him the new set.” San says, finally looking up from his phone, his expression bright and gentle as always.

“Should I really?” You ask weakly. It was just the push you needed.

“You really don’t have to y/n…” Yeosang smiles his comforting little smile. “But we know you, and you probably will anyway.”

My friends know me well.

—

You head back home after stopping by the market after work. Luckily, it was still open, and you picked out a similar looking set—a porcelain white set, except with tiny green floral detailing this time. It was cute, but not as beautiful as the original. The reminder made your stomach sink.

You’re sure this wasn’t as expensive as the original either, despite the sales lady claiming its value. But, you hope that it’s the thought that counts—this was your apology gift. Whether he’ll accept it or not. You only feel right doing this. And it was your fault, so you wanted to take responsibility.

Despite your fears to face Mingi once again, you knew you had to muster up the courage to properly apologize to him. Otherwise, you both couldn’t go on living this way—all tense all over again. Disrupted peace. Awkwardness, discomfort. A step backwards.

You wanted to resolve this as smoothly and quickly as possible. And enough with the overthinking!

We’re roommates for crying out loud, you thought, trying to hype yourself up as you head up your apartment building. Again, you feel your heart beating loudly in your chest. Be more confident, y/n. You’re gonna apologize properly, and then he’s going to take this damn set of bowls whether he likes it or not! You’ve been agonizing in guilt for the past few days, so he better accept this apology!

We WILL be peaceful roommates again!

After opening the apartment door, you hear sounds in the kitchen and make your way there immediately. He’s home.

“Mingi!” You bravely announce, entering the kitchen. You felt a little stupid, but you couldn’t stand the tension. “I-”

But before you could even continue, your eyes land on your roommate leaning against the kitchen counter, and you suddenly feel your face grow hot.

Shirtless?!

Mingi looks up at you with a questioning look, his pink lips pouted. “Hm?”

Standing before you, was an even more revealing Mingi. Only wearing his signature pair of sweatpants, his lean and toned physique stood out—defined abs and muscles, and.. you tried not to stare for too long, but it’s so hard not to take in. The sight was…something else.

You feel embarrassed seeing him like this, but he clearly didn’t. You could barely make out your words, the courage and hype you built up all of sudden gone.

“I- uh,” You awkwardly say. “I bought you this for you.” You place the shopping bag on the dining table. Mingi approaches slowly, and you feel your heart beating faster as he walks closer to you. He peers into the bag and sighs.

“I told you, I don’t need-” He starts. ”I’m sorry!” You interject abruptly, finally making eye contact with him. “I’m sorry! I messed up. I broke the dishes. I broke our deal. As your roommate, it only makes sense for me to do this. I’ve been feeling horribly guilty, and I am really truly sorry.”

Mingi remains silent as he glares at you, his eyes unreadable. His dark eyes scan your face, and you hope to god your face doesn’t look as red as it feels. It would be even more embarrassing.

“I-I know it won’t replace the old one, and I know ceramics can be kind of expensive,” You continue on after he says nothing, spilling your jumbled words incessantly. “Especially the ones you had, which I’m sure were so beautiful by the way. So it must’ve been frustrating. I know it’s a hassle to get new pieces like those. And…and this new set isn’t the same, but it still has some little details on it! They’re green though—but still, very pretty! The lady at the market agreed with me. So maybe it can-”

“y/n,” He says sighing, stopping you. “It’s fine.”

“No! It’s not fine,” You grab the shopping bag from the table and try to shove it into his hands, taking a step closer to him. You look up at him now, his eyes wide—probably shocked by your sudden actions. Gosh, you think, unbelievably close to a shirtless man like this. “From now on, this won’t happen again. It was just a stupid mistake, I swear. So please, just take this as my apology.” You bow your head in shame and at an attempt to stop looking at him.

After a beat of silence, you feel him gently take the bag from your hands.

“My mom made them for me,” Mingi says quietly. “Those bowls.”

You slowly look up at him once more, suddenly taken aback by the comment. And most importantly his tone—a tinge of sentiment.

“You’re right. These won’t replace the old ones,” He says before you could even respond. “But they’ll do for now. I accept your apology, thanks..”

Mingi places the bag on the dining table once again, and returns to the kitchen counter to continue preparing whatever he was making.

“O-okay, yes,” You manage to say finally. “Thank you, good night.” ”Night.” He says without looking up.

A wave of relief washes over you, and you silently head to your bedroom. You were glad that he’s forgiven you, but also feel bad to know that you destroyed his mother’s gift to him. Now that you know that fact, it felt strange. Isn’t that even worse? At the same time though, Mingi didn’t seem too angry or upset like he was previously. And talking to him this time felt a little different.

Maybe your apology was so great, he felt compelled to do so. Anyhow, you were sure that things would get back to normal again. But your mind lingered about what he said. His mom?

We don’t usually bring up things like that, yet tonight…

You shook your head, deciding not to read too much into it. As they say, curiosity killed the cat.

In your room, you glance at yourself in the mirror.

Your cheeks were bright red.

Great.

~

next chapter >

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tags: @hwaskookies @chicksmoothie

[mendeshoney]

you know my weakness is you (act two)

author's note: um...hello? is this thing on? sorry i've been away and that it took me a literal year and a few days to post part two to this story. also i meant to post this eariler but i am at home visiting family so i didn't realize this was not queued to post in est until literally right now. i appreciate everyone's love and patience in the meantime and hope you enjoy!

as a reminder - this character is a WOC and is plus sized bc...well, that's what I know as a person and it's kinda time I start actually trying to write like it. so let's just pretend there's a world where POC plus sized hockey wags can exist, mkay? i'm also manipulating some of the other wags of the team, so, that is also happening.

tags/warnings in no particular order: 18+, angst, enemies to lovers, miscommunication, unintentional secrets, insecurity, original female character, WOC character, consensual unprotected sex

word count: ~14,125

(read act one here)

When Mat sleeps, he dreams of Summer.

Mat dreams of her, craves her, wants nothing more than to have and to hold her.

He dreams of the words his captain spoke to him almost a week ago.

I’m telling you not to take this risk. This whole ‘I hate you but now I like you’ risk. And especially not with Summer.

She can’t go through that again.

And whether you want to admit it or not, there’s something between the two of you, and if it goes wrong, it’s going to be really, really bad.

If you’re not serious about her, leave her alone.

He thinks back through all of the horrible things he’d ever said to her, how even though he knew in his heart he was miles ahead of her shitty ex, he still wasn’t the type of person to deserve her, but dammit, that didn’t mean he wasn’t about to try.

Mat knows that he seriously wants Summer. Wants her desperately, has wanted her since the moment they met even though she pushed him away. And he’d wanted just one chance to prove to her that he’d make it worth her while, and he got more than enough.

Except now, it seemed his captain was going to be the one to put a stop to it.

After Mat had slept with Summer and Anders had given Mat his words of warning, the captain backed it up after practice a couple of days later, making it very clear to Mat how he felt about the idea.

“I can see in your eyes you’re not hearing what I said, so I’ll repeat it. Stay away from Summer.”

Mat had blinked at Anders, completely shocked and also thankful they were having this discussion away from the rest of the team.

“What?”

“Stay away, Mat.” Anders repeated, more serious and almost angry. “It’s not that I don’t like you, and it’s not that I don’t think you’re a good person. But you cannot be with Summer. At all.”

Mat bit back his snarky response, instead choosing his words carefully. “Is this about Sabrina?”

Anders shook his head. “This isn’t about Sabrina. This is about Summer.”

“What, are you in love with her or something?”

That was probably the wrong thing to say. Anders’ nostrils flared and he narrowed his eyes at Mat, jabbing a finger into Mat’s chest.

“Listen, Mat. I’ve known Summer since she was sixteen, she’s been my little sister in every sense of the word just as much as she’s been Sabrina’s, and I’ve seen her go through way too much and put up with way too much to allow you to come in just because she’s suddenly single and you’ve suddenly got the notion that you can do better than her ex boyfriend. I’m telling you right now, based on what I’ve seen? How your dynamic works? You can’t. And I don’t want you dating her.”

“That’s not up to you.” Mat said, moving Anders’ hand away. “That’s Summer’s choice. If she wants to be with me, she can be.”

“Then make it her choice not to be with you.” His captain responded, and it was exactly the ultimatum it sounded like. 

“And how do you propose I do that?” Mat bit back sarcastically. 

“You’ve been bickering since you met, and you’ve not done a single thing for her that shows that you care about her, or that you like her. Just because you slept with her once doesn’t mean you’re in love and need to be in a relationship. That’s not how it works.”

Mat scoffed. “Why are you speaking to me like I’m a kid?” 

“Because you’re acting like one.” Anders spat. “You’re acting like a child who thinks he’s in love after one time.”

“What if I’ve loved her the whole time?” Mat countered, completely serious.

Anders didn’t even blink, just laughed and shook his head. “Love? You’re joking, right? None of what you have is love, Mat. It’s not, it never has been, and it never will be. I’m telling you right now, before you take it any further, before it gets too deep. Stay. Away.”

Before Mat could respond, could tell Anders to either go fuck himself or try to plead his case, his captain walked away, and Mat knew in his gut he meant every word.

But…it already is too deep.

And he’s about to disobey his captain.

~

Despite her better judgment, Summer finds herself smiling when she walks into the small cafe shop, seeing Mat tucked into a table in the corner with her favorite iced coffee and favorite breakfast plate already ordered and sitting in front of him alongside his own order.

He’d texted her this morning, almost a week since they’d last seen one another, suggesting that they meet up to talk about what had happened in her room at Sabrina’s house.

When he’d given her the best two orgasms she’d ever had in her life, then asked her not to run, admitted to her that he liked her.

Mat Barzal.

Liked her. 

The thought made her both giddy and confused at the same time, admittedly completely unfamiliar with the rush of butterflies she’d been feeling everytime she found herself thinking about Mat, or reading a text from him.

They hadn’t seen each other since that time in her bedroom, Mat being too busy with pre-season training and practice, and Summer didn’t completely mind it. She had work as well, and was still helping Sabrina and Anders out with their wedding planning. 

Even so, seeing him after a week almost felt like she hadn’t seen him in months, and Summer knew in her heart that was probably something she should pay attention to a little more.

The butterflies, the anticipation, the giddiness - it was all quite a bit considering their history, but there was a part of it that just kind of…made sense?

Sabrina had teased her the night before when she’d been over to help her finalize the floral arrangement details. “It’s like when mom used to tell us that the boys who picked on us only did it because they liked us.”

Summer had laughed a little, and Anders, who had been sitting with them to finalize the boutonniere designs for the men’s tuxedos, had scoffed. “They’re not kids though, babe.”

Anders had seemed…apprehensive, to say the least, about her and Mat, but when Summer had asked him about it, Anders had just said “I’m not worried,” so she left it at that. Whatever it meant.

The closer she got to the table where Mat was sitting though, the more all of her concerns and worries faded away. 

Mat looks up as she approaches, pocketing his phone and giving Summer a wide smile. He stands to greet her, his hands cupping her face and offering her sweet kisses, murmuring how he thinks she looks pretty today in between each peck.

She’s sure she’s blushing beneath the bronze of her skin, and the smile she gives him in return is probably showing just how happy she feels at this moment.

“I’m sorry,” she says, “I hope you weren’t waiting long.”

“No need to be sorry princess,” he says. “You’re right on time.”

Summer smiles, taking her seat across from him and taking a sip of her coffee.

Mat watches her with a smile on his face, laying his hand out on the table, palm up. She raises a brow, but puts her hand in his anyway, waiting.

“We should probably talk about all this, shouldn’t we?” He says.

Summer shrugs, “If you want to.”

“I just want to know that you want this, too.” Mat offers, playing with the rings decorating her fingers. “We don’t have to talk, because as far as I’m concerned, if we both want this, then there’s nothing to talk about.”

She assesses Mat quietly as she takes in his words, thinking about the dynamics of their relationship.

“I think we maybe owe it to each other to at least clear the air, don’t you?” 

He nods, thumb rubbing the back of her hand gently. “I’ll start. I never hated you, not even a little bit. You got on my nerves a little, but I never hated you. I think I just acted that way because I thought you hated me first.”

Summer blinks a little, not expecting that right away. “I didn’t hate you, Mat.”

“It kind of felt like it.” He admits, but his eyes are playful, letting Summer know he’s not upset by it.

She thinks back to the day they met. His curious gaze as it ran over her body, how back then she couldn’t handle scrutiny like that from anyone, good or bad, because she could only ever see it as bad. 

A man like Mat looking at a plus size woman of color like Summer didn’t exactly always spell out happy endings.

She’d let her insecurities get the better of her then, let it push them both into something that maybe neither of them wanted. 

But still, they’d gotten here in the end, didn’t they?

“I think I just…I think we got off on the wrong foot.” She admits. “I never hated you either, I think I just felt…unsure.”

“Of me?” 

“Maybe you, maybe myself. I don’t know.” She says.

“Well now that it’s established that we don’t hate each other, and that you know that I like you, how do you feel?”

Butterflies.

Anticipation.

Giddiness.

Like a teenager in love for the first time.

Summer ignores all of that and shrugs playfully. “I suppose I might like you, too.”

The kilowatt smile that breaks out on Mat’s face is one Summer is probably going to remember for the rest of her life. He’s looking at her like she just hung the sun, moon, and the stars in the galaxy, crafting the heavens and given it to him.

“I can work with that.” He says, bringing her hand to his lips and kissing the back of it gently. “I’ll be happy to work with that.”

Her heart hammers in her chest, and as they dig into their breakfast, she can’t help but feel like she should’ve made this decision a lot sooner.

~

Mat wakes up to Summer cuddled against his side, and he quickly silences his alarm, wishing for nothing more than the opportunity to lay in bed with her for the rest of the day - the rest of time at this point.

Carefully, he untangles himself from her, making sure she’s sound asleep and tucked back in while he heads to the bathroom to start getting ready for training and practice. Once he’s brushed his teeth, he heads out and into the kitchen, going about making himself breakfast and getting food ready for Summer for when she wakes up later.

He checks his phone, spotting a text from Anders in the team group chat reminding everyone of the start time today at the facility. 

Mat tries not to get pissed off before the day even starts.

Anders has been nothing but a pain in his ass since he and Summer started seeing one another, almost as if he knows Mat never had any intention of listening to him and knows that Summer’s been in his bed nearly every night since that conversation.

Whatever. Mat doesn’t give a shit.

He’s not a kid, Anders isn’t his dad, and he’s not Summer’s keeper. He and Summer can do whatever they want, and if Anders wants to throw his weight around as captain Mat can handle it, but he’s not giving Summer up.

Once he’s about ready to go, he heads back into his bedroom to grab a hoodie and his gym bag, surprised to find that Summer’s awake, laying on her side, putting her phone down and greeting him with a soft smile when he steps inside. 

Mat’s heart literally nearly leaps from his chest to lay at her side.

Her curly hair rests on the pillow beneath her like a gentle halo, full breasts pushing at the fabric of Mat’s shirt she wore to bed. His shirt’s risen up a little and is showing a glimpse of the skin of her stomach, the blankets pooled a little bit above her waist.

She beckons Mat to her playfully, and he goes easily, climbing onto the bed and kissing her without a second to waste, slightly surprised by the minty taste of her mouth.

“You've been up long?” He murmurs to her, and she shakes her head.

“Maybe about ten minutes or so?” She says. “I thought you’d already left, so I was getting ready to go see Sabrina.”

“More wedding stuff today?” He asks, bending his head and pushing her hair over her shoulder so he can leave soft kisses on her neck.

She nods, letting out content sounds as his lips move. “Yeah, figuring out the seating chart for Anders’ side.”

Mat pauses at that, and pulls back, staring at Summer curiously. She hadn’t mentioned anything about Anders voicing his recent distaste for Mat to her, but still.

“Has he been different towards you? You know, since we…” His voice trails off.

Summer shakes her head. “Not really? He seemed apprehensive about it, but he hasn’t been different. Why? Has he said something to you?”

Mat hesitates, unsure of what and how much to tell Summer.

“He’s…not exactly happy about the two of us at the minute.” Mat begins, but as he speaks, he can see the fire in Summer’s eyes begin to build. Since he’s all too familiar with where that might lead, he immediately backtracks, making the decision to not tell her the whole truth. “It’s fine, just…maybe don’t talk about us in front of or around him for now, okay?”

“Don’t?” Summer asks, and at the fact that Mat can see the fire dissipate for a little, he nods, still careful with his words. 

“Not that I want to keep us a secret, or anything like that, I just don’t want him to say something to you about it, or have him get upset at you. He’s just trying to be a good brother in law, is all, I’m sure. Just let me handle it, okay?”

Summer nods, smiling sweetly. “Okay, I won’t say anything, I promise.”

Mat smiles, kissing her again, not complaining when Summer turns the kiss a little dirty, running her tongue against his lips gently. He pulls away again, quickly checking the time on his phone and smirking when he sees he’s got about fifteen minutes before he absolutely has to leave.

He really only needs five.

When he looks back at her, he’s got a cheshire grin on his face that Summer’s eyes twinkle at. 

“Are you still in the same state you went to bed in?” He asks. 

Summer smiles, nodding. Mat immediately rips the covers off of her, exposing her bare lower half, and Mat’s cock throbs at the memory.

Last night, after they’d showered and gotten ready for bed, Mat had cuddled up against her, wrapped her in his arms and tried very hard to not focus on how soft she felt against him, about how good it felt to have her there, how warm her body was.

She’d rested her leg on his waist, propping herself open, and Mat had dipped his fingers under the blanket to play with her, his sanity completely disappearing when he felt how wet she was for him. He’d torn her underwear off her not long after, fucking her slow and gentle until she shook in his embrace, his name falling from her lips in satisfaction.

Now, he shuffles himself down the bed till he’s nestled between her beautiful thighs, and Summer looks down at him curiously.

“Thought you had to leave for practice?”

“I’ve got plenty of time,” he says. “Plus, this is way more important than practice.”

Summer starts to protest, maybe to say something smart back to him, but whatever her response was going to be dies on her lips the second Mat’s mouth latches onto her skin.

~

Summer feels like she’s practically skipping as she heads into Sabrina’s house, bouncing off the balls of her feet in happiness. 

After Mat had managed to coax about three orgasms out of her just with his mouth and fingers before leaving for practice this morning, she felt like she could just about do anything. Especially with the way he speaks to her the whole time.

She’d enjoyed bickering with him before all of this, but it wasn’t until she reflected on the first two times they’d fooled around that she realized Mat loves dirty talk, and that he’s particularly good at it. 

The second she enters Sabrina’s house though, she shoves those thoughts aside and tries to tone down the happiness, especially with Sabrina staring at Summer like she’s got three heads.

“What are you so chipper about this morning?” Sabrina asks, eyeing her over the rim of her mug as she sips her coffee.

“Nothing,” Summer dismisses all too quickly.

“Mhm,” Sabrina says, raising a brow. “Wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain winger, would it?”

“Maybe it does, maybe it doesn’t.” She responds, resting her purse on the counter and going about making a cup of coffee for herself.

“How are you two doing?”

“We’re fine,” Summer says. “Happy.”

“That’s good,” Sabrina says genuinely. “I’m glad. Anders will be happy to know you haven’t killed each other.”

At that, Summer remembers Mat’s words from this morning, and turns to her sister with a slightly serious expression. “Could you maybe…not tell him?”

Sabrina blinks at Summer. “Why?”

“I just…I know how protective he is, and I don’t think he’s a fan of the idea. I just don’t want to put Mat in a bad spot. Could you maybe just…keep it to yourself? About Mat and I?”

“You want me to keep it from my husband that my little sister and his star winger are dating?”

Summer sighs. “Please, Sabi? Just this once, I am asking you not to tell your husband every little thing about your life and mine.”

Sabrina eyes her warily, but agrees. “Alright. But is this because Mat doesn’t want anyone to know you’re dating? Or something else?”

“It’s like I said, Anders is protective, he’s not a fan, and the season’s about to start. I don’t want to put Mat in a bad spot.”

Summer can see that there’s something in Sabrina’s eyes that makes her want to push this more, to understand, but thankfully, she drops it. 

Truthfully, she’s not sure where Anders’ apprehension is coming from, or why, but it’s clear he and Mat are at odds about it, and Summer trusts Mat enough to handle it, and enjoy their time together in the meantime.

~

After practice, as Mat is walking out to his car, he hears Anders’ call his name. Internally, he groans, not wanting to deal with his bullshit right now, but he knows it’s better to just get this over with now so he doesn’t have to put up with it for the rest of the season.

He turns, his face completely deadpan as Anders approaches.

“Did you think about what I said?” Anders asks.

Mat rolls his eyes. “Yeah, been thinking about it non-stop.”

Anders doesn’t look amused. “I wasn’t joking, Mat. I meant it.”

Mat feels the instinct to ball his fists, but he refrains.

He doesn’t care that this is his friend and captain, and doesn't care how long Anders has known Summer. Anders doesn’t get to just rock up and tell Mat who he can and can’t have feelings for. 

Whatever Mat and Summer’s relationship was like in the past is theirs to work through, and if Anders doesn’t like it, then fine.

He doesn’t need to fucking know.

“I’m aware.” Mat says. “I took care of it.”

Anders raises an eyebrow. “Took care of what?”

“We’re not together.” Mat says, the lie slipping easily through his teeth. “We’re not dating, not seeing each other, not falling in love, just like you asked. Your precious sister in law is perfectly fine high in her tower.”

Anders stares at him, probably gauging to see if he’s telling the truth, but Mat’s expression doesn’t falter. After a few moments, Anders visibly relaxes. “You two fought again, didn’t you?”

Mat scoffs. “Maybe we did, maybe we didn’t. That’s not the point. The point is you got what you wanted.”

“It’s for the best, Mat.” Anders insists, reaching out to rest a “captainly” hand on Mat’s shoulder, but Mat steps away, shaking his head.

“Whatever. See you tomorrow.”

Mat gets in his car, pulling out of the team lot and heading home, a smug feeling settling in his chest that Anders has no idea Summer will most definitely be waiting for him when he gets there.

~

“You got a little something on your face, Princess” Mat says, “Riiight…here,” and leaning in, he drops his spoon into his bowl of ice cream, grabs Summer’s face between his hands, and peppers kisses all over her face, working from one corner of her mouth to the other.

Summer giggles wildly beneath his lips, eyes shut tight as she tries to hold onto her own bowl and spoon under the assault of Mat’s kisses. 

She felt like her laugh lines were getting deeper and deeper with each passing day she spent with Mat, wrapped up in his embrace or under the constant receiving end of his affection and attention. It had been a little over a month of this now, this work in progress relationship. 

From what she knew, things between Anders and Mat were still a bit tense, but Mat reassured her that things were fine. It was just Anders finding it difficult to have a teammate date a family member, Mat had explained to her, and that he just needed time to come to terms with it. Summer could understand, so to be safe, and to make it easier on everyone, she continued to avoid speaking about Mat around Anders, and even shared a little less with Sabrina, just in case.

Knowing Sabrina, it only took a couple of glasses of wine for her to spill the beans, so it was better to say less than say more.

There had been a couple of times that they’d all been at Anders and Sabrina’s house, Summer there for wedding things and Mat there for team things, when they’d sneak off and fool around for a little bit with no one being the wiser, but Summer found it more fun than anything.

They’d just gotten back from a dinner date a little bit ago, Mat making them ice cream sundaes to have for dessert before bed after Summer admitted she had a small craving.

Once he finishes his onslaught of kisses, Mat reaches for the canister of whipped cream, spraying a little more onto her bowl and his own before digging back in. 

The TV’s playing a movie on Netflix, and when he turns his attention back to the screen, it brings Summer’s eyes to the time on his DVR box.

“Don’t forget we have dinner tomorrow night at Sabrina and Anders’ house.”

Mat groans. “Their pre-wedding late engagement party thing, right?”

Summer hums in confirmation, taking another bite of her ice cream. “Yeah. They didn’t throw one when they first got engaged since they were in Marbella, so they’re having it now while some of Anders’ family is in town for the home opener.”

“Speaking of the home opener,” Mat says, then puts his bowl down, walking off to his room before coming back, an Islanders Pro Shop bag in his hand. He hands it to Summer, who eyes it warily.

“Is this what I think it is?” She asks.

Mat shrugs, grabbing his bowl and digging back in. “What do you think it is?”

“An Islanders branded dildo?”

Mat chokes in surprise as Summer laughs, enjoying how easy it is to make him flustered.

She turns the bag upside down and is only mildly surprised when the jersey falls into her lap, the bright blue and orange and white staring at her like a neon sign.

“Would you prefer that I wear this?” She asks. “Are you going to ask me to only wear this once we get back home?”

Mat laughs, shaking his head as he puts his finally empty bowl to the side. “You wear whatever you want, baby, however you want to wear it.”

Summer smiles at him, then pauses. “Wearing this to the game probably wouldn’t be a good idea, what with Anders and all.”

Mat frowns. He’d clearly forgotten about that part, but shrugs. He reaches over, playing with the hem of Summer’s dress where it rests against her thigh. “Then I suppose you will have to wear it once we get home.” 

Summer smirks as Mat moves and wraps a hand around her ankle, maneuvering her until she’s laying with her back on the floor, watching him through curious eyes.

“And what else would you propose I wear?” She asks, watching as Mat removes her underwear and then reaches for the whipped cream canister, squirting out a dollop onto her clit.

“Nothing, if we’re being honest.” He says, rearranging himself to lay between her legs. “Now if you’ll excuse me, Princess, it’s a little rude to talk with my mouth full.”

Summer’s giggles dissipate into moans as Mat’s tongue licks away the whipped cream, the fabric of his jersey gripped tightly between her fingers as he enjoys his second dessert.

~

Mat leans back against the sofa in Sabrina and Anders’ living room, a little bit of tension leaving his shoulders now that Anders’ family has left and it’s just a few guys from the team, some of Sabrina’s friends, and Summer left behind. 

Everyone’s settled into the living room to wind down and chat a little before they all head home, and Mat watches as Anders’ has to keep a hand on Sabrina’s waist while she sits down. Summer told him that she’d had three glasses of wine because of how nervous she still got around Anders’ family, but it hardly affected her throughout the night. Now though, it seemed that since his family was gone, the anxiety and nerves were also gone, and the wine was catching up to her pretty quickly.

Summer was the last to make her way into the living room, and after a quick scan, found the only open seat left was next to Mat on the sofa. He was aware of Anders’ stare the entire time Summer made her way over, only breaking away once Summer sat down and Sabrina said something to him.

Mat barely listened to the conversation going on around him, too aware of the fact that Anders was watching them both like a hawk and that he was trying his best to behave. 

At one point, Summer must have started to feel exhausted, because he could hear the way her breathing began to even out, and then, her head gently landed on his shoulder. Tito saw it as well from his spot, and smiled at Mat.

That drew Sabrina’s attention, and she cooed, reaching out to gently wake Summer.

“Been a long day hasn’t it babes?” Sabrina asked, and Summer blinked the sleep out of her eyes.

“Sorry,” she says, then recognizing she’s still leaning against Mat, she blushes, smiling shyly when she repeats “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he assures, trying to seem flippant about it. “I don’t mind.”

“You two are such a cute couple.” Sabrina says through a laugh as she observes them, and the silence that follows is almost deafening.

“Who?” Tito asks stupidly. 

“Summer and Mat, obviously.” Sabrina says, and the second it’s out of her mouth, realization hits and her expression changes.

Damn wine.

“I mean-” Sabrina tries to backtrack, but it’s too late.

“Mathew, can I speak to you for a moment? Outside.” Anders says, his tone of voice making it clear that it’s not a request, but a demand. 

Anders heads out to the backyard, and Summer looks at Mat wearily. “Mat, you don’t-”

“No, it’s okay, Princess.” He promises, pressing a kiss to her temple and ignoring the apologetic look Sabrina tosses his way. He heads out after Anders without another word, walking up to where he’s waiting by the pool bar.

“What the fuck did you do?” Anders demands, pushing Mat the second he gets closer.

Mat finds restraint deep in his well of patience, deciding it would still not be a good idea to punch his captain in the face. 

“What are you talking about?”

“You’ve been seeing Summer? This whole time, you’ve been dating?”

“Maybe we have. What does it matter to you?” 

“I told you to stay away from her.” Anders spits, pointing a finger in Mat’s face. “I told you to stay away and you didn’t listen. And you somehow thought hiding this behind my back was a good idea?!”

“And I told you that you didn’t get to tell me who I did and didn’t get to have feelings for.” 

Anders laughs bitterly. “Oh so now it’s feelings? At the beginning of all this you said you were in love with her, and now it’s just feelings? Make up your mind, Mat.”

“I do have feelings for her! I do love her!”

“No you fucking don’t,” Anders spits. “You haven’t loved her a single day since you started sneaking around and lying about this relationship.”

“What else was I supposed to do? You made it very clear you didn’t want me around her and I made it very clear that that wasn’t your choice to make. So I did what you asked and let Summer make the choice for us both.”

“What is he talking about?”

Summer’s voice cuts through the night air like a knife to the gut, and Mat turns to find her staring at the both of them. 

She looks like an angel, hair blowing in the wind, the skirt of her dress flowing out beside her, the backyard lights casting a heavenly glow around her. 

But it’s her face that breaks Mat’s heart. Her face says she heard everything, and even though she’s standing right there, Mat can tell she’s already a million miles away from him. 

God dammit.

He couldn’t catch a fucking break today, could he?

“Summer,” Anders says, using his brotherly voice with her. “Go back inside.”

“No,” she says, and the tone of voice she’s using is one she’s only ever used against Mat when they used to be at odds. 

That used to feel like a lifetime ago, but Mat knows for sure that it’s probably coming back to him sooner than he’d like. 

“Summer-” Anders tries again, but Summer won’t hear it.

“No,” she repeats, taking a step closer to them. “You told him to stay away from me? Tried to stop him from dating me?”

“I was just trying to-” 

Summer holds up a hand, effectively silencing Anders, then turns to Mat. “And you. You said you wanted to keep quiet about us until you and Anders reached an understanding. But really, the whole time, you told him we weren’t seeing each other?”

“Summer, I can explain, I-”

“You said you didn’t want to keep us a secret.” She continues talking like Mat never said a single word. “But really, you just didn’t want to be the one keeping a secret. You wanted me to do it for you.”

The night air is suddenly heavy and silent, Anders and Mat staring at the ground in shame, nothing left to say. 

Summer scoffs bitterly. “Unbelievable.”

The click of her heels on the pavement has Mat’s head snapping up, his feet immediately moving when he sees she’s walking away. Anders is hot on their heels, following as Summer heads back into the house, noticing Sabrina and the others with their attention on Summer as she heads for her purse, then straight for the door.

“Summer?” Sabrina asks, concerned.

Summer says nothing, and Mat calls for her, but she keeps walking.

The three of them follow Summer out to the driveway, and Mat breaks into a sprint then, managing to get in front of her to block her path. 

“Princess please, just listen for a second-”

“Get out of my way, Mathew.” She says.

It’s the tone of voice that almost has him frozen in his spot. There’s no anger, no heat.

Fuck fuck fuck.

“Princess, I-”

“Don’t call me that.” 

“Okay, I’m sorry, Summer, I’m so sorry. But you don’t understand, I just wanted us to-”

“It doesn’t matter.” She says, placing a hand on his chest. “I don’t have the energy to deal with this right now. Please move.”

Mat wants to do anything but that, but he knows he probably won’t get anywhere with her about it tonight, so he does as she asks, and steps aside. By the time Anders catches up to them, she’s in her car and backing out of the driveway.

Mat feels like she’s taking his heart with her.

~

Summer sighs, spinning in the mirror and pursuing her lips as she examines the fifth maid of honor gown Sabrina’s managed to coax her into in the last hour. 

They’re at the Vera Wang Bridal House on Fifth Avenue, where Alex, one of Sabrina’s oldest pageant friends and bridesmaids, works as the manager. She’s been diligently helping Sabrina and Summer find the right maid of honor dress with the wedding only a couple of weeks away, and also helping to talk Sabrina out of some of the more less than ideal options.

The dress Summer’s trying on now is in the exact shade of what Sabrina’s been calling “champagne rose gold,” that she picked as one of her wedding colors, a spaghetti strap gown that accentuates Summer’s curves and compliments her shape. 

But it still doesn’t feel…well, like something Summer would wear, at least not as the maid of honor to her sister’s wedding. 

“I don’t know, Sabi,” she mutters, examining the way the silk falls against her body. “I like it, but it could be better.”

She looks in the mirror towards her sister, the bride to be, watching as she frowns, cocking her head to the side. “You’re right. The Lou's nice on you but the color’s a little off.” Sabrina turns toward the rack of dresses, pointing at one of the racks and then turning to Alex, smiling sweetly when she asks “Can we see the Lourdes, the Joelle, the Evelyne, the Diane, and the Vaness?”

Summer blanches. “Not the Vaness.” 

Sabrina raises a perfectly arched eyebrow at her. “Why not?” 

“Sabi,” Summer deadpans. “The v-neck on that dress is deeper than the Mariana Trench. My boobs would be all over the place.”

“Your boobs would look amazing in it.” Sabi insists, turning to Alex. “Right?”

Summer sends Alex a pleading look over Sabrina’s head, and Alex smiles, shaking her head. “Your sister’s at least a 38D and the Vaness can barely hold a 36C. I’d say ax the Vaness, and if you want to see a v-neck option, we can look at the Vanetta and the Varun instead. They’re a little more stable.” 

Sabrina hums, then nods. “Alright, I’ll accept the alternative.” 

“Thank you,” Summer says with a grateful sigh, and Alex sends her a wink before pulling the six gowns off the rack and putting them in Summer’s dressing room before heading back out to join Sabrina.

When Summer shuts the dressing room door, she carefully takes off the gown she has on and puts it back on its hangar before reaching for the next one.

Just as she’s zipping up the Lourdes, her phone vibrates in her purse from where it's resting on the chair beside her. She ignores it, focusing on adjusting the sweetheart neckline and the tulle of the train of the down when it goes off again, and then again, and then again, before it starts to vibrate with the frequency of a phone call.

She assumes it’s their father, calling on behalf of their mother to pester Summer for details on the fitting since Sabrina probably won’t answer.

Sabrina and their mom had gone shopping for her ‘mother of the bride’ dress last week and Sabrina was not pleased after her mother insisted on needing three dresses - one for the ceremony, one for the cocktail hour, and one for the reception. Sabrina was still a little upset, and their dad had been playing the middle man ever since.

Fussing with the zipper with one hand, and reaching blindly in her purse for her phone with the other, Summer answers her phone without even looking, immediately saying “Tata, okay naman kami. You don’t have to keep calling, just tell mom I’ll send her a picture of my dress when I’m done. Lalo lang itong makakainis kay Sabrina.”

From outside her dressing room, she can hear Sabrina snort in agreement. 

There’s a small pause on the other line, and for a second Summer worries that she’d been on speakerphone and their mother was about to scream down the line, but then she hears someone clear their throat before they say “I uh…I’m not your dad, and I didn’t understand a lot of that.”

Summer blinks, her heart plummeting to her stomach. She lets go of the zipper of the dress that she’d finally managed to pull up, then slowly pulls her phone away from her ear. When the screen lights up, and the contact name “13” shows up on her phone, she gasps in part shock and part anger, the phone slipping from her hand and clattering to the hardwood floor of her dressing room.

She wasn’t expecting that.

He’d been silent these last couple of weeks, giving her space after everything that had happened, so him calling so suddenly was…strange. 

And Summer was definitely not prepared to speak to him today. Especially when she hadn’t sorted out how she felt and how she’d go about handling this ridiculous situation.

The noise alerts Alex and Sabrina, who Summer can hear scramble to their feet before they start knocking on the door. 

“Summer,” Sabrina calls. “Are you okay in there?”

“Do you need help?” Alex offers.

Summer takes a deep breath, trying to calm her sudden racing heart and staring at her phone in total offense. She can hear Mat going “Hello? Summer?” and prays Sabrina and Alex can’t hear him at all.

“I’m fine,” Summer croaks out. “Just dropped my phone.”

She quickly bends down, grabbing her phone and ending the call, turning off her phone, and tossing it back into her purse. Quickly, she looks in the mirror, adjusting the dress one final time and fixing her hair. 

There’s a slight flush to her cheeks, and she schools her facial expression, pointing at her reflection in the mirror as if to say “Get your shit together,” before squaring her shoulders and opening the door.

“What about this one?” Summer asks, pasting on her best “nothing to see here” smile. 

Sabrina and Alex exchange suspicious glances, and Summer promptly ignores them.

And also especially ignores the way her heart hasn’t stopped pounding in her chest since hearing Mat’s voice.

~

Mat looks down at his phone one more time, then back at Summer’s building. 

He hadn’t seen her since everything that had gone down at Sabrina and Anders’ place, and she’d been ignoring his texts and calls, save the one she definitely didn’t mean to answer the other day.

Part of him knows it’s because she’s probably upset at him and Anders for lying to her, but before, when she was upset, he was used to her arguing with him, with her still being around.

All this space and silence was new, and he didn’t like it at all.

As he approaches the front of her building, nerves start to creep in. 

What the fuck am I doing here?

The more he wondered, the more he was afraid, the more he thought about her. And the more he thought about her, the more she got under his skin, the more she invaded his dreams, the more he knew he couldn’t waste another second without seeing her, or feeling her one more time.

No matter how badly he may have fucked up. 

There’s a buzz, a loud one, that snaps him back into reality, and he’s surprised when “Come on up!” from Summer's cheery voice greets his ears.

He hears another buzz and the snick of the doors unlocking, so he rushes in without a second thought, taking the elevator to Summer’s floor. 

When he gets to her door, he knocks tentatively, noticing she’s got some door decoration hanging over her peephole, and Mat feels his gut churn irritably. 

“Coming!” Summer calls, and Mat’s heart suddenly starts to thunder in his chest. 

Hold the fuck up. Is she expecting someone?

Blood starts to boil in his veins.

She let me in without even knowing who I was.

He can hear her footsteps getting closer to the door.

Is she…is she going on a date?

The thought is irrational, he knows, but he can’t help but worry about it anyway.

There’s a distinct shattering sound that echoes in his ears. Before he even debates if he has the right to think that, let alone even think of asking it, the door opens and Mat’s eyes are graced with the stunning reality of Summer’s natural beauty.

She’s wearing an oversized graphic t-shirt that has him questioning if she’s even wearing pants, and her long beautiful curls are down, stray curls framing her face, and then those chocolate eyes are staring at him in disbelief and he just-

Fuck.

“Hi.” He breathes, heart in his stomach.

God damn she’s so fucking beautiful.

“Mat?” Summer asks, like she doesn’t believe what’s in front of her. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to talk to you.” He begins. “I know it’s been a minute, but-”

“It’s been almost three weeks, actually,” Summer deadpans. “And now isn’t a good time.”

“Expecting someone else?” He all but interrogates, venom quickly seeping into his voice. It’s too easy with Summer, too easy to slip back into their little game, no matter how much he doesn’t want to.

But apparently Summer doesn’t want to either. She gives no indication that she’s heard him, no obvious tell that his irritation is irritating her right back. Her full lips don’t move, remain stoic and perfect and plump and-

God does he want to kiss her.

“Yes, actually.” She tells him. “I have friends coming over, and-”

Mat goes to her before he can think about it. He’s moving into her space, backing her into her apartment and kicking her door shut behind him before he takes her in his arms, spinning them around to press her back into the door and then sinking his hands into her hair, pulling her head back, and kissing her like his life depends on it.

For a moment, time stands still when his lips meet hers. He feels like his universe was knocked off its axis without her, and being close to her again, it’s like everything falls back into place. 

All the tension, all the worry, all the “will she, won’t she,” it all falls away and disappears. 

The only thing that matters is Summer.

Relief instantly floods his veins when he feels her relax against him, when her hands land on his shoulders, and it dissipates just as quickly when she puts just enough pressure under her hands and pushes him away.

Mat backs up, hands dropping away from her altogether, even though his fingertips tingle with the need to reach for her, to bring her back.

Summer looks angry.

“No.” She says firmly. “Absolutely not.”

No no no no no he thinks. Panics.

“Summer, I-” He begins, watching her walk past him and moves further into her living room. 

“No, Mathew. You don’t do what you did and show up here and kiss me and expect me to just forgive you.”

“I’m sorry, I just meant to-”

“I know what you meant. But you still shouldn’t have done it.” Summer spits, all fire and brimstone. “You can’t come here and kiss me like I’m still your dirty little secret.”

“What?” He shakes his head, staring at Summer in disbelief. “You’re not my dirty little secret, Summer. That’s not what this was at all.”

“Yeah,” she rolls her eyes. “Okay.”

“I wanted to tell you the truth,” he insists, swearing, “I just…I just couldn’t.”

“Couldn’t tell me that Anders tried to enforce some stupid rule you didn’t need to listen to because you’re both grown men? Couldn’t tell me that he was being overprotective and that he told you you couldn’t be with me? Couldn’t tell me that you didn’t have the guts to tell him no to his face? What of any of that ‘couldn’t’ you do, Mat?”

Mat frowns. “He’s my captain, Summer.”

“What the fuck does that mean to me? He’s my brother in law. I could’ve handled him on my own, spoken to him and told him to back the fuck off, and Sabrina would’ve told him the same. Instead you made it sound like he knew the whole time but was just having trouble accepting it.”

“You’re right. I handled it terribly, and I’m sorry.”

She stares at him for a second, then nods. “Okay, I accept your apology, now get out.”

His stomach bottoms out. “What?”

“Just leave, Mat.” She says, shaking her head and pointing at her front door behind him. “Just leave.”

He doesn’t know what else to say, doesn’t know what else to do, so he just nods, doing exactly as she asks.

~

Mat lets out a frustrated groan, dropping down to the ice to lay on his back, pain running through his bones as he shuts his eyes.

He can hear a teammate skating closer to where he lays, before feeling the blade of a stick poke him in the side. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Isn’t that the fucking question of the day?

It had been a week since she’d kicked him out and no matter what he did, he couldn’t get the look on her face out of his head, and he couldn’t escape the lingering tingle on his lips after kissing her after spending so much time away from her. 

The reality is that he had Summer, and then he didn’t. And though to everyone else it should seem like that’s normal, that they’ve always been at odds and don’t like each other, it couldn’t be farther from the truth.

Mat never hated Summer at all, and he never wanted to keep her a secret, but he thought that was his only option, the only way to go about finally being able to have her.

And he still ended up losing her anyway. 

“Nothing.” Mat mutters, keeping his eyes shut and trying to focus on the freezing surface beneath him, wiggling his toes in his skates.

“Looks like something.” He hears Tito mutter as he skates closer. “You’re skating like shit today.”

“Thanks for that babe.” Mat deadpans. “Appreciate it.”

“Did you get dumped or something?” Tito asks again.

Mat’s eyes fly open at that, and he lolls his head to the side to glare at him. “Not so fucking loud, dingus.”

“Well is it true or not?” His best friend presses. 

“I don’t even know if we were officially together in the first place.”

Across the ice, a loud voice echoes. “You’re not gonna be together in the future either if you don’t get your shit together.”

Mat finds himself shooting up into a sitting position, head spinning to look at his captain, who’s already looking at him with a frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Anders’ mouth presses together in a firm line as he skates closer to Mat and Tito, and when he’s close enough, he jabs Mat in the leg with the blade of his stick. “It means you need to apologize, you idiot.” 

Mat just stares at him. “Thought you said you didn’t want me to be around her?”

“I said I didn’t want you to be around her if you weren’t serious about her. You moping around the locker room, skating like shit, acting like you just got divorced - that tells me that I was wrong about all of this, and that shit might be a little serious.”

Mat stays silent. He’s not exactly sure what to tell his captain at this point. A week ago it would’ve been “Fuck you very much,” but he’s pretty sure Anders is trying to…apologize?

He assesses him carefully, then it clicks. “Summer and Sabrina chewed you out, huh?”

Anders doesn’t look impressed. “I got what was coming to me. Looks like you did, too.” 

Well that he couldn’t deny. 

“I tried to apologize.” Mat admits. “She told me to take a hike.”

Anders scoffs. “Did you expect anything less? And since when do you back down from arguing with her?”

“Like you said, shit’s pretty serious. So…yeah. I backed down and I left when she told me to.”

Tito taps Mat in the leg with his skate gently. “You love her?”

Mat hesitates to answer, not because he’s not sure. He’s pretty sure he does, almost certain, but he’s never said it, not really shown it, and he isn’t sure if Anders is still after his head, so he stays quiet.

Anders sighs. “What do you feel for her, exactly?”

Mat can put it into words, but as he thinks about it, it might not be the best explanation.

I’m pretty sure I’ve been in love with Summer since the day I met her, but she hated me on sight, so I pretended to hate her too. Except then I realized that she actually liked me, and now because I’ve been an idiot I think she actually hates me. And I still think I might be in love with her anyway.

…to be fair, that didn’t sound so bad.

Except, when Mat says those exact words out loud to Anders, silence falls around them, and he realizes several of their teammates, including Tito, were in hearing range, and now everyone’s staring at Mat like they’re waiting for him to disintegrate right in front of them.

“I uh…” Mat begins, falters for a second. “I just mean…”

“I know what you mean.” Anders says, nodding. “You should probably tell her all that yourself though, yeah? Preferably soon. Wedding’s next week, and Sabrina and I are going on our mini honeymoon during the Thanksgiving break, so…do with that what you will.”

Without another word, Anders skates away, and only after Mat casts a scathing look to the rest of his eavesdropping teammates do they follow suit, except for Tito.

Tito shakes his head, tapping Mat’s side with the blade of his stick. “Get your shit together,” he insists, before he skates away too.

Mat sighs, laying back on the ice and letting the cold settle into his bones. 

~

Sabrina and Anders had a beautiful wedding.

Truly, really, they did. 

Summer’s heart ached with happiness for her sister. 

It was everything Sabrina had wanted, everything she’d worked hard to plan, and through all the stress and breakdowns her older sister had, she was finally married and had the wedding of a lifetime to enjoy and look back on.

And since she and Anders had managed to resolve their issues, she was genuinely happy for him again, too. 

She had a feeling she’d find it hard to remain upset at both Mat and Anders, considering the more time she had to think about it, and remembered that men were in fact, stupid, thanks to Sabrina, she did understand both their perspectives. 

Anders had known her since she was sixteen and had seen her struggle with her self love, seen her date shitty people, and witnessed every second of her and Mat arguing like their lives depended on it. He was just looking out for her, wanting to protect her and make sure she didn’t go through something like that again, and especially not with someone Anders was friends and teammates with. He had to be around Mat on a frequent basis, and if it went bad between her and him, he would’ve had to tiptoe around them both awkwardly.

Except none of that was his to worry about, or even something Summer expected of him, which he understood now. 

The part that had Summer tripped up was the fact that Mat had explicitly said he didn’t want to keep Summer a secret, and how she’d understood, but he ended up keeping her a secret too, and she unknowingly helped him. 

Realistically, she did forgive Mat, but she also knows she should’ve been able to move on from it just as easily as she did with Anders. Maybe it was the fact that she expected more from Mat, considering how…intimate they were, but deep down she knew it was just her insecurities rearing their ugly head again.

Before it was the disbelief that he’d been looking at her in appreciation the first time they met, and now it was the uncertainty that he was only doing what he thought was the right thing to do at the moment. That he didn’t keep her a secret from anyone other than Anders and that he didn’t think she was enough to be shown off to the world.

Rationally, she knew it wasn’t anything, that she should be able to just move past it. But irrationally, Summer felt like it was still too good to be true.

Besides, they’d never actually said anything other than that they liked each other. It wasn’t like they’d fallen for one another. 

Okay…maybe that’s not entirely true. Summer knew she’d started to, especially the more time they spent together, the more they’d slowly gotten to know one another. 

But they never said anything to each other, so…

She’d managed to steer clear of him so far throughout the wedding, avoiding his gaze and purposely putting herself on the opposite side of the room. Right now, she was at the bar, waiting for the bartender to make her a margarita and watching where Sabrina and Anders were greeting their guests.

It was only when she realized after a moment that she didn’t see Mat anywhere that she had a feeling avoiding him wouldn’t be possible much longer.

“Do you think there’s more legs in the world? Or eyes?”

Despite the fact that she’d been expecting him, the absurd yet intriguing question has Summer turning her head to the right, and Mat stands there with a lopsided smile that spells mischief. 

Her heart collides into her ribcage in a painful throb. It’s been almost a month since she’s seen Mathew last. He looks just as good, is everything she remembers and desperately tries to forget in the same breath.

Before she can help herself, the corner of her mouth quirks up in a small smile, and she leans against the bar a little, shaking her head. “Is that the best you’ve got?”

He shrugs, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Got your attention, didn’t I?”

She wants to roll her eyes, but refrains, turning her attention back to the bar, grabbing her drink from the bartender with a polite “thank you,” and dropping a five dollar bill in the tip jar next to her elbow. 

As she starts to walk away, Summer can feel Mat fall into step with her, and even though she doesn't want for it to happen, her body stiffens, unease seeping into her bones at his proximity.

“I didn’t know if you’d show up to the reception or not.” He confesses, the charm slipping away from his tone.

She shrugs, nonchalant. “It’s my older sister’s wedding. Why wouldn’t I be here?”

“I wasn’t sure if you’d do it to avoid me. Or if you finally decided that you hated me.”

His confession almost makes her falter in her steps. Almost.

“That’s a bit dramatic, considering I remember that I told you that I never hated you in the first place.” She practically bites out, quickening her steps a little.

“Could’ve fooled me. I mean I never saw you after you kicked me out.”

“I’ve been right here.”

“It felt like you were on another planet.”

This time she does stop in her tracks, turning to face him. “What do you expect me to say, Mat? I’m not exactly happy about what happened. I know you apologized, and I get it, I just…I need time to come to terms with it, okay?”

Summer can see Sabrina approaching over his shoulder, and she shakes her head slightly, letting Sabrina know that she can handle this. Thankfully, she nods, and moves to make conversation with another table of her guests. 

Mat looks at Summer then, swallowing a lump in his throat. “Tell me what I can do to help then. What do I have to do to make this right? Tell me how to fix this.”

She shakes her head, taking a step back. “You can’t,” she says, already retreating. “You just can’t.”

His eyes burn into her back as she leaves, and heads back to her seat. She’s determined to stay out of Mat’s way and keep her eyes away from his for the rest of the night, no matter how much her heart twists in her chest.

~

Mat stuffs one hand in the pocket of his hoodie, the other one clutching the bouquet of roses as he crosses the street, approaching Summer’s building for the first time since she kicked him out.

He felt like a bit of a stalker, showing up to her place unannounced again, but he felt like he didn’t know what else to do. 

He’d tried asking Anders for advice, and the only thing his captain did was remind Mat that he and Sabrina were leaving on their mini honeymoon, and to take care of it before they got back.

So…this was him fixing it himself. Or trying to anyway. 

It takes him an embarrassing amount of time to actually work up the courage to press the call button to her apartment building. This time, when he presses it, instead of Summer letting him up immediately, there’s a small pause, before her soft voice comes through the speaker.

“Mat?”

He pauses, waving awkwardly at the little camera. “Hi.”

Another pause, then he hears Summer sigh. “You’re not going to give up on this, are you?”

“Probably not, no.” Mat answers honestly, running a hand through his hair. 

There’s silence, and then the building door buzzes and Mat pauses for a second too long before heading through it, and up to Summer’s apartment. 

He only manages to knock once before the door flies open and reveals Summer standing there in jeans, a white tank top, and a black cardigan over it, her feet in fuzzy socks and even fuzzier house slippers. 

Still, she looks so fucking beautiful.

Summer has a look on her face that he can’t read, and that in itself scares the shit out of him. He’s experienced every single one of Summer’s emotions, been the target of a few of them too many times to count, but this one is…

Different.

“For you,” he forces himself to say, handing the roses out to her. “As an apology. Or, the start to one.”

Summer eyes the roses, and for a split second Mat thinks he can see the corner of her mouth quirk up in a little smile, but then it’s gone. She takes the roses from him hesitantly, cradling them in her arms and staring at them for a second.

Mat hovers in the doorway, unsure of what to do.

Summer clears her throat, deciding for the both of them. “Are you just going to loiter in my hallway, thirteen? Or do you want to come in?” 

The urge he used to instinctively have to roll his eyes is gone, and instead all he can do is nod, crossing over the threshold when she steps aside to let him in. 

He toes off his shoes by the door, following her inside. He waits while she puts the roses in a vase, looking at the art on her walls.

When she comes back, they sit on the couch, and Mat takes a small breath.

“Maybe I should go first this time,” Summer says suddenly. He nods, waiting patiently, and she sighs. 

“I want to start off by saying that I do forgive you, and that I do understand where you and Anders were coming from, no matter how ridiculous. I think the thing that's kept me upset is that I couldn't tell for myself whether or not you kept me a secret for you, or for Anders.”

“It was for Anders,” he swears. “I would never keep you a secret, Summer. I swear.”

“Okay,” she nods, accepting his answer. “Then with that being said, I don’t want to completely put you on the spot, but what exactly is this?”

“This?” Mat asks, confused.

“You and I,” Summer says. “What are we? Because I’m going to be honest, I’m not really sure.”

“Well, I would like to say you’re my girlfriend, but we didn’t really establish that.” He hesitates, gauging her reaction. “Would you…would you agree that we were dating?”

Summer nods. “Yeah, I thought we were. I thought you were my boyfriend.”

Mat really doesn’t like the past tense she’s using, but ignores it. “Is there anything that's stopping you from thinking that I still am?”

“I just don't know that I'm clear on how you feel, and I would prefer we lay our cards out on the table now.”

“Okay,” he says, turning his body towards her. “That first day that we met, I’d spotted you before I even realized who you were. You came inside with Sabrina, and I could see you from where I was in the kitchen. I was staring at you when you met me, admittedly for probably a long time, because from that very first second, I thought you were beautiful, and I wanted to get to know you.”

Mat can see Summer’s surprised by his admission, but he continues. “I’ve always liked you, and I’ve always been interested, but I was under the impression that you didn't like me, so I just followed your lead. I was jealous of your ex, I was jealous of that random dude from the club, and it was because this whole time I felt like I'd ruined my chances before I even had one. When you were finally single, and we slept together for the first time, it felt like I finally did have that chance, but then Anders stepped in and…well you know the rest.” 

Summer’s quiet for a second, observing him, and then she nods. “I knew who you were when we met, it was kind of hard not to. I thought you were cute and I was excited to meet you, but then when I caught you staring, I got insecure. I thought you were judging me, and that's why I shut you out and didn't let you in at first.” 

Mat’s heart shatters in his chest. 

How could you not see I thought you were the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen? He wants to ask her, How could you not see you had me in the palm of your hands that very first day?

“I thought that there was no way that you would be interested in someone like me, so I put up a wall and thought it would be better to keep you at a distance. I didn't really intend for us to bicker for as long as we did.” Summer admits.

She takes a deep breath, fiddling with her own hands. “When I was with my ex, I was genuinely with him, and then when I wasn't, and you and I slept together, I was genuinely into you. I had a feeling that it might be complicated between you and Anders, and when you suggested not telling him anything at first, I understood, and I still understand, but I'm still having a hard time in my head trying to convince myself that you weren't trying to be malicious.” 

Mat moves to reassure her, but the soft smile she gives him stops him. “I know that you weren't, but like I said, that's for me to convince myself of and not you.”

“So…not that I have selective hearing, I’m just trying to get this right. Do you have feelings for me?” Summer laughs softly at his question, but nods, so he continues. “And I have feelings for you. And you forgive me for what happened?” 

Summer nods again, “I do.”

“Okay…then…” Mat trails off, unsure of how this is supposed to go. 

“Then?”

“Are we…okay?” He asks.

“We’re okay,” Summer says, nodding. There’s a moment where Mat’s relieved, where he feels like he can breathe again, but then she says “But I don’t know if we should get back together. Or…get together, however you want to put it.”

Mat’s heart thumps hard in his chest. “What?” 

“Not today. Not right now.” She says, a small shake in her head. “I think…don't you think we need to take a step back?” 

“What about a step at a time?” He offers. 

Summer blinks. “What?”

“You said we shouldn’t get back together today, and I can see your point. Not today. But maybe…maybe we can just take this a day at a time?”

“Mat…” Summer hesitates, completely unsure. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t have to know. Not right now. That’s why we can take it a day at a time.”

She eyes him quietly, a million emotions flitting across her face as the seconds pass between the two of them. “What would you even do? Where would we even start?”

“Coffee.” Mat says immediately. “Just coffee. Nothing more, nothing less. Just let me buy you a coffee.”

Summer’s quiet, and for a second, Mat worries she’s going to say no, but then her shoulders relax, and she nods. “Okay, coffee sounds good.”

~

Three Months Later

“You just wanted me close to a knife when it was in your hand, didn’t you?”

Summer shakes her head with a small laugh, turning the knife around in her hand so she holds the blade between her fingers, placing the handle in Mat’s hand. He takes it, but the hesitancy is still in his gaze, so she idles up beside him, bumping his hip a little before focusing on the kitchen counter.

Mat had admitted that he hadn’t tried Filipino food before when Summer and Sabrina had gone to visit their parents in New Jersey, so she’d offered to cook for him only on the condition he helped out.

Their father, Sonny, had come from the Philippines as a child with their grandparents. Their mother, Shauna, who’d grown up in the Bronx, lost her parents by the time she’d married their dad, and so the girls had mostly grown up with the Maldonado family.

Their grandmother, Soledad - the “S” naming tradition in the family ran deep - had taught the girls how to cook staple dishes when they were young, so Summer could make this in her sleep.

She’d already gone through the meticulous and thorough process of showing Mat how to wash rice and correctly measure for the correct amount of water, and that was currently bubbling away in the rice cooker on her kitchen counter. 

Now, she was going to walk him through making the marinade for probably the easiest dish to introduce Mat to when it came to Filipino cuisine - chicken adobo.

“Okay, so I’m going to cut up the onion, but I need you to mince the garlic. We have eight cloves here, and you’re going to take a piece of garlic and put it under your blade,” she instructs, grabbing one of the extra cloves of garlic she’d put aside for practice, and moving it to her board. She places her blade right on top and waits until Mat’s done the same.

“Good, now don’t hesitate, just bring the meat of your fist, pinky side down, onto the back side of the blade, and smash the clove. Just be sure you’re holding the handle of the knife firmly, like this,” Summer says, then brings her hand down, listening to the blade and the satisfying crunch of the garlic clove beneath it.

Mat follows suit on his own clove, and of course, because he’s apparently good at everything, gets it right on the first try. He smiles shyly anyway, waiting for her confirmation, to which she smiles, giving him a quick peck on the lips. “Perfect.”

Mat beams at the praise. “Really?”

“Yeah, so just do that to the other seven, and it’ll be easier to chop those up. Think you can handle it?”

He nods, reaching for another clove, and Summer tosses him the one on her board before grabbing the onion. 

They work in a silent tandem, and Summer chances a look at him to find his tongue peeking out from between his lips in concentration.

It makes her heart twinge with something she isn’t totally ready to come to terms with.

They’d been doing this…thing…taking it a day at a time, for the last few months. Mat had taken her out on countless dates, focusing on romancing her the way he would have had they not gotten off on the wrong foot. There had been some sex, not a lot, but whenever they did have sex, it was always intense, and Mat always made a point to reassure Summer every chance he got, in bed and out of it, that he thought she was beautiful, kind, and everything he ever wanted.

Outside of that, Mat had taken her to meet his parents and his sister, and even joined her on her bi-weekly Saturday visits to Anders and Sabrina’s home for family dinners. The captain and his winger were still working on repairing that whole mess, but it was getting better, for the most part. 

And now he was here. In her kitchen. Learning how to make her Lola’s chicken adobo. 

When she finished with the onion, she tossed everything into a pan with a little vegetable oil, placed it on the stove and fired up the burner. She grabbed a bowl from the cabinet, then brought it over to Mat for him to dump in his minced garlic. 

“Pretty good there, thirteen.” She says before guiding him to the sink to wash and dry their hands. 

“Okay, now what do I do?” 

Summer smiles, pointing at the ingredients next to the stove. There’s shoyu, vinegar, brown sugar, black pepper, chicken stock, peppercorns, and bay leaves. “I need you to measure out the ingredients on the card by the bottles and put them in that little bowl next to it.”

“What? I’m on measuring duty?” He asks, wrinkling his nose with a frown.

Summer leans up and kisses his nose before backing away. “It’s because you’re meticulous, so I trust you.”

He blinks after her kiss, then nods, heading over to his new station with a little more pep in his step.

Summer stirs the onions around since they’ve already started to cook, then grabs the minced garlic and tosses it in before heading to the fridge. 

Her Lola’s recipe is usually meant as dinner for two, so she had six pieces of chicken thighs rinsed and pat dry set aside specifically for dinner tonight. Bringing the plate out of the fridge and over to the pan, she grabs a pair of tongs and places each piece skin side down once the onions and garlic get fragrant, allowing them to brown a bit. 

She double checks on Mat’s progress, only to find him already done, marinade measuring and poured in the bowl, and his eyes on Summer, watching her with a cheshire smile.

“Look at you,” she muses, going easily to him when he opens his arms, wrapping her own around his waist. “Hope you’re not too attached to your diet.” She teases. 

Mat scoffs. “As if.”

“You’re right,” Summer agrees, running her hands under his shirt and caressing the hard muscle of his abdomen. “You don’t really need it.”

She feels him flex under her fingers and she laughs, looking up to find him smirking down at her, the heat in his eyes evident. “Well I kinda need it, gotta stay in shape to keep up with you at night.”

As if to remind her, her body’s muscles choose that moment to remind her of their ache, and Summer flushes, pushing away from Mat to head back to her place on the stove. 

“Well,” she begins, flipping the chicken over. “I appreciate your dedication. Can you bring over the marinade?”

He nods, grabbing the bowl and carefully idling up beside her. 

“Okay, now you’re just gonna pour it over everything, but make sure you cover each piece of chicken when you go.” She watches as Mat follows her instruction, and once he’s done, she shakes the pan a little, lowers the temperature a smidge, then covers it with a lid.

“Now what?” He asks, looking around. She’d already washed and set the rice to cook in the rice cooker on her counter, but he didn’t see any additional food lying around.

“Well, we have to let it cook for about fifteen minutes, and then we add the finishing touches, and then we eat!”

She ushers him back toward the stove to wash their hands again. It was something she’d learned as a kid, washing her hands after every step in cooking, and she hoped Mat didn’t think it was weird or strange.

He didn’t seem to mind though, going easily along and washing and drying his hands beside her without complaint.

“So…we have fifteen minutes to ourselves?” He asks, setting up a timer on his phone. 

Summer raises a brow at him in suspicion. “Yes…why?”

Mat smirks, leaning with his hip against the sink when he reaches for Summer. “Cause I’ve been thinking about eating your pussy since this morning. Can I?”

He takes her in his arms before she can answer, and then he’s kissing her neck, hands wrapping around her waist and down to her ass, palming the flesh in his hands. She moans a little when his teeth nip at her neck, and she has to push him away to be able to back up and out of his space. “Mat, we shouldn’t, we-”

“Please baby,” he pleads, taking a step and crowding her back against the counter. “Just this once?” She feels his hands creep at the hem of her dress - the easiest thing to wear around him, especially when they tend to have moments like this - his fingers bunching it up to her stomach when he drops to his knees. 

Summer finds herself automatically grabbing the material between her fingers, nodding her head and lifting her hips away from the counter for Mat to pull her underwear down her legs. She doesn’t miss the smile that crosses his face when he runs the lace through his fingers, and stuffs the fabric in the pocket of his jeans.

“Jump up on the counter, baby.” He says, waiting for Summer to settle onto the counter before pulling her forward, her butt resting on the edge of the counter. Mat grabs one of her barstools from the other side and places it right in front of her before taking a seat, pressing “start” on the timer on his phone.

He feels like he could drool a little at the sight of her open and bare for him, the prettiest shade of pink shining at him like a neon sign saying “just for you.”

Not another second passes before he’s burying his face into her pussy, Summer letting out a blissful and content sigh as her body relaxes and Mat settles her feet on his shoulders, gently circling his hand around her ankles and encouraging her to wrap her legs around his head, to pull him in closer.

She doesn’t, not right away, anyway, too wrapped up in the feeling of Mat’s tongue. He squeezes her ankle once, trying to get her attention, and all Summer can manage is to loll her head to the side to peek at him. He rises up a little, speaking against her skin, not wanting to be too far from her.

“Wrap those beautiful legs around my head, baby.”

All she can manage is a nod, and Mat returns to his task, moaning when her warm thighs touch either side of his face, his shoulders under her knees and her beautiful calves resting on his back. He can feel when she locks her ankles behind him and he settles in closer, relaxing against her as his mouth continues to devour her pussy, her arousal dripping down his chin.

He feels her nails scratch against his scalp when her hands dive into his hair, fingers gripping his curls and lightly tugging. Mat knows those tugs by heart now, which one means to keep going, which ones mean to ease up, which ones mean she’s loving it and not to stop or she’ll kill him.

“Mat,” she whimpers, her thighs squeezing his head and he nods, bringing his hands up to squeeze her breasts, loving when her hands cover his, holding onto him. 

He says nothing, just focuses on keeping his pace and the way Summer’s body reacts to his mouth, beginning to feel her start to shake under him as she gets closer and closer to her orgasm.

Right when Mat thinks she’s going to grip his hair tighter, letting him know that she’s about to come, she suddenly sits up, pushing him back gently.

“Baby?” He asks, confused.

“Get up,” she says, and he’s up and off the stool in a second, approaching her carefully. He’s only a little surprised when she reaches for the waistband of his jeans, making quick work of the button and the zipper. By the time Mat’s brain catches up to him and finally understands what Summer wants, she’s got her hands in the waistband of his briefs, pulling them down while Mat’s cock springs free.

He watches as her pupils blow out wide, and smirks a little. Gently, he places a finger under her chin, coaxing her gaze back to his face. He kisses her a couple of times while crowding into her space, resting his cock against her soaked pussy while she chases the taste of herself on his tongue. 

Mat grips her waist, pulling her a little further to the edge of the counter, gently moving his hips. 

“Needy girl,” he playfully chastises. “Won’t even let me finish eating that pretty pussy because you’re so desperate for cock.” 

Her eyes flash up at him, her playful spitfire in her eyes at his dirty talk. Mat’s found out that this is the kind of push and pull she prefers most, when he teases her or says dirty things and she can fight him back on it in a way that doesn’t cost them both. 

Mat can see that she wants to talk back, but she bites her lip to refrain herself. 

“Use your words pretty girl,” he says, grinding his cock against her. “Ask me nicely.”

“Please give me your cock,” Summer replies obediently. “I need it.”

Mat smiles, murmuring a soft “Good girl,” then he’s moving his hips back until the tip of his cock catches at her entrance and pushes in slowly, watching Summer’s face the whole time.

He loves this part, loves watching the way her whole body relaxes, watching the way her eyes flutter shut and her beautiful mouth parts just a little as her body welcomes him. He leans forward, capturing her lips in a gentle kiss as he bottoms out, waiting for her to adjust to him.

He’s learned he loves that part, too - how no matter how many times they’ve done this so far, she always seems to need a minute to adjust to him. But whenever she did, she took him so well that they could go at it over and over again till their muscles were sore.

While he waits for her to adjust, he takes a quick glance over at her stove, then at his phone, checking the time. Nothing’s burning, but he’s still only got about five or so minutes left.

Mat turns back to her, bending his head and burying his face into Summer’s neck, leaving filthy open mouthed kisses, speaking in between. 

“Are you okay if we make this quick? Since we are cooking and all.”

That seems to bring her back to reality just a little, because he can feel her nod, and then she’s locking her ankles behind his back again, pulling him in closer - her usual sign that she’s ready for whatever Mat gives her.

He carefully pulls back before pushing back in, setting a pace he knows is enough to bring Summer to orgasm in no time. Summer lays back on the counter, and Mat’s hands immediately go to her breasts, cupping them through the material before yanking it down, smirking to himself when he finds she’s not wearing a bra.

Mat leans down, sucking a nipple into his mouth and drawing a soft whine from Summer’s lips. A whine that tells him that she’s definitely going to come in no time if he keeps it up.

He laps at her skin with his tongue, sucking at her skin as his hips piston in and out of her, moaning when he feels her squeeze down on him as her breath catches in her throat. Her back bends and he keeps his pace, his own orgasm quickly approaching as Summer comes around him, squeezing his cock in a vice grip and wrapping her legs tighter around his waist. 

He comes a few seconds later, buried deep inside and his mouth still latched to her, tongue soothing over the now bruised skin. 

His favorite part is this, the moment right after they fuck - how she seems so content to just lay there with him and let him hold her, let him stay inside her till he’s either ready to go again or ready to help clean her up or drag them both to the shower.

They catch their breath for a moment, Mat just staring down at her, admiring her beautiful curves, her full breasts, the curve of her belly. He traces his hands down her stomach, gently caressing her skin, rubbing at where he’s still buried inside her.

Her breath catches in her throat at the same time the timer goes off on his phone, and they both jump, Mat slipping out of her suddenly, and they both hiss at the loss.

“Well,” Summer says through a small sigh, “Looks like lunch is ready.”

Mat frowns. “But I already ate?”

Summer blinks at him, and when he smirks playfully, wagging his eyebrows, she rolls her eyes, slowly sitting up. “Funny, thirteen.”

He leans in for a kiss, and she softens, going lax in his embrace. Between kisses, Mat can feel his heart hammering in his rib cage, and he murmurs “I love you, Summer,” before he can stop himself.

She pauses for a second, lips frozen against his, and he backs up, gauging her reaction. She’s shocked, that much is obvious, and Mat can see the hesitation, so he leans in, kisses the tip of her nose, then her cheeks.

“You don’t have to say it back,” he says, “I can wait as long as you need me to. I just wanted to make sure I laid all my cards out on the table.”

She leans back, looking into his eyes. Mat knows what she’s looking for, knows she’s trying to make sure he’s being genuine, but he’s pretty sure he’s got hearts in his eyes, so she’s probably going to find what she’s looking for pretty quick.

“Mat…” She says, his name soft and syrupy on her lips.

“I love you,” he repeats again, leaning in to kiss her again. “And you can tell me when you’re ready.”

He pulls away, heading toward the stove to finish up, but Summer takes him by surprise, pulling him back to her and kissing him like her life depends on it, wrapping her arms around his neck and drawing him close.

“I’m ready,” she says between kisses. “I love you.”

[amoristt]

-- Colossus content???? *Rubs my hands together* Id like to request something slow-burney! maybe hes trying to gain readers trust after she's rescued and brought to the x-mansion?

HEEHEE part 1 to the idea i have for this >:) i hope u enjoy i really i really love a good hurt/comfort and colossus is just so *chef kiss* abt it hehehehe

ty for any reblogs and comments! they make my day <3

4 or 5 moments. 

4 or 5 moments to be a hero. 

4 or 5 moments to make the difference- to teach a broken soul that there was always light at the end of that dark, dark tunnel. 

Colossus was determined to be the hand that guided for each one.

The first moment was quiet. 

Lingering outside one of the many bedrooms of the X-Mansion, a plate of food in one hand a prayer (a glass of water) in the other, Colossus stands. The faint echoes of voices and steps blend into the soft buzzing ambiance wisping through the halls. All the sounds melt into one, a background track looping on repeat day in and day out. It was a good soundtrack. Safe. It always brought him joy to hear such… Casualty. Veins of life snaking through the kitchen, the foyer, the living areas. 

Everywhere, except for your room. No, that space remained just as dead as the day he’d brought you in. You were almost nothing in his arms- a shattered, catatonic little thing with more bruises than not. You didn’t fight. Barely even breathed, let alone moved, as he settled you so gently into your very own bed in your very own room, where he promptly left you to decompress in your very own silence. 

And silent was how it stayed. 

Of course Colossus knew that this would take time. All rehabilitations did. Though he had to admit, the situation he’d found you in was certainly one of the worst. The state he found you in was barely even human- more like a frightened animal who’d been stuck inside a cage. All across the world, small underground facilities were beginning to pop like roaches. In these facilities, poor humans would be bamboozled and subjected to unimaginable torture until they would forcibly mutate. It was a problem the X-Men were growing unfortunately familiar with. 

But this, the horrible place he’d found you in, was the next step on that awful ladder. 

Mutating was rare in general. And sometimes, those with exceptional powers would be carted off to even more secretive places where the days would be spent being a live guinea-pig. The first idea (that Colossus was aware of) was to seemingly extract the mutated genes from the newly-formed mutant to create more. When that didn’t work, they would begin to target the actual DNA itself, see what they could tamper with and what they couldn’t. Broad studies to see what the mutant body could survive were a given. 

There was never, ever a survivor of this. Colossus himself had seen it almost a dozen times now. Bodies strapped to tables, chained to walls, discarded and dismembered. It always made him sick to his stomach, but he choked down the hopelessness of it all. He would be present at every single one, taking down anyone responsible. Searching tirelessly for even the chance of there being a survivor. Even when he knew deep down in his metal heart that he would only be met with more carnage. 

Every room only confirmed that. 

Until he found you. 

You, in what looked like a cubicle of bars, tucked all the way into the corner, unphased by the chaos of the X-Men seizing the facility. When he’d pried his way inside, he expected you to look up at him, beam when you’d learned that you were being saved. That you would be getting out of this place alive unlike the countless before you. The countless that would inevitably be after you. 

But, you didn’t. You didn’t even look at him. There was nothing behind your sullen, empty eyes. If not for the rise and fall of your chest, he would have thought you were dead. When he picked you up into his large arms, you remained still as a statue. No fight, no sounds. He felt pity in his chest- whatever they had done to you, it certainly broke you. You had truly given up.

But this is what the X-Men were for. Saving people. Helping.

And he knew that you, a mutant who’d been through hell and back, could be helped. It was as true as time- Colossus knew it. 

So, he brought you to the X-Mansion. And, after you were medically cleared and cleaned, he knew now would begin the process of bringing you back to life. To plant seeds and nurture them until you bloomed into something beautiful. But, god, seeing you after you’d been so carefully treated, you were still so empty. Free of all the dirt and grime that stuck to your skin, your bruises and cuts only seemed to get worse. No amount of rinsing would restore the color to your eyes. 

No matter. This was the start of your journey, your new life. 

He was careful to give you your space, as much as you needed. Though he had nothing but questions, and nothing but time between missions, he never tried to force you to talk to him. Hell, for now, you didn’t even have to listen to him. Just exist and breathe and feel the soft bed underneath you, the warm blanket on top of you. The warm plates of food he’d bring every morning that you had yet to touch. 

He knew there were only two reactions to the sight of food in the early days of rehabilitation- either instinctual hunger or disinterest. The former was always the best- food, Colossus had found, was always a gateway into conversation. It was a motivator, a doorway. But of course your case had to be the ladder. It had to be hard. Had to be countless breakfasts, lunches, and dinners tossed into the trash with a sigh. He never pushed. Never urged you to eat- just set the plate and a glass of water on the nightstand beside your bed and hoped. 

At the five day mark, he began to feel the seeds of anxiety sprout in his heart. Uncertainty, stress. You had only, so far, drank a few glasses of water, which taught him you were at least acknowledging the meal before you. You were just actively choosing to ignore it. But, regardless, there was some form of survival instinct at play. Dehydration was a killer. And Colossus knew this was a tricky, lengthy process. Enduring who-knows-what levels of torture didn’t seem likely to stir up an appetite, after all. You just needed time.

But then a whole week came and went. 

Seven days with no food in your belly, plus however long it had been since those bastards fed you before he found you. The sprouts of anxiety had turned into creeping vines that squeezed tighter with every failed attempt to get you to eat something. At this rate, he feared you would die of malnutrition before you even got the chance to heal. Time was the answer- he knew that, it had to be. It always was- but how long could you go?

Colossus stared at the door in front of him, oddly finding himself working up the courage. Was his presence frightening you? Was his size intimidating? Should he send NTW in instead? Doubting himself was a foreign concept but this was something more sensitive than he’d anticipated. 

When he finally reaches for the knob and turns it, he cracks the door open and pauses. Just long enough to show you that you have the option to stop him. You never do. Never even acknowledge his presence at all. Always tucked on your side curled into a fetal position with the blanket up to your ears, unmoving, unblinking. Like a corpse. More than a few times you’d frightened him until he learned that you weren’t dead, just simply… Not all there. Alive, breathing, but not there. 

The first sign that there was brain activity at all was when the shaking began. After a few days, when he’d bring you breakfast, you’d start to shake like a leaf as he stood over you. Scared, you would curl into yourself just a little tighter. It broke his heart, but it also told him something. 

It told him you were starting to take in your environment. And that reminded him that under all that trauma-induced catatonia, there was life.

Colossus was determined to bring that life back into you. Something drew him to it, no matter how frustrated he felt at every hurdle. He was nothing if not patient. 

It’s the second time he’s visited you so far today. The first, like always, was when the sun had just breached over the horizon. He would poke his head through the door as quietly as a giant metal man could be and make sure you were still alive. So far, he was met with that rise and fall of your chest, and he was satisfied. 

Now he brings breakfast, the first meal of the day and in his opinion, the most important. Two pieces of bacon, an egg, a slice of toast, and of course a tall glass of water. Simple, easy to digest and balanced. Just the way it should be. With the daily hope of today being the day, he walks inside and say’s a soft goodmorning. You, of course, remain quiet. 

But, to his shock, progress had been made yet again. 

You aren’t laying on your side curled pathetically into yourself. Your back is to the headboard, knees brought up to your chest, head ducked into them. The blanket pools around your waist. Your arms wrap around yourself like a barrier from the outside world, protecting you from everything. Even him. 

“I’ve brought you breakfast,” He starts for the eighth day in a row, setting the plate and water on the nightstand. “You should eat something today.”

Every morning Colossus drew just a little bit closer to you when he’d speak to you. Now, eight days later, he stands a mere few feet from you. You didn’t acknowledge him, but that was okay. Today was already starting off miles better than any other had thus far.  Much like the other rehabilitation cases he’d taken on, he wished he could read your mind. Wished he could peek into the twists and turns of your psyche, the quiet horrors that buried you alive. He was determined to see you breach the surface, see the color light back into your eyes. 

In the meantime, he knew these first baby steps were pivotal, and as much as he despised pushing you… An entire week at the very least with an empty stomach was nothing to mess with. He didn’t have much of a choice. .

“It has been days. You must eat something.”

He sighs deep in his metal chest, looks over at you and makes a mental note that the bruises on your elbows and wrists have begun to fade. That, and another even more subtle splash of progress: you weren’t shaking. Not yet, anyways. It’s a small victory he takes in stride, another successful baby step. 

The expected silence is heavy. Of course he’s the one to break it, sucking in a short breath before he hesitantly sits down at the edge of the bed. He tries to settle as quietly as possible given how… Intimidating his size can be, but he can’t stop the way the bed dips underneath him. He rests his hands in his lap and stares down at the floor. 

“I know you are frightened,” He starts softly, cringing when he shifts his weight and the bed groans under his weight. You’ve still yet to start trembling thankfully- it grants him a glimmer of hope. He eyes the plate. “This is much to take in. But, you are safe here. You can take as much time as needed. But until then, you must eat.”

No response. Just sullen, quiet fear. He doesn’t push any harder than that- leaves you to settle once more and shuts the door behind him as gently as he could manage. 

In stark contrast, the rest of the mansion is buzzing with life, as always. After his visit with you, Colossus returns to his daily schedule, a modest routine that has him bounding for the wide, open yards to get his daily workout in. The radio chirps at him, the sun is bright, the grass is soft. Afterwards, he makes himself lunch, reads a few chapters of his book. A quiet, mundane albeit lovely day thus far.  

Through it all, he tries to fight off a nagging anxiety that’s been building in his chest. He wasn’t a man of doubts, but a part of him wasn’t so sure anymore. He wasn’t sure what the next step would entail if the food remained untouched. He wouldn’t force feed you. God, no. It would decimate any and all hopes for you to trust him. He’d likely have to transfer you to some specialized hospital, somewhere you could be monitored. But even that was so… cold, so sterile. You needed warmth, peace. You needed to see life would continue on. Not a hospital room and a dozen white coated strangers poking at you in all directions. 

He steps down the hall, his normally confident gait staggering just a little. Just enough. For all he knew maybe you had some sort of healing factor- but even so, would it be able to save you from malnutrition? Hunger was also certainly a killer. Worries gnaw at him- what if your body gave way before you could even get the chance to come around? There was so little of you already.

When he reaches your door, he can’t help but pause, staring at the wooden entry before him. Carefully, he turns the knob, and like always, waits for the chance you may stop him. You don’t- he steps inside. 

You’re laying on your side, back facing him, a position he’s grown used to seeing. Naturally, on instinct by now, he scans for the rise and fall of your chest. The evidence of life. His breath leaves him in relief when he finds it. The curtains blow gently in the breeze. The sun, high overhead in the blue sky, haloes you. He approaches as quietly as a metal man can. When he’s close enough to take in your expression, he can’t help but appreciate your features. You’re sleeping, eyelashes heavy on your cheekbones and your body void of all its tensions. Peaceful, unaware. He wished to see more of it. 

But, he backs away, and glances at the plate. 

He sucks in a sharp breath of pure, genuine joy when it sits empty. His heart rate picks up in seconds flat, a grin spreading over his face before he even realized it. All those anxieties that had been creeping through his chest like slithering veins evaporate, replaced by a sense of relief he doesn't feel himself experiencing too often. It catches him off guard, has to breathe to settle back down. 

He knew it. He knew it, he knew it, he knew it. Why had he been so worried? Why had he been so doubtful of his efforts, of yours? All you needed was time. And now that you’d taken this shaky step, you had accepted the chance to heal. Even the glass of water was empty. You wanted to live, horrified and uncertain or not. While he takes in the incredible sight before him, you sigh in your restful slumber and nestle even more into the bed. 

Colossus plucks the plate from the nightstand and mentally rejoices. It’s a little victory- one of the most simple, but it speaks volumes over all else. He stacks the cup onto the plate and balances it in one hand, the other hesitantly reaching out for your sleeping form. Gently, carefully, he catches the fabric of your blanket between his fingers and drags it up to your chin, tucks you in just a little more. 

Oh, how he smiles when you nestle into it. You nuzzle the blanket and hum- a tune that reaches him like a beautiful song. It’s the first noise you’ve made since you’d arrived- and it was so lovely. He can audibly hear you relax, accepting. 

The walk back to the door is one of victory. The door is shut behind him just as quietly as before. The road ahead was long and winding, he was sure, but there would be an end. You would get better. He just knew it. 

He carries that plate into the kitchen like it’s an award.

[obscureaestheticist]

DC & MARVEL are awful at publishing their own amazing stories...

Read some western comics for the first time in a while this year. I wanted to start reading more in general anyway so I added comics and manga to the list. HOOOOOOOOO GGGAAAD DAYUM some of this stuff is good! I wanted to start with DC's Absolute & Marvel's New Ultimate. I've read mostly DC but have never fully gotten into a series or mini series before. These new books were meant to be jumping on points for newcomers so I wanted to give it a try.

And I gotta say... these need more attention... By their own publishers, I mean.

Even though I only really started in the last 3 months of the year, I get peoples frustrations with these being monthly releases and the fact that a lot these you HAVE to buy individually and not part of a magazine or some other form of collective release. At least until a volume release. On top of that these are NOT easy to find, not where I live, and not online either. You need a subscription service for the digital releases and you need to find a comic book shop to even buy it physical. These aren't cheap either! If I wanted to buy, say, a manga volume's worth of issues to try and catch up, its almost 5x that of a cheap physical manga volume. And the only place you're going to be getting a volume of some of these is at a book store, not a comic shop, just because there's way more bookstores generally. By the time those volumes have released there's no gaurantee the series that you like is even still running, because they havn't made it easy to even find these to read and it might've been cancelled due to low sales. So that leaves me with a problem... I either cave in and get a subscribtion or I pirate it. I'm poor af, of course I'm going to pirate it. MOST people will. Except they won't because barely anybody knows these comics even exist. There's little to NO marketing around any of these comics. Seriously, why aren't these in a magazine?! Why aren't these easily veiwable digitally? I don't want a subscription service just to look at a few books. I'm DONE with subscription services. Even if it's just a website where you pay to read online per series, or even throwing these into webtoon behind a paywall, it'll be infinitly better. At least that way people actually get to see the amazing work they're putting out there. And... yeah, the monthly wait on these is agonising. If the wait cannot be shortened then a weekly magazine is needed DESPERATELY, because there is NOTHING in the way of audience interaction for newcomers except a very limited fandom which might be gone in a few months just cause the series could be up and cancelled at the snap of their fingers. Their websites suck... Like, straight up, they suck. Nothing unique or stylised about them, not even a bit of background music or some flare, it's trailers for games, movies, and TV. Theres not even viewer guides for comics, bits of info on the world, or even those silly "who is the strongest/fastest/richest,etc" graphics like in old magazines. there's no fun. It's painful because the stuff thats out there is genuinly good. A lotta bad, certainly, but the recent stuff is thoroughly engaging. Another thing, the issue 1 crisis. If you don't know what this is, it's publishers resetting issues back to number 1 to bump up the price. It's disgusting. Especially when it makes it a NIGHTMARE to try and find the series you're looking for... and its same name as 8 other series only seperated by a date. THESE NEED TITLES! I was reading Ultimate Black Panther and Black Panther recently... Or rather, NEW Ultimate Black Panther: T'Challa vs. The Moon Knight, and Black Panther[2023]: A King Without A Crown. The naming alone causes frustrations when trying to navigate and find a story you might actually like. King Without A Crown is a title I just made up for the 2023 release. Its a great story, the art is some of the best I've seen in any comic. And the premise is very enganging, about T'Challa having been exiled from Wakanada, returned to watch over it as a secret protector and trying to reconnect with the people in places he believed he'd overlooked. To try and deepen his understanding as a king, and as protector of his country. It's Cyberpunk Crime Thriller Sci-Fi with a mix of central African mysticism. It even comes with an official map.

It got cancelled. Only lasted 10 issues... New Ultimate X-Men / Secret Society X Men is a shojo horror mystery set in japan inspired by major works of J-Horror... and it's FREAKIN' X-MEN Nobody talkin' about it. New Ultimate Spider-Man is about Peter, married to MJ, Father of 2, becoming Spider-Man after receiving word from the future that he was supposed be a hero and that it was taken from him, and Uncle Ben is alive in this... Nobody talkin' about it. New Ultimate Black Panther is kinda slow but it's about 2 warlords trying to infiltrate and take over wakanda who are posing as this world's versions of Konshu & Ra and leads to a greater conspiricy about Vibranium itself. Nobody talkin' about it. I LOVE the absolute series. I'm a DC fan, but these Marvel works also need more love, like... guys. Not to mention Spider-Man and Ult X-Men is fanfic and fanart GOLD! LIKE GET ON THIS SH!T NOW! There are other big issues i've got with western comics but I wanted to talk about it's accessibility. I love comics and manga a lot, it was what got me to start reading in the first place, and I want these cool stories to continue in a way that is like, actually enjoyable. I wanna talk about these with people, but there's no point if nobody is out there to enjoy it with. In the meantime, if you like these stories but can't afford them, make fanwork of it. Fiction, prose, poetry, art, music, silly comments, anything. Same goes for Manga and Indie works that you like. Don't let a company's incompetence stifle your ability to enjoy art that has ACTUAL passion behind it.

[moobloom-mention]

Nothing in Life is Guaranteed (Except for Statis and Uncertainty)

*WARNING: Sonic 3 spoilers ahead*

Summary: Through all the panic and confusion, Shadow can only focus on one thing. Maria isn't waking up.

Why isn't she waking up?

Content Warning(s): Implied Character Death, Violence, Angst

Word Count: 1203

Don't you just hate it when a "new" fandom grabs your shoulders and violently shakes you while you're working on 5 different LMK prompts.

----------

Yelling.

It's the first noise that manages to cut through the shrill, high-pitched ring echoing through two black, twitching ears. Soldiers are calling for unintelligible things, their commands drowned easily by the mindless crackle of nearby fire still eating away at whatever source of fuel it'd found.

The flames wouldn't last long. Not when the only other source of fuel was the cold metal of the base's sterile flooring and walls.

Shadow's gloved fists shake. With anger or fear, he knows not of which the loss of control over his limbs stem from. He can only stare, eyes wide as his fingers carefully brush over soft, blonde strands of hair he'd braided so many times before. The same strands he'd always been lightly scolded at for rolling onto between movies.

It wavers at the first gust of wind that blows from the base's newly opened doors. At the first sign that- despite what Shadow had convinced himself -the world had not stopped the moment maroon eyes had laid upon her limp body.

"Maria?"

Shadow barely suppresses a flinch as one of Maria's hands jerk, pupils blown wide at the movement. He'd be a fool not to recognize the flicker of hope such a small thing ignites. The same flicker so reminiscent of an old lighter the Professor had held onto from his years in Germany.

He could almost hear the signature click of the lighter's cap closing when another movement suffocates the emotion until only numbness remains.

Clenched tightly around one of Maria's pale hands is another person's dusted with ash, the grey spots lining its skin all too familiar. He must have startled the Professor with his voice.

"Shadow," the Professor pleads, his voice far too hoarse.

Black ears press themselves flat against his skull.

Faintly he can feel his heart begin to pound against his ribcage. This isn't how the Professor is meant to act. He isn't meant to be so soft-spoken, voice thick with an emotion Shadow cannot- no, that he refuses to name.

Where is the Professor's determined attitude from only minutes before? His jovial personality that Shadow had assumed Maria had inherited?

Why isn't he asking Shadow to fetch medical equipment? Why isn't he waking her up-?

Someone touches his shoulder.

At an instant Shadow recoils, his eyes sparking with bolts of red as he turns to punch whoever had dared to disrupt this moment- to defend Maria's state of unnerving rest.

But his fist never connects with its intended target. It instead freezes once his eyes lock onto the darkened gaze of Captain Walters, the man's expression twisted in an emotion Shadow had never before seen from the man.

Not in Shadow's first "escape" from his stasis chamber with Maria's help. Nor in the shrieks of surprise and anger that typically followed Maria and Shadow's escapades around the base.

Captain Walters had only ever looked at them with a sense of joy and amusement. Had always extended a hand whenever Maria pleaded for him to assist them with their hijinks.

Shadow could describe the man in many terms, but "afraid" was not one of them. Especially not of Shadow.

And yet the man Shadow had only ever known as nothing if not a friendly face stands with his shoulders tense, his stance unpracticed as he'd yet to compensate for just how violently he'd flinched away from Shadow's fist.

...he'd never done that before.

Shadow forces his quills to lay flat. Perhaps Captain Walters had only wished to help Maria, and tapped Shadow's shoulder to get his attention.

He swallows his newfound guilt with a thick swallow, hands twitching with uncertainty of what to do with them.

"Captain-"

Shadow's words clip into a high-pitched yelp as hot flashes of pain suddenly overwhelm his mind. A sheet of white blinds his vision, his eyes blinking erratically until he finally finds his gaze much closer to the ground than it had been before.

He must've fallen, his limbs twitching as his teeth click together with a painful hiss.

When he glances back toward Captain Walters, an unfamiliar soldier has replaced the man, their gloved hands twisted tightly around a long stick crackling with electricity. Shadow could only glare furiously over the unjust use of such a weapon.

He hadn't attacked Captain Walters- in fact, he hadn't attacked anyone. Why were they focused on subduing him? Why weren't they helping Maria-?

Unintelligible words of protest begin to tumble from Shadow's muzzle as rough hands yank at his still-twitching arms, hoisting him from where he'd originally fallen.

His teeth ache from how hard he clenches his jaw, his attempt to struggle from the grip dispersing the moment another soldier stabs the electric weapon once more into his side.

The world spins when the hands finally drop him to something cold, his forehead pressing into the surface with a brief sigh of relief. The temperature feels nice against the hot flashes of pain still striking through his limbs.

Shadow lets himself rest for a moment before he readjusts himself to sit on his legs, eyes fluttering open to find the bars of a cage.

He barely has a moment to comprehend the arrangement before the cage screeches, his ears twitching erratically against the grating noise. The cage's door shuts with a violent clang and Shadow almost finds solace in how heavy his limbs feel, the shocks having rendered his flinch imperceptible to the nearby soldiers.

You need to relax, the Professor's voice tells him. Let them focus of Maria instead of you.

With a groan Shadow cranes his head upward, desperate to catch a glimpse of whatever was occurring amidst the chaotic flames and swarms of soldiers.

People were still yelling commands through the smoke-filled hall. Scientists coated in ash were now pushing past them in a desperate attempt to escape the bunker.

And the Professor-

Confusion suddenly clashes with the vibrant pain of whatever electric shock they’d administered. He stumbles to his feet, his gloves wrapping around the bars of his cage as he tries to fit his muzzle between them. Because surely this- it can’t be happening.  

The Professor is being lifted from the ground by two armed soldiers, his hands twisted behind his back and tied with metal cuffs. His shoulders remain untensed as he stumbles onto his feet, the unsteady rise and fall of the Professor’s chest an unnerving sight.  

What’s even worse is that the man doesn’t fight as they begin to guide him away. As they begin to drag him away from Maria.  

“Professor,” he croaks out, voice still hoarse. “They- They have to help her-”  

Why aren’t they helping her?

He tries to reach out when the armed soldiers pass by his cage. He swears he could feel the brush of the Professor’s newly torn coat before the entire cage comes to life with a blinding blue flash, pain ricocheting through his muscles. His vision swims before his limbs twist themselves to make way for how he falls back to the bottom of his cage, a groan escaping between grit teeth.  

“Professor-” he tries again between his rigid gasps for air. 

The man doesn't even spare a glance as Shadow's consciousness finally slips from the scene.

[taylor-swift-imagines]

Break up prank

Pairing: Taylor Swift x (female) reader

Warnings: None

Requested: @girl-style-now

Request: Can you do Y/N pranking Taylor telling her that shes breaking up with her?

***

Taylor Swift has been your girlfriend of five years now and you both couldn’t be happier, nothing else in the world made you both happy than being together.

You had been moved in with Taylor for about two years now, and things couldn’t get any better than this. You were both just so happy together, always snuggled up to each other on the soft sofa in her theater room, watching a movie while enjoying each other’s company. The most challenging part of this relationship is when you couldn’t make it on tour with her, and it saddened you that you wouldn’t be able to tag along on her Eras tour.

There were only a couple days left until Taylor leaves for tour and each passing hour was agonizing for you, as you wouldn’t see her for a few months. When the night before had arrived, you couldn’t stop yourself from letting tears roll down your cheeks at the thought of her being gone for so long, although you would Skype each other every night wasn’t enough for her. You needed to be with her in the flesh, but it’s not going to work for you this time. When Taylor first met you, it didn’t take long for her to understand that she was dating a prankster. Pranking was your favorite activity, but all of those pranks you pulled were harmless, but they got people extremely upset at you and you had even lost a few friendships to them. You’ve pranked basically everyone you know, everyone that is, except for Taylor.

As that thought had come across your mind, you got a wicked idea. You were going to do a break up prank on her just like on some of the YouTube videos you’ve seen couples do to each other. It’s one of the meanest pranks you could pull, and it could cost you a lot. But when you mentioned your idea to Taylor’s best friend, Selena Gomez, she wanted in on it. Selena was stopping by the following morning to help Taylor pack her bags and suitcases in the trunk of her car before taking to drop her off at her private jets. When the following morning arrived, you quietly answered the door when Selena texted you she was outside and ready to help you out. You went over to your big walk in closet and pulled out two black empty suitcases and took them with you outside to meet her.

The plan was now in action.

You watched from the side of the house until Taylor went back inside for her final bag and that’s where you come in asking for Selena to call Taylor back outside for a talk.

“Hey, Taylor? Could you please come back for a second?” She called.

Taylor reappeared and when she saw you with the suitcases of your own, she had a confused yet, very concerned look on her face before she started asking questions.

“What’s this? What’s going on, (Y/n)?”

“Well… there’s no easy way to tell you this, so I’m just going to come right out and say it.”

“Okay..”

Anxiety was pricking at Taylor’s heart as she thought she already knew what you were going to say, what this was going to be about.

“I think we need to take a break.. while you’re on your at least.” You say, looking away.

Selena had a guilty look on her face suggesting that she almost regretted helping you out on this.

“What do you mean? Have I done something to make you want to leave? How can I fix it?”

Taylor was frantic now as she continues to reason with you to stay.

“Can we at least talk about this-“

That’s when it hit Taylor that this must be one of your many pranks.

“Wait a minute… this is a prank, isn’t it?” She asks, sounding irritated.

“You guessed it! Selena here helped me out on it, too!”

Taylor looks over and spared a death glare at Selena before turning back to you.

“Don’t do that to me, (Y/n)! I really thought you meant that and you especially can’t do this to me right as I’m head out for tour!” Taylor sounded choked up as she says this, having you feel guilty.

“I’m sorry, Taylor. I never meant to scare you, it was supposed to be just a prank. I would never leave you, I love you too much.”

Taylor heavily sighs before engulfing you into a hug.

“I love you too, (Y/n). Just.. promise me you won’t do that again.”

“Of course, I promise.”

You weren’t able to make it for the drive to the airport due to online courses, so instead, you walk Taylor to the passenger’s side of Selena’s car and opened the door for her.

Taylor gave you a kiss before getting into the car, closing the door shut as you watched until the car was out of sight. This was the worst prank yet, but you loved each other so much to let anything come between your relationship.

Your love for each other was real.

This proves it.

***

@taylor-swift-imagines

Requests: Open

[ultimategenshintournament]

Ultimate Genshin Tournament: Finals

Propaganda below cut

Arlecchino:

Hot Evil Woman.

#the duality of arlecchino is so well done #Also her design is insanely attractive (via @rinrinlovee)

#women driven by their own agenda #implied to be fucking insane #people were disappointed she didn't actually kill the kids in her story but listen #that would make her no better than dottore #she's a bad bitch she refuses to run the house on anyone’s terms but her own #i love morally grey characters guys #arle has mystery and intrigue there is no telling what her next move might be #and she has her fair share of tragic yuri #the fact that she is harsh #that there is inherent immorality in her character since she trains orphans to be child soldiers #but the fact that she still cares deeply for her charges #and arle thinks the doctor is despicable and refuses to make deals with him #except one that allowed her to set the children free to take their own path #like i cannot emphasize enough how much depth is in her character #freminet reports that she doesnt like when the children cry #but she still brought him back an emblem of his mother #and told him the truth about why he is in the House #in fact she's deeply appalled when she finds out he's been lied to and told his mother no longer wanted him #she is incredibly perceptive and forward thinking #and fine ill say it shes hot #and she's ridiculously powerful #in her boss fight we dont even kill her. we don't even come close #she was just entertaining us as a test #also i really enjoy a character who can suffer such tragedy and carry it with her in her life #but then is afforded the agency to make it better for herself and everyone who comes after #no child will die for wanting to choose their future #wanderer saying that those who have seen through her cordial facade have disappeared #like how can you NOT be interested in her #i want to know desperately what her grand plan is #i think we as a fanbase moved on way too quickly from the fact that teenage arlecchino #KILLED A FUCKING HARBINGER #also the question of where is arle actually from still remains #what exactly *is* she? (via @stormyrainyday)

Furina:

girl deserves therapy and hugs and the best life in the WORLD because she went through a lot!!!! wouldn't pretending to be a god for 500 years with no support mess you up? and yet she still kept on going for her people!! she wanted to save her nation from a doomsday prophecy and she DID

After act 5 she deserves the world :(

“If all the people of Fontaine are on one side, and I am on the other…is it not obvious where the scales of suffering should tilt?” NO IT ISNT YOU’RE JUST ABNORMALLY SELFLESS AND INCREDIBLE AND PERSISTENT. Even the Archons praise Furina’s name and say she is a human with strength and capability worthy of an Archon. That’s not even to speak of Focalors. She snapped at Arlecchino when she implied that Furina had done nothing to preserve her people from the flood. Meanwhile every minute she was working to prevent the prophecy. A month after we took her to court and almost got her killed she agreed to help us direct a play, a favor for a favor

Guys, she deserves to win. She endured 500 years of torment and suffering. No hope in sight, just the knowledge that a trial, any trial, might signal the start of her life as herself. She sacrificed herself again and again: her reputation before the people of Fontaine, her happiness during the 500 years of her rule, and her very own divinity. Her trailer is literally just her worst nightmare coming to life. She is finding the joy in life again, slowly. Let’s be a part of that joy. Vote Furina!!!! 

Your honor, they're married and Arlecchino would want her wife to win.

HAVE YOU SEEN HER? SHE IS SO BEAUTIFUL OH MY GOSH AND HER VOICEEEEE MY QUEEN MY GODDESS MY EVERYTHING WE NEED TO HAVE HER WIN THIS SHE IS SO PRETTY

she literally gave up her entire sense of self and sacrificed everything just to save Fontaine… all without ever knowing that she was the human side of the archon. She did everything because of her own sense of justice, because of her love for the people, because even she had to do her all for a chance for them to live on. Furina is the perfect example of what a leader should be, while also being so so very fragile and just…so very human. needless to say, Furina is perfect through being imperfect. So she absolutely deserves this win FURINA SWEEP REAL!!!

she managed to fool an entire nation and even the hydro dragon for 500 years. She literally put up the greatest act in all of history. All for one singular goal. The survival of Fontaine. And what did she give? Everything. Her soul. Her life. She is the epitome of the most amazing character design. And so she absolutely deserves this win!!

she literally was almost assassinated by the one she is up against right now. She literally almost was killed by arle. Literally WHY would you let arle win over our beloved queen Furina? Furina is a victim who is suffering trauma from her. She deserves the win more than arle! Payback for arle traumatizing sweet, innocent Furina…!!!!!

(image via @deityofhearts)