#i did not have time to make this but since making the connection with enter the mirror i just. couldn't stop thinking about it

[lysarion]

━━━━━━ of logic and dance ⟢

♱    |    anaxa was not one who willingly admitted to his wrongs. but not with you; not when he spent three weeks losing himself at the thought of you dancing with someone else.

𖤝 including  ⠀! ⠀anaxa          ◟          𖤝 warnings ⠀! ⠀modern/college au, long fic ( 10k words send help ), word vomit, potential-ooc

❝      tags     ⚜     .   if you'd like to be tagged please send me an ask off-anon!!!

theoretically speaking, was it possible to see someone in a different light in just three weeks when you’ve spent your entire life disliking them?

the past anaxa would argue—without skipping a beat—that no, it was not possible. the sheer notion of a measly three weeks crumbling a philosophy a genius spent their entire life cultivating felt absurd. but now, he’s been proven wrong. and to add more salt to the wound, it was you who bested him in this argument.

to understand the suffering anaxa has gone through, we must first take a few steps back—specifically, three weeks ago when a pesky junior had put his name inside a ballot box for aglaea’s dancing competition as a joke. 

anaxa was fuming. to put his name inside a random mystery box was one thing, but to have him be picked and participate in an art he was unfamiliar with was another. phainon spent the majority of his tuesday trying to escape from anaxa’s lividness. barely squeezing by when the said man was hunting him down like a poacher in the forest. to some, the sight may be endearing—anaxa did have a tendency to dote on phainon—but the snow-haired junior would argue. 

and that’s how anaxa found you; patting down phainon’s hair as you shook your head in disapproval in his direction. anaxa’s mood sours further, a permanent scowl etched on his face as he demanded you to hand over the sulking boy behind you. phainon was just about ready to bolt out the room when suddenly, aglaea entered the room. an amused but barely noticeable smile on her face has anaxa’s skin rattled with goosebumps.

“thank you, phainon, for doing my job for me. this certainly saves me the trouble,” the blonde woman said, much to the trio’s question. aglaea cleared her throat, “now that everyone is present, i must congratulate you, [name] and anaxa, for being chosen as this year's representatives.”

“surely you jest, aglaea,” anaxa chimed in, irritation lacing his voice as he stepped closer to said woman. “i clearly remember the rules stating that the students chosen must be willing to participate. if you could not tell, i am not—in the slightest—willing.”

normally, a glare from anaxa would send even the terror professors of this university running with their tails in between their legs—but never aglaea. be it from the immeasurable amount of time they have spent together trying to one-up the other since pre-school, or simply the strange connection they have since childhood, it is an undeniable fact that even the great anaxa loses to aglaea. 

aglaea only smiled, “yes, that is true. but i’m afraid i will have to make an exception this time. after all, due to your misgivings in one of the labs, the number of willing candidates have dwindled.” anaxa’s brow twitched in annoyance as you crossed your arms over your chest, much to aglaea’s amusement. “therefore, me and the teachers have decided, your participation in this event will be considered your punishment.”

and thus began anaxa’s three week long journey of being your dance partner.

— the first week.

much to agalea’s expectations, your chemistry with anaxa was nonexistent. 

his logic and bluntness clashed with your more free-willed and creativeness. she heaved another sigh as you lectured anaxa on his hand placement and stiffness—if she imagined it hard enough, steam would be leaking out of your ears as your face turned a few shades red in frustration.

“it has been almost four hours!” you exclaimed in exasperation, throwing your hands up before they dragged down your face in defeat. “aglaea surely you agree with me that this is hopeless—he’s hopeless!”

anaxa scoffed and raised his head with a sneer. “hopeless in this situation does not describe me—it is you who’s hopeless. there is no subject i can’t master. the fault lies with the teacher.”

“excuse me?” you huffed out in offense. you strutted to his direction, boldly invading anaxa’s personal space, reveling in his slight flinch, and jabbed a finger to his chest. “there is no one i cannot teach, for your information. it’s not my fault you can’t understand the common principle of dance—a simple waltz.”

“if it’s so simple, why have we not made any progress?” he argued back, flicking your finger at his chest at the same time and glowered at you. “do not think of yourself as high and mighty just because you are the only chosen instructor in this university. compared to other dancers i have witnessed, you pale in comparison to them.”

“that’s quite enough from the both of you!” 

anaxa watched in disapproval as your debate was cut short by aglaea’s intervention. he clicked his tongue, crossed his arms over his chest and walked past you to speak face to face with aglaea. “see? this just proves that this entire endeavor is meaningless. you cannot expect me to cooperate with someone so…” anaxa paused. he let out an infuriated breath and pinched the bridge of his nose, “insufferable. clearly our views are too different and neither of us are willing to compromise. go chat with mnestia and cerces and reach a consensus for a different punishment.”

aglaea sighed. her nimble fingers massaged her temple as her eyes come to a close, “and i vividly remember telling you that this is final. no more discussions. honestly anaxa, i thought you were better than this. of all things, i never expected this to be your tipping point.”

red eyes glared at aglaea, “watch it goldweaver.”

“enough,” she waved off anaxa and pushed past him, much to his dismay. aglaea called out your name—a lot softer this time, might he add—and announced, “both you, go home and cool off. we’ll try again tomorrow. i expect you both to be a little more amiable until then, understood?”

you only looked away and nodded, biting down on the words you did not trust yourself to say and simply gathered your bags. anaxa noticed your downcast gaze and the way your thumb rubbed at your elbow or the way your foot tapped incessantly on the smooth wooden floor. he clicked his tongue in annoyance and begrudgingly collected his things from the ground before he dashed out of the exit. he would deal with this tomorrow.

but when tomorrow eventually comes, anaxa found himself a unable to pay attention in class. lectures on his favorite topics such as history on alchemical transmutation, ancient theology, hell even simple subjects such as literature or readings, anaxa could not bring himself to pay them any mind. not when he's busy watching the choreo you submitted to the group chat last night.

anaxa clicked his tongue in annoyance. no, he was absolutely fuming because aglaea was right and you had proved him wrong.

your choreography was nothing short of dumbfounding—it was incredible in every sense from rhythm, energy, grace, and oh how anaxa hated to admit it, you evoked emotions so evidently with just a sway of a hand. 

“now what has gotten you so glum?” a teasing voice with an equally teasing expression invaded anaxa's vision. he sneered in distraught having been caught by professor cerces—his mentor and detested guardian—in the acts of his exasperation.

he shoved his phone back in his bag and flipped his textbook senselessly, ignoring cerces’ presence as she took a seat by her lecture table. “it's none of your business.”

“i'd argue it is my business,” cerces rebutted. “i am one of the teachers who agreed on this punishment.”

anaxa looked up from his textbook to glare at the professor who only intertwined her fingers together. when a beat of silence passed, anaxa rolled his eyes in annoyance before his attention redirected itself onto his blank paper—not a single drop of graphite gracing its surface.

“child of reason, i have a question.”

“i’ll have you know i have no interest in your pointless inquiries.”

cerces smirked and leaned forward, the slight tilt of her head has anaxa's fingers quaking with aggravation. “oh but isn't that the point of it all? to ask questions even if they are pointless? what use is that curiosity of yours if you won't find opportunities to use it?”

another pause, the atmosphere continued to thicken. anaxa was the first to conceive with a heavy sigh. he cradled his head with one hand while the other picked up the stray pencil on his desk to tap it on his blank paper. “well? out with it already, i don't have all day.”

“ever the rude student,” cerces murmured with vexation. “well whatever, this is you we're talking about. now for my question,” she paused and unlaced her fingers to open the laptop on her desk. “i'm curious, what crime has poor [name] committed for you to dislike them so?”

anaxa stilled. of all the questions he hypothesized cerces would ask, this was not one of them. his brows furrowed further. he'd solved more complex formulas and memorized great philosophies in his sleep—so why couldn't he decipher you?

“when have i…” he muttered before his mouth snapped shut. he shook his head and massaged his temple before snapping back to his actual self. “and what good will knowing my reasons do?” 

“oh, i don't know, help with your poor chemistry on the dance floor?”

another click of his tongue, and anaxa loudly gathered his things.

“and where do you think you're going?” she asked. “you still haven't answered my question, anaxa.”

“why don't you use your brain to pick apart my answer? you always seemed to do that, so why not do it again?” anaxa quipped, a certain kind of venom dripped from the skin of tongue.

cerces quietly watched as anaxa haphazardly threw his items in his bag and ungraciously slinged it over his shoulder. the professor heaved out a long sigh as she said, "so you're giving up after one attempt? how unlike you, anaxa.”

said man was halfway out the lecture room when he heard cerces' musing. the grip on the door handle tightened under his hand—knuckles turning snow white. “i am not giving up, you inadequate professor. there is no field i cannot master.”

aglaea mused, ‘something changed,’ but she's not quite sure what during rehearsals. sure, you're still at each other's throats—but there's a strange, sudden synchronicity in the way you moved. as if a switch had been flipped, anaxa was more compliant with your advice and you held your sharp tongue and lectures. (aglaea found great amusement in you making funny faces when anaxa was not looking—incredibly childish but your only outlet for frustration).

aglaea knew she was right—something had changed. she just didn't know how deep the crack ran.

there was this strange awkwardness to you, too, though she can't quite name it. yes, you held your back your sharp words more frequently, but aglaea can't help but wonder if there was more to it. she noticed—she always does—the way you looked at anaxa as if you wanted to say something, but you would back out before you could get the chance.

but she doesn't blame you for your cowardice—it was well expected. anaxa seemed more irritated than usual. he was quieter, more introspective but not in a good way. his eyes tracked your movement in quiet precision as if he's dissecting your being alive. there was a quiet yet turbulent kind of curiosity whenever his hand touched your bare back—the muscles in his fingers flexing uncomfortably as if he's been burned. anaxa's expression would shift from one of nonchalce to that of pain whenever you're too close for comfort. and aglaea found it painfully ironic—this field required you both to be close.

skin to skin; breath on breath. anaxa was being pushed to his limits while you pretended to revel in the situation.

— the second week.

“lovely mnestia has told me you've finally grasped the choreo,” cerces said as she walked side by side with anaxa who kept his face passive. “i'm relieved you managed to overcome a hurdle in such a short amount of time.”

anaxa scoffed, half offended half arrogant as he mused, “i told you, haven't i? there is no field i cannot master.”

“yes, yes i know. you've said the same line thrice in the span of a week. your arrogance truly knows no bounds.” the professor replied in annoyance. “how is [name] doing nowadays?”

“why do you ask?” anaxa raised a brow as cerces unlocked the lecture hall. being a professor's mentee had its own pros and cons, one of those pros being able to spend a couple hours in peace and quiet before other students arrive.

cerces looked at him in bewilderment. in turn, anaxa looked at her as if she's grown two heads. the professor sighed with a small shake of her head. “aglaea told me the poor child's feet has been hurting, badly might i add. just from your first week alone the clinic's band-aid supply has run out.”

anaxa's eyes widened involuntarily, “when was this?”

“did you not hear me at all?” cerces quipped. “since the first week, child of reason. i'm surprised you didn't notice.”

anaxa was surprised as well. for the entire week, you had moved with such proficiency—lectured with such fervor—he wouldn't think twice to ask if you were doing all right. and he cursed himself inwardly. not because he was worried, but because your character is slipping through his fingers like sand—you weren't even giving him the ability to hold on to something.

a click of his tongue and he's dropped all his things at his usual desk. 

“anaxa, where are you going?” cerces asked with quiet curiosity as anaxa made a beeline out of the room.

“it's none of your business, professor.”

and that’s how anaxa came to be, outside your lecture hall with a grimace on his face, arms crossed. you were rightfully confused. you tried to side step his figure but anaxa would move in coordination with your movements and blocked the exit.

“oh so now you show me some foot coordination?” you snarled. 

anaxa only rolled his eyes as his arms slowly dropped from his chest to his side. a lone eye unwittingly glazed over your foot as he muttered, “shouldn’t you be resting?”

your brows knit together, “well i was about to—until you decided to be an annoyance and block my way to the dorms.”

anaxa clicked his tongue—both in annoyance but mostly in embarrassment—as he moved away from the exit and let you pass. though he didn’t quite leave you alone just yet. the both of you walked in awkward and tense silence. anaxa was the first to break the delicate blanket over the both of you when he noticed you taking a turn that did not, in fact, lead to the dorms.

he grabbed your wrist—you noticed the way not all his fingers wrapped around your flesh, just like how he kept a few fingers up whenever he dipped you low during dance rehearsals. “and where do you think you’re going?” anaxa asked with a deep frown. he jabbed a finger to his left, “if i recall, the dorms are that way.”

you sighed, shaking your head as you felt an oncoming headache form. anaxa watched in quiet frustration and interest as you looked at anything but him. a finger gingerly scratched your cheek as you mutter quietly enough for him to mishear—but nothing escapes him.

“i’m getting bandages,” you muttered.

anaxa’s frown deepened—all five fingers now circled your wrist without him flinching away from the touch of your skin. “and from where? if i remember, the clinic has already run out.”

“the faculty,” you said, as if you’ve done this all the time, and anaxa is sure you have.

he stared at you as if you’ve grown two heads.

you’re quick to glare back at him and pull your wrist away from his hold. “why do you care all of a sudden?” you snapped.

he didn’t answer immediately. his lone eye flickered between your wrist, your foot, before they settled on the hand he used to cage you. anaxa sighed heavily, “i don’t. i simply find it incredibly foolish that you’re trying to hide your injury.”

“i’m not hiding it. i’ve told aglaea and she’s been helping me.” you seethed through gritted teeth. “and don’t throw the word foolish around so casually. for your information, don’t you think it’s stupid that you can’t even look me in the eye for more than five seconds during rehearsals?”

your words hit a nerve within anaxa as the air between you started to crackle and ignite.

when he glared at you, you scoffed in disbelief. “don’t think i haven’t noticed, anaxa. you flinch when you touch me. you can’t even stand to be near me.”

“that’s not—” he stopped mid-sentence when he caught a glimpse of your face—brows furrowed, eyes stormy, and lips wobbled every so slightly as they opened and closed but no words tumbled out. anaxa proves your previous point as he looked away, jaw clenched. “you know what? forget it.”

anaxa turned away and started walking in the direction of the dorms. he played deaf when your voice called out to him with equal amounts of frustration and annoyance.

“anaxa!” 

another shout of his name, but he doesn’t spare a moment to stop nor look back.

“anaxa!”

his fists curled at his side, his teeth caught his bottom lip and bit down hard to have blood force its way between his teeth and land on his tongue. he can’t turn around—he mustn’t turn around.

“what are you so afraid of?!”

that was the last thing he heard before he started sprinting away—from you.

surprisingly, anaxa skipped rehearsals the following day, much to your annoyance. and aglaea’s worry is spiking with every jump, turn, and breath you take in the room.

you were frustrated, angry—but mostly tired. 

time was running out and you were shouldering all the pressure, soaking it all up in your heart like a sponge dropped into an ocean. aglaea has never seen you so stuck in your domain. everything was tearing from the seams and you no longer had enough patience to stitch it all back together yourself—you needed anaxa by your side if you wanted to fix the tapestry you both started. and that infuriated you.

“dammit!” you cursed out loud as your body collided with the ground. you heaved and heaved, your entire body being supported by your arms in a plank position. 

“what a mess our little dancer is in,” cerces commented, striding to aglaea’s side as the blonde woman sighed.

“anaxa skipped rehearsals,” aglaea informed. “twice.”

cerces frowned and crossed her arms over her chest, “now that’s a first. has he told you where he’s been?” when aglaea shakes her head, cerces dragged a hand down her face before they settled to hold her chin in contemplation. “where has that scholar run off to this time?”

“well wherever he is, he better return soon.” cerces watched as aglaea flinched as you failed another jump. you had no support—anaxa was supposed to be your anchor, but he has run away where vulnerability cannot find him. “if he’s not back by the day after tomorrow i’ll have no choice but to replace him as [name]’s partner.���

anaxa’s mentor frowned. “will you find someone in time?”

aglaea doesn’t answer and cerces understood. with one final sigh, cerces conceded, “alright, fine. i’ll have that phainon boy practice with our little dancer starting tomorrow. in that way he’ll at least know the flow of things.”

“thank you for your understanding, professor.” aglaea thanked the older woman.

“but i do have one question.” cerces followed up.

“what is it?”

“do you think they hate each other?”

aglaea paused. golden eyes gazed at your figure sitting on the polished wooden floors, staring at your own image reflected by the mirrors. you were fracturing, lights dimming out, but you were still trying to shine through all the cracks.

“no,” aglaea hummed. “they don’t. not really.”

anaxa felt ashamed—for skipping rehearsals and having to hear from cerces about your transgressions.

“dance is a conversation. what use would i be if you weren’t there to talk back?”

your words haunted him like a looming deadline as he gripped the handle of the rehearsal room’s door. he heard music inside—you were probably inside, dancing in your lonesome and falling to the ground with no one to catch you. anaxa’s teeth caught his lip once again as the thought of him not being there by your side had his stomach turning on itself in an unexplainable way.

he took a deep breath. his other hand gripped at the fabric over his chest where his heart rattled in uncertainty. when he thinks he can finally open the door—face you—he’s left with after images of your disappointed face. it was unlike him to act this way. he was a scholar—someone who dared to challenge the philosophy laid out to make sense of this chaotic world. but for all his intelligence he can never put his learnings to practice when it comes to you.

a laugh snapped anaxa out of his self-deprecating thoughts. his brows furrowed together and he willed himself to crack the door ajar to get a peek on what in the world could have happened to elicit something so uncharted from you.

anaxa wished he hadn’t opened the door.

there you were, squatting on the floor, as you laughed so casually at your junior—phainon. something turned inside anaxa’s gut as the snow-haired boy spewed something anaxa did not care for, his attention solely on you as you wiped a stray tear from your eye. he felt his blood run cold as you approached the younger boy and gently—far gentler than you would to him—lifted his arm into position while the other guided to hold you by the waist. the both of you stared at your feet as your voice—so tender and almost intimate it made anaxa want to vomit—counted so phainon would not lose his rhythm.

the warmth of your voice had left him feeling cold in the quiet hallways.

you moved with grace, phainon only messily tried to follow. anaxa watched with a pained look on his face as phainon carefully lifted you from the ground and twirled—your laughter echoed and bounced from the walls and phainon laughed with you as he sets you down. something snapped—maybe it was the doorframe, maybe it was him—when your fingers laced with phainon’s.

you were both effortless and right. he knew phainon was talented—perfect in some ways—but this? you don’t flinch, avoid eye contact, and you accept the closeness between the two of you. suddenly the image of you dancing better with someone that wasn’t him drove anaxa to a wall.

why do you not smile like that at him?

why don’t you move like that with him?

why does it feel like you’ve replaced him?

“now look at who the cat dragged in.”

anaxa shut the door in front him with a loud bang. he no longer cared for secrecy—he needed to get out of here.

cerces raised a brow, “and you’ve just blown our cover. honestly, anaxa, what has gotten—where are you going?”

he doesn’t answer. in fact, cerces’ presence prompted him to speed up his pace. taking sharp turns in corners and avidly ignoring how the professor tailed him with brows raised in parts amusement and worry.

“my goodness, if i had known you’d react so strongly then i wouldn’t have asked that boy to be [name]’s partner.” she joked.

anaxa paused as he turned to look at cerces. the professor was taken aback at his expression—wide-eyed, mouth hung open, as a flash of hurt circled in his eye. the two of them stood still in front of the campus building as the skies slowly turned gray, thunder rumbled in the far distance as anaxa spoke.

“you did what?” 

cerces could not begin to describe the timbre of hurt that laced anaxa’s voice. she quickly tried to clear up the misunderstanding, “temporary partner, child of reason. you skipped two rehearsals and [name] had grown frustrated of their lack of improvement due to your absences. you gave me and aglaea no choice.”

“but phainon of all people?!” anaxa snapped. 

“why not him? phainon may not be as academically sharp as you, but he listens. he adapts. and he certainly doesn’t run when things get too difficult for him.” cerces tried to reason. her reply discreetly jabbed at anaxa’s own actions.

“why didn’t you wait?”

“we did.”

anaxa scoffed, “i highly doubt that.”

“anaxa you are acting irrationally right now,” cerces lectured. “your insecurities are clouding your judgment.”

at her response, anaxa let out a laugh—mocking but strained. he was cracking and cerces cannot understand why.

“insecurities? when have i ever been insecure?!” he tried to argue.

“right now—you are insecure right now, anaxa.”

anaxa’s mouth opened—then like always, it shut. what was there left to say? all explanations would sound like excuses as cerces cut straight to the heart of anaxa’s problem. slowly, anaxa’s facade of arrogance began to crumble—and he made no effort to catch himself and patch it all back together. he didn’t care if the rain had started to pour—he didn’t care if the world blurred into one giant mess of emotion and logic, or that his clothes clung to him like punishment. he just kept walking, away from his cerces, away from you, away from the version of himself he could not recognize.

he let it rain. because maybe, just maybe, if it poured hard enough, it would drown out the sounds of your laughter with another man.

anaxa had gone mad, he was sure of it—everyone thought so, too. 

the way he’d drag his sleepless body into lecture halls, head always buried in his folded arms, and the dark circle under his lone eye, anaxa was nothing short of the typical overworked student. but the thing is: anaxa hasn’t done any work since his last encounter with you and phainon in the rehearsal rooms four days ago.

four days of no sleep, anaxa was just about ready to rip his hair out due to the absurdity of it all. whenever he’d close his eye, the haunting images of you and phainon on stage smiling as you raise a golden trophy hand in hand had him jolting awake and pacing around his room. he’s tried to wrap his head around why that single thought sent shockwaves of hurt into the crevices of his heart but none ever made sense. 

when the professor at front dismissed the class, anaxa heaved out a tired sigh. he had wasted another perfectly good lecture dozing off—burning down images of you in his mind in hopes you’ll fade away with the cinders. but you’re just so stubborn. whenever anaxa is alone at home and he’s pacing around the room in the dark, he hears your voice. he hates how he’s got the timbre of your tone memorized and how his mind plays tricks on him. but it's as if his body moved on its own last night—when he heard your favorite piece playing from his phone, as if by second nature, anaxa’s arms lifted and placed it around the misty image of you in his imagination and led you to a waltz.

anaxa shook the thought away and rushed out of the room. he needed another cup of coffee, something to wake him up from the daydreams he didn’t think he could have. 

“anaxa?” 

his eye widened and before he could fully process who had called out to him, his body had turned around in lightning speed. 

there you stood, your duffle bag slung over your shoulder as your hand held your typical dance shoes. you were in no better condition than him, he surmised. bags lined under your eyes, hair a mess, your lips chapped and lacking its usual color. anaxa hated it—how his gaze immediately fell to your feet to make sure you were okay now. or how he noticed the slight twitch of your hand and how your lips fell just to snap shut. he smiled as some sick twisted part of him felt happy—overjoyed at the fact that he’s not the only one being affected by all of this. but it’s short lived when sirens blared in his mind when you took step after step in his direction. 

anaxa fled like a coward.

“anaxa wait!” 

anaxa was fully sprinting and when he slammed the exit doors open, he cursed under his breath when he realized it was raining. he heard your footsteps closing in on him and against his better judgement, he ran straight into the rain. ever since that day, anaxa had learned how it felt to hate the cries of the sky. during the first few hours when the flesh wound of you being better without him was inflicted, he found comfort in the rain washing away the blood from his body. but he later realized that not every part of him will be abstained from the pain—your smile, your grace, your voice, they remained etched into his psyche where the rain could not erase. and he hated that more. 

he hated the rain—incredibly so. but now, as he’s sprinting away from the same ghost that had haunted him for the last ninety-six hours, anaxa finds himself hoping that it would at least wash some madness out of him.

the rain would have felt nice if the water did not sting his eye or felt like bullets piercing his skin. if he wasn’t careful, anaxa would slip and the bravado he had cultivated all his life would melt away like paper meeting a flame. you were the flame—you always have. always warm to touch, bright with your smile, and captivating with the way you danced. someone that always had anaxa recoiling back in timidity because he’s never felt like this with you before—you were the only thing anaxa wasn’t willing to study because he feared the inevitable result of his findings.

“anaxa, won’t you hear me out, just this once?!” you pleaded.

anaxa was winded, his pace was faltering but he pushed himself to continue. he could not—he would not—allow himself to fall right into the palm of your kind hands. 

“ANAXA!” 

before he knew it, a body collided with his just in time for a vehicle swerved past him. anaxa felt his heart stop, eye grow unfocused for a moment as his back fell onto the cold and damp pavement. on instinct, anaxa’s shaking hands cradled something delicate to his chest as another kind of rain soaked his chest. you were soaked to the bone and trembled within his embrace as gasps of exhaustion and fear escaped from your lips. when he looked up, the first distinct thought he had was, “you don’t belong in the rain.” 

“you nearly got yourself killed and that’s the first thing you say to me?!” you screamed at him. your feeble hands gripped at his shoulders as they shook. “anaxa have you finally, genuinely, gone mad?!”

anaxa wanted to pull away, run past you like he always had these past four days—he needed to get away from you. but he can’t get up—not this time. not when you’re crying and afraid, not when you still don’t know the truth of what you’ve done to him in a measly three weeks. 

“have i gone mad?” anaxa laughed, bitter and breathless. “yes, yes i have. ninety-six hours of pure excruciating hell.” 

you glared at him, the grip on his shoulders turned bruising as you rebut, “so this is your solution? to get yourself killed?! anaxa this is a new definition of madness! if you were in hell just as you said why didn’t you tell anyone?” 

the rain poured harder as if it were laughing with anaxa. with a shaky hand, he pushed his damp bangs out of his eye to get a good look at your distraught face and smiled, “you still don’t get it. it’s right in front of you! you are the reason for my suffering and still, you don’t see it—how you ruin me!” 

“what are you talking about?!” you say in incredulity.

“you’ve rendered me unable to breathe after a glimpse of what it would be like if i weren’t by your side—when you’re dancing with someone else. just one glimpse of another wrapping his arms around you and i’m sent into this spiralling hell and you ask me what i’m talking about?” 

something snapped in anaxa—maybe it was his self-control or the lock that he used to hide his feelings. you were still panting but your eyes had gone wide in shock of his confession. anaxa continues, “i saw you with him—phainon. laughing. dancing like nothing happened. like i never happened. like we hadn’t spent a week skin to skin. and do you know what that did to me? ninety-six hours, ninety-six, of no sleep, no peace. just your face in my mind and your voice under my skin. all because i caught a small glimpse! and i know it’s still my fault in the end.” 

anaxa dragged a hand down his face roughly. “i hate you. i hated you. but i hate how i care more. for fuck’s sake i don’t think i ever hated you to begin with. i tried so hard to find faults in our interactions—how you get under my skin, your incessant nit picking at dance rehearsals, and the hours i spend debating over useless topics because you just can’t accept defeat.” 

you gasped when anaxa’s hand slid up to cradle the side of your face as his eye narrowed into a glare, his other hand covering half of his face to hide the involuntary flush on his cheeks. “you don’t even have to try. you ruin me with a single touch, your voice—you ruin me by just being you and i hate it.”

“i couldn’t bring myself to study you because i knew the answer would wreck me.” anaxa laughed and slowly pushed himself off the ground with you still on his lap. “and it did. there, are you happy now?” 

“anaxa,” you tried to interject.

his head fell to your chest, his ear placed right above your erratic heart as anaxa took a deep breath. the hand that cradled your face fell to his side as the other gripped your forearm in a desperate plea, “please, tell me you feel it. or tell me i’m mad once more. tell me that this is all just in my head so my misery can finally stop.” he grit his teeth and buried his face further into your chest, “if you truly feel an ounce of pity—something, anything—for me, then don’t leave me standing here like a fool.” 

you sat there feeling as if the wind had been knocked out of you.

anaxa’s head still remained buried in your chest, trembling—not from the rain, but from the weight of something he’s kept close to his chest. his words ricocheted in your mind, tangled with the sound of your heartbeat and the rain that refused to let up. 

for a second you did nothing, stayed motionless and let his feelings sink in fully. then— 

you brought your arms around his shoulders, pulled him impossibly closer to your heart, and held him there—not tight, not desperate, just enough for him to infer your response.

“anaxa”, you whispered and you felt him stiffen in your hold. “i was wrong—you’re not mad. or if you are, then i must be, too.” 

anaxa tried to pull away, look at you, but your arms would not let him. just like him, you were afraid, scared of what he would respond with your vulnerability laid bare. 

“you… you’re just so hard to read sometimes. the first day you’re baring your fang but the next you’re suddenly so tame. so when i noticed you pulling away, i thought—i thought you were just done with me. that you were tired of me pushing your buttons. so, i let it go, because i thought it was for the best—for the both of us. i didn’t think… i never thought it would end up hurting you.” 

you let out a shaky breath and continued, “i danced with phainon to fill in the space you left. at first i thought, ‘i’ve done this before. i can make it on my own again.’ but i couldn’t. i didn’t want to admit that i needed you there with me.” you swallowed hard, then laughed. “i’ve been in hell too, you know—for one hundred sixty eight hours, i’ve missed you incredibly.”

memories of your bickering resurfaced like flowers floating on top of crashing waves. though both your tones were meant to kill, they often died down after a few minutes, replaced by something uncharacteristically soft as you both stretched and started warm ups. how you would glance at your phone in that week anaxa had not appeared, waiting for him to reach out, and you hated how whenever the device lit up, you’d make a dash for it only to be disappointed because it's not him. 

you pulled back—ignoring the flutter inside your chest when his arms wrapped just a tad bit tighter around you—just enough to look at him. your thumb brushed the side of his face—careful, hesitant, almost reverent. and you smiled, “you’ve always caught me with every throw and hadn’t let me go with every dip—i’d never leave you standing alone, anaxa.”

aglaea mused that something must have happened—again. after all, it wasn’t everyday you and anaxa enter the rehearsal room soaked straight to the bone, your hairs clung to your faces, eyes puffy and red as if you had been crying. 

with a worried lecture, aglaea sent you both to the locker rooms to get a warm shower, change into dry clothes, and eventually drive you both home. though, deep down, aglaea is elated with this sudden change. something soft had taken root in both of your sharp edges around one another, especially with the way anaxa held your hand in a firm grip and how you looked at him as if a heavy weight had been lifted off of your chest.

the blonde woman smiled as she watched you two leave the room, hand in hand, muttering secrets to one another—pretending as if aglaea wasn’t in the same space as you.

you were both stuck in your own world where the storm quieted when you two were together.

— the third week.

the following rehearsals were painfully quiet.

not in the usual hostile way—just in the way where the remnants of a storm finally settles and everyone is left to pick up the stray pieces. the room felt heavy, like the walls in the locker room where you both sat were waiting for something to happen.

you and anaxa sat facing each other, avoiding each other’s gaze and tucked behind a closed room as aglaea stepped out to take a call. you were both grateful and distraught over the silence neither of you knew how to fill. you fiddled with your phone, opening the group chat out of instinct before swiping it shut again. your reflection greeted you when the device fell asleep—hair still a mess, eyes just a tad bit more red than usual, and you looked pale due to spending too much time under heavy rain. 

something soft fell on your shoulders. when you looked up, anaxa was already sitting down beside you, drinking nonchalantly from his water bottle. you mutter a soft thank you, all the while ignoring your hyperfocus on the few inches that separated your fingers from touching and causing a chain reaction. you bit your lip in contemplation, hand letting go of your phone to clutch the jacket placed on your shoulders—tugging it closer for warmth and if you closed your eyes, you’d catch a small whiff of anaxa’s favorite cologne.

anaxa was the one to break the heavy silence.

“you were going to say something. back then,” he said, voice low and casual in the way people speak when they’re trying to sound like they don’t care.

you blinked, “when?”

anaxa didn’t look at you. “the first week. after our first rehearsal together. you typed something, then deleted it.”

you pause momentarily before a small smile tugged at your lips. “yeah… i was gonna ‘sorry’.” you admitted. “but i wanted to say it in person. i guess i missed the right time.”

anaxa scoffed and clicked his tongue. his head leaned back against the lockers behind him. “you’re free to judge my poor choices—you always have. it’s not that you missed it, i didn’t let you have it.”

you slowly turned to look at him. he chewed on the inside of his cheeks, his eyes glared at the ceiling as if the concrete structure would reveal to him all the answers. the moment felt raw—no heat, no fire, and no bickering, just the truth sitting between the few inches of your fingertips.

“you don’t have to be too harsh on yourself y’know?” you lectured, following his gaze and settled them on the ceiling as you confessed, “i was scared that if i said it too late, it’d mean less. but if i said it too early, it wouldn’t fix anything.” you let out a teasing chuckle before continuing. “you aren’t exactly the easiest person to apologize to, anaxa.”

he didn’t answer right away, anaxa only scoffed. then he muttered, “i would’ve ruined it anyway. i wasn’t looking for an apology.”

“then you’re really gonna hate this part.”

anaxa finally glanced at you and he wished he didn’t.

you leaned both of your hands on top of your legs, your hair falling seamlessly around your face to accentuate your soft smile and eyes, and anaxa hated the immediate jumps of his heart at the sight.

“i still want to say it. i’m sorry, anaxa. for being such a pain in your ass, for pushing all your buttons, and for letting you walk away thinking it didn’t matter to me.”

something passed through his eye—quiet, deep, but not quite forgiveness. maybe fond, intimate.

and then he frowned. “we’re taking a break. why are you still sitting on your toes?”

“huh–?” 

before you could argue, anaxa is already on the floor pushing, letting his hands push your legs down until the sole of your heels meet the ground. for good measure, one hand gently pressed on your shin and kept them in place. “flat. you need to rest your feet, especially after your injury. it’s laughable at how to try to present yourself as someone taller or tenser than you are.”

“hey!” you huffed but your mouth snapped back shut when he looked up. that single crimson eye stared at your soul—all knowing of the effect he had on you. your voice turned quieter as you complained, “that’s rude to say…”

anaxa only let out a breath of amusement. he shifted in his position and you tensed, jumping in slight shock as a heavy weight landed on your thighs. 

“anaxa what are you–?!” 

you fumbled with your hands, unsure of where to place them. you’re heart racing erratically inside the columns of your chest as your cheeks erupted into a flushed pink. anaxa turned his head carefully on your lap, looking up at you with a deadpan expression as his hands slowly snaked themselves around your mid-back.

“if you try and sit on your toes again, i’m staying here for the remainder of our rehearsals.”

you stared at him frozen, hands awkwardly in the air and mouth slightly ajar.

he turned away. “you’re more comfortable than the benches. don’t get a big head about it. and not a single word to professor cerces.”

“i’m not a damn snitch,” you muttered. after an exasperated exhale, your hands slowly fell to your side. for the next few minutes, you let anaxa lay his head on your lap. you couldn’t stop the small laugh that bubbled out. slowly—and very unsure—you carded your fingers through his hair. anaxa flinched at the contact and you quickly retracted your hand. but his hold quickly seized your wrist.

“did i tell you to stop?” he asked—more like demanded—through the fabric of your pants.

you let out another sigh. “well sheesh i’m sorry.”

your hand hovered over his hair as your brows furrowed, mind going a hundred miles a minute before you’re broken out of your daze. anaxa sighed, the warmth of his breath tickled your thighs as he gently led your hand to lay on top of his hair.

“i was caught off guard,” he murmured. “i don’t dislike it. feel free to continue.”

you remained hesitant. hand laid limp on the crown of his head, but when anaxa tapped your wrist—a motion that’s just so him—you let yourself smile at his attempts in sharing his feelings. you don’t notice how time passes like a blur when you brush anaxa’s hairs with your fingers. 

for a moment you think you forgot how to breathe. but anaxa’s warmth, that gentle rise and fall of his chest, reminded you that you had the best student in campus to teach you how to breathe again.

“good morning my favorite seni—”

“get out.”

phainon physically deflates at anaxa’s blatant rejection. the snow-haired bow dejectedly walks back to mydei and castorice’s side—the latter offered him small comfort while the blonde man crossed his arms with a small smirk on his face. anaxa felt an oncoming headache invade his senses as he looked to aglaea who seemed far too amused at the situation. 

“i was not informed we would be having guests today, aglaea.” he spat out. his arms crossed over his chest out of habit as he raised a brow at the three new faces in the studio.

“we’re sorry for the intrusion,” castorice intervened. “but we were informed by professor cerces that our presence was required here. though she never fully explained why.”

anaxa sighed. “if i were to take a guess, you three are our audience.”

aglaea smiled and urged the trio to come forward, “and you would be correct, anaxa. once [name] arrives, we’ll begin like usual, but with these three as your pseudo-judges.”

“fine,” anaxa replied and made a beeline towards the locker rooms.

phainon sat there, on the polished wooden floors, with his mouth hanging open. his head looked to where anaxa had disappeared into and then to aglaea who only smiled—he repeated the actions for a while before mydei grabbed hold of his head and forced him to stop.

with a shaky hand, he pointed to where the locker rooms were and asked, “was that really senior anaxa…?”

aglaea chuckled under her breath. “yes, he is. why do you ask?”

“well it’s just, i don’t remember him giving in so… easily?” the junior sounded confused as the two students beside him nodded in agreement.

“i have to admit, it seems hard to believe.” mydei interjected.

castorice only nodded when aglaea’s eyes landed on her. with an amused smile, the older woman entertained them, “even the sharpest of blades grow dull with constant use. though to use the word ‘dull’ would be nothing short of incorrect. it’s more of, anaxa is now—”

“good morning, everyone.” 

“taken care of.”

all head turned to you. phainon could feel his eyes bulging out of their sockets as mydei let out a huff and castorice covered her mouth in shock. there you stood by the door, your bag slung over your shoulder, hair in its usual messy hairstyle, but hanging delicately on your shoulder was anaxa’s jacket. 

you notice the added presence in the room and tilted your head in question, “i wasn’t informed we were having guests today.”

“they even talk the same now…” phainon muttered under his breath.

“huh?” 

“what phainon meant was,” aglaea interjected. “they’ll be watching you and anaxa rehearse. only for today. think of it as a small prep for competition day.”

before you can step out of the way, phainon sprung from his seat, and wrapped his arms around your torso with comical tears streaming down his face. you let out a startled yelp, “phainon?!”

“please don’t turn into another mean senior, [name]! you’re the only one who treats me really nicely, i can’t lose you!” the boy cried out and buried his face into your side. half-amused and half-confused, you gently pat down phainon’s hair as mydei and castorice tried to pry his crying figure from you.

the room turned a little colder when phainon was roughly tugged backwards.

“and what do you think you’re doing, phainon?”

said boy, shook like a leaf, as he turned around to meet anaxa’s glare. his face turned paler than it usually was and cried out your name like a plea.

“[name] save me!”

“what do you need saving from, you buffon?”

you let out an amused breath at the sight. anaxa holding phainon by the back of his collar like a mother cat holding her kitten by the scruff. phainon kept flinging his arms around like a child caught sneaking candy before bed time as mydei and castorice send their quiet prayers to their friend. when you turned to look aglaea, she held that same quiet yet amused expression—she was not going to stop their little scuffle.

with a sigh, you let an elated smile break free from your face as you approached the two.

“alright, that’s enough,” you said. a hand softly wrapped around anaxa’s wrist as you turned to him, smiling with mirth in your eyes, “won’t you let him go, anaxa? he’s learned his lesson. isn’t that right, phainon?”

anaxa stiffened ever so briefly at the contact—your touch still felt like a searing iron when meeting his bare skin, but he welcomed the pain wholeheartedly this time. his grip on phainon’s collar loosened slightly, but not enough to let go. instead, he glanced at where your bare skin met —eye flickered between you and the contact before he averted his gaze.

“i’d beg to differ,” he muttered, voice a lot softer than normal. “he still has much to learn.”

“hey!” phainon protested.

“anaxa,” you called out once more. anaxa actively ignored your gaze as he felt something warm trickle down the system of his nerves when your voice came out gentler than the last. your thumb gently pressed against his pulse with idle care—you knew what you were doing to him. “please, won’t you let him go?”

he took a deep breath before letting out a shaky exhale. he finally looked at you, and for a moment, everyone in the room thought he’d argue. instead, he looked away—cheeks ever so slightly flushed—and released phainon with an exaggerated sigh. “fine. are you happy now?”

phainon dropped to the floor with a thud, scrambling back like a cartoon villain escaping the jaws of death. “i’ve never been more afraid in my life,” he whispered, crawling behind castorice.

aglaea let out a quiet, knowing hum—a smile tugged at her lips. “i see we’ve entered the negotiation stage.”

“negotiation?!” phainon squawked.

“that,” mydei said under his breath, a knowing smile on his lips. “was not negotiations. that was flirting.”

“flirting?!”

“are seniors anaxa and [name] in a relationship now?” castorice whispered, wide-eyed.

anaxa whirled around, clearly having heard their conversation as aglaea quietly exited. “we are not.”

you blinked, a teasing smile graced your lips as you asked with mock innocence, “not what?”

anaxa’s face flushed as he glared at you. his hand circled around your wrist as he dragged you to the locker rooms. your laughter bounced around the walls as the trio watched you exchange quiet codes only you knew how to decipher. when you think you’re out of sight, you tugged anaxa closer as you planted a soft kiss to his cheek—the man in turn scurried back a few inches, a hand covering half his face as you continued to laugh.

“yeah”, mydei huffed. “they are definitely dating.”

by the time the trio had left the studio, the sun was setting in the horizon, leaving only you and anaxa with aglaea as she gave you final reminders before the day of the competition.

“your chemistry has improved greatly,” she complimented with a smile. aglaea tucked her tablet back into her bag before her gaze returned to her two dancers—both heaving and sweaty, but content and proud of their progress. “all that’s really left is to prepare for the competition. i won’t nag you on the hows—you can figure it out by yourselves. have a pleasant evening you two. shoot me a message when you get home.”

you and anaxa nod in tandem and quietly watch as the older woman leaves the room with a quiet click of the door. you collapsed to the floor with a heavy sigh, your legs stretched outwards as you massage the tender muscle with a quiet wince. anaxa kneeled in front of your figure, his hands rubbed at the sore spot near your ankles with worry in his eyes.

“i’ll be fine,” you reassured him before he could say a word. when he looked up, you only gave him a tired smile and reached for his hand to intertwine your fingers. “i trust you to catch me when i stumble.”

anaxa huffed—a breath so full of tender fondness you’re not sure how to put it into words. he stood up and brought you along with him. his hold delicate and still slightly hesitant—the warmth of his palm ghosted the skin of your waist. you only nodded in approval as he quietly asked with his eyes, “can i touch you?”, without saying the actual words itself.

when his hand made itself home on the base of your flesh, you hummed the music and let him guide you through the dance. left and right, then turn. distance yourself from him, but never too much. he pulled you back, not roughly nor gently, just enough for him to quietly plead for you to stay. turn away from his gaze, lest you want his eyes to burn his name in your bones. try to run away, build a cage to shield your heart, but leave your hand reaching for him so he could take the key and open it. your feet are off the ground before you can fully process the dance—and you laughed at the absurdity of it all.

when you land back on the ground, it’s as if you’re taken back to that stormy day. when you looked at anaxa, that frosty layer of uncertainty had been washed away by the rain. your hand reached to cup his cheek and you smiled brightly when he leaned into your touch—nuzzling his face further into your palm as his lips ghosted the point of your pulse. 

“after all this time, you still can’t find your balance,” he muttered—fondly.

“maybe i’m doing it on purpose,” you joked. your other hand trailed up his chest—the sensation being followed by flames being ignited as anaxa’s breath got caught in his throat—and you lay it where his delicate heart is hidden. you chuckled, “if i had known you’d be so keen to catch me maybe i would’ve thrown myself at you sooner.”

anaxa retaliated by pulling the hand at his chest into his own, raising the one settled on your waist to your upper back and dipping you low. you let out a startled scream, eyes squeezed shut as the world blurred before it stilled. 

“open your eyes.” 

when you cracked your eyelids open, it took you a moment to let the sight fully sink in. anaxa’s figure bathed by a soft iridescent glow courtesy of the studio lights, his long bangs tickling your face as his breath threatened to become your own. his lips quirked up into a smug smile and you fight the urge to roll your eyes. anaxa leaned impossibly closer—he wanted to merge your souls into one at this very moment. 

you could hear the erratic beating of your heart as anaxa’s hold of the position remained firm. the way anaxa looked at you now—as if you’ve penned every book he’s ever loved and recited every lecture he’s always so keen to listen in—it made it hard to breathe, let alone think.

“you’re so dramatic,” you whispered, eyes still locked on him.

“and you’re reckless,” he replied, tone warm, almost teasing. “for playing with my heart like this.”

you grinned. “then maybe it’s only fair that we fall at the same time.”

anaxa took a breath in. he searched your face—gaze flickered from your eyes to your lips where they lingered for a moment too long—like he was asking for permission if it truly was okay to cross the border that would unravel his existence. anaxa needed—yearned—to know if you’d still want him even when the music has stopped.

“what’s on your mind, anaxa?” you asked—pretending to remain oblivious to his wants.

“an inquiry,” he replied. “one i’ve been trying to understand for the last few weeks.”

the hand that quietly rested on his shoulder snaked to cradle his face. “does it include me?”

“when has it ever not included you?” 

his words hung in the air like suspended notes, trembling, waiting for resolution.

you felt the ache in his words—the feelings so palpable you could catch it in the way you would desperately try to grasp at burning cinders. anaxa’s breath hitched when your thumb brushed under his eye, tender and deliberate. 

“please ask,” you murmured. “please say it.”

anaxa swallowed hard, voice soft—his self-control fraying at the seams.

“is it foolish of me… to want this to mean something beyond the stage?” he finally asked. his brows furrowed as his eye narrowed in uncertainty, “would you still let me feel your skin against mine even if it burns? let me experiment on your soul until it only knows my name—and mine, yours?”

your breath hitched.

“no,” you answered. “not foolish. not even close.” 

for a moment, neither of you moved. not out of hesitation, but reverence. hoping to make this fragile moment that could break with one wrong breath last just a second more. 

then—slowly, almost nervously—anaxa leaned forward, closing the painful distance, not with grand dramatics but with aching certainty with your permission. and when your lips met, it was not fire that invaded the moment, but a slow-burning sun that ached to see the horizon—steady, warm, constant, and real.

his hand tightened just slightly at your back, as though ground himself in your bare presence where only the two of you mattered. your own fingers curled against his jaw, pulling him like a tide, like homecoming.

you parted only when the need for air became undeniable, and anaxa cursed this mortal body for its necessities—he only needed you. 

“not a word to the professor,” he chimed.

you laughed as he pulled you back to your own two feet. your hand still on the edge of his jaw and his on your back. you smiled as you pressed your face into his neck, listening to the way his heart rattled your name in the columns of his throat. 

“not a word to the professor,” you echoed.

theoretically speaking, anaxa once believed it was impossible to change your mind about someone in a matter of weeks. that it was absurd to undo years of contempt with a few shared dances, a handful of late night rehearsals, a string of glances too long to be innocent, or a confession made under a stormy day.

but now, as you buried your face in the crook of his neck and his hand splayed firm against your back like a promise—he knew.

anaxa had been wrong.

not just in theory, but in practice. utterly, wonderfully wrong.

because it only took three weeks for all his logic to crumble. for you to rewrite the entire philosophy he’d built his whole world around—not with arguments or with evidence, but with the way you moved around the stage, the emotions evoked with your reckless courage in the steps you take, the soft curve of your smile, and the infuriating way you slipped past his defences like light through stained glass. 

and for the first time, anaxa didn’t mind being wrong.

not if being wrong meant having this—you.

© 𝓵ysarion 2025 — do not plagiarize, repost, or translate works without the knowledge or consent of the creator in other platforms or websites.

[mikimeiko]

It's our favourite boys! Featuring my favourite song!

[norristeria]

You're a Strange One ! LN04

SUMMARY 𝄡 Being Oscar's personal assistant is easy. However, you cannot help but think his coworker is the strangest man you've ever met.

PAIRING 𝄡 Lando Norris x Oscar's PA! FemReader

TAGS 𝄡 Fluff.

WORDCOUNT 𝄡 650.

NOTE 𝄡 This is just a little something I had in mind. This is more of a pairing exploration than a real one-shot. I don't know what to make of it, tbh. Do you think this couple has enough potential for a one-shot? <33

-> FIND THE SERIES INSPIRED BY THIS DRABBLE HERE.

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

You never imagined that you'd end up working as Oscar Piastri’s personal assistant after getting your degree in communications summa cum laude.

If your parents had nearly had a heart attack upon seeing their daughter “reduced to a servant” after paying for one of the country’s most prestigious universities, you, on the other hand, had learned to bless this twist of fate.

Because it was indeed fate you had to thank for the way your life had turned out. People underestimated its power far too often, but you had come to cherish it and to welcome it back whenever it decided to reappear.

Fate made its grand entrance in your life one night in 2023, after yet another rejection from talent agencies and management firms. Internships, professional experience, glowing references—none of it seemed to matter to the big corporations. What mattered were connections, and you had none.

That night, you'd had two glasses of red wine, perhaps more, your cheeks streaked with mascara and frustration.

Fate, ironically methodical despite its name, had chosen that precise moment to show up in the form of a job listing on a website whose name you no longer remember. What you did remember, however, was how your eyes widened as you read the salary and perks.

One cover letter, three interviews later, and suddenly your life was split between racetracks, England, and Monaco.

Every day, you thanked fate for putting Oscar Piastri in your path.

He was easy to work with: a coffee without sugar in the morning, a calendar of sporadic appointments to manage—mostly concentrated on race weekends—and very few public appearances outside those. In short, a normal guy, refreshingly different from the awful clients you'd heard horror stories about since entering the strange world of celebrity.

The only blemish—though not quite that, more a curiosity you hadn’t anticipated—was that working for Oscar Piastri meant regularly crossing paths with Lando Norris.

And you didn’t quite know what to make of him, except that he was oh so very strange.

The first time he saw you, he tripped.

You hadn’t even had time to shake his hand, and Oscar hadn’t yet introduced you.

Your eyes met, the Brit blushed furiously, then went sprawling to the ground. You stood frozen before exchanging a baffled look with Oscar, who merely sighed and hauled his friend back to his feet.

The following encounters were no better.

By the third one, you concluded that Lando Norris must have some kind of speech impediment—he couldn’t seem to string two words together around you. Not even to answer simple questions like “How are you?” or “Do you know where Oscar is?”.

Instead, he’d stammer something utterly unintelligible, then vanish, leaving you to wander alone through the endless corridors of the McLaren Technology Centre in search of Oscar.

And now… now he stared. All the time. Without saying a word. You had never felt more awkward in your life.

Even now, you couldn’t escape those green eyes, burning hotter than the Bahrain sun. The McLaren garage was buzzing as the race neared, yet Lando remained still in one corner, eyes locked on you.

Too busy fetching cold towels and water bottles to cool Oscar down, you had ignored him at first. But now that the Australian had his towels, his bottle, his headphones, and his phone, there was nothing left to keep you distracted.

You finally looked up. Your gaze met Lando’s just as he took a sip of water.

Startled, he choked, spraying water all over his engineer—who shouted something you couldn’t quite catch. Lando floundered through an apology, cheeks crimson.

Your eyes met again.

He smiled—sheepishly, like it hurt—and turned around.

Before walking straight into a wall.

You frowned, shook your head and turned your attention back to the race schedule.

Yes. Lando Norris was definitely the strangest man you had ever met.

[eufezco]

LIKE THE FIRST TIME

it has been a long time since you and logan had sex. you should show him that despite everything he hated about himself, you still craved him.

logan x afab!reader (smut, angst) + no use of y/n. english isn't my first language (!). gif credit to @/asgardswinter

it was a shitty place where you were living with logan. it was always dirty, no matter how many times you cleaned it, it was noisy, because despite being in the middle of nowhere, the train tracks were very close to it, and it was the least home-like thing in the world. both of you were working your asses off to get out of there as soon as possible.

in your free time, you helped caliban with the housework and took care of old charles xavier while logan spent the whole day out, driving and having to deal with one of the things he hated most in the world, people.

he always came home late, tired, with his whole body aching. some nights you would fall asleep while waiting for him and even though logan asked you to do it, to not to wait up for him, most times you stayed up so just to make sure he arrived safely. you waited for him curled up in bed. when he was a minute late, your heart began to beat faster and you imagined the worst. but then he would come into the room, dragging his feet and with his head bowed down.

—how was your day?

logan grunted as he sat at the foot of your bed, you felt how the mattress sagged with his weight.

—did something happen?

you crawled to him and rested your chin on his shoulder. he let out a sigh of relief when your arms wrapped around his body and you hugged him from the back.

—just a tired fuckin' day, that's all.

you hummed, understanding. —well, now you are home so you can finally relax. would you like something to eat?

logan shook his head as he let it fall back and rest on your shoulder. he just wanted to stay like that a little longer with his body between your legs and his eyes closed. he placed one of his hands over yours resting on his stomach as you hugged him. one of his big hands was enough to cover both of yours.

—i've missed you, lo. i always miss you when you are away.

you placed a kiss on his neck. the first thing he did when he entered the house was to get rid of his shirt, keeping only the white tank top he was wearing underneath. his broad shoulders were at your disposal, his muscular arms and warm skin as well.

logan swallowed when he felt your lips on his neck. you noticed so you placed another kiss there.

—i miss you too. every second i spend away from you, i miss you.

you hummed, your heart gave a small jump of joy. while your love language was words of affirmation and you were always reminding him how much he was loved by you, logan was more of an act of service man. removing makeup from your face when you got home and were too tired to do it yourself, washing your hair and massaging your head when you showered, and leaving your coffee ready when he went to work earlier than you. hearing those words come out of logan's mouth meant the whole world.

your hands traveled down his abdomen until they reached the hem of his tshirt and easily slipped under the fabric. you felt his perfect abs under your fingertips and the hairs growing below his belly button as well. he took a deep breath, it had been so long since the last time he had allowed you to touch him like that.

you took your hands out of his tshirt and moved one of them to his neck to make logan turn his head resting on your shoulder and look at you. you connected your lips with his, his bushy beard pricked your face as you kissed him, but you didn't mind, it had been so long since you and logan had kissed so passionately that you could take it.

your tongue slipped past his lips and logan moaned, allowing his to go inside your mouth as well. you moved on the bed, putting one leg on each side of logan's body and sitting on his lap, all this without stopping kissing for a second. his hands now rested on your lower back, yours were on the back of his head to deepen the kiss.

his cock got rock hard the moment you sat on his thighs and you started to roll your hips timidly against his crotch. you felt his growing bulge rubbing against your clit through the thin fabric of your underwear. god, how bad you needed to feel him.

your hands slid down from his neck, caressing his entire torso, until they reached again the hem of his tshirt. you tried to pull the white tank top over his head, but logan stopped you. his lips parted from yours and he shook his head.

—it's okay. i want you, logan. i promise everything is fine.

you held his cheeks so he would look you in the eyes.

he was getting old, there was nothing left of the young and charming boy you met at charles' academy. his body had changed, his hair and beard were becoming whiter every day, and you were still young and full of light while he was fading away. yet you still loved and desired him, like the first day you craved his body. you found him just as hot, even hotter now, but you didn't want to force him to do something he wasn't going to enjoy.

you kissed him so he could stop worrying. —let me take care of you. i want you, lo, i need to feel you —.you mumbled against his lips. he let out a grunt when he felt you pressing your pussy harder on his bulge.

your hands traveled the same path down his chest one more time until you reached the edge of his tshirt again. you expected him to take your hands off him again but he not only allowed you to keep going but he also lifted his arms so you could pull the white tank top over his head.

—fuck —. you let out in a mix of moan and gasp. his body was breathtaking. your hands were quickly attached to his chest, hairy, hard under your touch, warm, with each of its muscles perfectly defined. abs, pecs, perfect broad and muscular shoulders, and wide strong arms, with veins running from his shoulder down his arms to the back of his hands. you ran your fingers along the thick scars that marked his body. —fuck, you're so hot.

with his hands on your back, logan gently pushed you to keep rubbing yourself against him and you moaned, he was harder if possible and you were so wet that you knew that your panties would be completely soaked. you kissed the crook of his neck while his fists clenched, clutching at the tshirt of his that you were wearing as your pajamas. logan fought against his instinct, against the animalistic way you were making him feel, but his grip became so tight that he ended up ripping the fabric.

—it was one of your favorite tshirts.

—don't care.

and logan kissed your lips as he ended up tearing the fabric completely and threw it on the floor. you grabbed the back of his head when his lips moved down your neck and collarbone. your nipples were already painfully hard when logan cupped one of your tits and wrapped his mouth around your sensitive bud.

all of a sudden you got up from his lap and he had to let your nipple go. he was worried about the way you had moved away from him, had he done something wrong?

now you were standing in the middle of the room, in front of him, only wearing your panties. your body was the most beautiful thing his eyes had ever witnessed, with scars very similar to his, with all those things you hated about yourself. was that how you felt about him? if it had not been for the pain in his whole body he would have fallen off the bed on his knees in front of you.

he huffed a laugh and rolled his eyes once you started swaying your hips from side to side while you slid your underwear down your legs. you laughed too, you felt stupid, but at least you had managed to make him smile. you two weren't the type to do those things, things were always more animalistic, more passionate, rougher. you walked towards him and leaned in to kiss him as your hands worked on the zipper of his jeans.

—you're beautiful —. he whispered.

logan helped you to straddle him again. you held your body over his thanks to your knees on the bed. with one hand you grabbed his hard cock resting impatiently against his stomach. he gasped because of your firm grip and squeezed your hips when you lined it up against your aching entrance.

you lowered yourself just enough for his tip to go in. he let out a deep grunt straight from his chest, you let out all the air you had in your lungs in a moan. you never forgot how big he was, the thickness of his cock, the patch of hair on its base, and the veins running along his shaft, but you did forget about the way it stretched you open, about the sting that his dick going deeper inside you caused.

—careful —. logan mumbled against your lips.

you kept taking him, closing your eyes shut and biting your lower lip, hissing every time you took a centimeter more inside of you. you rested your forehead against his and whined when his cock finally bottomed you. —i need a moment.

logan nodded. one of your hands sneaked in between your bodies and found your clit while his hands lovingly caressed your back. it had been so long since you had sex. logan wouldn't let you touch him, he was disgusted by his own body and he was afraid that you would see him the way he saw himself. that's why that night you decided that you would make him feel so good that he would never doubt the way you felt about him or his body.

you started by slowly rolling your hips as your fingers worked on your clit. his jaw tightened while he felt your body moving with his whole cock inside. his big hands on your hips helped you to move, setting a pace and keeping you from going faster so you wouldn't hurt yourself.

—that's it, take your time —. he said. young logan wouldn't have given you a second to get used to it, he would have fucked you mercilessly and you would have loved every second of it. but now, his eyes were focused on where your bodies became one, enjoying how your pussy adjusted to his size thanks to your fingers rubbing your clit.

he moaned once you lifted your body just a little and then dropped back onto him. you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed his lips while you repeated that same move again and again. your cries and his moans mixed in your mouths. all his body jerked every time you lifted yourself a bit more and then sucked his cock completely inside you again.

—you make me feel so good, logan. always have, fuck—. you purred in his ear. his hands, previously resting on your hips, slid all the way to your ass your hands and squeezed it. in those little details you could see how he was gaining confidence, which encouraged you to keep moving without changing your pace. it was slow, passionate, intense and intimate.

between moans and cries, you kept worshiping him, telling him how much you had missed feeling him inside you, how your fingers were no comparison to his cock, how you didn't want to share these moments with anyone other than him. there was no one like him. you didn't care about his scars, his moodiness, the gray of his hair, there would never be another one for you but logan, you did not want another one.

you were close, he could feel it in the way your walls were squeezing his cock and he knew he wouldn't last longer. logan wrapped his arms around your body, pressing you against his hard chest, and your fingers knotted into his hair. he groaned, your little jumps became irregular, your legs began to shake. logan hugged you tighter and sunk his teeth into your shoulder, getting a little choked cry from you.

—cum inside me, lo. fill me up, please, i need it. let me have it, please.

oh god, your words were driving him insane and after how well you had treated him, who was he to deny your wishes?

logan held your body down on his cock as he came, hugging you tighter against him. you buried your head into the crook of his neck, moaning into his skin while your legs shook and your pussy clenched around him. it was too much. as he released himself inside you, his claws came out and trapped you between them and logan's body, you had no escape. he groaned when he felt the pain of the adamantium ripping the skin off his knuckles mixed with all the pleasure of cumming inside you.

—shit —. he immediately put the claws away when he realized. —i haven't hurt you, have i?

you shook your head, still coming down from your high. he exhaled with relief. once you had caught your breath, you straightened your back, still sitting on his lap and feeling his cock getting soft inside you. you brought his hands to the front.

—are you okay? that probably hurt —. you caressed his knuckles.

—felt too good to even think about it.

you smiled proudly and kissed him. when you broke away, he noticed the mark of his teeth on the skin of your shoulder. —'m so sorry, fuck.

—don't be. i wish you had bitten me harder.

he shook his head, keeping himself from laughing. —you're a freak.

[beloveds-embrace]

Thinking about designationless reader...

Imagine how alone she must've been for all her life. It started since she was young, her parents pushing her to the corner of the home, away from the family, and naturally, her siblings would follow their parents' lead, pointedly ignoring her, and finding any excuse available to be out of her presence. She wouldn't understand them anyway, she can't tell the difference between noises nor could she even recognize scents. It just wouldn't work.

Reader thinks that maybe she could find someone, anyone in school, but kids are like sharks, except instead of smelling blood, they smell the lack of all scents on her. Most kids have a combination of their own and their family members' scents. Reader has nothing, so everyone continues the pattern, but now with more stares and jeers and hushed giggles. Reader knows that bullying is bad, but anything would be better than simply not existing to anyone. That's what the others say, at least, that she's nothing, nobody. Never to her face, though, just in the whispers shared between friends.

She eventually tries to find others like her through the wonders of the internet. There's maybe a handful more scattered in her country, but none are her age, and all have their own families who care about them. Was it just her who wasn't deserving of love, of connection? Reader reaches out to them, and they talk a little, but before long, through no one's fault, it falls through. She was bad at talking anyway, even if she doesn't have to worry about scents or sounds that aren't there, she never knew much about context or connotation. She never had the opportunity to learn about the intricacies in communication. Reader is back alone.

The military eventually scouts her, and it's the first time anyone has ever really looked at her. Sure, they look at her like a valuable tool, but a tool is better than nothing. Reader obviously joins, desperate for crumbs. She climbs the ranks, gets the job done. She is good at her job, so people respect her. She learns how to talk professionally, emails, texts, and so one, but no one talks to her on leave. No one invites her to the pub after a good mission. No one even talks to her in the mess. But people do talk to her when they have to, and that's enough. Maybe she even gets a callsign. Doe. After Jane Doe, the placeholder name for unknown individuals, and insult if anything.

Now there's the 141. They invite her to things. They talk to her. They touch her. Reader exists for them. She isn't just an unknown person stuck in the background and invisible to everyone else, and Reader doesn't know what to do. Her speech is awkward and overly professional, even in personal settings. How is she supposed to be friends with someone, multiple someones? How is she supposed to move? To act? To express? She doesn't know, but she really wants to learn. At least now she has good teachers.

ANON YOU GENIUSSSS okay but this? Perfect. AHHHH I ADORE THIS IDEA!! Esp the jane doe callsign omg yes

You weren’t used to being seen.

Growing up, you learned quickly how to make yourself small- how to exist quietly, without taking up space, without asking for too much. Because the few times you had asked- asked for a hug, asked to be let into the nest, asked why you felt so different- the answers had all been the same.

No.

Not now.

Not you.

It wasn’t that your parents didn’t love you. You were sure they did, in their own way. But love was hard to feel when your mother flinched at your touch like you were something disgusting, when your father sighed like he was tired every time you entered the room as if you were taking up space he was saving for his other children. When your siblings built their nests without you, curling into piles of warmth and safety while you sat outside the door, knees pulled to your chest and hands balled into fists to keep them from knocking, a cold ache burrowing itself in your chest.

You stopped knocking eventually.

You stopped trying.

You used to wonder if you’d done something wrong- if maybe you could fix yourself and everything would go back to normal. But it wasn’t something you could fix. It was just… you.

Scentless.

Designationless.

Invisible.

School had been worse, perhaps the worst. At least your family had pretended not to notice how different you were. The other kids didn’t bother pretending. They stared openly, whispered behind your back, laughed when you walked by. You’d caught bits and pieces of what they said- weird, wrong, broken, as if they hoped by having you hear their words, they’d convince you to leave at last.

You’d started keeping your head down after that, slipping through the halls like a shadow. No one talked to you unless they had to, and even then they either did it with a mocking, jeering tone that echoes in your nightmares or with a meek tone; as if your lack of everything is contagious. No one sat next to you at lunch, either. When partners were assigned, you always ended up working alone per your teachers’ instructions.

It was easier that way.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

By the time you joined the military, you’d gotten good at being alone. You didn’t need friends. Didn’t need packmates. You had work, and work didn’t care if you were quiet or awkward or too stiff to laugh at the right jokes. Work didn’t care if you flinched when people got too close or froze when someone raised their voice. Work demanded to be done, and you had nothing and no one to stop you from that.

But the military also has the same teens who used to bully you so consistently. Rookies all to ready and happy to lord over you. It’s how you get your despised callsign, Doe. Jane Doe. A cruel mockery, comedy wherein you are the joke that has the world laughing.

Still, you wear it. It’s still an acknowledgment and that will always be better than never being seen. You flit from team to team, unit to unit, always an observer from afar, watching everyone around you speak a language you can’t.

But the 141 was different, when you eventually end up working for them.

They cared.

They cared in ways you weren’t ready for.

Soap was relentless, dragging you into conversations even when you barely knew what to say. He filled the silences like it didn’t bother him, kept talking for the both of you, lounging against you unbothered, until you started talking back. Gaz was gentlest, steadier. He never pushed, just lingered close enough to remind you he was there, waiting, whenever you were ready. Quiet, silent acceptance you’d never been given before, and you were yet far too afraid to so easily cling to it.

And the Alphas- Price and Ghost- were worse.

Price had a way of looking at you that made your chest ache, like he saw you, really saw you, and didn’t mind what he found. Scentless, with no designation and all. Ghost was quieter, sharper, but his eyes tracked you everywhere, presence wrapping around you like he was staking a claim you didn’t understand, like he was teying to etch every part of you behind his eyelids.

You didn’t know what to do with it.

They didn’t give you space. They sat next to you at meals, tugged you along when they went out for drinks, called you over during breaks like it was the most natural thing in the world. And it felt natural- until it didn’t, because sometimes you still felt like an outsider.

Like you didn’t belong.

You tried to hide it, but they saw through you. They always did, and they never shied away.

When you started avoiding the mess hall, it was Gaz who caught you, shoving a plate of food into your hands and dragging you to sit with him like it wasn’t a big deal. When you hung back during missions, letting the others fall into their pack dynamics without you, Soap was the one who looped an arm around your shoulders and pulled.

And when you flinched, once, at the sharp sound of someone’s voice echoing down the hall- when you tensed so hard it made your fingers tremble- it was Price who closed the distance, standing in front of you like a wall and letting Ghost linger at your back. Neither of them said a word.

They didn’t have to.

You weren’t used to being protected. You weren’t used to belonging.

But they made it hard not to.

[nenoname]

It's still interesting that TBoB called more attention to Stan's control over his mindscape (And if you go with the interpretation that the lost pages are partial truths that are heavily influenced by Bill, then he's the one insisting that only someone with training should be able to have that much control over the mind.)

Meanwhile we have a memory!Stan. Someone who apparently knows too much and is rather aware for being a simple memory.

From the Wheel of Shame, we know Bill was able dig up all kinds of dirt on Stan but... that wasn't why he was there in the first place, was it?

Bill couldn't find the code immediately despite a memory of Stan opening the safe being a few hours old at most and decided to have Mabel try find it for him (The original concept of the ep had it far more hidden but this was likely cut because of time constraints)

Ford did experiments on Stan's mind which likely meant using Project Mentem and actually looking around his mindscape, and his only reaction was to comment on his jokes-- despite what little we the audience know being enough to render us sobbing wrecks

(yes I refuse to shut up about this part cos the book's intro is extremely underrated)

Stan was able to replace his memories of Ford with the swingset instead and managed to hide Ford in his Bar Mitzvah memory. And that's not even mentioning the lack of visible Portal and Stan o' War which noticeably show up in Ford's dreamscape (the broken swingset manifesting anyway pains me tho)

He subconsciously has misdirects for his secrets that are both silly and manages to disturb everyone too

And while Bill-as-Soos being bored by the vending machine memory is a joke that's basically the crew's way of going "hey remember the thing way back in the first ep that's going to show up in the next one?" and in-universe appears to be Stan slipping up, it's interesting that they had Stan input the wrong code when it's consistent literally every other time its inputted (especially when it shows up correctly in the very next episode)

It's even possible that the safe code that Bill found could have been a misdirect too but we'll never know since the safe got blown open by dynamite.

Stan was able to buy time by making his mind blank despite being genuinely terrified when Bill enters his mind (to the point that he breaks character and uses his own voice to yell), and could conjure up his living room (in colour opposed to his mind's regular greyscale) to make sure Bill didn't have enough room to flee, slamming the door in his face before the effects of the memory gun kicked in.

(EDIT: Random door analysis here)

And maybe the twins eventually told him that Bill had already been inside his mind after their W3 reunion, but all we know was that his conscious self was left in the dark for ages and wasn't really aware of Bill until Weirdmageddon.

TBoB showing McGucket's dreamscape also brings up the idea of the effects of the memory gun manifesting differently to each person. To Stan's mindscape, the memory wipe manifests as blue flames which immediately brings to mind Bill's powers but it's a far lighter shade (maybe to more closely match the memory gun and its eventual fade to white?)

The end of TBoB and the website poem also firmly reminds us about Stan's connection to fire but there's also the question if Stan himself is actually aware of it...

[sugarplumfairy777]

𓂃⋆.˚ ۫ ꣑ৎ a short n’ sweet guide on how to induce the void state ft. hachi

—————————————————————————

meet hachi a young girl who one day stumbles on how to induce pure consciousness. this is her journey:

day 1:

hachi spends her first day scrolling through some of her favorite bloggers posts; a little bit after she scrolls through “#void state” and “#pure consciousness” after a few minutes she comes across a post that reminds her of her power and how she can induce the void state like literally R I G H T N O W now hachi is ready and excited to induce pure consciousness, so she lays down and goes through a flow of instructions and BOOM she is now and her most natural and pure form, which some know as pure consciousness, the void state, I am state, or whatever you wanna call it. now if you thought the following while reading hachi’s journey, you do not understand what it means to be god.

-if you thought that hachi’s journey sounds too fake or too unrealistic because she induced her purest form on the first day of finding out about it, you do not understand.

- if you feel bad now that your journey is longer than hachi’s you do not understand, it doesn’t matter if it’s been two weeks since you’ve been on your journey or if it’s been 4+ years it does not matter at all.

-if you thought of ANY limitations or had any doubt or thoughts of how you can still fail or even uttered “b-b-but that doesn’t make sense, that’s not pos—” yeah, uhm I’ll stop you there before you accidentally make a fool of yourself.

what are you talking about, “impossible” “unrealistic” “too hard” nothing is any of those words for you; a god. like seriously stop making my point fly across your head, YOU ARE GOD. period.

now for the curious people who are wondering, “what did hachi do to induce the void state so fast????”:

step 1: recognize your truth

𓂃⋆ the first step is realizing the most important truth: you are god. you are not a body, not a mind, not tied to any rules or limits. you are pure consciousness—infinite, powerful, limitless. there is no separation between you and the universe because you are the universe. everything flows from you. the void state isn’t something outside of you—it’s within you, always has been.

step 2: it’s already yours

𓂃⋆ the void isn’t something you need to “enter.” there’s no effort, no struggle. it’s instant. you are already there because you are it. time doesn’t exist in the void; it dissolves the moment you recognize your infinite nature. don’t overthink it. you don’t have to do anything special. the void is your natural state—limitless potential, pure being. just by knowing this, you’re already connected to it.

step 3: let go of limitations

𓂃⋆ close your eyes if you want, but know it’s not even necessary. all limits, all beliefs, all stories are illusions. they don’t define you. in this moment, drop everything that tells you who you are “supposed to be.” you are beyond all of that. realize the simplicity of it: there’s no need to fight or overcome anything. just let it go. you’re already infinite.

step 4: feel the stillness

𓂃⋆ once you let go of everything, there’s only stillness. this stillness is you. it’s not the absence of movement—it’s the presence of infinite potential. in this space, there’s no need to question, doubt, or analyze. you don’t need to “try” to reach the void, because you’re already embodying it. the moment you stop chasing it, you realize you were already there.

step 5: exist as pure consciousness

𓂃⋆ in the void, you are pure consciousness, untouched by the world, unshaped by time or space. you are everything and nothing at once. feel this—you are the creator of all, and yet, you are perfectly still. this state is simple, yet profound. you don’t have to do anything to maintain it. just be aware of your own infinite nature.

that’s it. the void state is effortless because you are it. there’s no process, no waiting, only instant realization that you are god, and everything is within your power. hachi did nothing but know her powerful and boom— she manifested her dream closet, her dream body, her dream boyfriend and her dream life in general. if she & so many others can—then so can you 🩷 it’s nothing that deep :p

note: the steps are not required duh anything and everything you do whilst holding the intention of inducing the void state is correct and guaranteed you are god so stop doubting. https://www.tumblr.com/sugarplumfairy777/772229618617991168/failure-doubt-limitations

[chaoticwriting]

Old Friend

It's been a few years since Danny became Phantom and now that he is 20, Vlad finally lets him take over the position of CEO of Vlad co. Of course that is after extensive therapy from multiple therapists including Jazz. Apparently, his mental state is the worst by medical standards, almost at the level of the Joker.

But anyway, now that he is healed and sane, he decides to do one last thing before he goes into retirement, preferably somewhere in the Infinite realm. And that is to visit his old friends.

First and foremost is to visit Jack and Maddie. Here, they reconcile and Vlad exposes himself as Plasmius. Jack and Maddie are shocked but after Jazz vouches for him, they accept and apologize to him for not realizing his problem before.

Danny also takes the opportunity to reveal himself. This time though, it is a bit tougher for his parents. Not only did they almost always attack their child, the realization that Danny has died because of their lab negligence falls heavy on their shoulders. After some discussion, they finally settle down now that no more secrets are to be kept.

Later on, Vlad goes around the world meeting his old friends from college and high school when suddenly, Danny receives a call from Vlad. Apparently, he wants him to join him at a gala hosted by one of his old friends. He can bring a plus one but considering that Jazz has work and Ellie is somewhere in the Middle East, Danny is really the only available person left.

Since Vlad asks nicely, Danny accepts the offer and prepares to fly to Gotham. Vlad has already prepared everything he needs and is just waiting for him to arrive. That night, they go to the gala as a pair of black and white. Vlad wears a clean white suit with a red necktie while Danny wears a sleek black suit with a green necktie.

As they enter, Vlad explains to Danny the people attending the gala just in case he ever needs the connection. He also tells him about their scandal and some blackmail materials he has on them. Hearing that some of them are straight up criminals, Danny can't help but be shocked.

Vlad: It's fine. Most of the people I'm going to introduce to you are at most worth a year or 2 in jail. The ones with more severe crimes I either already sent them to prison when I take over their business or in a ditch somewhere in a ravine.

Danny: That's surprisingly ethical of you.

Vlad: Eeehh, at that time I wasn't as insane as I get later on. It actually got pretty bad after I met you.

Danny: Are you saying I make you go crazy?

Vlad: Oh no, what I mean is that you just speed up the process. Each defeat I take causes me to go more insane.

Just as they are chatting, a big happy voice sounded behind them.

????: Vladdy! It's good to see you after so long. How are you doing?

Vlad turning around gives out the most genuine smile he has seen since the reconciliation with his parents.

Vlad: Bruce! I'm doing great. Sorry I haven't contacted you for so long. I'm quite busy with certain things. Anyway, let me introduce my godson. This is Daniel Fenton. I'm thinking of giving him my position as the CEO after I retire.

Bruce: You're retiring already? You are so young. Anyway, good to see you Danny. Let me introduce you, this is my daughter, Cassandra Cain-Wayne. And this is my youngest son, Damian Wayne.

What both Bruce and Vlad don't expect however is the sudden hostility between two of the kids.

Danny: Cain.

Cass: Fenton.

Danny: I see that you are living a good life.

Cass: I am. What about you though? Still struggling to climb a ladder?

Danny: A ladder? I could easily climb mountains now. What about you? Still using ASL when talking to people you don't know?

Cass: Unlike you, I'm quite a fast learner. I don't need any technology to help me in my daily life.

Danny: Oh my god! That is one time. You can't seriously be thinking I use it every time I need to fight.

Cass: Well that one time is the only time I have seen you do it. As far as I am concerned, you might not even know how to throw a punch.

Danny: You know what, Cain? Fuck you and your height. How does it feel to need to look up when you want to talk with me?

Suddenly, Danny's knees buckle down as Cass kicks his knees making him kneel.

Cass: Awww, there is no need for you to kneel to me. I know you feel guilty about the chocolate thing.

With a red face Danny stands up again and flicks her forehead.

Danny: Not as guilty as leaving me hanging alone without notice.

Suddenly, both of them quieten down.

Bruce: So, I'm not really going to interrupt but do you both know each other?

Vlad: Yeah, I was about to ask the same thing. I don't know you know the daughter of my friend, Danny.

Danny: We go way back.

Cass doesn't speak but there is the reminiscent look in her eyes. There is also guilt in her eyes but that is for Bruce to ask later.

Vlad looks at Bruce and Bruce looks at Vlad. After communicating like that for a while, they decide to separate first and meet up later because clearly the kids are not in the mood to hang around with.

Just as Vlad and Danny walk away, Damian eyes Danny. For some reason, he looks really familiar to him.

Part 2

[abysswalkerastraea1]

Concurrent Resurgence

A staggering impossibility had occurred on the night of your death. And now, reborn and unhinged; bound to that creature they call the Miles County Clown, you'd witness first-hand just how far your depravity could go.

17k words

Size kink

Art is so dominant I needed an outlet to express this

A staggering impossibility had occurred on the night of your death. Just like any regular woman, you screamed and cried and ran from the miles county killer, in a state of frenzy and terror up until the very end.

Your life hung on the precipice as you lay upon the ground, torn open from the midsection and gasping on wet breaths, watching that demonic clown hunker down low, leaning over your friend Vicky as he devoured her face.

You remembered the world becoming dimmer and dimmer, wondering when you'd be devoured next, hoping to God you'd die first so that you didn't have to feel the excruciating pain Vicky had.

Your wish had been granted mercifully, the sound of police sirens and shouting fading out as you heard the final cacophony of a gunshot, and then your world turned black.

Lying as a bloodied corpse in the morgue, you didn't expect to open yours eyes ever again, life beating steadily throughout you even as something dark and heavy like lead anchored you boundlessly to miles county.

You came to the conclusion that you and Art miraculously died at the same time, yours from your injuries while his was from a gunshot to the head. You both breathed your last breath, and now you were both alive.

It was as though his dying soul had latched onto your corpse, a shard of it replenishing what should have been dead and burdening you with rot, decay and evil.

Art had tried to kill you on many occasions since then. He was pleasantly surprised at seeing you whole again, grinning and waving jovially, eager to murder you all over again, only..

You couldn't die, it was as though you were both the oxygen and the blood that keeps one another alive; if one dies, so does the other.

It took some back and forth, cat and mouse antics to learn this. He'd try and catch you, gripping you by the hair with a mallet in the other hand, bringing it down in a devastating blow. You think he realised something had changed when you caught his wrist with an incredible strength you never used to possess and forced his head through a break wall.

Art had given you something, and he cursed you because he knew he could never get it back.

You were two halves of the same coin, polar opposites and yet vastly similar now. Humanity remained within you, somewhere, but your emotions became dim, your morals deathly low, and evil began festering.

You became violent. Explosive, uncharacteristically wrathful. It didn't feel wrong, either. It felt good, and the effort it took not to absolutely maim someone was immeasurable.

Still, humanity lingered in certain things you did, and especially the way you processed emotions, even if they were as muddled as dirty water.

You and Arts lives were intertwined now, and although he had eventually gotten over the fact that he couldn't kill you, you saw him more often than you liked, your meetings often tedious and full of hate.

For the most part, him seeing you often resulted in the biggest, most dramatic eye roll you had ever witnessed, his middle finger sticking right up at you. He didn't find you fun anymore; you were as immortal as him, and that meant you were untouchable, as was he.

You don't know if it was coincidence or some sort of fucked up connection that made you cross paths so often. It made sense, considering a part of him lived within you.

And just like always, Art was there to make everything worse.

For the longest time you tried avidly to enter civilisation again, whether that be from trying to get a decent job, to going to parties and attempting to make friends, or even just simple things like getting your hair done and a manicure.

Half of you wanted your humanity to be in complete control again, enjoying the freedom of joy and life. The other half began condemning regular humans, wanting to be forcefully ostracised from society and it's confinement.

Parties didn't help. On your list of things that did help, partying was the absolute rock bottom. Your alcohol tolerance was still horrifically low, and your ire and hate for the people around you jumped tenfold.

So, all that would really happen is you'd try as politely as possible to make friends at a party, get rejected, and savagely smash their heads into nearby picture frames. Or whatever happened to decorate the wall.

You'd then drink, alone, and become devastatingly drunk. And of course each and every time, Art would find a spare minute or two to observe you once you made your horrible walk of shame home, appearing from the darkness just to point and laugh at you and buckle over.

With your newfound strength and wrath, this often led to fights with you being the instigator.

Bottle in hand, you smashed it into the clowns face viciously, watching his expression turn to one of dramatic shock as he fell backwards from the force, your drunk self falling with him.

You were so intoxicated that once you hit his body you could hardly stand back up. Head laid against his shoulder awkwardly, you groaned and tried to ground yourself with a hand against his chest, collapsing with your feeble attempts.

You winced as your face made contact with the floor all of a sudden, Art having pushed you off roughly with a grimace.

Art knew he couldn't kill you, but he could break your ribs for good measure, grinning at the sickening crack of his boot ramming into your side. It caused you to vomit and go unconscious.

You woke up the next day in broad daylight, laying in the piss stained alleyway littered with rats. Chunks of your vomit and dirt spelling out 'Whore' across your forehead.

Since then, you and Art had toned down your rivalry somewhat, no longer fighting like cat and dog every other night, viciously finding ways to carve each other up.

You avoided each other for the most part. On occasion Art would seek you out just to be an asshole, slicing your cheek with a scalpel just after you'd finished doing your makeup, which infuriated you. Or after having your hair freshly done, he'd smear questionable substances all over it.

You had gotten so angry at that, that you'd went to his rotten workplace and tore half of it down before he managed to stop you.

Art - having realised the repercussions of having an enemy that he could not kill, that would be around with him forever and that would ruin his artisan-level work - certainly toned down his pestering.

You didn't see sight of him for a month after that. Let the asshole cry and lick his wounds, you had thought joyfully.

And now, he breaks into your home like it was his own, eating from your fridge and using your shower. You detested it at the beginning, throwing fully fledged tantrums at the fact that no matter what, you could not kill him. And hurting him too badly would in turn hurt you.

It was something you came to accept. After almost a year of fighting and stubbornness, you both began to yield, realising a stalemate when you saw one.

Art no longer smeared literal shit in your hair and you no longer broke his weapons. Seemed fair.

On the two year mark, Art frequented your home even more. Probably because it had everything he needed, and it had gotten to the point that you didn't even bat an eye at him. You'd still fight, where he'd end up laughing and mocking you and you'd end up furiously screaming at him, but it never really escalated from there.

Physical confrontation did happen rarely, but nothing..drastic. That shard of him within you had made you struggle to control your anger even after two years.

And then other times you sat silently on your settee, blanket drawn up to your chin as you watched a horror film alone. Just like every night, Art would come in and ignore you, but sometimes he'd be curious as to what you were doing, and flop down beside you far too casually.

You'd spare him a neutral glance, carelessly throwing the end of your large blanket at him. He'd excitedly accept it. He viewed it as one of your ritualistic customs when watching something you deemed as scary. Him accepting the blanket meant he was curious to know just what this 'terrifying' movie was about.

"Okay so, they can't find the key to unchain themselves to escape, so that guy has to saw his leg off.", you elaborated quickly, watching the scene unfold.

It wasn't your favourite film but it was on TV at the moment. Art folded his arms, watching patiently as the story proceeded. Your attention eventually faltered as a text message came through.

You responded promptly before putting your phone down. Then, another came through, and another, and you'd giggle to yourself quietly, typing. Art lolled his head back and to the side, watchful. You never really used that device anymore, he wondered what it was that gripped you so much.

He didn't have to wonder much longer as he ripped your phone from your hands and darted up, standing to his full height as he swiftly perused the text messages.

You jumped up after him, reaching a hand up to grab at him only for him to lift the phone above his head, gaze staring up to read them.

"Give me my phone now! I swear to God Art I'll fucking--", the rest of your complaining fell on deaf ears. Art rolled his eyes, all you ever did was pull tantrums and shout. And you never shut up, prattling on about one thing or another, screaming profanities and empty threats that Art didn't even deign to laugh at anymore, that's how common they were.

Eyes scanning the messages, a grin began to grow on his face, until full fledged laughter erupted silently. You seethed at him, clawing at his hands to try and grab it. Art eventually gave in, rolling his eyes at your continued threats, putting a hand against your shoulder and roughly shoving you away, phone thrown into your lap as you fell against the settee.

Before he left, Art turned back with his horn held between his legs obscenely, stroking it with a surprised face, eyebrows high and lips forming an 'o' shape.

You glared at him, but couldn't deny the way your cheeks reddened as his stroking got faster and his eyes rolled back in mock euphoria. You folded your arms and shrugged; you had nothing to say to that. Yes you were sexting some random guy and yes you wanted some dick.

Art tipped his hat with a dead expression, his mimicry representing a gentlemanly 'farewell and adieu', and his expression reading 'desperate whore'.

Before he finally departed, Art held up a scissors in one hand and a pliers in the other. He snipped them sassily, threateningly, grinning all the while.

"Yeah, well, if he's shit you're more than welcome to use them on him." You assured, and you meant it too. This guy seemed a little odd anyway, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

Art seemed pleasantly happy with that, giving you a thumbs up with his back turned as he left the house in his Santa getup.

It was probably because you were overly horny, but...

No, you shook your head. Now is not the time to think of him like that. Honestly, you were getting more depraved every week.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You don't know what you were expecting, but it was.. anticlimactic.

You had become so sinful since your rebirth, average sex no longer doing it for you. The first guy was okay, an asshole, but okay. You tried so hard to be pleasant and normal but frustration and an unhinged desire coursed through you desperately.

It wasn't as though his dick wasn't to your liking, he was just so average and fucking human that you didn't even manage to get to the part that you desperately craved, your disgust evident.

Anyway, he seemed to think you had a bad attitude - you did - which led to arguing. You were not backing down and neither was he.

Raised voices turned into insults, both of you storming out of your bedroom and down the stairs as you reigned your anger in and told him to get out.

You could see Art from the front door, he must've came home at some point, focus taken from the TV as he watched you both scream at each other, boots propped up on your fucking coffee table which you told him not to do so many times-

And then your cheek was turning as this assholes hand met the side of your face.

You could feel your teeth clenching. Your face remained stoic, eyes burning with fury. You could see Art chuckling cruelly in the background, shoulders moving silently, incredibly invested in how this is going to play out.

It was only then did the asshole seem to notice a flash of black and white in the background, turning with an ugly scowl to the clown who now suddenly stood with a large smile, hands clenching and unclenching in anticipation.

He faltered, mild confusion and anger still evident in his scowl. An angry finger pointed in the clowns direction. "Who the fuck is that? You got a queue lining up after me, honey?" He spat the vile words at you, acidic and full of disgust.

You didn't have a chance to respond, lips quirking in mild amusement and eyes smouldered like a fiery, dark pit. The man scoffed, rolling his eyes at the demonic clown, before gazing back down at you with his lips snarling enough to bare his teeth.

"I knew there was something off about you, you fucking slut. Too proud to put out and, let's be honest," the man gave you a slow, disgusting once over, "not much to look at."

Something in you snapped, but all that came out was a gentle, breathy laugh, your eyes shining and dancing with a peculiar emotion. You wonder what it reflected. Judging by the way Art tilted his head from afar, assessing, before beginning to chuckle to himself even more, it must've been something ominous.

"What the fuck are you laughing at, asshole? Want me to come over there and give you something to really laugh at?!" The man roared at Art from across the room, utterly furious, fists clenched until the knuckles turned white.

Art began pointing and laughing now, wide eyed and crazed as he nodded vigorously as though to say 'please do!'

Before he could, you gripped his arm gently; your expression depicted a mocking sense of disappointment. "I've ruined your night, and wasted all of your precious time." You huffed, throwing your hands up in the air in defeat for him, indignant at yourself. "And like you said, I'm really not looking my best, am I? I apologize.", you smiled sweetly up at him, eyes squinted almost cutely.

The man paused at your admittance, evidently not used to any woman ever agreeing with him. He relaxed somewhat, nodding to himself as though to say yes, you are the problem, not him.

Arts dark eyes bored into your form, entranced, unsmiling, deadly.

"I'll make it up to you."

Your smile spread eerily wide, slow and deliberate and full of glee, frozen on your face. There was something ominous about you, mouth spread so far it looked as though you were doing a poor imitation of how a human should smile. It was too wide, too happy, unnatural. Slowly, you made your way to the kitchen.

The man appeared shocked and faltered, squinting at you as though to decipher what's going on. It felt like his eyes deceived him, searching desperately. Did he hear wrong? Did he miss something? Turning back towards the clown for some semblance of an answer, he seemed to have vanished. There was no trace of him ever being there, and there was no sound.

All was too silent, too calm, and it made his nerves stand on end, unsure, horrifically uncertain about everything he had just witnessed. He needed to leave.

The man tensed, back stepping at the sudden eeriness. It was so quiet, in fact, that part of his mind doubted that he had ever spoken to someone in the first place. Shaking his head, he turned to leave. There had to be a logical explanation for all of this. Without another thought, he turned and made his way to the front door.

If not that, then the knife embedded in his back surely did.

His keys suddenly dropped to the floor from his hand. The sound was loud, and would probably shock anyone out of a daydream.

Though, a second later, the horrific cry that surely tore his vocal chords was loud enough to make it evidently clear that this was all very real.

The life that had been temporarily drained from the house now sprung to life viciously, all at once.

Gripping a fistful of his hair, you dragged him roughly through your living room, kicking him so hard in the chest he convulsed, air struggling to enter his wheezing lungs. Blood covered his chin, eyes wide and unable to comprehend these sudden events; Questions swirled in his horrified orbs.

Lips curling in disgust, you jumped on top of him and began violently beating him. The man struggled hard, trying to buck you off of him and attack you back but to no avail. You were as immovable as a wall, face stoic and nonchalant as the man flailed back and forth, desperate to escape.

His eyes were wide, terrified, blood pouring down his face. In a flash, you held his fist tightly, catching it before it could make contact with you. You began to chuckle, mirth dancing in your irises, squeezing so hard you could feel the bone snapping.

It wasn't normal, this level of power, but it felt so beautifully natural to you, something dark and radiantly evil crying out in glory at your actions, delightfully satisfied.

He roared in pain, tears involuntarily streaming down his face, hand mangled and deranged looking as he cradled it to his chest. He shuddered violently, eyes wild in horror. "What the fuck are you?!"

"Me?", you thought aloud softly, bloody hand to your chin contemplatively as you stared up at Art, who was so suddenly by your side that it made the man flinch and choke on his breath in fright.

"I'm a..slut, right? That's the word you used?" You looked at the man for confirmation, who shook his head swiftly in regret, face contorting miserably as he realized his grave error. He began to sob.

You gazed up at Art, who was clenching his hands rhythmically again, laughter shaking his shoulders. There was more than satisfaction at watching this asshole get beaten; almost a hidden connection of evil sparking between you both. He was corrupting you, but you yourself made these choices. You, avidly, enjoyed this outcome.

"Is that right, Art? He said slut, didn't he?", you hummed in thought, scratching your head for an answer. Your crimson hands dyed your hair a terrifying red as you curled a lock thoughtfully between your fingers.

Art nodded slowly, unable to take his eyes off the way your blue orbs became corrupted, like sediment contaminating a clear pool. They shined as black as his now.

"It's funny," you began with a dreamy sigh, eyelashes fluttering back down at the miserable sight below you. The whites of your eyes appeared disturbingly bloodshot. "For being such a slut, I haven't managed to get a good look at you yet. We didn't get too far earlier, did we?"

The man below you was hyper ventilating now, shaking his head furiously, knowing and fearing where this was going. His mangled hand joined the other in what looked like to be a feeble prayer, chest rising and falling rapidly. "I-Im sorry! Youre not a slut, you're--youre stunning and I'm so, so fucking sorry--"

Your act dropped then, eyes dead and void. A sense of dread hung heavy in the air for this man; There was no way out, and no amount of pleading would change that. You lifted your knife carelessly in the air, twirling the weapon hauntingly. The look the man gave you would stay in your memory for a while, it was full of pure, unadulterated terror.

You brought the knife down, slicing in his groin. The man screamed so loud you thought his vocal chords had torn. Blood pooled around you, soaked you, bathed you in a pretty crimson to match your nails.

Art was a hysterical mess, hunched over and pointing and laughing, miming a condescending, fake sobbing at the pathetic man. He held a sinister mirth in his eyes, absolutely buckled.

Grotesquely, you dug your hands into the gaping wound you had made in the man's genitals, rummaging around with the sounds of squelching blood permeating the air. Finding what you were looking for, you held it up high between your finger and thumb, expression holding that all too familiar disappointment.

Your lips quirked, "Not such a big man now, are you?"

Art was rife with laughter and joyfulness, and before you knew it, your giggling turned into cackling, blood smeared all over yourself as you held your stomach, tears falling down your cheeks in sick, dark satisfaction.

You hadn't laughed this hard in years, hadn't felt this liberated and happy in a while. Everytime you calmed down, giggles becoming quiet, Art would hold up the castrated organ absurdly, wiggling it like an ugly worm with a look of surprise on his face, eyebrows high and mouth open, and you'd be on the floor cackling madly once again.

It must've been a grotesque sight, you on your knees upon the floor, blood sinking so deeply into your clothes you wondered if it would come out, wiping tears of laughter away only to smudge deep streaks of red across your cheeks. You looked like an animal, rabid and violent.

Art gazed down at your crazed form with a smirk of satisfaction, chaos swirling in his eyes. It was as though he had been waiting for that part of him to corrupt you, for your anger to explode, for your unhinged desires to manifest.

After some time, everything fell peacefully quiet. It was comfortable, and dare you say amicable. Your breathing was the only sound in the room, slowing down as you gazed down at the way your feet were absolutely soaked red.

Leaning back on your hands, you caught sight of the demonic clown with his arms folded, leaning against the wall. He seemed serene, no longer smiling but definitely not frowning either. His black eyes perused the coating of blood on the floor, making their way up to study you deliberately.

His stare was intense, and you couldn't stop your cheeks from lifting upwards into a smile. Pushing yourself to a stand, you grimaced at the mutilated body on the floor and shivered in disgust.

You nudged at the corpse with your foot, cringing. "Maybe mortal men just aren't for me, anymore. "Though," you began as an afterthought, "even if I had a boyfriend, you'd probably kill him anyway." You sighed, fully acknowledging this.

You weren't even aggravated by that fact anymore. It would've really angered you once, but what's the point? You and Art seemed bound together forever, by the looks of it. You couldn't imagine him sitting idly with another person in the house. But then again, neither would you.

Art deliberated, gazing upwards in brief thought, before shrugging too. Yeah, probably. Just to get under your skin, mostly. And maybe an inkling of something else. He finally nodded, eyes staring down at you from his nose, like an old librarian with their glasses on the end of their nose. Snobbish. He had a reputation to up hold, you know. His nonchalant expression read 'well, you're not wrong.'

You scoffed, though offered a small smile nonetheless. He was amusing. For a silent clown, he was awfully verbal with his theatrical ways.

But now you began to think solemnly; What you just did - the killing, the maiming, the castrating - was vile. It was unforgivable, sickening. Your human half knows this, and something is conflicted within you. It felt like two halves of yourself were at war.

Even still, you felt joy. And you know that's wrong, and it's absolutely maniacal. But what's even more astounding is right here, on a late Saturday evening, you and that stupid clown stood with an air of tranquillity and comfort, together. If this was two years ago, you'd be within inches of maiming each other.

Like a domesticated couple, Art got to work on disposing of the body, dragging it with ease to your back door, before disappearing. It left a streak of smudged red on your tiles. You got to work cleaning, rolling your sleeves up as you hunted for something to make your floor shine again. It took a while, but he was gone for some time anyway.

By the time everything was relatively tidy, it was past midnight. The stain on the floor had disappeared thankfully, and you felt refreshed after a hot bath, changing into comfortable pyjamas and fluffy socks.

You sat in your bed, blankets pulled comfortingly up to your stomach. Your bedroom was filled with dim lights, and they had their necessary effect of making you feel content.

You had chosen a random film to watch on tv. It didn't really matter which one because your thoughts were otherwise occupied. It played serenely in the background, but something was bothering you.

A part of you felt slightly deflated. You were still undeniably frustrated and borderline desperate to have this desire quelled within you, and now that you had a moment to yourself, it barrelled to the forefront of your mind.

It was a ridiculous feeling, but you couldn't help that you were so pent up. Maybe you were ovulating. That did tend to make your hormones go haywire.

Even still, you hadn't long killed a man. It would be wrong to..indulge after that, wouldn't it? You pursed your lips in thought, two sides of yourself fighting menacingly. You couldn't tell if your good was being corrupted, or if Arts evil that had tainted you had brought out repressed, dark feelings that most humans surely kept hidden.

You didn't feel guilty, which was peculiar. Your nature before meeting Art often held a lot of empathy. You could feel yourself shifting, but you could never pinpoint the change until it had already been demonstrated. From the way Art pierced his black eyes into you, you bet he could see the transformation easily.

Your thoughts were interrupted as the background noise of the TV suddenly became incredibly interesting to your brain. You paused, peering at the TV as the sounds of quiet gasps and sloppy kissing filled your room.

It wasn't even particularly erotic, but..

Even just the sounds had your pulse increasing ever so slightly. In your desperate state of mind, it was easy to imagine how that messy kissing felt, tangled up in somebody else, remembering the feel of bolts of arousal shooting down your body in tingles as it became more passionate, more eager.

You were in a trance, frozen as you watched and drank up every detail. Male hands gliding down a womanly figure, cupping her heavy breasts and listening to the shaky inhales and exhales she made, back arching into his hands needily.

You felt a hot warmth bloom in your abdomen, a pulse beating steadily between your thighs. How were you so affected by this? You weren't even just mildly turned on, you were in a state of full blown arousal, a stickiness oozing between your legs. You felt like some of that was from earlier, mostly from the anticipation of sex rather than the futile attempts that asshole made on you.

The image now depicted the man positioning the woman on her hands and knees, readying her. You gripped your blanket, wanting so badly to be touched like that again and actually enjoy it.

Your eyes were fixated on the screen, hyper analysing every detail you could take in. The world around you faded.

The actor on screen gripped the woman's hips roughly, situating himself behind her. He gave her no time to prepare before sinking in slowly, and you watched the way her lips spread open in a quiet moan, brows furrowed and chest rising and falling rapidly.

A wave of heat flashed through you, making you warm enough that you had to kick the blanket off your person. What film was this? It was incredibly pornographic, not that you were complaining..

Your bottoms were next to go, tossed haphazardly to the floor; you were sweltering. Granted, the room was far too warm anyway, but what you were witnessing on screen had you in a completely different state of over heating.

All you had on now was a pair of black, silky underwear and an oversized top. You felt dishevelled, and sighed as the scene ended far too quickly for your liking and the TV adverts started to play.

You watched on in boredom as Christmas adverts began popping up colourfully with the sound of bells ringing. You felt mildly irritated, your arousal fizzling considerably, but still prominent. You were left with the sticky reminder between your thighs, head lolling back against your bedframe.

Your head rolled to the left, eyes staring down your nose at the sight of your bedside drawer. Specifically, the one that held a lot of intimate objects. You felt a little cautious using the vibrator because knowing Art, he'd curiously come up to see what the noise was; he seemed to have acute hearing.

But if you went under the blankets, vibrator hidden between your thighs, there's no way he'd hear that. Your door was firmly shut and the buzzing was incredibly muffled under your duvet. You'd be quiet and keep it on the first setting.

You were astounded once again at just how wound up and sensitive you are, vibrator delicately touching your clit as your phone displayed a pornographic video.

The cock on the screen was a good size, and as you watched it's girth spread the woman's puffy labia, a sudden desperation gnawed through you. You pressed the vibrator onto your clit more directly, the bottom of your t shirt caught between your lips as your tits jutted out prettily on display, nipples pert.

You bit down on the fabric to quell your whines of delight, breathing sharp and fast through your nose as the vibrating against your clit became over whelming, body alight with a white hot fire that spanned from your abdomen down to your toes.

Your sodden hole clenched needily, you wanted to be filled but you needed a man to do that. You wanted to receive a worthy dick that would split you in half just like the woman on your small screen.

The scene changed abruptly, and what was shown next had your hips bucking desperately into the vibrator, teeth now clenching the fabric hard as your breathing became heavy through your nose, pleasure intensifying.

The man had the woman on her knees, his member shoved ruthlessly into her mouth as he gripped a fistful of her hair and used her like a toy. Saliva decorated her mouth, and you watched with rapt attention as the mans heavy balls slapped her chin; it all seemed degrading, but..

A moan escaped you, muffled, and your back arched as you moved a hand between your thighs and touched the outside of your entrance; you were absurdly wet, sinking straight through your underwear and smearing your inner thighs.

You so desperately wanted to grab the dildo from your draw and push it deep within yourself, hard, but you refrained. Your climax was approaching anyway, and you could hardly stop yourself from whining at the thought of being the woman on the screen, sucking a hard dick as you made a messy pool of wetness below you, begging to be split apart.

From there, it was a hasty descent into blinding pleasure, your wariness dimming as low moans escaped your lips. Your eyes were shut now, permanent soft frown creasing your eyebrows as you were so close to your peak, cresting at the very precipice--

A loud bang resounded in your room, loud enough to drag you out of your delirious stupor. Your eyes shot open in annoyance, wondering if you had kicked your remote control off of the bed, but then your blood turned to ice in your veins.

In fact, you sat so absurdly shocked that all movements ceased, eyes wide and unblinking at the now ajar door of your bedroom which you definitely, without doubt, unequivocally, had shut earlier.

You blinked rapidly, vibrator dropping from your hand. It buzzed obscenely on the bed with a sheen of lubrication covering the tip, but you hardly registered it.

The door was less than halfway ajar, your dark hallway the only thing you could see, and..

A hand flew to your mouth in utter mortification, cheeks flaming crimson. You felt dizzy with a multitude of emotions.

A messy, hand written note was celotaped to your door. In jagged, capital letters spelled 'Art was here'. With a crude, childish winky face drawn beside it.

Your breathing increased suddenly, limbs shaking with not only the almost-orgasm you were about to receive, but also the unusual fluttering of your stomach in nervous humiliation and something else.

You felt severely perplexed, biting your nails as you tried to reminisce, tried to pinpoint when and how he had opened the door without you knowing and celotaped that preposterous note to your door. How was that even possible?

Clearly, Art wanted to grab your attention just as you were about to orgasm, most likely banging your wall from the hallway, hard. It sounded like a picture frame had fallen.

That made sense. At the very least, one thing did. But what about the rest, how was he able to furtively open your door, noiselessly, undoubtedly watching you?

You bolted up straighter, eyes darting around anxiously. Oh my God, he hadn't just intuitively known you were touching yourself, he must've heard something. Were you loud? You couldn't remember, you were so dazed.

Your mind created pictures of your thoughts, envisioning him opening your door just a crack and--

Your hands covered your face. You were so embarrassed. Had he been watching you? He surely had. And alongside this humiliation, why did you feel a flutter of nervous excitement roll through you? Were you so depraved?

Your hands kneaded your blanket, gripping handfuls and releasing rhythmically. Holy God, Art had made you feel many things over the years.

Hatred, annoyance, recent joy and laughter, fear, anxiety, you could go on and on, but this?

This was something new. And yeah, maybe he only did it to get under your skin. What better way to mortify a woman than catching her red handed, touching herself, and calling her out on it?

But..

Your thoughts took it a step further.

Was there..any other reason?

You bit your lip in contemplation, arms wrapped around yourself comfortingly. At some point over the past two years, brief thoughts of the demonic clown had entered your mind, fleeting sexual thoughts that left as quickly as they came.

Because, well, you were evidently desperate at this point. And he had a certain charm about him, once you got passed the ire you once held for him. And he was a man, or in a man's body, anyway.

Your mind swirled with questions, dirty thoughts, and unending embarrassment each time you realised he probably saw everything that you did.

And he probably saw the way your teeth gnawed into your shirt to silence yourself, heavy breasts poking out beneath, fully exposed, expression one of unbridled, desperate pleasure.

Your heart beat felt like it was in your ears, anxiety high. The door remained open for a reason. He wanted you to come out, and then wanted to absolutely humiliate you.

You got along a lot better now, as evidenced earlier, but that didn't mean that he'd stop messing with you.

Begrudgingly, you knew that even with your enhanced abilities and strength, you were no match for him. If he wanted to truly be hidden, he would. If he wanted to truly be swift and unseen in his movements, he would be.

You often found your bizarre abilities only worked when you were angry, or felt some sort of negative emotion.

Otherwise, you were just a regular human, having no control over that shard of terror that lingered within you from your rebirth.

Steeling your nerves, you took slow steps towards the door. You were still clad in your long t shirt and fluffy socks, and schooled your expression into one of stern stoicism.

You couldn't avoid that asshole forever.

Gripping the door handle, you stepped fully into the darkness of the hallway, enveloped. Standing still for a few moments, you realised he obviously wasn't outside your door, waiting to terrify you.

Swallowing nervously, you made your way downstairs. The stairs groaned and creaked like they always did, but it sounded absolutely deafening to you as it signalled your descent.

Out of everything that he had ever done to you - from killing you, to breaking your bones, stabbing you and everything else - this made you feel the most vulnerable.

Your living room was pitch black, not a single light illuminating the area. You held your breath, listening as intently as you could.

Silence.

Your throat felt too dry to call out to him. You knew your voice would shake, your words would stammer. It would make the situation even more shameful, so you remained quiet.

Your eyes surveyed the living room in darkness, honing in on any unnatural shadow that seemed a little too eerie; he wasn't here. That frightened you more than if he had taken this moment to jump out at you.

Uneasy frustration welled up within you. Not only had your pleasure been ripped away from you, your legs uncomfortably sticky, but now you felt incredibly exposed.

Inhaling deeply, you glared holes into your kitchen door. Two things could happen here: Either he was in there waiting to scare the hell out of you, or he wasn't in there at all, making you more on edge.

You pushed the door open, trailing inside with faux confidence, switching the lights on.

Nobody was here.

If anything, the kitchen was still surprisingly how you left it earlier - clean. Eyebrows drawing together into a scowl, you grabbed a glass of water, chair screeching as you took a seat.

Art must've pulled that trick on you and then promptly left, entering the night to no doubt destroy another victims life.

Brushing your dishevelled hair out of your face, you sat back against the chair defeatedly. Well, your emotions aren't going to change what's already happened, and you'd have to face that asshole at some point.

Evidently, tonight was not the night.

Glancing at the clock, you couldn't believe that it was already 3am. Your eyes felt heavy, your limbs felt weary and you were burnt out.

Peering around the kitchen, you realised that you must've left your phone upstairs.

That's fine, you needed to sleep anyway. Pushing yourself to a stand, you trudged sleepily up the shadowed stairs, rubbing at your burning eyes with the back of your hand.

You felt content at the moment to sleep off the crazy events of the day and worry about them tomorrow. Your door was open, just as you had left it, and the comforting glow of your warm lights that emitted from inside welcomed you with open arms.

Stepping into the safety of your room felt relieving, and as you turned back to close the bedroom door firmly, you came face to terrifying face with a chest.

You froze, mind pausing in fright at the sudden, tall body that blocked your doorway. You blinked rapidly, face displaying astonishment, and snapped your head up at the perpetrator, wide eyed.

What stared back down at you made caution well up inside you. Art stood tall, appearing out of thin air clad in his absurd Santa costume. It suited him, and the bulky material only served to make his structure appear even bigger, more menacing.

Your eyes fluttered up at him with uncertainty, darting rapidly between his face and his chest as you struggled to maintain his intense eye contact.

The clowns face was all sharp contours, edged smile of amusement plastered to his face as he leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, arms crossed languidly across his chest, widening his overall structure considerably. Has he always been this big?

He watched you with a wide, salacious grin, eyes alight and unwavering, and from the glint in his eye you knew what was about to come.

You swallowed, feeling your mask of neutrality betraying you as your body heated up, displaying a pink hue to your complexion. You didn't know what to say, how to act. Art could see this, the way you'd open your mouth only to close it, eyes darting around nervously.

You were usually so full of complaints, insults and incredibly argumentative when he had 'crossed the line', as you so often called it. As he so often did. Since your rebirth, you were all fire and wrath, near enough ripping his head off for something as simple as leaving a bloody mess on your floors or your door handles, if he didn't clean it anyway.

Of course, Art had begrudgingly agreed with you long ago to cease the truly harsh fighting, but that didn't mean that you didn't bicker, in a sense. He liked your ire, the way your teeth would grind together in anger, the way you'd go into an absolute fit if he threatened to childishly mess with your makeup and clothes, or anything you held valuable, really.

It was funny, and he knew you secretly got a kick out of it. Once the cat and dog game was over, you'd snap back to being a sweet, little human. It was interesting, and so amusing.

But this? Art peered down at you deliberately, perusing your flushed exterior with a smug, self satisfied grin.

He had been looking for new ways to get you to crack. So far, everything annoying he did was met with your aggressive screeches, and that was fine. But he needed something juicy, needed something that would really bother you, rile you up.

For a while, he struggled to find anything. He couldn't go too far with his schemes - you were both bound together, after all, so that would be met with futility.

He truly enjoyed bothering you, that was true, but his methods got boring. What could he possibly do that would make you think twice, or go silent? What would really shock you, make you revert back into your humanity, so full of emotion?

As a point of reiteration, he could have done many crude, evil and horrific things, but he couldn't because of your peculiar connection. So, he had to settle for something that was..bearable to you, but also astounding.

He came across this opportunity by pure chance. He knew what you got up to behind closed doors, you were a needy thing, but he didn't really think twice about it. He kept the knowledge of it quiet, however, just in case he ever needed to utilise it for fun.

It didn't interest him, initially. He enjoyed inflicting pain, mentally and physically, so the fact that you would so often touch yourself to induce pleasure wasn't particularly within his territory of fixations. He had other things that kept him occupied.

However, hearing your laboured breathing and quiet little moans had piqued his interest on this particular day. He had no reason for that, other than the simple fact that he wanted to spy on you. It was an urge that came by on a whim; it meant nothing, it is nothing, but Art often acted spontaneously on how he felt in the moment.

Mortal flesh did so often have its urges.

And a light bulb certainly lit up within his mind - this was the perfect way to humiliate you.

He had watched the way you gnawed at your t-shirt to keep quiet, pretty pert tits on display as you brought yourself closer and closer to completion. Art had grinned wickedly at the scene, hands fisting and shaking in excitement at the thought of never letting you live this down.

But, upon watching further, witnessing the way your head lolled back pleasurably, back arching and legs splayed wide in pure need, he couldn't deny the barely restrained desire to storm in and tease you until you were wracked with sobs.

Art had frowned in puzzlement at that feeling - it was incredibly rare for him - but his smile soon returned, shrugging as he accepted his feelings. If anything, this would only serve to embarrass you even more, he thought.

And now, dark eyes trained on your rapidly warming face, Art was enraptured by the amount of emotion that seemed to demonstrate itself. Your expressions changed quickly, and the details were minuscule, but he could see you entering a vicious cycle of bewilderment, embarrassment, anger and self consciousness.

It was as though your brain didn't know whether to lash out or guard itself. It was entertaining.

The silence hung heavily. Arts position remained the same, leaned casually against the doorframe, and yours remained as rigid and tense as ever. Your mind felt muddled. With a slow breath, your expression fell flat. Even still, you couldn't look him in the eye, and instead glared heavily at his chest.

"Stop it.", you began with a quiet, indignant scowl, chastising him. Your eyebrows drew together, so incredibly uncertain. His eyes bored holes into you and it was making you squirm. You were too stubborn to turn away.

Even still, you'd admit defeat temporarily. You didn't have the energy to battle him right now. With a huff, you turned on your heel and made your way to the bed, exasperatedly throwing your arms up into the air.

"Fine, stay there and stare all night for all I care; I'm tired." But you did care, didn't you? It gnawed at you.

Barely making it to the bed, you stopped abruptly at the sound of fingers snapping at you once, twice, seeking your attention. With a roll of your eyes, you slowly turned to look at him, expression thunderous. "Art, I'm not in the mood for this, and-- is that my phone?"

You barely breathed the question in masked panic, eyes wide once more as your phone dangled teasingly from his fingertips, wide grin stretching impossibly further.

The clown shrugged softly as though to say 'maybe', shoulders beginning to move rapidly, rising and falling in laughter as he held a hand to his mouth in faux astonishment at whatever was showing on your phone.

He feigned a look of bashfulness, fanning his face for a moment, eyes fluttering, before pointing and laughing at you some more. Your face twitched in it's attempt to remain calm and neutral, but Art could see right through you.

Covering his eyes obscenely at whatever was on the screen, but still very clearly peeking through the gaps in his fingers, Art swiftly turned the phone around so you could have a look.

That's when your mouth went dry and heat began to pinken your face even more. On the screen displayed the porn you were looking at earlier. You must've forgotten to close the tab, leaving the video running.

The volume had been turned up far too loud, the sounds of slurping and moaning vibrating through your skull deafeningly. A woman on screen had her hair gripped hard in a fistful, the man above her sliding his thick length between her lips. The sounds were filthy, and so so loud. You gripped the sides of your face loosely in devastation.

This time, you stormed up to him furiously, lunging and making a grab for your phone. "Stop it!", you repeated, shrieking this time.

You missed the phone entirely as he lifted it higher. You seethed, teeth clenched in frustration as the sounds continued, except now they had increased exponentially. From the way the screen turned down at you, you could see the man lifting the woman's thighs over his shoulders before he--

You shook your head furiously, shame blooming deep within your chest as you roughly slapped a hand against his chest for leverage, trodding onto his boots on your tiptoes to try and make another grab for your phone.

The attempt was futile, art was so tall and his arms were so long that you could never reach it. Your body was pressed up against his own, stretching high to make even minor progress in retrieving your phone. You could feel your anger boiling, scowling as you reared an arm back and aimed a punch for his sternum.

Everything happened incredibly fast after that. Before you could make contact, your forearm was gripped hard, your body was spun and your arm was wrenched behind your back.

You yelped, back pressed firmly to his front. You jerked side to side rapidly, releasing a cry of frustration in your attempt to get out of his iron grip, but to no avail.

"Let me go right now!" You attempted to sound demanding and aggressive, but it came out whiny, your voice shaking. You could feel the clowns body vibrating with laughter behind you, hand so tight around your arm you couldn't move at all.

On any other day, when you and Art would undoubtedly get into situations like this due to his pestering, you had a far better chance of escaping because you were often angry.

But today, you felt..more vulnerable than anything. You felt so puny, so small and human and fragile. It was a dirty trick on his part, and it prevented your usual unnatural strength from bursting forth.

Well, even with that strength, you don't think you could truly win against Art anyway.

Tossing back and forth regardless, you huffed and cursed at him repeatedly, knees slightly bent from the way he held you tightly and put pressure on you.

"You're a fucking asshole!", you seethed, practically feeling the mirth roll off of him in waves at your predicament.

A strong hand wrapped it's way around your delicate jaw, holding firmly but not painfully. Your head was pushed upwards almost playfully, fingertips tickling the underside of your face.

You met your own scowling expression in the body length mirror that decorated your wardrobe doors. It was as long as the doors and just as wide, giving you a clear view of Arts smirking face hovering above you.

You took in your dishevelled complexion, hair a wild mess, face lightly perspiring and your long pyjama t shirt barely reaching just above your knee.

You were hunched slightly due to being immobilised, and the hand that cradled your jaw looked absolutely massive. It was big enough to crush your skull if he wanted to, big enough to easily smother your mouth and nose without actively trying to.

Your scowl had lessened considerably at this point, that vulnerable expression returning once more. From this view, you hadn't realised just how tall he was compared to you. He was lithe, but wearing that Santa costume made him fill out a little, appear wider.

On a normal day his size would swallow your stature whole, casting a shadow over you, but in that costume?

He looked huge.

The stark realisation of this, paired with the absurdly intimate way he had your back flush to his chest and his calloused hand wrapped around your jaw with a salacious smirk, forcing you to stare at him in the mirror - you couldn't help but flush.

You found that you couldn't look away, your head attempting to move only to have his grip tighten, his grin sharpening. He loomed above you like an evil blight, eyes dark and calculating.

The sounds of the video continued in the background, a particularly loud cry having drawn you out of your thoughts, and it caused you to flutter your eyes to the floor and away from his charcoal irises.

You couldn't deny the heat that began to flourish within you.

It only increased tenfold at the feeling of a firm hand slowly gliding it's way from your jaw, descending directly to your waist, then further to your hip, squeezing.

Your eyes widened, head snapping back up at the mirror in bewilderment. You were met with the sight of his rough hand caressing you, smiling all the while.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" You spat rapidly in disbelief, words shaken and sounding far weaker than you would've liked.

He had never done this to you before. Art liked to cause pain, not..

Not this. Not any semblance of pleasure, of intimacy. Your lips opened in a quiet gasp, body tingling as the heat of his hand drew circles along your hipbone before delving lower.

You jerked in his grasp, flushing heavily at the sight of his hand gliding lower and lower until his fingers played with the hem of your t shirt.

"D-dont you dare!", you squeezed your thighs together, body squirming against him with struggle. He had long since released your numb arm, and instead opted for wrapping a long arm around your waist, your head resting against his chest as his daring hand gripped the fabric of your t shirt and teasingly went to lift it, only to stop, awaiting your reaction.

His shoulders began to move with glee, chest vibrating. Your reactions were priceless as you squirmed and attempted to back away from his hand, only to back further into his body.

This infuriated you, your flushed complexion displaying panic and bashfulness.

Those mischievous fingers danced along your thigh, lifting the fabric once again, higher this time, before dropping it. His expression held one of mock surprise, lips downturned neutrally and eyes wide, eyebrows lifted.

"Don't-- don't do that! I mean it!", you whined miserably, heat encompassing your body. It caused him to pause, eyes snapping from your almost exposed thighs to your pleading gaze.

That sharp, predatory grin returned. The heat of his hand squeezed your thigh and slipped under the fabric, tickling the edge of your underwear, fingers playing with the intricate, laced detail.

Your breath shuddered, eyes wide, and you unconsciously moved a hand to grip at his wrist. Whether to push him away or pull him in, you didn't know anymore; you felt overwhelmed, and the way your chest rose and fell rapidly portrayed that.

Art snickered, unwrapping himself from your body and taking a step back, his boots thumping. With a playful roll of his eyes, he held his hands up in mock surrender, as though to reassure you that it was all a harmless joke, and attempted to smile softly, innocently. It made him appear all the more sinister.

You spun around on your heel, taking a step back yourself as you scrutinised his display of surrender. It was uncharacteristic. Despite that, Art shook his hands exasperatedly in the air, sighing as though to say 'it was a joke, don't you believe me?'

You shook your head slowly, lost for words. You couldn't speak, throat dry and mind racing. You wanted to run away.

Art rolled his eyes up to the ceiling, before rolling them back to you dramatically, grin plastered on his face. At your retreat, he experimentally took a step forward, rather comical if not for the situation, and chuckled at your jittery self.

You furrowed your brows, not falling victim to this act anymore. You were going to kick his ass tomorrow, but for now you needed to retreat into the safety of your blanket, tail between your legs. "Get out.", you pointed towards the door sternly.

Arts eyes followed your finger to the door, before blinking over to you once more. His gaze swept over your form, head tilting in thought. He began to smirk.

Before you could react, Art leapt forward three steps, making you yelp and scramble backwards, narrowly missing falling over the edge of your bed as you backed your way towards the wall.

The clown snickered again, standing up tall and no longer doing that comical hunched appearance when he lunged at you. Now, he stood to his full height, back straight and stature big, before his boots thudded along your floor as he slowly advanced in a predatory fashion.

"I swear to God if you come near me--", you pressed yourself against the wall, watching his looming figure get taller and taller.

Your neck craned upwards, stare defiant as he hovered above. Heavy hands suddenly planted themselves violently either side of your head, crowding you in.

You flinched, blinking rapidly at the way he leaned down to become eye level with you. Your cheeks were pink again, eyes darting across his face for an answer to his weird behavior. What the hell was going on?

He was alluring, you thought, and it made thoughts race in your mind. Was he going to suddenly hurt you? Was he truly just playing? Was he actively flirting with you in his sick type of way? You had never fell this silent in front of him before. You needed to gain equal ground against this asshole.

"That's enough. What, are you interested in me now?", you scoffed, daring to lean forward into his space, face so close to his you could feel his silent breath; it was a front, you felt jittery even now, but you wouldn't allow him to mess with you any longer.

Art grinned, not at all reacting to your faux bout of confidence. He shrugged half-heartedly, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. It left you dumbstruck. What he did next made heat spread so unbelievably throughout your body.

You were so flustered your head felt heavy, and it only increased tenfold as your wrist was gripped in his big hand, fingers limp and relaxed, before he brought the digits you had touched yourself with to his lips and slid them in slow.

You shuddered, inhaling sharply at this display of intimacy. His grip was slack on your wrist, seeming to omit to the fact that you could escape if you really wanted to.

But you didn't want to. The thought didn't even cross your mind, and his eyes narrowed in a knowing sense of smugness at that.

Arousal swelled in your lower belly, pooling between your thighs as Arts tongue danced between the seam of your fingers, the ticklish feeling sending tingles through your nerves.

Art peered down at you, mouth full of your fingers, his grin turning nasty as he bit them lightly. Despite the clear threat that he could rip them out of the socket, your eyes remained lidded, pupils blown wide and hand lax as you let him caress you with his tongue and teeth. Crowded so close together against the wall, he could hear your heart beat thumping.

Dropping your wrist from his grip, Art reached down, bending at the knees to hook two hands below your thighs. You cried out as you were lifted high, legs resting in his grip.

He did this with ease, as though you were weightless. Sitting down on the bed, he adjusted you so you could sit on his lap, facing away from him. You could see yourselves in the mirror.

Art hooked his legs between your knees and spread them open. You wiggled against his hold, embarrassed at your exposure. Your black, lacy underwear was displayed, t shirt bunching up at your hips. You couldn't bring yourself to snap at him to stop fucking with you because..

Well, you were eager, far more eager than you thought. Had you always harboured this feeling towards the clown?

You were crimson faced, lips quivering as you tried to make your expression as neutral as possible; He had you on his lap like he was actually Santa, and you were the one telling him what you wanted for Christmas.

The thought had you lowering your head in bashfulness. No innocent Santa would have you spread and bared like this one.

The expression Art made in the mirror was one of mock surprise, eyebrows high and mouth forming like a circle. Before you could even ponder about it, a large hand was brought down to your inner thigh, fingers inching their way further in, caressing the sensitive area before cupping your clothed sex.

You held your breath, staring stubbornly back at him in the mirror. His hand was warm, and you couldn't help but shudder at the feel of his hand trailing upwards slowly, dancing over your clitoris briefly, then your mound, and up to the waistband of your underwear.

His fingers dipped below the waistband, gauging your reaction, but you refused to give one. Cocking an eyebrow in curiosity, you felt his hand descend, lower and lower, fingers gliding over your silken lips before delicately resting over your hole.

You flushed darkly, gritting your teeth as Art made an even more astounded expression, shaking his head slowly as though to admonish you for the mess between your legs. His fingertips rubbed circles in the lubrication oozing out of you, dipping in slightly but never far enough.

A small sound escaped your throat, barely audible, but loud enough for him. A slow, smug smirk stretched his face wide, and you could only huff defiantly. "I-- That's not because of you! I was like this before you rudely interrupted, remember?" You pouted.

Art rolled his eyes, nodding his head in quick succession with a look of mock belief at your words. He knew you were lying and so did you. Then, with a sly grin, two fingers glided upwards towards your slippery clit.

You gasped that time, quiet but still embarrassingly deafening to yourself, gripping the fabric of his forearm tightly.

A tingling sensation flooded your system, your body shifting and legs widening. He continued to massage the area, direct and blissful. You bit your lip, unwilling to let him see how much you enjoyed this.

Art chuckled, shaking his head at you with a nasty grin, eyebrows low and cynical. His dark eyes swirled chaotically, full of challenge and amusement and something else.

Hand descending further into your soaked underwear, two fingers dipped into your slit, thoroughly lubricating his calloused fingers.

Art paused, winking at you in the mirror. You attempted to glare back at him in the reflection, but you lacked the effort, and instead your eyebrows were drawn together softly, lips parting as two fingers slid into you to the knuckles, delving deep and curling sinfully against your greedy walls.

"Oh!", you moaned, hips lifting instinctively. Art began to thrust his fingers into you deep and hard, listening to the lewd squelching and how it seemed to fluster you terribly.

The feeling was intense; you hadn't been properly touched in so long, so to feel his thick, rough fingers curling rhythmically within your hot core, it made your nerve endings sing and your hips buck.

You gripped his arm hard, gasping, body fully resting against his own, head lolled back against his shoulder. Arts shoulders shook with laughter, terribly amused by the sight of you falling apart, but he wanted more from you. He wanted to break you, he wanted to make an unintelligible mess of you.

You were so prideful, you'd never live this down.

A fist gripped your hair roughly, tangling the locks before his fingers began to pummel into you expeditiously. It was too much, too fast, and you couldn't help but kick your legs uselessly, crying out.

"Ah, ahh-- Stop it, too much--", you whined, panting as the sounds of your wetness became loud, thighs drenched. You could see in the mirror the way his hand moved ferociously, molding the fabric of your underwear.

Your pleas made him speed up, thrusting so hard and so fast you wailed, thrashing upon his lap and dampening the fabric of his costume.

This was what you wanted, you thought heatedly. You wanted someone to render you immobile, shatter your mind. The view of his sinister smirk boring holes into you was alluring, head forced backwards with the grip in your hair. It made heat prickle along your spine.

Your hips began to move with his fingers, desperately seeking more, any semblance of pride vanishing as you chased your high. Your constant grinding made you feel the thick, long length pressing up against your ass, and you couldn't help but moan wantonly, pushing yourself into it with need.

His hand was drenched in your fluids, and it made him snicker. If this was you now, imagine you later when he forced you to take his cock.

Suddenly, your underwear was torn off of you, exposing the image of his large hand going in and out, curling, and thrusting deeply. The visual was arousing, your eyes half mast and dilated.

His palm lifted suddenly and jerked back down with a quick, firm slap. You jolted, wincing at the sting it caused, but before you had a chance to return back to contentedness, it struck again.

Those sinful digits eased their way out of you, smoothing up the length of your puffy labia, cupping it soothingly. You sighed, panting lightly, body relaxed and pliant.

His hand was hot and it made you feel content.

This time, it was sharper, and you gasped, scrambling to sit up but being forced to remain where you were as an iron grip wrapped it's way around your midsection.

Again, that firm hand slapped your sensitive folds, and you whined miserably at the pain and pleasure it caused.

Your lips were beginning to darken red from his assault, and yet you were still undeniably wet from his ministrations.

Your legs began quivering from the overstimulation, and you drew them together, trapping his hand. He seemed to let you, tilting his head with a quirk of his lips.

"S-stop tormenting me. Can't take it, not today. Please, just..", you paused, gnawing at your lip; you didn't want to admit to him what you really needed.

Art blinked rapidly, almost innocently down at you. He held a cupped hand to his ear, his other hand waving for you to continue, as though to usher you to speak the words he knows you're going to struggle to admit.

You pouted petulantly, eyes sparkling with unshed tears from frustration and the light stinging of your folds. Your peak had been building, only to be abruptly halted.

"No," you groaned weakly, "don't make me say it, you asshole." Your words lacked any real ire, and instead sounded exhausted. You were so pent up, so desperate at this point. As soon as the offence left your lips, two fingers began circling around your clit, refusing to touch directly. Art all but smiled at you patiently, face splitting with glee.

You sighed softly at the soothing pleasure, head lolling back against his shoulder. It felt so good, and you tried to buck your hips to make his fingers slip over your clit, but to no avail.

This caused you to release a frustrated whimper, feebly bucking your hips again, but this time Art stopped his stroking altogether, fingers hovering above the area you needed them most.

"No, I-I'm sorry!", you rushed out insincerely, desperate for his touch. You could feel tears dancing along your lash line, threatening to spill pathetically.

"Don't stop. I.. I need this so badly. Please.", you relented, biting your lip nervously, eyes fluttering to the floor in shame. You felt that familiar vibration; he was laughing at you.

Even still, the clown did deliberate. On one hand, he could continue tormenting you. That would be fun, and it was the initial plan, but even he couldn't deny his mortal desires. He had a strong threshold for such matters; he wasn't often interested enough.

If anything, he never paid enough attention to whether it was a man or a woman that he was maiming. That only goes to prove how disinterested he was in the whole affair of carnality.

This situation was unique, however. He was bound to a human he had once killed, who had just as miraculously as him managed to rise from the dead, and was stuck with you for ever. And, you are a woman. He couldn't damage you terribly, and he couldn't kill you. What better way to make you submit to him than by fucking your prideful, spiteful, hot-headed little self into the bed?

You were so easy to aggravate, spitting venomous insults and screeching in anger at him. That was all well and good, but he wanted to see the look on your face when he pummelled you dumb.

If death was out of the question, then immobilising you with his own body would have to do.

Gripping your waist tightly, Art maneuvered your body with ease, spinning you in his lap until both your thighs sat either side of him. A hand held your lower back firmly against his body, standing up halfway to tug down the bottoms of his Santa costume. They fell to his knees, and he promptly sat back down, grinning.

You hovered over his thick length, flushing red in anticipation. Hands finding leverage upon his shoulders, you let your wet lips rest against the tip, shivering as you did.

He felt big. You hadn't really managed to look at it, but from the feeling you knew he was going to split you open.

He seemed to be barely touching you, grinning cheekily as he awaited your next move. His cooperation made you uneasy, you wondered what he had planned.

The thought disappeared swiftly as you bared your hips down onto him, letting the tip nudge past your swollen lips, sinking in an inch or two.

You inhaled sharply, feeling the beginning of his girth and pausing in your descent. "I-I haven't done this in a while and you feel--mmm-," you bit your lip, sinking down a further inch, your insides pulsating and stinging.

You squeezed him tightly, walls rippling and attempting to mold to his shape. You gasped again, lips parting in surprise as you lowered slowly, delicately, his size stretching you.

You gripped his shoulders, fabric bunching up in your hands. Your thighs were shaking from the effort it took to descend patiently. Even with how wet you were, his hot length dragged against your insides, another inch being enveloped in your tight heat.

"Nng, its--so big", you breathed shakily, eyes glistening again. Art observed your pained expression in awe, smirking and winking at your compliment.

Two hands held your hips tightly, fingers digging in to the delicate flesh. You sighed delightedly at the contact, not at all preparing yourself for the sinister spark in the clowns eyes, before he slammed your hips down into his forcefully, tearing through you and settling within you to the hilt.

You cried out woefully, arms instinctively wrapping around his neck as a pained sob was wrought from you. He could feel you shaking against him, panting against his ear, and couldn't help but chuckle nastily at your pain.

"W-wait, I need to adjust--", you began softly, voice quivering, but was given no time as Art lifted you up to the tip then dropped you back down. Your soft ass slapped against his lap, a horrible pain mixing with pleasure inside of you.

"It hurts! You're too big--!", you whined pitifully, tears dripping from your eyelashes. You gripped around his neck hard, body contorting in pain, shallow breaths hitting his ear.

Art knew this. You were so tight he had to grit his teeth, but he revelled in the concoction of pleasure and pain that wracked your body. You were too weak to fight him, trying to lift yourself off of him only to collapse back down, crying out as he filled you again. He could feel your tears soaking into his costume, and it made his cock fill with blood.

You were so full, the stinging sensation unbearable, and as he lifted you again, dragging your sodden hole off of him, he thrust up into you, letting your hips drop as he met you halfway and slid in.

A surprised moan was torn from your lips, a boiling heat enveloping your body as pleasure tingled and spread throughout your nerves. Art enjoyed your pitiful, pained cries, but he knew that the pain began to melt away as your breathing went from shallow, pained pants to breathy exhales.

The stinging became a dull sensation in the background, your insides igniting blissfully as those strong hands lifted you up once more, sliding all the way out before filling you up rhythmically.

"Mmm, Oh-", you moaned breathily, lips permanently parted. You no longer contorted your body awkwardly and instead began to melt against him, curling about his form needily.

Your hips began to take control, moving up and down his rock hard length, eyes closed against his shoulder as he emptied you and filled you over and over, thrusting up to meet your downward motions hard, filling you deep.

"Yes--Oh--", you couldn't stop the noises tumbling out. He wasn't even doing much, merely meeting your thrusts, but he was so big and long and thick and mouthwatering-

"Need more", you whined weakly, nuzzling your face against his neck, the fur of his Santa costume tickling your nose. "Please.", you added softly, thighs shaking so badly you didn't have the energy to lift yourself up fully.

Instead, you lifted your hips half heartedly, attempting to at least try, feeling that over whelming pleasure every time he thrusted upwards into you.

Each downward pull made you needy, and each thrust had you seeing stars. You could feel the grin on his face beside your cheek, body moving with silent chuckles. You were so responsive, feeling those big hands trail from your hips and down to your soft globes, pulling the cheeks apart.

You could feel your hole opening, feel his rigid length sinking in even deeper. You realised that he could probably see himself driving into you from the mirror reflection, your sopping core on full display as it sucked him in greedily.

You peered over your shoulder curiously, lidded eyes honing in on the mirror. The erotic visual had you writhing in his grasp, gnawing at your lip as he stared right back at you, lifting a hand to wiggle his fingers at you.

It was weirdly humiliating, but before you could turn away to nuzzle back into his neck and hide, his hand was brought down sharply in a loud slap upon one of your round cheeks.

You gasped, lips parting as your gaze remained frozen on his slowly retreating hand, waiting with bated breath, before it bared down upon your jiggling flesh again, and again, and again.

Your body jerked each time, a gasp escaping upon each impact, but your eyes couldn't leave the sight behind you, infinitely aroused at how displayed you were, at how massive he looked below you.

Art soothed the red handprints on your cheek with a gentle rub, looking at you in the mirror with mock concern, lips pouting out at you as though you were the cutest little thing.

You couldn't handle the embarrassment any longer, and turned back around to wrap your arms around his neck, thighs giving out below you. Two hands returned to your ass again, before gliding up into you faster this time, one thrust after another, drawing longer moans out of you.

The increase in pace made you writhe upon his lap, mewling in delight. You let yourself be manhandled, swiftly reaching down to grip two hands at the bottom of your t shirt and rip it over your head.

Your breasts bounced free, nipples teased against his body with each thrust, igniting a white hot sensation directly to your clitoris. You moaned a lot deeper this time, mouth below his ear, gasping and mumbling pleas.

Art reached a fist into your locks and wrenched your head back, hearing you wince and watching the sultry way you bit your lip at his rough actions.

You finally made eye contact with him, face to face, your complexion a dark pink. You put up no fight against his hold, even as he wrapped his fist tighter and pulled your head back hard. Your neck was bared, and you watched those charcoal eyes drop smoulderingly to your jiggling breasts.

His teeth attached themselves to your neck, biting and caressing the column of your throat, before finding an appropriate area and sinking his teeth in hard.

You cried out noisily, the sound pleasurable but stunted by pain, sounding more like a yelp. The harder he bit, the faster he fucked you, and you were soon delirious on the pain and pleasure, feeling his teeth latch on harder and harder until warm liquid oozed from the puncture of your skin.

Tears dripped from your eyes, cascading down your cheeks as you hiccupped and sobbed, your neck pulsating painfully. You didn't fight him, so caught up in the way he split you open.

The demonic clown paused, drawing back from your bruised and swollen neck, eyes flickering from the blood trickling down to your collar bone, and all the way up to your sparkling eyes, tears streaking your cheeks.

You winced, hair still wrenched back, moaning weakly at the pain, your breathing turning shallow again.

A hand cradled your jaw, thumb wiping a stray tear, and you couldn't help but nuzzle into the warm palm, comforting and big. It wasn't often he got to see your tears. The sight made him want to make you cry more, spill those fat droplets from your eyes.

Art tilted his head a fraction, inquisitive at your display of affection. You seemed to latch onto him, needing to be touched, gripping at him and melting against him. It was a far cry from your usual self.

His fingers moved down to the puncture wounds on your neck, pressing onto the tender flesh and making more tears spring from your eyes. It felt bruised and the skin was beginning to rise.

Blood dripped down your neck, and he used two fingers to swipe a clean line up your neck, coating his fingertips in the red substance.

Your eyes honed in on his crimson fingers, alight with need. Art tilted his head the other way, deciphering, and burned his gaze through your intimate display as you gripped at his hand and brought his fingers to your lips.

You suckled the tips, cleaning the crimson off of him, before taking his fingers into the back of your mouth, lathering them slowly.

Your own fingers dipped into the wound, wetting the digits red, before you hesitantly brought them towards his lips. His thrusting slowed, eyebrows lifting minimally, a shard of surprise running through him at your carnality. Your blood was alluring enough to halt his ministrations.

Finally, that dangerous mouth opened, slowly enveloping your smaller digits, tongue curling around them sinfully.

Your stare was unwavering, blinking from his mouth to his eyes before settling on those wretched depths. They swallowed you whole, scrutinizing your own visage. His smiling had long since ceased, a stern neutrality overcoming him even as you drew your fingers back and wrapped your arms around his neck to press your bloodied lips onto his.

The urge overcame you, tongues battling against one another messily. The remnants of your blood mixed between your lips, a soft moan of delight escaping you.

You never thought you'd be kissing this maniac. It sent heat coursing through you, borderline delirious from the feel of being so wrapped up in a being that was so dangerous.

Your passion resumed, hips lifting enough to feel the drag of his dick in your tight heat, before gliding back down with a light slap of your ass against his lap.

You were so wet it began to lather your inner thighs, dripping down your legs and coating his balls.

Your desire began to reignite, no longer a simmering heat and instead increasing to a boiling wave that overcame you. You grinded your hips, breaking your lips apart to gasp at his depth.

Art became watchful of your eager display, letting you pleasure yourself with his body. You leaned back, arms around his neck and extended straight so that you still had some leverage, and moaned wantonly as your position changed and his cock began to stimulate that lovable spot deep within you.

"Oh fuck--mmm--", your head lolled back, tits bouncing rhythmically as you increased your pace. You could barely hold your moans in now, overwhelmed by the pleasure of his length hitting you just right.

Art recognized the increase in your pitch and the way your body moved desperately upon his, and grinned. He wiggled his eyebrows playfully, gripping handfuls of your jiggling ass and beginning to meet your movements with his own, fucking up into you hard.

"Yes, right there, oh my god-", your legs were no longer folded below you, resting back on your knees. You had swiftly moved them, sitting fully into his lap now with your legs extended either side of his waist. This added even more depth to his movements. You could no longer grind your body against his, simply taking whatever he gave you.

"It's so deep, oh-" you began to quiver, needing so much more,  but all he could do was smirk down at you amicably, as calm as ever, watching you fall apart as each thrust directly pummelled into that spot.

You felt like ripping your hair out in frustration, body squirming upon his own in distress. Each thrust was like a shot of an addictive drug, filing you up and making you feel so high, but you needed that unrepressed carnality that you craved.

Shaking your head with a pinched expression of dismay, you leaned forward to wrap your arms fully around his neck once again, head resting on his shoulder as you whimpered.

His rigid length bruised against your cervix, hands on your hips and holding you down just to get that inch deeper. You were shaking, exhaling little 'ohh's into his neck, eyes squeezed shut.

"Don't care anymore; Need it harder", you whined pathetically, warming his neck with your hot breath; you were starting to crack. "Please fuck me. Need you so bad. Making me feel so fucking good-Oh--"

Your waist was gripped in a bruising force, lifting your body up and down like a pliant doll, fucking you vigorously. Your sweet admittance sent a thrill through his body, so he supposed out of the kindness of his heart, he could cease his teasing. For now.

Art gave you a lascivious smirk, eyes twinkling mysteriously. With a slight shrug and a nod, he seemed to silently agree with himself that it was time to get serious.

The world around you blurred as you were thrown onto the bed, hips forced into position. Your body bared itself on hands and knees and you tentatively peered upwards towards the mirror, fists clenching into the quilt in anticipation.

You watched the large, looming clown settle behind you, swallowing your body whole. With a playful wave at your watchful gaze, Art thrust forward and buried himself within you.

Your breath escaped your lungs in a silent gasp, body lurching forward from the force as he held you in place and began fucking you deep and fast.

He didn't tease you this time. Everything that had happened previously had been leading up to this moment, and it was mind shattering.

Repetitive 'uh's and 'ohh's sprung from you at each thrust, his cock splitting you open well and good just like you've craved for so long. He felt massive in this position, your velvety insides hot and tighter.

Gliding out until the tip, he'd push back in smoothly, coated in your arousal. It drove you wild, the lewd smacking of skin and wet squelching that increased more and more as he drove in faster, harder.

Your knuckles were white from how hard you gripped the bedding, unintelligible praises falling from your lips at the way he made you feel.

" 'm so full, oh my god-", you cried almost lovingly at the sublime feeling of him tearing through your snug heat, near enough bruising your cervix.

With a cynical pout down at you, mockingly awed by your kind praises of his ample size, Art reached forward to grab a fistful of your hair, wrenching your body backwards so your back bowed enticingly. It made your ass look rounder, made it jiggle and ripple more against his unrelenting thrusts. It hypnotized him, his cock rock hard.

Your upper body was suspended by the hand in your hair, and you could now clearly see how ravaged you looked in the mirror. The looming Santa behind you dwarfed your figure, all jagged smile and wiggling eyebrows at your pleasured expression.

Your tits bounced prettily in the reflection, witnessing the way his normally piercing gaze faltered and darted down to the erotic scene, before darting back up to your face. His smirk appeared lascivious at being caught, and he gave a comical, light shrug.

For some reason, an infernal fire roared within you at that; This creature was evidently attracted to your feminine form. It made you moan louder, reaching forward to play with your round globes teasingly, jiggling them with your incessant fondling, biting your lip at him in the mirror.

You were becoming feral for him.

Art cocked an eyebrow, head tilted in rampant interest at your display. That same jagged smile returned, and almost as a reward, he leaned forward and circled two calloused fingers over your sensitive clit.

Your reaction was instantaneous, legs shaking and body jerking at the intense pleasure. It made you nearly collapse forward if not for the grip in your hair, his cock still relentlessly spearing you.

"Fuck, just like that, ohh--", you cried blissfully, shuddering. Arts expression appeared sternly concentrated on your exclamations and the way your body sucked him in greedily. His thunderous expression was terrifying, but it only served to increase the heat within you tenfold, your body pliant and melting into his ministrations.

He shattered your equanimity, your mind turning to mush and only thinking of his thick hands and his fat cock-

Your thighs were violently quivering, struggling to not collapse. Your moans increased in pitch, high and breathless and weak.

" 'M so close, your cock feels so fucking good and I'm going to cum, im--ohh!"

Your body was roughly dropped, a violent hand forcing you into the bed. Your ass remained high while your cheek laid itself upon the blankets, face contorting in mindless, pleasurable relief as those murderous hands gripped at your hips and began fucking into you so expeditiously you wailed.

His heavy balls slapped your clit with each filling thrust, teasing the bundle of nerves to the point your knees began to quake, on the brink of collapse.

"Fuck, fuck!", you shrieked in repetitive succession, breathing erratically as his thick, long, veiny cock fucked you so good that you just burst-

Your knees did collapse this time, but firm hands kept your hips situated perfectly to receive his godly pistoning. With a high, keening noise you didn't know you could ever make, so desperate and whorish, your pussy contracted and gushed.

Your thighs were soaked and dripping, your bedding ruined. You could feel the way his grip tightened bruisingly on your hips at the feeling of your insides pulsating steadily, milking him, demanding he fill you up like you craved.

Your self consciousness and any semblance of pride were shattered into a million pieces at the mind numbing euphoria you felt. It enveloped your entire body in a blanket and made you feel like you were floating. Your insides fluttered intensely making your breathing erratic and short.

Your face was forced even further into the bed as you reached two arms back, planting a hand on either side of your round cheeks.

With a flushed, fucked out visage staring back at Art from the way your face was turned on its side, you spread your enticing cheeks apart, moaning. "Need you to fucking fill me, need you to fuck me so full please please-"

Art couldn't deny the intense arousal that shot through his body and engorged his cock unnaturally further. Your dainty fingers spread your cheeks so far apart he could see the way your hole split around his length, the muscles parting forcefully at his intrusion. Your virgin, tight puckered hole caught his attention the most, and he moved a thumb to rub the area tenderly, a promise that he'd make you scream yourself hoarse the day he managed to fit his cock into that narrow passage.

You'd cry, he'd make sure of it, and the thought and the visual in front of him was enough to have him seizing your hips so strongly that they would bruise, fucking you brutally and hearing your sobs of pain and pleasure, before his hips stuttered once, twice against your cervix and a flood of hot, ropey squirts painted your insides.

He filled you so deeply it made your body think it needed to pee, if only to expel the amount of cum within you. It was unnatural, but he wasn't a mortal. If anything, the absurd amount made you melt dreamily into the bed, thoroughly fucked and bred and satiated for the time being.

You felt the clown retrieve himself, sliding out with a lewd squelch. Your hole gaped and quivered, his cum oozing out of you messily and coating your thighs. You moaned pleasantly at the feeling of two fingers scooping out the sloppy mess, coating his fingers with it before pushing them into your mouth. You accepted the gift, a noise of delight escaping you.

It made you want to suck his cock and have him fill your mouth until you choked. The thought was arousing, clitoris pulsating lightly as you reached down and rubbed it in lazy circles.

His body moved behind you, two hands gripping your ass cheeks before a hot, long tongue nudged your fingers aside and lapped at your clit. You moaned wantonly, pushing your hips back into his ministrations, feeling that heat invade your abdomen again, signalling another orgasm.

"Oh God, fuck, your tongue feels so-feels so--", you cried out as two fingers sunk into you to the knuckles, pushing the sloppy cum back into your hole dirtily, all the while his tongue lapped at and lathered your clitoris, licking broad, rough stripes up the bundle of nerves until you were a whining mess.

"Fuck, fuuuck, don't know if I want your tongue or your cock more, mmm-"

Art chuckled into your sodden pussy, eyebrows low and sinister. You were shameless, your pleasure ridden brain void of anything else other than the need to be fucked dumb.

A high pitched cry of pleasure tore him out of his condescending thoughts about you, his mouth drenched in your splattering orgasm. His fingers curled within you, brutally fondling that area that had you outright weeping into the pillows.

Little 'too much!'s and 'stop!'s were cried out to him desperately, your body convulsing as though you were possessed. Wiping his mouth, Art sat back and admired his work.

You were panting, pleading in a high pitched, pathetic tone. Your body was overwhelmed, tired and bruised, and Art sat back on his knees and thought for a moment, hand to his chin.

His eyes rolled up to the ceiling in brief contemplation, and then he shrugged, situating himself behind you again.

You whimpered at the feeling of him forcing his sturdy cock into your puffy walls once more. The sound you made was strangled and weak, drool dripping down your chin shamelessly, body losing function of itself. You were crying openly, brought deeper and deeper into a submissive sort of headspace.

He grinned sharply, his cock hardening at the sight of your pathetic state. He bet he could make your body lose all inhibition and piss itself. You'd be so ashamed, and he'd make you lick the liquid off of his cock; a good girl for Santa.

He began to fuck you, patting your messy hair adoringly. You whimpered and wailed, pleading for more, pleading for less. But he found that he wasn't finished with you just yet. You wanted this, didn't you? You told him so yourself.

With a comforting stroke of your hair, Art smiled mockingly down at you, pouting his lips out at your cuteness. He couldn't go back on his word; he was going to fuck you until you couldn't walk.

Thrusting into you, your mouth opened in unbridled pleasure.

The comforting stroke of your hair turned sinister, gripping a fistful up to the root.

Your pretty, wet eyes stared back at him over your shoulder, lips quivering.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

Epilogue

You had fallen unconscious. He had drawn orgasm after orgasm out of you to the point that you begged him to stop, crying so much that you couldn't breathe. Art adored your tears, awed and fascinated by them. The only reprieve you were given was your exhausted, slumped body falling soundly asleep. It was exquisitely blissful, but too much to bear.

You awoke with a weak groan, pushing yourself up to a seated position. You were naked in the blankets, but Art seemed to have the decency to clean you up slightly, your inner thighs dry and not at all the mess that they were a few hours prior. That was oddly sweet of him. And unexpected.

You wrapped a dressing gown around your body, wincing as you stood on shaky legs. Your insides felt battered and bruised, your hips dark with fingerprints. Making your way downstairs, your eyes were sleepy and lidded as you switched the kettle on to make yourself a coffee.

You had a moment of peace to yourself, or so you thought.

In came strolling that demonic clown, looking as fresh as a daisy and wide awake as he bounced preppily over to you, plonking his cup down beside yours in a silent request that he, too, wanted something hot to drink. Preferably hot chocolate.

He no longer adorned his Santa costume, instead dressed as he usually was in that monochromatic suit, face paint as immaculate as ever. He smiled down at you dazzlingly, or as brightly as a demonic entity could, patting your head like you were a golden retriever before grabbing the hot chocolate that you had barely stirred with your spoon and taking a seat at the table, newspaper in hand.

You eyed him warily, exhausted, and felt a small amount of embarrassment flourish within you at how normal he was acting and how drained you felt and looked and..

Not to mention the memories of last night either. You promptly locked them away in a box and threw away the key for now.

You reached up to grab a box of cereal from the shelf and sighed. You couldn't be bothered to eat right now, even though your stomach was grumbling noisily.

What you didn't expect was for a white hand to flash in your peripheral, grabbing it for you, before gripping your hips and spinning you to face him.

The pressure on your hips made you visibly wince, and Arts expression turned to one of shock, mouth an 'o' and eyebrows high. You frowned weakly at him before pushing his hands off of you with barely any effort behind it.

"Hurts." You pouted up at him, shaking your head lightly. You felt so weak, you really needed to replenish yourself and eat something.

Art cooed down at you, pinching your cheek lightly. You scowled now and moved away from him, thoroughly drained. He could sense that your usual fire had been doused at the moment, and held a finger up to represent a lightbulb moment.

Before you could contemplate it, you were picked up bridally and sped into the living room, making you squeal and giggle breathily. Art dumped you onto the settee, turning the TV on and putting on a horror film.

He jumped beside you, blanket covering both yours and his legs, and you couldn't help but smile dreamily at him.

He fucked you good and hard last night, and now wants to watch one of your favourite horror movies? What a gentleman. Art deadpanned at your bizarre expression, clicking his fingers in front of your eyes to snap you out of it. You only smiled wider, eyes crinkling.

"You know, you're sooo sweet when you want to be."

Art comically guffawed at your admittance, shaking his head swiftly to deny such a thing, lifting a finger to the side of his head and twirling it in a clockwise motion to signify you were crazy for ever thinking something like that.

The overly dramatic, rare expression had you giggling again, soft and sweet. Art rolled his eyes at you, waving you off as though to say 'yeah, okay, don't get used to it'.

Seeing this as a prime opportunity to tease, you were swiftly silenced as a slice of cake was shoved into your mouth. You don't know..where he got that, but he was a clown, after all, and it tasted edible.

Sighing contentedly, you chewed the sweet treat slowly, watching as the scene on TV displayed a possessed woman in the shower, scorching water melting her skin as she carved her mouth apart with glass.

You loved this movie, and Art seemed intrigued, cackling silently beside you. Wrapped up in the blanket, you leaned against him comfortably, and he seemed unperturbed by it, eyes honed in on the screen.

You don't know why he was being so gentle with you. Art never did things unless he wanted to, and that was enough of an answer for you; he simply wanted to act this way right now. Even still, it made you feel warm, and you supposed living eternally together wouldn't be so bad.

Well, that was until you fell asleep, awoken by the chill of having your thighs spread apart and cake smeared all over your puffy, abused folds.

"Art! What the hell are you doing?! I told you I'm in pain--"

Art chuckled evilly, leaning down to lick a gentle stripe up your icing covered lips, savouring the sweet taste.

Your breath hitched, but you still held your hands against his shoulders, faced etched with nervousness. "P-please don't. Can't..can't handle it right now."

Art tilted his head a fraction, staring up at you in awe. You had retracted to that submissive headspace again, and he found that he relished it. Repressing a cheeky grin, Art held his hands up placatingly, schooling his expression to one of neutrality, or rather barely masked amusement, and used his finger to draw an imaginary X over his heart.

"You mean you won't..be too much? Really? I'm having a hard time trusting you, you're literally grinning at me right now..." You huffed, expression incredibly wary.

Art covered his mouth with the back of his hand, teeth clenched as he grinned and laughed. Even still, he coughed once, face falling flat to prove he was.. moderately serious about being gentle with you.

In truth, he just wanted to eat your juicy pussy and hear you moan his name again. He bet he could get you to ask him nicely to fuck you.

For added effect, Art splayed his wide hands on your thighs and tickled the skin with either thumb, rubbing soothing circles into the flesh. Again, you had that dopey, dreamy expression on your face, and he began to think he really did damage your mind last night.

"Fine, just..be gentle, okay? I'm in no mood to quarrel today."

Art shrugged lightly. He kind of felt the same. It was refreshing hearing your soft voice instead of your screeching one of anger, or seeing your fluttering eyes at him rather than your stone cold ones.

Who knew that fucking you silly would make you so tame, so pliant. It was rather funny. Guess it proves that all you needed was a bit of dick to calm you down.

And Art was feeling surprisingly generous today. With a quirk of his lips, he settled between your thighs and placed them onto his shoulders.

Tongue darting out to lick up from your hole to your clitoris, he lathered the nub gently, lowering his lips to suckle it.

You gasped softly, widening your legs for him and biting your lip. The pleasure was instant, a heat boiling in your abdomen and fluttering down to your toes.

He was good at playing the part of devoted and gentle, and gripped at your hand delicately, lacing his fingers with your own in an intimate display. He watched you blush a pretty pink, mouth parting in awe at his uncharacteristic tenderness.

As you stared into his smouldering eyes, he smothered your clit beautifully, making you moan and buck your hips up into him.

He knew the moment your moans turned deep and sultry as he prodded a finger at your entrance, that you'd soon be backtracing your words and pleading with pouty lips that he fuck you gently.

There was an undeniable connection between you both; you were bound, after all, and even he wasn't immune to the effects of it. He'd still aggravate you, and absolutely wreak havoc on your wanting body, but he also rather enjoyed the peaceful tenderness of these moments, save for your breathy moans and the sounds of someone dying on the TV.

It made him feel peculiarly content. With a smirk into your sodden folds, Art thrust a finger into you deeply, standing between borderline pleasurable and 'too much', as you had said.

You had yet to berate him, he noted.

Within a few minutes, you were a mess down there, soaked and sticky with cake. He remained true to his word, not at all being rough, and instead holding you delicately in warm hands as he sucked and licked at your glistening folds.

"Art, it's the best part of the movie- Ah--"

He rolled his eyes at you, though did spare a single glance at the screen when he heard the sound of a chainsaw.

In no time, you were panting and reaching your peak, soft cry breathed into the air as his fingers curled and pumped into you, tongue massaging your clit. You gushed down his wrist, quivering.

Art smiled innocently up at your flustered self, imitating dabbing his mouth clean with a napkin. He jumped up and sprung beside you once more, pulling you into his sturdy lap and leaning back comfortably.

His eyes didn't leave the screen, fully focused.

You shifted, wiggling to get comfortable and felt his hard dick pressing against you. You bit your lip and glanced at him guiltily - you had just proclaimed that you were in pain today, and now you were having thoughts of him fucking you?

You settled back against him, flushed and buzzing with arousal. The film was almost over. Art grinned behind you, eyes ablaze with mischief. He knew what you wanted, but like you said, he was missing the best part of the movie.

Maybe if you're lucky, he'll fuck you later. But for now, you'd sit tiredly spent against his chest, chuckling at the brutal massacres on screen. More cake miraculously appeared, which always helped. It was pressed against your lips forcefully and you were more than happy to take it, humming in delight.

"Who'd have thought that you killing me all those years ago would evolve into this.", you smirked at him, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. "You're actually really cute. No idea how I never noticed it before." Your girlish expression lit up your face, eyes sparkling.

Art looked exasperated at your comment and shrugged. He smiled cheekily, pointing at himself as if to bashfully say "who, me?"

Your giggles rung throughout your home, his silent laughter making your body move. You felt a sense of contentment - a partner in crime to maim people with and to fuck you dumb.

Your eyes swirled black, corrupt and tainted, and promptly shut sleepily.

What could be better than this?

i need him so bad. this is pure smut. i made an epilogue to add fluffy things but it turned into smut 💀

also this isn't related to sporadic contingency at all, its just a standalone fic x

[jazziejax]

𝐉𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐧 𝐈𝐕 *𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - Modern AU | Elias ‘Stack’ Moore x Black!OC & Elijah ‘Smoke’ Moore | Modern AU

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 - Things get a little heated between Smoke and Juicy…more than once. But it’s also kind of cute.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - Mild sensual tension, soft dom undertones, food play(??), suggestive dialogue, light language. (let me know if I missed any!)

𝐉𝐚𝐳𝐳𝐢𝐞’𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 - this was honestly just something cute after all the love from my last chapter. If you guys keep it up with the feedback, trust, you’ll get more and more chapters out of me. ALSO, before you even start, this is heavily out of character. Halfway through, I realized this is more Stack coded and unless you’re nit-picky like me, it might not bother you. If you are, just close your eyes and imagine this is Smoke without all the trauma. I hope you guys enjoy! Sorry for the grammar mistakes and spelling errors!!

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 5,966+

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ˖°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐨𝐧, 𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢 | 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟎𝟎𝟑

Ever since that day after the skating rink, ever since the kiss they shared on her porch, Juicy had been over the moon whenever it came to Elijah Moore. Simply seeing him made a huge smile appear on the girls face, and though they hadn’t really agreed on what they were, even talked about it really, they were less than subtle.

Their eyes met every time the other entered the room, with stares that said more than they knew. Their lingering touches went untied, but they each felt the connection that seared between them. Their laughs were shared as usual, but there was a softness behind them that wasn’t there before.

They were not different. They were still the same.

But now new feelings were in the mix and things had started to shift into something more. Something more longing. Something more…lustful.

It first started after a long day Juicy and Mary working during the hair salon rush, she and Smoke sit on the porch alone. Stack was on her couch, asleep after the meal she and Sinclair made, and Mary was at home, getting ready for a date. Juicy was tired, barefoot, her legs in his lap while she eats from a bowl of peaches she’d sliced earlier.

Smoke watches her, his thumb brushing over the soft skin of her ankle.

“Why are you eatin’ like that?” He asked, and his voice was a bit hoarse from not speaking for a while, and now that he did.

“Like what?” The girl questioned, just before she slurped an another peach slice into her mouth.

“Like you tryna drive me crazy, girl.” He responded, causing her face to heat up at his innuendo. She let out a small laugh, but her voice is breathier than she means.

Ever since their kiss, sly comments like that have been having more of an impact on her than before. At first, she’d simply blush with a small laugh as she tried not to let her mind race, but now, she had this primal urge to pounce on him whenever she saw him, and his words didn’t make it any better.

Feeling bold, she leans forward, with the objective to feed him one of her slices and maybe say something as suggestive in response. But, just like that, his face was in bed from hers. And the world seemed to still around them as her breath got caught in her throat.

She slowly raised her fork to his lips, the dripping fruit leaking into the bowl she held up under his chin. Her eyes flickered from his intense eyes that never left her, and the fruit hanging between them.

He didn’t open his mouth until the peach was rubbed against his plump lip, and Juicy wanted to clench his legs as she watched his long tongue peek out as he took the fruit into his mouth.

He was barely done chewing before they were both leaning in, their eyes closed. And when their lips touched,she couldn’t help but think that the peach tastes way better on his lips. It wasn’t until he his tongue graced her lips didn’t she pull back from the kiss, an overwhelming feeling taking over her.

But Smoke took it as something else. He simply nodded before speaking gently. “Whenever you ready.” He said, his large hands subconsciously rubbing at her leg.

And Juicy simply continued eating her peaches, though they seemed a little closer now. And that moment stayed between them, warm and glowing like the sun touching her skin.

And those moments became more bold as time went on. Tension rose, feelings peaked and moments lingered.

The overhead bell of the Crown & Glory Beauty Supply store jingled softly as Smoke pushed the glass door open. It was dead in the store—just the faint buzz of an old fan rattling from a corner and a box TV in the top corner playing 106 & Park on low. The air-conditioning was working overtime, but it still couldn’t keep up with the summer heat beating against the glass windows. It was hot outside—real hot—the kind of heat that made everybody move just a little slower.

Juicy was behind the counter, leaning over a fashion magazine with a chewed-up pen between her fingers, glasses low on her nose, lips glossed just enough to look edible. It was new, a sparkly peach color that had a bit of flavor. He’d know, he’d tasted it when she first bought it.

Her hair was up in a messy up do, a slightly puffy roller set that was in need of a redo by her standards, with two curls escaping at the front to frame her face. She wore her name on a gold necklace and a cherry red tank top that clung to every curve like a second skin. She looked up when she heard the door, and saw Smoke stepping inside, her whole expression shifted—eyes bright, mouth soft, body leaning back with that familiar little grin she always tried to bite back.

“You ain’t supposed to be here.” She said, but there was no real protest in her voice. Only that teasing lilt he had grown addicted to. “You might make me forget I’m on the clock.”

Smoke grinned and held up a white plastic bag with ‘Thank you’ plastered over the front. “What if I said I brought you lunch?”

Juicy’s stomach answered before she could, and she rolled her eyes, laughing as she grabbed her little purse from under the counter. “Let me tell Keisha I’m takin’ my lunch break before you turn me into a damn stereotype.” Smoke chuckled low as he watched her lean over the little half-door to call into the back. “Keish! I’m takin’ my lunch now. I’ll be back in thirty.”

“You got forty-five.” Keisha called back. “But only if you bring me a pineapple soda.”

Juicy didn’t answer, just gave Smoke a playful side-eye as she walked out from behind the counter and toward the door, hips swaying with nothing but pure temptation in her denim shorts. “Come on, Mr. Delivery Boy.” She said as she passed him, while Smoke watched her as she licked his lips.

The sun hit them hard the moment they stepped outside. Smoke held the door open to his cutlass for her, parked just under the shade of a half dead oak tree off center of the stores entrance. The inside smelled like Black Ice air freshener and a little bit like him, clean clothes, cologne, and something vaguely minty.

He slid into the drivers seat and handed her the paper bag before she’d even fully shuffled into her seat. She took it, eyes wide with creepy delight, already knowing what he’d gotten her. Smoke helped her take the food out, and held the white Styrofoam to-go plate like an offering. “Figured you’d forget to eat. Got you the ten piece lemon pepper from Dock’s.”

Juicy blinked, then her lips parted in a slow grin. “You got me the good fries?”

“Seasoned and crispy. Just how you like it.”

“Mmm.” She reached out for the plate and brushed his fingers as she took it, her nails freshly done in that glittery nude pink he noticed last night when they were tangled up on her bed whispering secrets into each other’s necks. “You’re spoiling me.” She said with a little smirk, already opening the box and letting the smell take her over. “You’re gonna make me expect this every shift.” She said as she grabbed a fork to pick her fries.

Smoke leaned back in his seat, his eyes taking her in without shame. “Maybe I like spoilin’ you.”

Juicy tried not to blush, but it came anyway, spreading warm and rosy across her cheeks. She sat back in the passenger seat and picked at the fries first, licking the Cajun salt from her fingertips like she didn’t know it was killing him slowly. Smoke leaned back and watched her pick at the wings, the smell of zesty spice thick in the car. She took one bite and hummed.

“I swear, this might be better than sex.” She said with a mother full.

He arched a brow, watching the way she licked her fingers. “Might?” He questioned.

She smirked and didn’t answer, reaching for a fry instead.

For a while, they sat in easy silence. The windows were cracked just enough to let the summer breeze tease its way in. Smoke tapped a beat against the steering wheel while Luther Vandross’s ‘Take You Out’ played low from the stereo.

They hadn’t exactly told any one of their…relationship, yet. That much was understood without it needing to be said. Not Mary, not Stack, and definitely not Martin, needed to know about why they had going on. It wasn’t out of shame—at least not for Juicy. It was protection. Privacy. It was not wanting to hear her brother’s mouth or deal with Mary’s need for graphic detail or the way girls in the neighborhood would start watching her.

Smoke didn’t push. He never did. He just kept showing up.

At the end of her shift last time, he’d been parked out front with the windows down and Aaliyah playing low, just waiting to walk her to her car. The time before that, they sat in the backseat of his Cutlass for thirty minutes saying goodbye with their mouths and not a single word. His hands had found the small of her back, the inside of her thigh, the curve of her neck. None of it was ever rushed. He was always asking for permission with touch alone.

Now, watching her eat, he had to stuff his hands into his pockets to keep from reaching out.

“How long you got left?” He asked.

“’Til six. Bianca’s mom coming to drop off some things, and I gotta tag ‘em and put ‘em up front.” She took another bite from a wing, eyes fluttering as she chewed. “This so good. I should slap you.” She hummed.

“You wanna slap me?” He teased, leaning in just a bit. “What happened to all that lovin’ from the other night?”

Juicy’s eyes met his as she sipped from the stare of her cup, and for a moment, everything else went quiet. The radio, the passing car, even the hum of the air conditioning within the vehicle.

“You keep bringin’ me food and walkin’ me to my car like some gentleman, you can get some lovin’ alright.”She said softly, lips curving into a grin. “You gon’ mess around and make me soft, Smoke.” She pouted, faking annoyance with him.

“Maybe I want that.” Smoke said, his voice low, head tilted. “You already soft in all the right places.” He smirked, his head tilted as he looked her up and down.

Juicy didn’t know how to respond to that, she just looked at him for a long second. Her eyes were deep brown, like pools of warm syrup, and they narrowed just enough to let him know she was feeling it.

“Anyway.” She said, turning her eyes back to her plate. “You don’t gotta keep doing all this.”

Smoke leaned closer, his hand sliding across the center console to tap her wrist. “You don’t want me to?”

Juicy’s lips parted just enough to suck in a breath. “I didn’t say that.” She murmured.

He gave her a crooked smile, one that pulled slow and easy like honey off the spoon.

“Then hush and eat.”

She smiled like she couldn’t help herself. “You gon’ wait here until I’m off?” She asked, playing with a fry.

“Maybe.” He said before glancing at his gold watch. “Maybe I’ll wait outside. Or maybe I’ll go nap and come back. But I’ll be here.”

Juicy rolled her eyes, but it didn’t match the quiet joy stretching across her face. “You need to stop acting like we go together.” She said, letting her impulsive thoughts win as typed with him.

Smoke leaned closer, voice brushing her ear. “Oh, we don’t?” He questioned, already knowing what game the bratty girl was trying to play with him, so he decided to play a different one.

She paused, the bite of her fry halfway to her mouth. Her lips twitched again, this time with something softer—something unsure but open. “Boy, go on somewhere.” She whispered, turning her eyes away from him.

But he stayed right there. Watching her eat. Watching her smile. Watching her pretend like they weren’t already wrapped up in something they couldn’t name yet—but it was definitely felt.

“Oh, I can’t be on your space now?” He questioned, leaning a bit closer over the console, his eyes trailing her face. “This my car, I can be where I want.”

“You’re gonna smell my breath, Smoke, move.” Juicy said, leaning away from him a bit, just as he was trying to trial his lips closer to her.

He didn’t flinch. “So?”

“My breath probably smells. And that fruit punch ain’t made it no better.” She said, looking over at him, her hand over her mouth as if to block the smell from reaching him. Smoke simply started into her eyes, the only thing he could see over her hands. His eye bounced between hers as he leaned a little closer, voice dropping. “Still wanna taste it.”

Juicy’s whole body went still, the corner of her lips twitching like she was fighting something. She turned to face him fully, one leg tucked under her. “You are real bold today, huh?” She questioned, letting her hand drop.

Smoke leaned in more, his palm resting on the back of her seat, his eyes locked onto her mouth. “You been sneakin’ around with me in parking lots and empty rooms for how many days now?” He retorted. “It ain’t about being bold, baby.”

She didn’t answer, only nipped at her bottom lip.

“You lettin’ me touch all up on you, makin’ me wait just to kiss you again…”

“You already kissed me.” She said, soft as a confession.

“Yeah.” He said, his thumb now brushing against her jawline. “But it ain’t enough. Not when I think about it every time you walk away from me.”

Juicy’s eyes fluttered closed for a half-second, the tension so thick it hung in the car like fog.

She opened her eyes again, and they were darker now, shaded in lust and something tender. “I’m really feelin’ you, Smoke.” She murmured. “I just don’t want nobody in my business yet. Not my brother, not Mary, nobody. Not ‘til I know this is real.”

Smoke nodded slowly. “Then let me show you it is.”

He leaned in again—closer this time—and just before their lips met, she pulled back and covered her mouth with her hand.

“Wait, wait, wait.” She said, laughing softly. “I told you. My breath probably smells like lunch.”

Smoke smirked. “I told you. I don’t care.”

Then he kissed her.

Soft at first, warm and slow, like a question he already knew the answer to. Juicy melted into it, her hand slipping behind his neck, her lips parting without hesitation. He kissed her like he’d been waiting since the rink, since the last car meetup, since every sideways glance and half-second pause between them.

She sighed into him, her body turning so her knee brushed his thigh, and his hand slid down to her waist, tugging her closer. Her fries were forgotten on the dash, the radio hummed on, and somewhere in the distance, construction work buzzed—but all she could focus on was the way his fingers pressed into her hip, the heat of his mouth, the way he kissed her like she was his favorite food and he was starving.

By the time they pulled apart, her lip gloss was gone and her heart was racing.

Smoke looked at her, thumb brushing the side of her face like she was fragile, like he was still tasting her.

“Is that real enough for you, Juicy?”

She caught her breath, smirk tugging at her lips.

“It’s a start.” She said cheekily.

Smoke laughed, low and warm, already leaning in again.

And outside, the sun beat on the windows, heavy and golden, while Aaliyah’s voice floated from the tiny TV in the corner:

“Boy, I’ve been watching you like a hawk in the sky…”

The next time was about a week later, and they were sort of high off not seeing each other for a minute.

The house was quiet. The kind that came only when the day had finally exhaled. A low hum from the box fan in the corner of her room carried through the walls, but otherwise, silence blanketed the place like the thick heat outside.

Tyson was down for bed, knocked out cold after a long afternoon of playing with his toy dinosaurs, goldfish crackers, and singing Whitney Houston songs off-key around the house. Sinclair was out on a date with some boy guy, and Martin was God-knows-where, probably laid up with the flavor of the week. The house was Juicy’s for the night, and she’d planned to take full advantage of that.

She had just slipped into her favorite silk moomoo—champagne-pink and ultra soft, loose fitting but clinging in just the right places while letting everything else breathe. Her legs were smooth, freshly shaven and moisturized, and her roller set was tightly secured beneath a silk, butter-colored scarf. Her room smelled like bag champa incense and cocoa butter, a familiar blend of calm and comfort. The lights were dim, casting a warm amber glow from her bedside lamp. Juicy glanced at the clock. 10:46 p.m.

She was leaning over her nightstand, lighting a second stick of incense when a sharp tap-tap at the window made her jump.

Her heart stuttered.

Wide-eyed, she turned slowly, suspicious, hand hovering near her dresser drawer where she kept her little knife—just in case. Another knock followed, softer this time. She crept toward the window, staying low, her silk moomoo brushing against the floor as she moved. She peeked between the slats of her blinds and gasped.

Smoke.

Standing outside her window, straight faced, his stature intense as if he could see through the blinds. His gold chain glinted under the streetlight, and he lifted his hand in a slow wave, eyes locked on hers.

Juicy let out a tiny squeal, panicking. “Oh my God,” she whispered to herself, yanking the curtain closed.

Her room turned dark again, but her mind was racing. She spun around, clutching her moomoo. Why tonight? Why when she had her scarf on, her rollers showing through the wrap? She felt so exposed, caught mid-transformation. She wasn’t cute, she wasn’t ready.

She paced, muttering, “Why the hell would he come tonight? I look crazy…” She was in distress.

Then, from outside, his voice cut through the quiet.

“I’ve already seen you in your rollers.” He said, cool and calm, like he was talking with his lips pressed against her skin instead of standing on the other side of a pane of glass. “Open the window, Juicy.”

She froze. Could he hear me? She thought.

Her breath was caught in her throat, somewhere between embarrassment and excitement. Then, with a soft curse and a helpless little pout, she padded back over to the window and lifted it with a quiet creak. A second later, Smoke was climbing through like some bad-ass high school boyfriend in a ’80s movie. It seems easy and he seemed unbothered, like he’d done it a hundred times before.

His feet touched down on her carpet and his eyes immediately swept over her.

“Damn.” He said, voice a little lower now. “You always look good, but this right here? Yeah…this different.” He said, his tongue peeking out to trace over his bottom lip.

Juicy crossed her arms, suddenly shy. “Don’t start…” She warned.

“I’m serious.” He said, taking a slow step closer. “I don’t know why you hidin’ from me like I ain’t seen you in a bonnet before.”

“This ain’t no bonnet.” She said, fussing gently, cheeks warm. “This a roller set. Whole different level of ugly.”

He chuckled. “Ugly where?”

“You’re blind, Smoke.”

“Nah.” He said, taking her hand. “I see just fine.”

And that was all it took for her shoulders to drop a little, her nerves to settle into something soft and warm.

She turned from him to straighten her bed, trying to keep her hands busy. “And now what’s given you the gall to show up this time of night?”

“Ain’t nobody home but you and the baby.” He said, settling onto the edge of her bed. “And he sleep, ain’t he?”

“Yeah, but you know how Sinclair be. If she find out you was over here this late, she gon’ tell everybody and they mama.”

Smoke leaned back on his palms, his chain sliding against his chest. “Then I guess we better be quiet.”

Juicy turned slowly to face him, chin lifted in that defiant little way she always did when she was trying to keep herself from melting. “Smoke…” She trailed off, trying not to grin as she fluffed the pillow, avoiding his eyes. “I’m serious.”

“I missed you.” He said, voice dipping again as she changed the subject. And by the way he rushed it out, it’s been meaning to come off his tongue since he first laid eyes on her. “Been runnin’ all week, tryna get shit done with Stack. I been thinkin’ ‘bout you, though. How you sound.” He began, his hands trailing over to her, pulling her closer by the fabric of her gown. “How you taste.” His raised his hand to light grace over her lips, which were buttered in chapstick. “How you make them little sounds when I kiss on that spot right there…” He reached up and brushed his fingers gently along the side of her neck.

Juicy shivered, tucking her neck a bit. “You can’t keep doin’ this…” She mumbled with a small pout.

“Doin’ what?”

“Showin’ up late, and sayin’ stuff that makes me forget why I said you couldn’t come over in the first place.”

He grinned slowly, a look Juicy knew was dangerous. “Then don’t say I can’t come over.” He shrugged, as if it was such a simple solution.

She rolled her eyes but her smile gave her away. “You get on my nerves.”

Smoke stood and stepped toward her, closing the small gap between them. “Good.” He said, hands sliding to her waist. “Then you gon’ really hate this.”

He leaned in slow, lips almost brushing hers when she suddenly pulled back a little, nose scrunching up.

“Wait.” She whispered, laughing nervously. “I just brushed my teeth…”

Smoke paused, then smirked.

“And?”

“And that’s nasty!”

“I don’t care if your breath smell like hot dogs at a block party.” He said, lowering his voice. “I still want it.”

She let out a laugh, hand lightly pushing at his chest. “Oh, you’re nasty.”

Then he kissed her, something warm and deep. And just like that, they melted.

The kiss grew, slow but intense, their bodies pressing close, her silk moomoo whispering as it moved between them. It deepened naturally, his hands resting gently on her waist while hers slid around his neck. His hands roamed gently, not grabbing but holding onto her he was trying to memorize every curve. Juicy kissed him back, one hand curling around the back of his neck, the other resting softly on his chest.

The incense smoke curled around them.

His touch was slow, reverent, but had an unmistakable heat underneath them. When he backed her against the dresser, one hand sliding along the small of her back, she gasped softly, then caught her breath in his mouth.

Her silk moomoo slipped between his fingers like water.

The incense kept burning. Outside, the world kept spinning, but inside that room, it was just the two of them, quiet and tangled, while suspended in heat and candlelight. They stayed locked in that moment, breath against breath, a love they weren’t ready to explain yet.

Eventually, Juicy pulled away, breathing a little harder, her lips kiss-swollen, eyes heavy and breath barely above a whisper. “You better go.” She whispered. “I don’t stay too long. You know I gotta be up early.”

Smoke rested his forehead against hers. “I ain’t stayin’. Just needed to see you.”

She brushed her fingers across his cheek. “I know.”

Then he kissed her once more before he turned to the window. But before he left, he glanced back at her over his shoulder and grinned. “You look real good in that, you know. Like, a housewife or some, might have to get you another.”

Juicy couldn’t fight her grin as she grabbed her pillow and threw it at him, laughing softly. “Get out, boy.”

He caught it easily, flashed a smirk before he tossed it back at her, and disappeared out the window into the thick summer night. Leaving Juicy standing in her incense filled, candle lit room, heart thudding against her moomoo, smiling like a woman who had it bad.

And then there were the soft moments between them neither questioned.

Two days later, the sun hung high in the sky, casting golden light over the neighborhood as Juicy walked over to Stack and Smoke’s place with a plastic bag hanging from her hand. She held Missy’s peach cobbler mingling with the buttery scent of her famous pecan pie. Tucked beneath it were still-warm containers from Sinclair cooking—fried catfish, cabbage, and macaroni and cheese with a crunchy, golden crust.

Juicy had just planned to drop it off. She assumed both men were home—maybe out back playing dominoes or arguing over the game on TV. So she didn’t bother calling, didn’t reapply her lip gloss, didn’t even leave with the intention of staying long. She had plans with Mary, anyway, to get their nails done and gossip.

But inside of the More residence, the house was cool and still, carrying the faint scent of weed and linen spray. The blinds were turned just enough to let in slats of warm afternoon light, stretching across the hardwood like tiger stripes. It was one of the rare days Stack wasn’t home—off somewhere chasing money or women or both—and the place felt too quiet without his usual loud presence. Smoke didn’t liked it that way.

But there was nothing he could do about it, so he had just settled on the couch, a blunt half-rolled between his fingers, when a soft knock landed on the front door.

He knew that knock. And he was giddy about it before even getting up, though his face didn't really show it.

When he opened the door, there she was. His Juicy, dressed in a fitted white tank top and jeans that hugged her hips just right, gold earrings swaying gently with every movement and and her baby fat belly peeking out proudly, crowned by a ruby-studded belly ring that glinted in the sun. She held a little plastic grocery bag in her hand like she was just dropping something off, like she hadn't planned this.

When Juicy knocked, she expected Stack’s voice booming through the door or both of them calling out to her. But instead, it was Smoke who opened it—shirtless, as usual, his chain glinting in the light and his black durag still on.

“Oh.” She said, blinking.

His lips curved. “Oh?”

“I thought both y’all was here.”

“Nah. Stack out handling something. Just me,” he said, stepping aside and nodding her in. “Come on.”

She hesitated only for a second before stepping into the house. The cool air brushed against her skin, goosebumps rising as the scent of sandalwood and cologne hit her nose. Her skin was glistening from her coco butter later and smelled like brown sugar and his eyes trailed her figure as she walked by.

She set the bag on the kitchen counter and was already turning to leave when she felt him. His presence was close, his body blocking her path without even touching her.

“Where you going?” Smoke asked softly.

Juicy tilted her head, eyes narrowing, but her lips twitched. That voice of his. That low, patient, and just on the edge of coaxing voice, always meant trouble.

“I just came to drop these off.” She said, brushing invisible lint off her shirt. “Mary’s waitin’ on me. We supposed to go get our nails did.”

He didn’t move.

“I want you to fix me a plate.”

Juicy raised a brow. “You want me to fix you your plate?” She repeated, a bit take aback by his audacity.

“I’m hungry.” He said, voice deeper now, eyes still gentle. “Come on, Juicy.” He pleaded.

She let out a breathy laugh, not even bothering to hide her smile now. “Alright, damn. Let me wash my hands.”

In the kitchen, she moved like she’d done it a hundred times before. Opened the cabinets, found the plates without asking, scooped a fat helping of mac and cheese onto a plate, along with some catfish and added a side of cabbage, warmed it up in the microwave all while Smoke leaned against the fridge and watched her with something that looked dangerously close to adoration.

When the microwave dinged, she grabbed a fork, set it on the plate, and handed it to him.

But he didn’t take it.

Instead, he jutted his head before he turned and walked to the living room, flopping back onto the couch with the blunt now behind his ear, juicy following.

When juicy stood there, his plate and fork in her hands, Smoke looked back up at her and then patted the cushion next to him. Juicy narrowed her eyes. “Boy, if you don’t—”

“Come on, Juicy.” He said again, sweet and smooth and far too tempting.

She sighed, rolled her eyes, but made her way over and sat beside him, holding the plate out to him again. But Smoke simply looked over at her again, a rare playful glint in his eyes, and Juicy was rolling her eyes at him before he even opened his mouth.

“You ain’t gon’ feed me?” He asked.

“Boy, what?” She asked, scoffing softly, though her amusement was apparent as she held a small smile at him. Smoke snaked his lips, cutting his eyes at her. “Come on, Juicy.” He said, and his voice was soft but thick with something heavier. Something that sat right beneath the surface and made her heart skip just a little. She stared at him, lips parted, that nervous excitement fluttering in her chest when she noticed how…domesticated this felt and how soft it was. She could feel her body heat rise. He was shirtless, gold chain glinting, and close enough that she could count the lashes on his eyes.

“Okay.” She agreed before she broke a piece of the fish and brought it to his lips. He took it, slow, like he was tasting her fingers as much as the food. She rolled her eyes and fed him a bite of mac and cheese next. He let out a low groan of approval that sent heat curling up her spine.

“You gon’ spoil me.” He murmured between bites.

“Ain’t that what you want?” She asked, smirking.

He looked at her, eyes soft and unreadable. “I want you.”

She cut her eyes to him as she gather food onto the fork and held it in front of his mouth. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Too late.” And they sat down on the couch beside, and she feed him for a while, with the plate and fork in hand. The vibe had shifted into something playful to soft. The television played in the background, an episode of The Sparanos, humming low through the TV speakers.

She fed him fork after fork, laughing when he groaned dramatically at how good the food was, rolling his eyes and leaning back like he couldn’t take it. Juice wiped a bit of hot sauce from the corner of his mouth with her thumb and licked it away.

“You act like you ain’t never ate before.”

“I ain’t never ate like this.” He teased.

When the plate was clean, she started gathering it up, brushing crumbs off her lap. “Alright, I gotta go. Mary gon’ think I stood her up—”

“Hold up.” Smoke said, stretching. “I ain’t get dessert yet.”

“You want dessert?” The girl asked, a bit sassily as she placed her hands on her hip. “Yeah, I want something sweet.”

She rolled her eyes but was smiling too hard to pretend she meant it. “Fine. Pecan pie or cobbler?”

He pointed at her. “You pick.”

“That was the entrée. I want somethin’ sweet.”

She went to the kitchen and cut him a slice of Missy’s pecan pie. This time, she sat closer. Their thighs touched, as she fed him bite after bite while he kept his eyes on her, not the TV. Her fingers brushed his lips as she fed him, and he kissed the pad of her thumb when she wasn’t expecting it.

“Boy, don’t start.”

“I ain’t even done nothin’ yet.”

By the time the plate was clean, they were both smiling and too close. They laughed at something dumb on the screen and Juicy shook her head and almost dropped the fork when Smoke licked a bit of filling off her finger instead of letting her wipe it. “You a mess.” She murmured, but her tone was fond.

He took the plate and set it on the coffee table, then leaned forward, brushing his lips across her jaw before resting his forehead against hers. “Let me take you to Mary’s.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to.”

So she gave in. Of course she did.

She climbed in his car, trying not to smile the whole time. He drove with one hand on the wheel and the other resting on her thigh, slow strokes up and down that kept her distracted the entire ride. The windows down and the radio humming some slow R&B track that made her cheeks warm.

They didn’t talk much—just let the cicadas hum outside and the warm summer breeze float through the cracked window.

When they pulled up in front of Mary’s, she started to unbuckle, but he caught her wrist.

“Hold on.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded stack of bills. She tried to protest, but he shook his head.

“Smoke—”

“Get somethin’ extra. Gel or whatever y’all get.”

“You know I don’t need your money.” She whispered.

“I know. But I want you lookin’ good for me. You not payin’ for your own nails and toes when I’m around. That’s mine now.”

She looked at him, lips parted, unsure whether to argue or melt.

“You always doin’ the most.” She muttered, cheeks hot. And he didn’t answer, he just leaned in and kissed her, deep and slow. It was soft and slow on the cheek, just behind the curve of her jaw, before it moved to her lips. A hand found the small of her back, and before she could fully process the moment, he took a handful of her denim covered bottom into his hand, causing Juicy to let out a small yelp into his mouth. When he pulled back, and she was on her way out of the car, he gave her a light smack her on the bottom as she stepped out of the car. “Go on now, Juicy.”

She stumbled out the car, heart racing, money clutched in her hand, cheeks redder than cherry polish. She let out a tiny squeal and grinned all the way up the walkway. She walked into Mary’s house still smiling.

Mary was in the living room, filing her nails. “What you grinnin’ for?”

Juicy simply let out a sigh, fluttering her eyes to make sure this was still real life. “Don’t worry about it.” She muttered, waving her off. But the grin didn’t fade. Not even a little.

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MAKE HIM DISLIKE LOVE YOU

Harry Castillo x Reader (The Materialists)

Chapter 7: Apologize

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Chapter Summary: When you call it quits on secrets, it’s funny how more of them spill out. Then Harry comes sprinting after you, begging for forgiveness. I mean, how can you say no to that face? Warnings: 18+ (smut, MDNI) kinda romantic comedy stuff, fluffy, angst, lying, soft and caring Harry Castillo, Lucy as his ex, John as Lucy's ex, wealth, expensive gifts, drinks, money, cars, language, sexual tension, oral sex, p in v sex, kissing, slow burn, power imbalance, I might have missed some warnings; I will update them in due time. Chapter Word Count: 10,5k, ROMANCE, feelings!!! fluffy, rom-com, lust, passion, jealousy, dirty talk, love triangle authors note: Thank you all for your support, asks, comments, reblogs and likes. I appreciate each and every one of you! Love you all!

As the elevator headed up to the penthouse, disbelief hit you hard. How could Harry have lied to you like that? You’d been cleaning his place without even knowing it. It felt like a total betrayal, but honestly, you were more pissed off than anything. Then another thought struck you—those cameras. Had he been watching you this entire time?

“Jerk. Fuckin' asshole.”

“Huh?”

Right, you were in the elevator with Mia, this little girl you just met, both of you heading to the same flat. But it was clear you had a shared goal. The elevator chimed as you reached the penthouse, and Mia stopped you. “I need to do something first.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, confused.

Mia peeked out of the elevator, checking the area. “The cameras,” she said.

You were caught off guard.

“I can’t let my mom find out I’m here, so I need to shut them down before we go in.”

“Your mom is Maria, right?”

“You know her too? Who even are you?”

With a smirk, you said, “Just think of me as your partner in crime.”

Mia raised an eyebrow. “Partner in crime?”

Leaning in a bit, you said, “I want to take down those damn cameras too.”

She thought about it for a second, narrowed her eyes, and then glanced at your uniform. “So that’s you, huh? My mom mentioned you.”

“What did she say?”

She smirked. “You are the girl who made Uncle Harry look like he’d been hit by a truck.”

You giggled. “I really want to hit him with a truck right now. Because you see, I didn't know it was his apartment when I was cleaning here, he played a trick on me. And as if that wasn't enough, he watched me on the cameras. So what do you say, partner? You want to smash those cameras?”

She frowned. “Smash them? What are you, a vandal?” She took his tablet out of her school bag. “Here, I'll activate the app here, but since we're partners, I need you to turn on the signal first, can you do that?”

You felt like an idiot next to this smart 10-year-old girl. “Okay, tell me what to do, partner.”

“Since you're the cleaning lady who always comes here...”

“Maid.” 

“Yeah, maid, whatever. I need you to go to the control panel on the wall and choose the option to connect to nearby devices.” 

You frowned. “Why can’t I just walk over and hit the button to turn off the camera? There has to be an option for that.” 

She rolled her eyes. “Thanks Einstein, if you do that, the camera's feed will be disabled and Uncle Harry will receive a notification, which could make him suspicious. I’ll just link to the camera from the tablet and adjust its angle. Then there won't be anything to worry about. It's not like Uncle Harry is going to be monitoring the camera constantly during his meetings at work.”

Now you felt even more silly; it was a super clever plan. “Wow, you’re really smart,” you said. She styled her hair like her mom. “I know. Just go do what I say.”

You chuckled softly, “Understood, ma’am.”

She flashed a grin.

As you entered the apartment, you acted casually, avoiding the cameras while strolling down the corridor. “It feels like I’m in a movie,” you whispered to yourself. You quickly connected to the cameras through the control panel’s touch screen and hit "add device." Moments later, Mia's tablets name appeared, confirming the connection.

“Connection complete,” Mia announced as she walked in.

“High five, girl!” you said, extending your hand.

She laughed and high-fived you back. “We make an awesome team. I like you.”

“I like you too, Mia,” you replied with a wink.

Looking at the cameras, you realized Mia was indeed controlling them from her tablet. They were all aimed toward the corners, so as long as you didn’t walk by, the cameras wouldn’t catch you. Mia sprawled out on the couch as if it were her own home and started watching a video on her tablet. Glancing at her knee, you noticed it was slightly bleeding.

“Hey, let me take care of that knee,” you said, heading to grab a first aid kit. When you returned, you sat beside her and cleaned her wound with some alcohol. “Is this because you skipped school today? Is it about your mom?”

She sighed. “Yeah, it’s about her and my dad. They keep saying they’ll get divorced, but nothing changes.”

You paused. That must be tough for her. “I didn’t know; that sounds rough. How do you feel about it?”

She shrugged. “I just want them to figure it out already. I’m so tired of their drama and constant arguing.”

“I get it. If it ever gets to be too much, just call me. My place isn’t nearly as big as this one—barely bigger than the living room—but I’ll make room for you. What do you think?”

Mia smiled with a maturity beyond her years. “Thanks, you’re a really good friend.”

You smiled back and wrapped her knee with some bandages. “Alright, don’t take this off until tomorrow, got it?” 

“Got it, thanks,” he said as he flopped back onto the couch. “You’re mad at him, huh?” 

You nodded. “Yeah, I’m really angry. I just want to break everything in here,” you muttered while glancing around. 

“How mature,” he remarked quietly. 

Feeling a bit embarrassed, you looked at her. “I mean, of course I won’t actually do that.” 

“My mom did,” she replied, surprisingly calm. “She broke everything in Dad’s office. You adults can be super childish sometimes, and then want us to act like we’re grown-ups.” 

You let out a nervous laugh. “You’re not wrong; we can be pretty childish about things.” 

“Just talk it out and figure it out,” she said.

You grabbed the first aid kit and stood up. “What if I’m so mad at him that I don’t even want to talk?”

She smiled. “I don’t think you are.” You raised an eyebrow. “Well, I hope you are not, because I don’t want him to be upset.” She was messing with something on her tablet.

You loved how she was just like her mom, always keeping an eye on Harry. “I don’t want to upset him, honey, but I have to make him eat a little humble pie, okay?”

“But you’ll forgive him later, right?” she asked with hope in her voice.

“Of course, I love him,” you said softly.

“Awesome,” she said, clearly happy, and went back to playing with the tablet.

“Well, I guess I should get back to my chores,” you said, heading into the kitchen to start cleaning up.

“What's up?”

Oliver stepped into his office to find Harry staring at his tablet with a frown.

“There’s something wrong with the cameras. They won’t rotate and there’s no sound coming through. Do you think there's a bug in the app?”

“Maybe your girlfriend got fed up with the cameras and sabotaged them,” he quipped, taking a closer look. “Let me see.”

“I can't blame her,” Harry replied, guilt creeping in.

Oliver noticed Harry’s troubled look as he fiddled with the app. “Seriously, when are you going to tell her?”

“I’m planning to do it tonight,” Harry said with determination. “I just couldn’t find the right moment this morning.”

At that moment, Maria walked into the office. “Harry, I'm seriously considering taking that tablet away from you. You’ve been messing with it more than Mia. I worked really hard to convince them—it’s not worth ruining the meeting over.”

“He was just worried he couldn’t see his girlfriend on the camera,” Oliver muttered.

Harry shot him a glare.

“Okay, that’s enough. I’m calling her right now and telling her everything,” Maria said, pulling out her phone.

Harry jumped up and grabbed the phone from her hand. “Stay out of it. I’ll handle this.”

Just then, her phone began to ring. “School,” Harry said, handing her phone back to Maria.

Maria picked up immediately. “Hello? Yes, this is her mom.”

Harry glanced at Oliver. “Have you fixed it yet?”

“Nope, it’s weird. It’s like someone else has logged into the cameras on their phone and taken over.”

“What did you just say?”

They both turned to Maria, who looked concerned. “Okay,” she said, hanging up.

Harry frowned. “Is everything okay?”

“Mia,” Maria said as she dialed another number. “Her teacher said she didn’t show up to school today. Come on, pick up the damn phone.” But Maria’s face dropped when Mia's dad said he hadn’t seen her either.

“Or perhaps she went back home,” Oliver added.

“We’ll find out now,” Maria said, pulling up an app on her phone.

Harry moved closer to her. “What are you doing?”

“Tracking Mia with a smartwatch app,” she said, waiting for the app to locate her. “If that doesn’t work, I’ll try the app that tracks her phone.”

“Geez, Maria. Have you planted a bug on her, too?” Oliver said with a smirk.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if she did,” Harry scoffed.

“You’ll understand when you become parents,” Maria replied, giving them a pointed look.

“Hopefully not for a long time,” Oliver said.

Harry chuckled at the idea.

“There! I’ve got it,” Maria said, her eyes widening. “Oh no. Harry, you need to see this,” she said, showing him her phone screen.

Harry froze, staring at the location the app found. “No…Fuck...”

Oliver leaned over to take a look. “Damn, this is your apartment.”

Cleaning duty today felt tougher than usual. Ever since you discovered it was Harry’s house, things had started to feel different, especially now that you were technically his girlfriend. It made you feel a bit like a housewife, which was both thrilling and painful at the same time. You still needed answers, as you felt genuinely hurt. But your love for him was so strong—what could you really do? Deep down, you weren’t sure how long you could cling to your anger. With your pride and stubbornness tossed aside, you weren’t thinking straight anymore, so you chose to let it go for now.

As you walked through the hallway with the cleaning bucket, your eyes landed on that door—the locked door.

The secret room.

What was Harry hiding behind it? There were no keys in sight, so how would you ever get it open?

Did Mia know about this room?

When you walked in to check on her, her eyes were closed; was she asleep? Just as you turned to slip out quietly, you caught a hint of a muffled sound—no, she was crying.

“Mia? Are you okay?”

She sniffled and nodded, but kept her eyes shut. You moved to sit beside her on the couch. “Hey, what’s wrong, honey?”

“Nothing... just nothing.”

You gently patted her head. “You sure?  You can tell me. I'll keep it between us, I promise.”

“My mom and dad... I hate them, especially my mom. They decided to get divorced without even consulting me. I don’t want them to split up, but they didn’t even ask how I feel. They won’t love me anymore, and they’re going to be busier with their work.”

“Shh, don’t think like that. Of course, they’ll still love you. They’re your parents, and their love for you will never fade, I assure you.”

“How do you know?”

“Because a mother’s love for her child is unconditional; it can’t just vanish. You're not the reason they're breaking up, I swear. Sometimes, even if adults love each other, things get messy, and splitting up is the only way to handle it. It might seem like the end, but it can also lead to something better.”

“Really?” she murmured, her eyelids growing heavy.

“Absolutely, trust me. You’re lucky to have both your mom and dad around; I’m sure they’ll take care of you, even if things change. I kind of envy you because I lost my mom, and I'll never get the chance to tell her how much I miss her. I wish she were still alive. As for my dad... it feels like he doesn’t care about me—he doesn’t even bother to call, you know?” Your voice cracked slightly. “But your mom and dad are with you and must have been searching for you all morning, haven’t they, Mia? I’m sure they are worried—”

Looking down, you saw that she had fallen asleep, holding your hand tightly. A smile crossed your face as you wrapped your other arm around her. Suddenly, you felt tired too, and before you knew it, you drifted off beside her.

“Mia? Sweetie?” Maria called out for her daughter.

You blinked awake, realizing Harry’s face was mere inches from yours, and his hand was gently resting on your cheek. You stared at him for a moment before pushing his hand away and getting off the couch.

How did you even fall asleep?

Mia stirred and rubbed her eyes. “Mom?”

“What happened to your knee?” Maria's voice rang out.

“It’s nothing, just a little scrape. I fell in the street, and she helped me clean and bandage it.” She pointed to you.

All eyes turned to you, but you avoided their gazes. You forced a smile at Mia and quickly looked away. “I think it’s time for me to go. I hope you enjoyed my service, Mr. Castillo,” you said, trying to sound casual as you made your way to the door.

Oliver stood by the entryway, looking guilty.

“Wait,” Harry called after you. Just then, Maria touched your shoulder.

“Thank you. I’m so relieved that Mia has been with you all day,” she said, pulling you into a hug that took you by surprise.

“You’re welcome, she’s a very smart girl,” you replied, feeling a bit evasive.

She beamed at you, and you offered a smile back, though it felt awkward given the situation.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” Harry approached you from behind, his voice soft but insistent.

You turned to face him. “With whom? With your girlfriend? Or with your maid-in?”

Harry let out a troubled sigh, his frustration evident as he glared at you. You turned away again. “There’s nothing to talk about,” you said, stepping closer to the door.

Maria nudged Harry from behind, encouraging him to move. He stepped in front of you, causing you to halt abruptly.

“How can you say there’s nothing to talk about? There’s plenty,” he insisted, moving closer and locking eyes with you.

You turned your head away again. “Were you trying to get revenge? If you wanted to talk, you should have spoken up sooner.”

“Revenge?” he replied, confused.

“So because I lied to you from the start and deceived you, this was your way of getting back at me?”

“I would never, never do that,” he shook his head, his expression earnest.

“Is it out of pity then?”

His brown eyes darkened with frustration. “You know it’s not like that.”

“Then why, Harry? Why did you hire me for this job without giving me a heads-up? You totally deceived me. Did you actually enjoy watching me on camera the whole time?”

“I’m sorry. I felt responsible because you were unemployed because of me, and I wanted to help—”

“It wasn’t because of you! Besides, I could have found a job myself. You didn’t need to use your money or power. Did you really think I would feel better about this? Right now, I just feel like a complete idiot. How could you do this to me?”

Maria took Mia’s hand and started to leave. “You two talk it out; we’ll give you some space, come on, Ollie.”

“No, there’s nothing left to say,” you snapped angrily.

"But you'll forgive him later, won't you?" 

"Of course, I love him." 

Oh no, that sounds just like what you told Mia earlier.

Did she record you? 

"Mia!" you complained, glancing at her.

She just shrugged, holding her tablet. "Sorry, my finger slipped."

"That's my girl," Mia said with a giggle, as she high-fived her. 

Oliver chuckled, and Harry smiled. 

But you narrowed your eyes at them, feeling furious. 

"Oops, we should get going," she said to her mother. They quickly headed for the elevator, leaving you alone with Harry.

But before you could go after them, Harry came up behind you, wrapping his arms around you and lifting you off your feet.

“What are you doing? Harry! Put me down!” 

“Nope. You're going to listen, sweetheart. No more running away.” 

“Let go!” you protested, but he refused to budge. 

 He carried you to the couch and set you down next to him, holding your hands tightly, but you turned your head away. 

“Baby, please forgive me. I tried to explain before, but I just couldn’t find the right words. I thought helping you find a job would make you happy. I never meant to offend or hurt you; please believe that.” 

“Did it have to be your house?” you grumbled. 

“Isn’t this better than being at someone else's place?” 

You narrowed your eyes at him. 

His hand trembled as he sighed. “I mean, I hate this too. It hurts to see you so exhausted, to watch you work so hard, and I can’t stand the thought of your beautiful hands being worn down in those cleaning gloves. I want to kiss those lovely fingers, to cherish them.” 

As he began to kiss your fingers one by one, your heart raced. You almost let your guard down, almost kissed him.

Almost.

“Harry,” you whispered. “This is my job, and—” 

“Don’t,” he interjected, frustration evident in his voice. “Can’t you just skip the cleaning? You can keep working with Chef Bruno, but please, no more cleaning.” 

“Is it because you don’t want to introduce your girlfriend in that way?” 

“No, what I mean is—” 

You stood up, your frustration boiling over. “I’m sorry, but this is my life. I have no problem introducing you to my friends, but it seems you hesitate to do the same. I can’t change who I am.” 

He rose to his feet as well. “I don’t know how we ended up here. I never intended for this to happen. Listen-” 

“Harry, you listen. I understand your intentions, and I appreciate them, but I wish you had considered how I might feel in all of this. And I can't do this if...” 

“Wait a minute, why do I feel like you’re giving a breakup speech?” 

“Because I am,” you said, tears brimming in your eyes. 

“No, no, no, don’t do that.” He moved closer, but you took a step back and raised your hand. 

“We agreed there would be no secrets between us, but we couldn’t even manage that. How can our relationship develop from here?” 

“There are no secrets left now that everything is out in the open,” he said, trying to smile. You crossed your arms and bit your lip, acknowledging his point. Then he drew nearer and wrapped his arms around you.

“I promise, baby, there will never be any secrets between us again, I swear,” he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head, his breath soft and tender. “Please don’t leave me.” The plea struck deep within you, twisting like a knife. How could you even entertain such a thought? The very idea of parting from him was unbearable, a wound that throbbed in your chest and brought stinging tears to your eyes. It was the last thing you wanted—a painful notion that sent ripples of hurt through your heart.

In that moment, you set aside all other emotions and surrendered to the warmth of his embrace, allowing yourself to rest your head on his chest for a while.

“What about that locked room?” you asked then, glancing toward it, wiping your tears meanwhile. “I wonder what you’re hiding behind that door.” 

A sly grin crept across his face. “Do you want to see it? But promise me that once you see what’s inside, you’ll tell me you love me again, and you won’t leave me. Deal?” 

“It all depends on what’s in there.” 

He chuckled, then walked into the bedroom, still holding your hand. Nervousness washed over you as you tried to pull your hand back. 

“Relax, I’m not trying to lure you into bed,” he laughed. “At least, not right now.” 

“You wish,” you grunted. 

He chuckled as he opened the nightstand drawer. “Funny. You were practically begging me last night. I can still hear you meowing.” 

Your cheeks flushed. “I don’t remember any of that,” you lied. 

He pulled out a box from the drawer and took out a key. “I have the scars on my back to prove it, kitten,” he teased. 

Your face was burning now, as red as a tomato. “Stop it and do what you need to do.” 

Chuckling, he held up the key, “Here it is; come on,” taking your hand again. 

Together, you stood in front of the locked door. Harry inserted the key into the lock and paused to look at you. “Are you ready, baby? The big secret is about to be revealed.” 

You rolled your eyes. “Stop showing off and open the damn door,” you muttered. 

Grinning, he unlocked the door and stepped back, inviting you in with his hand.

You hesitated before stepping into the room, shocked at what you saw. 

To your left stood a massive floor-to-ceiling wardrobe filled with clothes, and to your right was a complete wardrobe of bags and shoes. In the center was an elegant dressing table. Harry slid open the wardrobe, revealing all the clothes and shoes he had ever bought you, carefully arranged. He embraced you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder and kissing your cheek. “It’s all yours. This room is for you. I was waiting for you to say yes to me before I revealed it to you.  I kept it locked and tried to stay away, but I found it hard to resist many times,” he whispered, nuzzling along the curve of your neck.

You were rendered speechless, taken aback. Then you noticed a jewelry box on the dresser. “Isn’t that the earring?” You walked over, picked it up, and examined it closely. “Have you had this all along?” 

“Oops, looks like another secret is out,” he said with a chuckle. 

You shot him a pointed look. “You really. Why didn’t you say anything when I told you I would pay you back?” 

“Because you broke my heart,” he replied softly. “You told me you never wanted to see me again, so I thought the earring would be a good excuse to get you to meet me.” 

“You're unbelievable,” you shot back, your irritation surfacing. 

“What about you?” he countered, but then his expression softened as he noticed the look on your face. “I love you,” he confessed, his lips forming the word like an apology. 

Damn he was so cute.

His adorableness made you giggle despite yourself. 

“You didn’t say it again.” 

“Say what?” 

“Do you want me to make you say it? Just like last night,” he whispered, leaning in close. “You remember how well that turned out.” His lips brushed against your earlobe as his hand slowly slipped down, hovering dangerously close to your thigh. Your reaction was instinctive; you caught his hand. However, his lips found their way to your neck, and you couldn't help but bite your lower lip and roll your eyes. “Harry, stop.” 

“I know you want me, baby; don’t try to deny it,” he purred, his voice low and teasing. 

“No, you’re wrong,” you replied, almost breathless. 

“Then why are you holding my hand so tightly?” he whispered, a smirk playing on his lips. 

You withdrew your hand quickly, shocked at your own reaction.

What the fuck?

When did this escalate?

You frowned at his chuckle. “I really hate you,” you whined, though your irritation was half-hearted. 

“No, you don't,” he laughed, clearly enjoying the banter. 

“Well, I really like this room, but that doesn’t mean I forgive you. And it definitely doesn’t mean I’m ready to jump into bed with you,” you declared stubbornly. 

“Then what do I need to do to win your forgiveness? I’ll do anything,” he said, voice dripping with seduction.

The look he gave you was enough to make you avert your gaze. 

“I don’t know; I need to think,” you said, fighting back a giggle. “But I have to go now—I told Bruno I would head to the hotel early.” You turned to leave the room. 

He followed right behind you. “I’ll give you a ride.” 

You responded without looking back. “Well, if you’re that eager.”

With a smile, he followed you behind as you walked toward the elevator.

“Have you forgiven me yet?” Harry asked again as he parked the car in front of the hotel.

“You just asked me that five minutes ago."

“I’ll keep asking until you say you forgive me,” he replied, shutting off the engine.

You opened the door and turned to him. “At least let me think it over.”

He took your hand, pulled you closer, and placed a quick kiss on your cheek. “Whatever you say, kitty. Good luck at work.”

“Thanks for the ride,” you said with a faint smile, stepping out and closing the door behind you.

As you made your way to the hotel entrance, Harry watched you from the driver’s seat. Just then, you spotted Alan getting out of his own car, heading your way.

“Good evening,” he greeted you.

You turned and smiled, “Good evening, Mr. Finnegan.”

“Come on, call me Alan already, will you?”

Harry, watching from a distance, muttered, “Asshole.” Trying to keep his cool, he stepped out of the car and approached you two. “Baby,” he called out, and before you could react, he spun you around and kissed you so passionately that it left you breathless. Pulling back, he glanced at Alan and added, “I almost took off without kissing my girlfriend goodbye.” The way he said “girlfriend” caught his attention and everyone around the street.

Alan’s expression darkened.

You felt the heat rise in your cheeks, caught off-guard by how intimate the kiss had been.

“Anyway, I should be on my way,” he said.

"Yeah, you do that," you said, squinting at him and gesturing for him to leave.

“Good night, Finnegan,” Harry said, getting into his car, clearly amused by Alan's reaction.

Shaking your head at Harry, you noticed Alan squinting at him, clearly unamused. “I didn’t realize you were with him,” Alan said as he walked inside.

“Well, things are a bit complicated,” you murmured.

“Not surprising, things always get messy with Castillo,” Alan muttered quietly. 

“Excuse me?”

“I just... You really should think twice about being with him,” he warned lightly.

“Alan, it’s—”

“Anyway, I suppose my employees’ personal lives are none of my business,” he said with a smirk, heading toward the elevator.

What just happened?

Why had he said that?

And why was he suddenly in a good mood?

You really should have asked Harry about the weird thing between them, but now you had to focus—you had a kitchen to get to.

Things were really hectic in the kitchen, and as if that weren’t enough, Alan was having a business lunch in the dining room and asked you to make some desserts just for him. As you handed off the treats to the waitstaff, he called you over and praised your work. If he wasn’t your boss, you might have said something about his overwhelming attention, but you figured it was best to keep quiet until your internship was over. Then, just when you thought the day couldn’t get any worse, Melanie called.

“What do you want?” you asked, annoyed.

“What do I want? I need you to talk to my dad, and I want you to do it right now, like you promised!”

“I will, but I've been super busy and haven’t had time yet.”

“Well, it’s on you. If my dad doesn’t let me come back home, I’ll just crash at your place.”

“Wait, what? You called my house a disgusting little flat. Aren’t you with Nate? Can’t he help you out?”

“Don’t even mention that jerk!”

“Did you two break up already? Wow, that was quick, even for you.”

“Just drop it, okay? It’s none of your business. Talk to my dad tomorrow night or I’ll make your life miserable!”

“As if you weren’t already a pain in my ass!” you shot back and hung up in frustration. As you walked toward the exit, muttering under your breath, someone called out from behind.

Ugh, it was Alan again.

“Are you okay? You sounded like you were venting at someone on the phone,” he said, wearing that annoying smile.

“Sorry about that, I didn’t mean to raise my voice.”

“Well, if you did it, they probably deserved it,” he said, grinning.

Just when you thought it was over, you turned to leave but almost bumped into the revolving door. Alan grabbed your arm, pulling you back.

“Watch out!” he said.

What the hell?

You could’ve easily dodged the door; you weren't that clumsy. His other arm wrapped around you, too.

“Thanks, but I’m fine,” you said, carefully pushing his hand away. “Have a good night.”

“You too,” he replied, watching you walk away as you stormed out. Your phone buzzed again, but you ignored it; you weren’t in the mood for more of Melanie’s drama.

Suddenly, you heard footsteps behind you and turned to see Harry.

“Why didn’t you answer your phone? Are you okay?” he asked, and just seeing him made you feel so much better.

“Yeah, sorry, thought it was Melanie,” you said, spotting the bouquet of pink roses he was holding.

“Is she still being a pain?”

“Forget about her; I’ll handle it. Are those for me?” you asked, trying to hide your smile.

“Of course they are, beautiful,” he said, handing you the flowers.

“Thanks,” you said, taking a whiff of the roses.

“Come on, let’s get to the car.”

As you walked together, he leaned closer. “Am I forgiven?”

You rolled your eyes. “Not in a day, ol'man.”

Harry sighed and opened the back door for you. “So, if I asked you to spend the night at my apartment instead of going home, you wouldn’t consider it?”

Ah, damn...

Those puppy-dog eyes and dangerously tempting lips made it hard to say no, but you somehow managed to act like you weren't interested, thanks to your stubbornness.

And the oscar goes to...

“N-no, sorry, I need to check on Zoe. She’s still home alone,” you stammered.

He sighed again and closed the door after you settled in the car.

“Hey, Ollie,” you said while he was chilling in the driver’s seat.

“Hey, girl! How’s it going? You two good now?”

“We’re good, right, baby?” Harry said, sitting next to you.

“Kind of,” you muttered, still eyeing the roses in your lap.

“Kind of?” Harry raised an eyebrow.

You shrugged, teasing him.

“Come on, really? Okay, I’m taking you on a date tomorrow night, and we’re going to sort everything out,” Harry grumbled.

“Uh-oh,” Oliver chimed in as he drove.

You squinted at Harry. “If you ask me with that tone, you might be going on that date alone.”

“Okay, sorry,” he said with a sigh. "Would you like to accompany me for dinner tomorrow night, lovely lady?"

You giggled but kept your expression cool. “Um, let me check my calendar first.”

Oliver chuckled.

Harry squinted again.

“Alright, fine. But I need to have a quick chat with Jack tomorrow. If he agrees, you can pick me up at the hotel again.”

He smiled widely taking your hand and bringing it to his lips. “As you wish, darling.”

As you stepped into the apartment, the sweet scent of the bouquet Harry had given you lingered in the air, enveloping you until you finally reached your place with the flowers cradled in your arms. When you opened the door and walked inside, you were taken aback by the scene in front of you.

“Oh sweet Jesus!”

John and Zoe were on the couch, wrapped up in a passionate kiss—thankfully, they were fully dressed. The moment they noticed you, they pulled apart, and John shot up from the couch, his face a canvas of embarrassment.

But you felt even more embarrassed. “Oh, I’m sorry, guys, I, uh…”

“No, no, no, I’m so sorry!” John stuttered, quickly averting his gaze, adjusting his hair.

“Awkward,” Zoe murmured, covering her mouth in surprise. “I thought you were with your boyfriend,” she added, glancing at you and the bouquet still in your hands.

“Well, yeah… I mean, no, I wasn’t. It’s a long story.”

“I’d better be going. Bye, girls. Good night,” John said, grabbing his jacket and making a hasty exit.

Once the door closed behind him, you turned back to Zoe. "Jesus, girl, what just happened?"

Zoe huffed in disbelief. "I have no idea! He helped me change my bandage, touched my leg and then… suddenly we kissed. It was so strange, but it felt amazing."

“Strange”? You seemed pretty into it."

“It might have turned into something really hot if you hadn’t barged in,” she replied with a hint of annoyance.

“Sue me,” you muttered, placing the flowers in a vase on the table.

“I didn’t think you’d be back so soon. You were with him last night, right?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, it’s a long story.”

“Still not officially together? Seriously, get your shit together already. What’s going on with you two?”

You let out a deep sigh. “I don’t know. Just when I think things are finally going well, something messes it all up, and I'm left feeling hurt again…”

“Uh-oh, spill everything.”

"Okay, do you want something cold to drink?"

"Yes, please! I’m dying of heat over here."

You giggled as you made your way to the fridge. “So if I had come in five minutes later, would you have been completely undressed? Good thing I didn’t.”

“You're so bad,” she laughed.

You began the day with that text that pinged on your phone the moment you woke up, that familiar message from the person you had been longing to hear from, the one you had been waiting for eagerly.

Morning, kitten. The sun is shining, the birds are singing— Isn't it the perfect day to make you feel like forgiving?

Was he rhyming?

He was really good at it or bad not sure, but he would have to try a little harder.

Hmm. I'm not sure if today is the day. You'll know for sure tonight, doll. I'll make you. Hmm, how ambitious. Always I am.

After you changed, you stepped into the living room and saw Zoe was getting ready.

“Where are you off to?”

“To the hospital to get my ankle checked.”

“Do you want some company?”

“John will,” she replied with a cheeky smile. “Besides, you’ll be off on your date with Harry tonight, right?”

Your cheeks warmed at the thought. “Well, yes, maybe.”

“I’m planning to invite John over for dinner, and he’d better come clean about something tonight.”

“Oh, I see, you’re trying to get rid of me, huh?”

"Come on, he shares an apartment with three guys; it’s more convenient for us to be here."

“Okay, don’t worry, I won’t crash tonight,” you replied with a grin, thoughts drifting to Harry’s bedroom.  

“Awesome!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands.  

“Wow, you could be a bit less eager about this.”

“Sorry, but I can’t help it, I’m in love,” she said, giggling.  

“Apology accepted,” you responded, grabbed your bag, and headed out the door. Just then, you bumped into John in the hallway. “Hey."

“Hey there. How’s work treating you?”

"Good. Listen, John, can I ask you something?"

"Sure, what’s up?"

"Do you have feelings for Zoe?"

"Yes, she’s a wonderful person, and cute too," he said, smiling.

He was definitely into her.

“I mean, I thought there was something going on between you and that woman Lucy at the wedding. I need to know if you really like Zoe.”

"Lucy is just my childhood friend and ex. But, don't you know her already?"

"I only know she's Alan's girlfriend and a matchmaker."

John crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. "Surprised that Castillo hasn’t told you about her."

“What’s there to tell?”

John let out a troubled sigh. “You know, I’m not sure if it’s a good time for me to drop this on you, but those two were actually together a few years ago.”

Damn, you were worried about this. "So that’s why," you murmured after a brief pause.  

“Listen, he will share the details with you, but Lucy isn't like you or Zoe. She deceived both me and Castillo, leaving us heartbroken in the end. I can't hold a grudge against her because we share this strange bond, but I promise you, I’ll never hurt Zoe because of this."

You nodded. "It better stay that way, John. You should tell her as soon as possible, or I will," you said. After receiving a nod from him, you turned and headed down the stairs to leave the building.

All day long, as you worked, your thoughts kept drifting back to Lucy. You regretted asking John about her. It wasn’t just that Harry hadn’t mentioned her—after all, that was fine considering the incident had happened years ago. What truly unnerved you was the possibility of her showing up at any moment, especially as Alan's girlfriend. It felt like trouble was just around the corner, and you couldn’t shake that feeling. Alan himself was another source of tension; his frequent encounters with you and his growing interest were weighing heavily on your mind. You knew deep down that sooner or later, things were bound to get complicated.

You really hoped this internship would wrap up soon, and that Chef Bruno would write you a glowing letter of recommendation. Yet, with the fair approaching and the day ticking down, you had to press on through the culinary internship.

Earlier, you'd called Jack, and he had already said he wanted to meet. As you waited at the table, you spotted him approaching and stood up to greet him. "Thanks for taking the time to meet me here," you said, shaking Jack's hand as he took a seat across from you.

"Of course, no problem," he replied, settling into his seat.

"Jack, about Melanie—"

"Save your breath, honey. I’m not here for her."

You were taken aback. "What do you mean? I thought that’s why you came—"

He pulled out a bunch of newspapers and magazines from his bag and dropped them on the table with a bang, making the glasses and plates rattle.

Your eyes went wide. “What’s all this?”

“Why don’t you check for yourself?”

Following his lead, you picked up the top magazine, and your heart sank at the sight of your own image on the cover. Someone had captured a photo of you and Harry dancing at the wedding from a distance.

Who is the mystery girl dancing with famous businessman Harry Castillo? the headline read.

You quickly grabbed another magazine, revealing a picture of you and Melanie.

Get ready for a surprising twist! How did the maid in Melanie Johnson's mansion pretend to be her and trap a famous billionaire?

“Ugh, what a bunch of vultures,” you muttered, shaking your head.

As you continued flipping through the articles, the headlines turned more shocking. Words like "gold digger," "sneaky housekeeper," and "fortune hunter" jumped out at you.

"That's what I was warning you about," Jack said. "I don't want you to worry, though—none of these magazines have been printed yet. These are all test editions. We managed to confiscate them before they went into mass production, and Harry’s assistant has ensured the online stories have been taken down."

You looked up at him, relief washing over you. "Thank you, Jack."

"You don’t need to thank me for dealing with the news, which includes Melanie; I did that for my own reasons. But regarding the rest..." He pointed to the magazine cover with your dancing picture. "This is the thing I wanted to discuss. I see you as a daughter, so take this advice from a father to his daughter: end whatever is happening between you and Harry before it spirals out of control. If this keeps up, there’ll be more stories about you, people will dig into your past, and in the end, it’s you who’ll get hurt. Do you understand?"

You sighed. "Jack, I honestly get what you’re saying, and I do appreciate it. But there's nothing in my past or family that I’m worried about. Gossip like this finds someone new to focus on every day; it could just as easily be me one day and someone else the next."

He paused for a moment, then nodded slowly. "So, it appears there's something more between you two than I realized. You've made up your mind. Well, it's your life, after all. I just hope you don’t wind up hurt and come to regret this decision.”

"Jack."

You both turned your heads, and damn it was—Alan. He usually didn’t come to the hotel on Saturday nights, but today was clearly an exception.

Of course.

Jack stood up to shake his hand. "Alan."

"How are you? Didn’t see you at the wedding."

"I was in D.C.," Jack replied. Just then, his phone rang. He pulled it from his pocket and answered. Alan looked at you with a smile, and you returned it.

Damn, he might have noticed the magazines on the table, you thought.

"Sorry, I’ve got to leave," Jack said suddenly.

You stood up, worry creeping in. "Is everything okay?"

"Melanie," he hissed, frustration clear in his voice. "She ran away from home."

"What do you mean she ran away? Or have you been keeping her locked up?" Your voice rose higher than you meant it to.

You couldn't shake off the memory of that one time Jack had locked her in her room, and it had ended poorly. A shudder ran through you at the thought.

"I had no choice. I thought she’d see reason and come to her senses, but apparently, I was wrong."

"Jack, are you out of your mind? Do you really not know your daughter? Locking her up isn’t the solution!"

Heads in the dining room turned toward you.

"You’re right. I messed up this time, but I couldn’t let her keep hanging out with that playboy Nate."

"I can’t say I blame you for that," you replied quietly.

"Anyway, I really have to go. Catch you later, Alan."

"See you, Jack."

As Jack strolled away, casting a backward glance, a heavy sadness settled in your chest. Melanie hadn't matured much and was acting like a nightmare. Despite his faults, Jack was a good father—if only he showed a little more genuine care to his daughter more than his work.

"Sounds like Melanie’s giving Jack a rough time," Alan said, still holding onto that smile.

"Yeah, she’s a bit immature," you admitted quietly.

To your surprise, Alan looked around the table and sat down in Jack’s vacated chair.

"Have a seat; your dessert's still waiting."

You did your best to keep it together and not roll your eyes. "Thanks, but I really need to go—"

"Just give me five minutes, alright?" he said, leaning in a bit closer.

You glanced at your watch, thinking about how Harry would be picking you up in about an hour. With a sigh, you plopped back down. "Fine."

"Thanks," he said, adjusting his suit jacket and settling in. "I know what happened here last time." You looked at him in surprise; this wasn't what you expected. "About what Lucy did..." He paused and took a breath. "I want to say sorry on her behalf."

Your eyes widened. “Alan, it’s okay. But if you start treating me differently because of her, it will only make her dislike me more. Plus, this kind of stuff probably isn't over yet."

“It won’t happen again,” he stated firmly. “I won’t allow it in my hotel. I broke up with her, and I doubt she will be coming back here.”

“That can’t be the only reason you decided to break up with her, right?”

He smiled and shook his head. “No, but it played a part. It’s disgraceful to have such disrespect shown here, especially towards our customers. I was wrong about her; she’s not the kind and innocent person I thought she was.”

"I’m sorry," you said, your tone a touch insincere.

"Not me," he replied with a grin. "I’m kind of relieved."

What was that supposed to mean?

A nagging feeling grew as you sensed he was gearing up to say something you wouldn’t like.

"One of the reasons I broke up was because of a question she asked me."

Oh, please, let this be over.

"She wanted to know if I had feelings for you."

You fought to maintain a neutral expression.

Don't say that, please don't.

"I couldn't answer her because, honestly, I actually have feelings for you that I didn't realize until now."

That was more than you could handle.

"Alan, do you even realize what you’re saying?"

"Yes, I’m fully aware."

You sighed deeply. "Maybe you’re mistaken," you suggested, looking away and starting to shake your foot nervously.

"No, I absolutely know how I feel now. I like you." He reached across the table and took your hand, catching you off guard.

You quickly pulled away. "Alan, I’m with Harry."

"You mentioned before that things were complicated between you two," he said, casually picking up one of the magazines.

"That doesn’t mean I don’t love him," you shot back, your voice sharp.

His serious expression told you he wasn’t taking it lightly.

You stood up, feeling a surge of urgency. "Look, Alan, whatever you’re feeling, you need to let it go, or I won’t be able to stay here."

"Are you really going to quit your internship?"

"If I have to, yes," you affirmed.

"Alright, I won’t pressure you unless you come to me yourself."

Surprise and annoyance washed over you. "That’s not going to happen."

He leaned back in his chair, a knowing smile on his face. "Don’t be so sure; life has a funny way of surprising us.”

What the fuck?

Your phone started ringing, and you just held it in your hand without answering as you rushed out of the dining room, still shaken by what had just happened. It was Nate calling, so you definitely weren't picking up; you quickly silenced your phone. Taking a deep breath, you let it all go and shifted your focus to getting ready for your date. Harry had offered to buy you a dress again earlier, but you turned him down. This date was meant to feel like a fresh start, a first date of sorts, and you wanted to treat yourself to the entire process.

During lunch break, you popped into one of those upscale department stores and slipped into the black, shimmering backless dress you had chosen—probably the priciest dress you had ever bought, costing almost four months' salary. You tried to keep a positive mindset; nothing would ruin tonight. The expensive Birman black shoes that Melanie had given you the night before matches perfectly with the dress. Just as you were putting the finishing touches on your makeup, your phone rang again, but your smile quickly faded when you glanced at the screen.

It wasn’t Harry.

Seeing "Trouble" light up the screen only added to your anxiety.

No way were you picking up.

The phone could ring its heart out. When it rang again as you reached for your red lipstick—perfectly matching your nails—you pushed on, determined to finish your look.

However, the incessant ringing soon got on your nerves, and you finally answered, ready to give Melanie a piece of your mind. “Look, I can’t deal with your drama right now—”

“It’s me, Garry.”

You could barely hear him over the loud music in the background. “Garry? What are you doing on Melanie’s phone? And where in the world are you?”

“I’ve been keeping an eye on her for a while; she’s completely wasted, and I don’t know how to handle this. Please, I need your help.”

“Look, I have a very important date tonight—”

“And it seems we have our new volunteer dancer!” a woman’s voice chimed in, followed by masculine cheers and applause.

Oh man.

“Don’t tell me you’re at a strip club!”

“You just heard it. I’ll try to drag her out of here, but you need to hurry. I’ll send you the location.” Garry hung up before you could say anything. “Garry! Hold on—what the hell! What kind of night is this?” you exclaimed, quickly changing up your outfit and bolting out of the room.

When the taxi driver brought you in front of the strip club, you were cursing inside, nervous and angry. It was too much, the strip club was too much, even for her. How could she be so thoughtless and reckless?

At the entrance to the door, unfortunately, everyone was staring at you, including the women.

Oh that's right, you were all dressed up, probably looked breathtaking, but it wasn't to come here, damn it, it was to meet your boyfriend. 

Things got even worse when you entered the club. You've never been in a club like this before, it wasn't like other nightclubs.

You're thinking, No shit, I wish it was.

The music was blaring, and two girls were dancing on stage. Some men were cheering and staring at you.

Great.

Ignoring the gazes, you spotted Garry and made your way to him. However, just like the other guys, he seemed fixated on the girls performing. “Hey!” you nudged him.

“Oh you're here? Wow girl, you look great, but I wish you hadn't come here wearing a dress like this.” he said, looking around at the men.

“I couldn't change because you called me while I was getting ready for my date.”

“Oh, I'm sorry, but Melanie's gone crazy.”

“Where is she?”

“She was going on stage and tripped and fell, I was tried to check her but the women wouldn't let me in. That's why I called you.”

“Goddamn it,” you grumbled, shoving your purse at him. “Hold this, I’ll go get her, and then we’ll all head to the car together, okay?”

“Got it. I’ll wait here.”

Just as you left, Garry couldn’t help himself when your phone started ringing non-stop. He didn’t think to check your purse without asking, but when it rang like crazy, he finally picked it up. “Yeah?”

Harry nearly wrecked his car when he heard a guy’s voice on the other end. “Who the hell are you? Why are you answering my girlfriend’s phone?”

“Mr. Castillo, you probably don’t remember me, but I’m Mr. Johnson's driver.”

“Wait, is that club music I hear? Where is she?”

“We're at the strip club. It’s kind of complicated.”

Harry was stunned and slammed on the brakes, making the tires screech on the road. The car behind him honked and yelled, but he didn’t care. “Just tell me where the club is!”

"Melanie, I swear to God, if you don't come with me right now, I'll drag you out of here by yanking your hair if I have to! I'll do it, believe me, I will!"

“Not until Nate gets here!” she snapped.

The girl was not only drunk but also trying to climb onto the stage. You were tugging at her from behind the curtain, hoping Garry could lend a hand, but she was putting up a fight.

“Hey, you two, get lost! Stay clear of the stage!” one of the dancers hissed at you.

“I'm not interested; as you see, I'm trying to get her out of here!” you retorted, still struggling to pull Melanie back.

“No! I’m going up there! I paid for it!” Melanie shouted defiantly.

“What did you just say?” you exclaimed, bewildered. “Are you out of your mind?”

“Leave them alone, girls,” an older woman chimed in, casting a knowing glance at you. “The guys who wanted you on stage shelled out a lot of cash,” she said with a sly smile.

Melanie laughed. “See? They’re dying to see me! Nate needs to get over here right now, call him!”

“It wasn’t for you,” the woman replied, eyes darting between Melanie and you. She surveyed you up and down, a smirk playing on her lips. “They paid for you, sweetheart.”

Your eyes widened in disbelief. “I’m not a dancer or stripper.”

“That doesn’t matter, darling. You look fantastic. I could even give you half the take.”

“What the fuck? You promised me that I’d go on stage! Not her!”

You narrowed your eyes and glared at Melanie. “No one’s going up there!” you shouted firmly.

“Enough with this! Girls,” the woman called out, and the two dancers approached you, trying to take off your jacket.

“Hey! Get your hands off me! What do you think you’re doing?” you exclaimed, wrestling against them.

“Come on, sweetheart, don’t overreact. Just trust yourself,” she replied, grabbing your wrist. But before she could pull you away, someone else seized her arm and pushed it back.

“Leave her alone!”

When you spotted Harry, a mix of surprise and embarrassment washed over you, yet relief followed quickly. He grabbed your arm, pulling you behind him, and draped his jacket around you, wrapping you with it.

“Hey, mister, what do you think you’re doing?” the woman asked, taken aback.

"If you touch my girl again, I'll bring this club down!" Harry growled.

Just then, a man approached you two, dressed in a suit. "Mr. Castillo, there's been a terrible misunderstanding. Please forgive us, sir." He then turned to the girls. "Get back to work and return the money to those customers." 

"And give me back my jacket!" you shouted. 

Harry reached over, snatched it from one of the girls, and pulled you closer. "Are you okay?" 

You nodded. "Yeah, thanks. Melanie! Harry, stop her!" you exclaimed, pointing at her. Harry grasped her arm and pulled her away from the stage. 

That's when Nate strolled in, his phone in hand, ready to take pictures. "Oh no, did I miss the show?"

The son of a bitch was grinning.

"It's all your fault!" you shot at him. 

Garry came over to Melanie. "Miss Johnson, let’s head to the car, please." 

Melanie clung to Harry's arm touching his face. "Hey, old man, want a lap dance?" She was clearly trying to make Nate jealous, but it was Harry she had her hands on. 

Your man. 

Harry chuckled as he gently pushed her hand away. "Sorry, sweetheart, but I'm not interested."

Wait a minute.

Not only was Melanie, but almost all the women dancers were looking Harry up and down. A wave of jealousy washed over you.

And then you lost it.

You were so angry that you pulled her off of her by the hair. "You little slut, who do you think you're touching?" You pushed her towards Nate. "Take your girlfriend and get the hell out of my life! Garry, you call Jack right now!" you said to him. Grabbing Harry's hand tightly, "Let's get the hell out of here." you urged.

He was still laughing as you pulled him out with you.

“Stop laughing, Harry,” you scolded as you made your way to the car.

“But you were so cute when you protected me from real Melanie back there,” he replied, still chuckling.

You paused and turned to face him. “Are you really enjoying this?”

“Actually I don’t know what to think. Do you know how angry I was when I saw you here with those women? And those men… the way they look at you? I think I hate the real Melanie.”

“Welcome to the club,” you replied sarcastically. “But I’m sorry; you are right. I shouldn't have come here. Tonight was supposed to be special, and now it’s all ruined—just like my hair,” you said, running your fingers through your locks.

Harry glanced at the clock. “Um, the restaurant is about to close.”

“I really messed up,” you said, biting your lip. “I’ve ruined everything.”

He gently took your face in his hands. “Nothing’s ruined, baby. We’re going to plan B.”

“You had a plan B?” you asked, intrigued.

“I just came up with it,” he said with a grin. “Come on, we’re starting over.”

You smiled. “Okay, but where’s your car?”

“There it is,” he said, pointing to a red sport car.

Your eyes widened in surprise. “But it’s a Mustang GT!”

“That’s right. I rented it just for tonight,” he said, pulling the keys from his pocket and handing them to you. “So, am I forgiven now?”

You snatched the keys from his grasp. “Let me take it for a spin, and I’ll think about it.”

He laughed, and as you slid into the driver’s seat, he took the passenger seat beside you. You fastened your seatbelt and started the engine. “Hold on tight, ol'man.”

“Drive carefully, honey. The streets of New York are a whole different beast compared to the traffic you dealt with back in Paris.” 

You shot him a playful glance before slamming your foot on the gas. “I accept the challenge.”

“Hey, that wasn’t a challenge,” he retorted, his eyes wide as he clutched the seat.

You laughed, the thrill coursing through you. “Relax! A little excitement never hurt anyone.”

“You excite me enough in that dress, babe,” he grinned, glancing at you with a mix of admiration and mischief. 

After a few exhilarating laps, embarrassment washed over you when the flashing lights of a police radar caught you speeding through the night. Still, you found a way to enjoy the moment, laughing together as you swung by a 24-hour diner to grab some late-night munchies before heading toward Harry’s building. “Wow, that was an incredible ride."

“Yeah, it was a blast, even if it’s going to cost me a few hundred bucks in fines,” Harry said, opening the car door.

“Oops, sorry about that,” you said, stepping out of the car.

As he opened the trunk, he pulled out a huge bouquet of roses. “If it hadn’t been for that strip club incident, I would have met you at the hotel with this.”

“Harry,” you murmured, touched.

“Here you go, Cinderella—99 roses.”

You raised an eyebrow as you accepted the bouquet. “Why not a hundred?”

“That’s you,” he said, smiling sweetly. “The hundredth rose is you.”

You felt yourself melting at his words.

“That’s very romantic, ol'man. Thank you,” you said, reaching out to kiss his cheek.

“So, you forgive me now, right?” he asked, extending his arm so you could take it.

“Come here,” you said, encouraging him to lean closer. He complied, and you shared a tender kiss, sweet and gentle. “You’re forgiven, Mr. Castillo.” 

He grinned, wrapping his arms around your waist, leaning in to kiss you again, this time with more passion, the world around you fading away. But since you were still out on the street, you gently pushed him back, laughter in your eyes. “Save the rest for later, mister.”

He chuckled, pulling you closer with one arm still wrapped around your waist, and together you strolled toward the entrance.

“Here we have some Bordeaux wine,” he said as you unpacked the food and set the plates on the table. 

“Parfait,” you replied with a smile, embracing the French language. 

With skilled hands, he uncorked the wine using a polished corkscrew, the soft pop echoing in the cozy room, and poured the ruby liquid into your glasses, its rich color glinting in the soft light. 

“Hmm, delicious,” you remarked, savoring the first sip. 

As you shared the meal, the conversation flowed effortlessly, weaving in and out of tales about Melanie and the others, laughter bubbling up like the wine in your glasses. “That’s actually much better,” you said softly, feeling the warmth of the evening. “I mean, it’s better that we’re here than in a bustling restaurant.”

“I couldn’t agree more; it’s just the two of us,” he replied, his fingers entwining with yours.

“Yeah,” you whispered, your gaze locking with his, a deep connection simmering in the air between you. 

He sighed and stood up, a hint of excitement in his voice. “I have something for you.” 

“Another surprise?” you asked, intrigued. 

He returned with a small box, sitting back down and handing it to you across the table. Different from any jewelry box you’d seen, it piqued your curiosity.

"I’ve been pondering this all day, and I've come to a realization. I always wanted you to be part of my world, but I was missing something important," he said as you opened the box. Inside, you found a card and a key. nstantly, you recognized them; it was the very card and key you had used countless times for the elevator and the apartment door.

“Harry,” you gasped, taken aback. “You mentioned that you don’t feel like you fit in my world, so how about letting me into yours?”

Your eyes filled with tears as you rose and embraced him tightly. “Thank you. That’s exactly what I needed to hear.” 

He pulled you onto his lap, wrapping his arms around you before leaning in for a kiss. Then, he turned on some soft music from the stereo. “Will you dance with me?” 

You nodded. “Absolutely.” 

You found yourselves swaying together, lost in the slow, sweet melody, savoring the magic of the moment in comfortable silence.

But then the tension between you began to rise. Harry ran his hand through the fabric of your dress. “Great choice of dress by the way.”

“Do you like it?”

“I love it,” he whispered.

“What about my bra?” you said huskily, guiding his hand to the lace strap of it.

“I admire it,” he purred.

You lifted the skirt of the dress, revealing your lace garter stockings. “My stockings?” your eyes twinkling.

He smiled at you and reached out, drawing a circle on your leg with his fingertip. Leaning forward, he placed a kiss on the side of your neck. “I worship it, baby,” he said, his voice breathy and deep.

Your arm found its way around his waist, and your fingertips caressed his back. “Mmm. Keep doing that, please.”

He chuckled and continued, his hands slowly creeping up under your dress. You gave a deep, breathy moan when he latched on to the spot behind your ear, licking, sucking. Getting eager, you found his lips and kissed him, your tongue sweeping into his mouth tentatively. He responded by grabbing your hips and pulling you, lifting you into his lap. Then you broke the kiss to unbutton his shirt.

Taking a brief moment to admire you he let you stripped him out of his shirt before kissing you deeply, exploring your mouth hungrily. Popping the clasp on your bra with ease he let it fell to the floor, whilst he kissed a path between your breasts leaving a trail of goose flesh in his wake. Noticing your nipples were already pert betraying your arousal, taking one between his thumb and forefinger he rolled it making you cried out, lowering his head he circled you other with his tongue before drawing it into his hot mouth and sucking. He could feel his cock straining against the his pants but he ignored it focusing all his attention on you. He repeated the action with your other nipple before moving on, his lips gliding down over your ribs, across your stomach towards the garter belt and waistband of your panties.

Hooking his thumbs into the lace, he pulled the small scrap of material down your shapely legs until you could kick them off, but letting the garter belt still be on you. Kneeling before you he cupped your hips bringing you closer to him inhaling your scent, then he ran his tongue along your wet folds the cry that escaped you when he circled your clit was guttural, he felt his cock throb begging for attention but he ignored it once again. Slowly he worked you over, teasing you with shallow thrusts of his tongue into your velvety softness over and over again until your skin was slick with sweat and your thighs began to tremble.

“Please,” you begged, your fingers tangled in his curls, clinging to him. In answer to your plea, he flicked his tongue over your swollen bundle of nerves until you cried out when your orgasm hit. Keeping a tight grip on your hips, he held you steady, letting you ride it out before kissing his way back up your body, finally claiming your lips once more. You tasted yourself on his tongue, but you didn’t care; you devoured each other desperately.

Once your equilibrium returned, your hands found his belt, quickly you unbuckled it and pulled it from the loops before popping the buttons on his fly and pushing the material down over his hips. He shucked his pants and his boxers off and before he knew it your hand was around the base of his throbbing member and you were pumping him into your fist. He gritted his teeth, "Fuck, baby, you are such a needy kitten aren't you? Good girl. But there’s no way I’ll last if you keep that up."

Taking your hands in his, he threaded your fingers together and crushed his lips to yours once more, pinning you against the wall with your interlocked hands above your head. You gasped in response. His aching cock lied heavily against your core, you shuddered. He realized he couldn’t stand it anymore; he needed to be inside you.

Hoisting you up, he hooked your legs around his waist, pushing into you in one smooth stroke.

"Harry," you moaned, feeling dizzy with incredible consuming lust.

Your hair was plastered to your sweaty face now and in the throes of passion when your pupils dilate, cheeks flushed.

"You're breathtakingly beautiful just like this, darling," he hummed.

You were soft and warm, and your walls gripped him tightly as he thrust into you, making love to you against the wall. God he’s missed you so damn much, burying his head into the crook of your shoulder he picked up his pace, he knew you were close because he can feel your inner walls begin to tremble around him. Your arms were wrapped tightly around his neck, your heels press into his firm ass as he pounds into you deeper and deeper.

As you ran your fingers through his hair down to his neck, spurring him on with sweet cries. "Harder, faster, please."

"Fuck," he growled, pressed his forehead against yours so that he held your gaze as your second orgasm striked. You screamed his name as your body locked up, your sex gripping his cock in an iron grasp.

He made an incoherent sound and cursed as your orgasm triggered his, and he released himself inside of you. You collapsed into each other a hot, sticky, sweaty mess, panting heavily. When finally he caught his breath, he ran his nose along your smiling devilishly down at you.

“So how was it, baby?” he asked waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“Fast, delicious, hair-raisingly good,” you giggled.

"How about a second round? This time in the bedroom?" he panted, still catching his breath.

You tightened your arms around him playfully. “You betcha, mister."

Just as your words finished, he scooped you up and rushed toward the bedroom, causing your laughter to ring out cheekily through the hall.

Thanks for reading! I really appreciate your comments, likes, and reblogs. I'd love to hear what you think about the chapter!

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[aninipanin1]

Some ideas for Manager are them accidentally getting hit with an off course ball, learning how to play football so they can help out a bit or perhaps, for old manager (but ig young manager could work too), them having used to play football before and having the world five/the coaches help them brush up on their rusty skills so they can help the boys with overtime practice, perhaps?

Sorry, I can't say I have any more ideas beyond this

KICKED TO THE HEAD

Notes: This req is lowkey so cute! I chose young manager instead if youre fine with it hehehe, but I will try to make another one to answer the other two req because I lowkey like them.

"Hmm, next on my to-do list is to check up on each stratum. Hmm, since the closest to where I am is the German Stratum, I'll head there first!"

You found yourself skipping away to where the training field was, where you know the players were currently training. It was a not-so regular day in the Blue Lock Facility due to the fact that the continuation of the Neo-Egoist League matches will be held in 3 days time.

Hence, all players, masters and even staff were busy, slaving away in their training or jobs. You decided to just give a small peek to each stratum, wanting to ask anyone if all are alright and well-taken cared off.

As the manager, you always found yourself feeling unsatisfied if even one of the players are not very comfortable with whatever it is that is under the guise of your job. Their cleats are a bit too uncomfortable? Your bad, you didn't pick the right cleats for them! Was the bedsheets a bit itchy? Oops, you did not di your job well to make it clean and spotless.

Sure, it was a lot of pressure, but you liked it. It made you feel useful, made you feel motivated, made you smile. Were you a masochist? Maybe, but if its for the betterment of the players, you were ready to do it. After all, the Blue Lockers, Ego and Anri were not the only ones dreaming for Japan to win the World Cup.

Putting your hair in a comfortable hairstyle, you entered the training field where you can see the Bastard Munchen players were running around the field, doing simulations and other strategical work that you could not help but be impressed with.

'Wow...the places where the players are are so fitting for their playstyles! That's Bastard Munchen for you! Very logical!'

A smile was on your face as your eyes followed where the ball was passed from player to player. Watching matches, practice or not, is always entertaining for you. The cogs in your mind spinning and turning, trying to connect and make sense with all the details and information your eyes can take in.

It always feels entertaining and freeing to do this. To spectate, to watch each player. Like you were the audience of an orchestra or a mastermind behind the pieces of a chessboard. Everything and everyone felt like they were within arm's reach, like you were a puppeteer choosing not to move the strings and instead, let your dolls move themselves.

But, you know that if you so much as wish to affect the game, you can.

"Do you see anything, Y/n?"

Almost jumping due to the shock, you turned to face the French master, Noel Noa, who looked at you curiously. You have been quite close with the master strikers in the facility, especially Noel Noa, who seemed to be quite fond of you, too, finding your nature and aura quite adorable. Maybe it was because you were quite young and still naive, or maybe it was because you were always so happy and excited to learn more about the sport, he did not know.

But, what he does know is you were a very precious kid he would like to take under his wing.

"Um, its just the usual I see, Noa-san. Nothing too big! Maybe its because its just practice..?"

You tilted your head, looking down on your notebook that had many doodles and notes you made throughout the week. There were doodles of the players and what they need to improve on. And well, you were more than happy to add more to the things you already totted down.

However, due to this, you did not really see the missed shot Kaiser did, while he trained his infamous Kaiser Impact again and again. Nor did you hear the shouts of some of the players about the incoming ball, or hell, even the shwip sound of the ball as it rushed through the air and went to where your head was.

So, to your surprise, when you find yourself blacking out for a second due to a hard force impacting on your forehead, that it made you sit on the floor. It hurt, yes, and you can feel the blood dripping from your nose, but the most dominant reaction you can feel is shock.

Meanwhile, the rest of the players, were not as calm as you were.

"Oi, Kaiser, you bastard! I'm gonna punt you!" Isagi shouted from the other side of the field as he stood up, ready to fight the German striker.

"Y/n-chan!! Are you okay?!" Hiori and Ness were the first ones to run to where you are, worried about your dazed expression.

"Kaiser. Laps around the field." Noa's eyes were slanted like a hawk, as he kneeled beside you, patting your head softly to comfort you a bit.

Kaiser, on the other hand, was the most petrified of all. He knows how much force his kick had, from experience and, of course, his own knowledge of his strength. And he was very much worried and shocked, blinking his blue eyes like he saw something very traumatising.

He didn't mean to. He knows he did nof. But that did not make him feel less bad. Especially since he hurt you of all people. The only person who was not rude to him, but also did not patronise him like a certain someone (ahem, Ness), even if he acted like a douche to you in the beginning of the Neo-Egoist League.

And also the fact that you weren't like him and the other players, who were used to receiving any loose ball that had hard and forceful impacts. But even then, he couldn't move fast enough to be the first one to make sure you were okay.

"Y/n-chan, where are you right now? What team and stratum are you in?" Yukimiya also was beside you, asking questions to make sure you didn't have a concussion or any brain damage. Thankfully, you answered all his questions quite well, and you didn't seem to be hurt at all. Just shocked and a bit sore from the impact, but nothing major.

"I'm fine, everyone. I wasn't just paying attention. Sorry, everyone. Sorry, Kaiser-"

"Why the fuck are you the one apologising? You were the one hurt!" Kaiser said out of nowhere, holding your shoulder as you blinked at the mini outburst he had. The blonde-haired man was panting, although not too heavily, it was still noticeable that he was heaving due to the rise and fall of his chest and shoulders.

At first, you thought it was because of the practice, but the worried look beneath the usual nonchalance in his eyes told you otherwise.

"U-uh...sorry- um no wait- I meant, its just because you got blamed for all of it when it was an accident and now you're in trouble."

"I don't give a crap about that. Just...just go to the damn clinic...make sure...you're not having a concussion or whatever."

Like a drunkard being poured cold water, Kaiser realized that you two were not the only people in the field, and that many eyes were watching. So, he retracted his arms and turned around, trying his best to hide the confusing mixture of worry and self-disappointment as he walked back to the field.

"Are you sure you're okay, Y/n-chan?" Isagi asked as he sat beside you, Kurona sitting on your other side ontop of the clinic bed as some of the Bastard Munchen players stood infront of you, also wanting to make sure you were okay.

"Yeah, I'm fine. This is nothing."

"If you say so, but if you feel dizzy or just if anything is wrong, tell us immediately." Yukimiya said he held the ice pack to where the ball hit, while you wiped the excess blood from your nose.

"Yeah, yeah! Its bad to hold back what you're feeling." Kurona added, while Hiori was just quiet as he gave you your stuff, placing it on the desk beside the bed.

Meanwhile, Kaiser and Ness also stood beside you, Ness, along the worried ones as he patted your head softly, hopeful that it might help in some way, shape or form. Meanwhile, Kaiser and Isagi were already starting to argue, Isagi telling Kaiser to becareful next time and Kaiser being on the defensive as the two threw roast upon roast against each other.

"Your blindass is so rich, you can't even buy sports glasses? Even Yukimiya is responsible enough to do that!"

"Oh, please. I'm blind? You're fucking senseless."

The rest of players, well except for Ness who was fully supporting and backing up Kaiser, just watched with done and dotted eyes.

"Jesus, they never shut up, huh?" Hiori rolled his eyes.

"Yeah. Theyre too, too intense sometimes." Kurona added as finally, Yukimiya sighed and gave his polite smile.

"I think thats enough for today, you two. Y/n-chan needs her peace and quiet to recover."

ADDITIONAL TIME!

BARCHA

"Bachira!! We can't!!" Kitsunezato said as he tried to stop the said striker from walking out.

"Yeah, you know that Lavinho-san won't like it." Hayate added, but Bachira was far from listening.

"NO! I need to see if Y/n-chan's okay!! I'll beat that German up the next time I see him!!"

"Please, don't- C'mon Otoya! Help us out here!" But, unfortunately for them, Otoya was somewhat agreeing to what the brown and blonde haired striker was saying and Kitsunezato sensing this, immediately prayed to whatever god there was, and even better plead to Otoya, himself.

"Oh god, please don't! We have enough with Bachira here! It was an accident!"

"But there is no accident when it comes to Y/n-chan being hurt!!" Bachira fought back.

"I agree-"

"Shut the hell up, Otoya!"

MANSHINE CITY

"WHAT?! Is she okay?!" Reo panicked when he heard the news.

"I swear, its always those from Bastard. What the hell is even happening in that stratum?" Chigiri said with annoyance and worry. Why does chaos always happen in that stratum he wondered.

"Y/n-chan...is she better now?" Nagi, commented from his bed, eyes abnormally wide, like a cat roused from its sleep by a predator.

"Yeah, I heard she's fine. She didn't have any serious concussion anything, which is lucky for all of us! She just needs to rest earlier today, but she will still be able to do her duties tomorrow!" The red-haired said, repeating what he heard from Isagi.

"Good. I kind of feel bad but happy at the same time. I want her to rest, but at the same time I want her to keep working so we can see her again tomorrow." Reo admitted, his back plopping on his bed, purple eyes looking up at the ceiling lights.

"I don't want Y/n-chan to be replaced as our manager, ever..."

"I don't think anyone in here wants that to happen at all, Nagi."

UBERS

"I should've kicked a ball straight to that Kaiser's face when I had the chance."

"That is a red card, Barou, but I don't even think I would stop you. Go wild." Niko sighed. The Ubers players just heard of the news and most of them were not happu with what they heard.

"Poor Y/n-chan, that has to hurt. I remember the first time I got hit on the face, and I'm a defender so I'm used to that! But she isn't even a player." Oliver said, cringing at the thought of being hit by a ball, much less from someone of Kaiser's calibre.

"Damn straight! And those useless peasants couldn't even protect her from those guys. Those damn donkeys." Barou said, his mind towards a specific raven-haired striker that he knew was not only his main rival, but also the main rival of Kaiser and hence why, he believed he was the most responsible for you not managing to avoid the ball in time.

PXG

"Charles! We're training that new move we're planning to make it better and make it hurt for our match with those Germans!" Shidou said, clearly pissed off at the news. The French midfielder only nodded his head, cheering along with the pink-haired striker.

"Fucking lukewarms, you should do it secretly not infront of the many cameras around this damned facility." Rin rolled his eyes, even he wasn't impressed when he heard that you got injured, much less bleeding!

"For the first time, you didn't say anything dumb, Rin-rin. You heard him Charles! We're going to meet up with that German bastard!"

"Yay! Yay! We're gonna avenge Y/n!"

But unfortunately for them, and fortunately for everyone else, Karasu was there to stop the two, holding the scruff of their uniforms immediately.

"Now, now. As much as I also want to square up on that guy, we can't go monster against his ass or do you wanna be electrocuted again, Shidou?"

The blonde and pink haired striker blinked at that and finally shrugged.

"We'll just have to beat them in the upcoming games. So, ya'll better train hard." Karasu said with finality as he headed to his room with the other Blue Lock players, and that idea did not sound bad at all in Rin, Shidou and even Charles' ears.

I hope you guys liked this one! This was supposed to be fun but it turned into some sort of twisted Kaiser angst piece lolol

Blue Lock is WRITTEN by Kaneshiro Muneyuki and ILLUSTRATED by Nomura Yusuke. All credits to the both of them.

[winterarmyy]

He Hates Me, Doesn't He?

A series of random Bucky Drabbles that I can't let go but don't have the brain to make the whole complete plot of.

Summary: You hurt Bucky's girl, and now he hates you.

Pairing: tfatws!bucky x female!reader

Words: 6.7k++

Warnings: angstyyyyyyyyy, but with happy ending because I cannot live in agony. miscommunication galore. 'I want to strangle bucky's girlfriend.' soft reader, cold/mean bucky. bucky should've grovel more. horrible attempt of writing verbal arguments. nothing much but pain.

Inspiration: I remember reading a bucky fic years ago and I like the pain that it caused me to feel. Idk why the pain suddenly came back to me lately. So, this is my take on the same idea. I haven't able to find it. But when I do, I'll reblog it in my another acc!

Read my other works here: Masterlist

y/n had always been a steady presence in the Avengers, known for her gentle demeanour and unwavering support. Her relationship with Bucky Barnes had blossomed from a quiet friendship into something deeper. When they first met, Bucky was reserved and hesitant, still grappling with his past as the Winter Soldier. y/n, with her gentle nature and patient understanding, slowly helped him come out of his shell.

She remembered the sleepless nights they spent together when they were on the run with Steve and Sam. They'd share stories, and sometimes just sit in silence, her quiet company offering solace to Bucky's restless mind. The unspoken bond growing stronger with each passing day. Bucky looked up to her, finding comfort in her presence, and in turn, he became fiercely protective of her. They'd watch each other's backs during missions, their synergy on the battlefield a testament to their deep connection. 

And somewhere along the line, she fell for him. She had fallen for Bucky's resilience and vulnerability, though she never expected more, knowing that a relationship was not what he needed right now. At least, that's what she thought. Little did she know, Bucky had always loved her; ever since the day she offered him tea the first night they were on the run to Wakanda. Maybe she was just simply aloof, or maybe Bucky’s flirting skills weren’t translated the way he wanted, but they never crossed the line between friendship and ‘something more’.

Then when Jen came into the picture, it felt like things started to change. Jen was bold and confident, and it wasn't long before she caught Bucky's eye. Their relationship seemed to spring up overnight, and y/n, though hurt, tried to be happy for Bucky. Jen was supportive and caring, or so it seemed, and Bucky deserved happiness.

Now, as planned the team was instructed to moved into the Avenger compound for a few months to train new recruits. It had only been the first month but surely it was jam packed with endless of rigorous training sessions. The original team—y/n, Sam, Bucky, Jen, Clint, and his mentee Kate Bishop—were all assigned to train the new recruits, with additional of few agents from different branches coming in to help out.

y/n was heading to the training room; she knew it was way too early but she thought that if she didn’t get out of bed now, she might not even get up at all. To her surprise, she was not the first one. She saw a few new trainees were already on the way to the training room; some of them greeted her a good morning. She simply smiled at their enthusiasm. 

The moment she entered the area, she overheard voices coming from the corner of the room. She paused, recognizing Jen's voice, which was raised and laced with contempt. Curiosity piqued, y/n stepped closer, staying just out of sight behind the white board. In hindsight, it might seem weird that she was sneaking around to eavesdrop on Jen, but she couldn't help it.

Initially, y/n liked Jen. She tried to welcome her into their tight-knit group and even supported her relationship with Bucky. However, as time went on, Jen began acting strange. The things she said about Bucky sometimes sounded condescending. She would make comments like, "It's amazing how well he's adjusted, considering his past," or, "It's great that he's trying so hard to be normal." The way she acted often differed from her words, with Jen giving Bucky disapproving glances or sighing heavily whenever he mentioned something from his troubled past.

She had noticed these discrepancies and started to feel uneasy around Jen. She couldn't shake the feeling that Jen’s support was just a facade. Now, standing behind the whiteboard, she strained to hear the conversation.

"…and honestly, I don’t understand how anyone can trust him," Jen was saying. "I mean, sure, he's got that whole 'reformed hero' thing going on now, but let’s be real. He was Hydra’s pet assassin for decades. The things he’s done? It’s unforgivable."

Her friend, another agent from a different branch, nodded hesitantly. "But you’re dating him, aren’t you? Doesn’t that mean you trust him?"

Jen laughed, a cold, humourless sound. "Dating him? Please. I’m in it for the fame and the perks. Have you seen the way people look at us? Besides, he’s hot, I’ll give him that. But trust him? Never. People like him don’t change. They’re broken. He's a monster, and he always will be. It’s only a matter of time before he snaps again."

y/n felt a surge of anger rise within her. How dare Jen talk about Bucky like that? 

Memories flooded her mind, flashing back to Bucky’s nightmare-plagued nights. She remembered the prominent dark circles under his eyes, the haunted look that never quite left his face. The silent pain he endured, adjusting to a modern world where he felt like an outsider, magnified when Steve left. She could still see the wary, suspicious glances people cast in his direction, the whispers behind his back when they first ventured out. Before the fame he acquired as he regained his reputation after the Flag-Smasher incident.

She had witnessed his hardships firsthand—the nightmares that woke him in a cold sweat, the moments of crippling doubt and self-loathing. But she had also seen his triumphs, the small victories that slowly built his confidence. The first time he laughed freely in her presence, the genuine smile that lit up his face when he finally allowed himself to relax. She cherished those moments, the sunshine that broke through the clouds of his tortured past.

All of this came rushing back, breaking the chains on the Pandora's box inside of her. The fury she felt wasn't just for the disrespect to Bucky; it was for every ounce of pain he had suffered, every moment of joy he had fought so hard to reclaim. Her eyes hardened with resolve as she stepped forward, her voice steady but cold. "Take that back," she demanded, her presence startling both Jen and her friend.

Jen turned slowly, a smirk spreading across her face as she saw y/n. She knew from the beginning about the cute little crush y/n had on Bucky. To be frank, everybody sort of knew about it, except for Bucky somehow. 

"Or else what, y/n?" she replied with a mocking tone. "You’re quite pathetic aren’t you? You think that I can’t see how you’ve been eye-fucking my boyfriend all this time? Come on, now. Backing him up would not give you a leeway into his pants, y/n."

y/n’s face went through a range of emotions—shock, embarrassment, and then seething anger. Jen’s words were like poison, each one landing like a punch to the gut.

Jen continued, confidence oozing out of her cocky demeanor, "Besides, we all know that I can easily beat you in a fight, doll" 

The use of doll—a nickname Bucky had given y/n from day one, when Steve had quite literally kidnapped Bucky from the government—made y/n blood boil. Hearing it from Jen felt like a personal attack, a deliberate attempt to undermine everything she shared with Bucky.

And it was true that Jen had graduated top of her batch from the Avengers program and had countless successful missions under her belt, but y/n knew this wasn't about accolades or abilities. This was about something deeper, something more personal.

y/n clenched her fists, taking a step closer. "You think this is about who can fight better?" she said, her voice shaking with restrained fury. "This is about respect. You don’t get to talk about Bucky like that."

Jen scoffed, a cruel smile on her lips. "Respect? For that monster? You’re delusional. He’s a ticking time bomb, a liability to the team. And deep down, everyone knows it."

y/n’s patience snapped. In one swift motion, she slapped Jen hard across the face, the sound echoing through the room. Jen stumbled and fell to the ground, shock and anger flashing across her features.

She stalks forward like a predator cornering its prey, "I’m just done with your lies and your insults. Bucky deserves better than you." Jen instinctively crawled backwards towards the centre of the room. Seeing that she got the attention of the few new recruits she regained her composure, smirked again, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. "You’re pathetic, y/n," she taunted. "Defending a lost cause." her voice was loud enough for y/n to hear but quiet enough that the others might not be able to decipher her words.

At that moment, Bucky and Sam burst into the room, followed closely behind by a new recruit who alerted them of the incident. Bucky’s eyes widened as he took in the scene—Jen on the ground, y/n standing over her, shaking with rage. "What’s going on here?" His demand was completely ignored as y/n’s mind was hyper-focused on the wrath bubbling within her. 

"Get up," y/n demanded, her voice shaking with wrath. Bucky’s momentarily froze as he watched the confrontation escalate before him. y/n, usually so composed, was now a whirlwind of rage, her eyes blazing as she stood over a trembling Jen. Bucky had always known her to be fierce in battle, but this was different—this was raw, unbridled anger. "I'm going to make you regret every word you said. So get on your fucking feet before I rip it off you.." 

Jen, still on the ground, looked up at y/n with wide, teary eyes, playing the role of the victim to perfection. "Please, I didn't– I don’t know what you're…," she whimpered, casting a fearful glance at Bucky and Sam, who had just arrived on the scene.

Bucky's mind raced. Why was she doing this? He stepped forward, trying to diffuse the situation. "y/n, hey!" he shouted, his voice a mix of confusion and anger. "What are you doing?"

Completely ignoring him, "Get up," y/n snarled, her eyes blazing with intensity. "Get up and fight me. I’ll show you who the real monster is." Jen looked up, her hand on her cheek, disbelief mingling with her fury. "You’re crazy," she spat, scrambling to her feet.

Her response was only a furious shout. "I said, get up!"

"y/n, are you crazy?!" Bucky yelled, moving quickly to intervene. He grabbed her wrist, his grip tight and unforgiving.

She turned her fierce gaze towards Bucky; her expression momentarily faltering at the hurt in his eyes. "Bucky, you don’t understand, she--" she began, but the words caught in her throat as she saw Jen's smirk flicker for just a second.

"There's nothing to understand," Bucky snapped. "You’re acting insane."

y/n looked at him, her eyes filled with hurt and frustration. "Bucky, you have to listen—"

But he cut her off, his expression hard. "I don’t care! You hurt her, y/n. You think I don’t see that bruise on her cheek?!" Bucky shouted, his face contorted with anger. His eyes, usually filled with a gentle warmth when he looked at y/n, were now blazing with fury. "This isn’t like you, y/n. I’ve noticed that you’ve never liked Jen, and I don’t know why. But this? This is just immature and reckless." His metal grip on y/n's wrist was tighter than he intended. She winced, her eyes watering not just from the pain but from the sting of his words. 

y/n had never seen Bucky like this. His anger was palpable, radiating off him in waves. It was like being hit with a physical force, and she felt her heart breaking under the weight of it. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she blinked them away, her anger flaring even hotter. "Bucky, you don’t understand," she tried to explain, but the words caught in her throat.

Bucky’s expression remained hard, the force on her wrist tightening painfully. "You need to grow up, y/n," he seethed, his disappointment evident in his tone. "You're always causing drama lately, and it needs to stop. Jen’s been there for me in ways you haven’t, and I won’t tolerate you attacking her like this."

The words cut through her like a knife. Her heart shattered at his harshness, at the realization that Bucky thought so little of her. She yanked her wrist free, feeling the sting of his grip lingering. "Fine," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Believe what you want."

Without another word, she turned and stormed out, leaving Bucky standing there, torn between confusion and guilt.

A gnawing sense of remorse tugging at him, but he couldn't shake the confusion and anger clouding his mind. "Jen, are you okay?" he asked, helping her to her feet.

Jen, tucking herself to his side, managed to summon a few tears, looking up at Bucky with a feigned innocence. "I don’t know why she hates me so much," she murmured, playing her part perfectly.

Bucky fingers softly traces on her wounded cheek before his gaze switched to y/n’s retreating form, a knot tightening in his chest. He wasn’t sure why those mean words had spouted out of his lips. Was it because he saw Jen injured on the ground and his protective instincts kicked in? Or was it because Jen had been whispering doubts in his ear about y/n’s loyalty, making him question his longtime friend? 

The truth was, Bucky had always relied on y/n’s unwavering support. She had been his rock through the toughest times, and seeing her so furious, so hurt, shook him to his core. Yet, in the heat of the moment, he had lashed out, unable to reconcile the image of Jen crying with the fierce anger that radiated from y/n.

As Bucky comforted Jen, his mind was a storm of conflicting emotions. He couldn't shake the image of hurt on her face, nor could he ignore the nagging feeling that he was missing a crucial piece of the puzzle.

On the side, Sam was only able to watch the scene play out silently, a frown creasing his brow. He had a feeling there was more to this story, and he intended to get to the bottom of it.

As weeks passed, the rift between Bucky and y/n deepened, fueled by Jen's cunning manipulation. In a private conversation, Jen planted seeds of doubt in Bucky's mind, suggesting that y/n harboured hidden resentments and intentions.

"I hate to say it, Bucky, but maybe she's not who we thought she was," Jen insinuated, her voice dripping with false concern. "Maybe she's been hiding her true feelings all along, waiting for the right moment to strike." 

Bucky, already vulnerable and confused after the incident in the training room, absorbed Jen's words like poison, allowing them to fester and take root in his mind. He began to view y/n through a new lens, one tainted by suspicion and distrust. This single conversation, filled with subtle manipulations and insidious suggestions, was all it took to fracture the bond between Bucky and y/n, leaving Bucky cold and distant towards the one person who had always stood by his side.

Most days he would avoid eye contact with her during team meetings, barely acknowledging her presence when they were forced to interact. In training sessions, his instructions to her were curt and clipped, lacking the warmth and camaraderie they once shared. y/n felt each of these interactions like a stab to the heart.

She couldn't understand how quickly Bucky had turned against her, how easily he had accepted Jen's version of events without even giving her a chance to explain. The hurt festered inside her, eating away at her sense of self-worth.

Then one night, as y/n sat alone on the rooftop, staring out into the darkness, Sam found her there. He knew this was where she retreated when she needed space to think, to process her emotions. He approached her cautiously, sitting down beside her without a word.

"Why aren't you at dinner, y/n?" Sam finally asked, breaking the silence. He could see the emptiness in her eyes, the weight of her sorrow pressing down on her.

She shook her head, her voice hollow. "Lost my appetite," she muttered, her gaze still fixed on the horizon.

Sam gently prodded, knowing there was more to her withdrawal than just a lack of hunger. "Is it because of what happened the other day at the training room?" he asked softly.

Instantly, her demeanor shifted. Anger flared in her eyes, directed not just at Jen and Bucky, but at the entire situation. "I don't want to talk about it, Sam," she snapped, her frustration bubbling to the surface. But Sam wasn't one to give up easily, especially when he knew how much y/n was hurting. "Come on, y/n," he urged, his voice gentle but insistent. "You can't keep bottling this up. Talk to me."

Her expression softened slightly at Sam's persistence, but the pain still lingered in her eyes. "Seriously, Sam, please just drop it," she pleaded, her voice wavering with emotion.

Sam could see the cracks forming in her facade, the vulnerability seeping through the tough exterior she usually projected. Without a word, he pulled her into a comforting embrace, letting her bury her face against his shoulder.

As she clung to him, her facade finally crumbled. Her lips trembled, her eyes filled with unshed tears. "He hates me, doesn't he?" she whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of her own heartbreak. "Bucky hates me."

Sam held her tighter, offering silent comfort as she grappled with the weight of her sorrow. He knew there were no easy answers, no quick fixes to mend the shattered pieces of y/n's heart. But in that moment, all he could do was be there for her, a steady anchor in the storm of her emotions.

The dim glow of the kitchen's overhead light provided a faint sense of solace in the otherwise silent darkness of the compound. Bucky sat at the wooden table, his tired eyes staring blankly at the cup of untouched tea before him. It was a nightly ritual lately, this dance with sleeplessness and the haunting memories that lurked in the shadows of his mind yet again.

Footsteps broke the stillness, and Bucky's gaze shifted to the entrance of the kitchen. y/n stood hesitantly in the doorway, her presence casting a tentative aura over the room. There was a palpable tension between them, an unspoken weight that hung heavy in the air.

She cleared her throat, breaking the awkward silence. "Mind if I join you?" she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper. She was expecting Bucky to ignore her completely but he didn’t; Bucky simply shrugged nonchalantly, his guard seemed to flatter. "Suit yourself," he muttered.

As she quietly took a seat opposite him, a heavy silence settled between them. Bucky's thoughts churned with a whirlwind of emotions, each one vying for dominance over the others. His guard seemed to falter in the presence of her tentative yet comforting aura. The weight of his own vulnerability loomed large in his mind, drowning out the anger he had harboured towards her.

As the silence stretched between them, she felt a surge of compassion wash over her. She knew why he was awake at this time. She knew that the tea he brewed was to help him sleep. She was the one who planted that habit to him after all.

And despite everything that had transpired between them, she couldn't bear to see Bucky suffer alone. With a deep breath to steady her nerves, she decided to reach out to him, to offer what little comfort she could.

Without a word, y/n rose from her seat and moved to stand behind Bucky's chair. He stiffened at her touch, his muscles tense with apprehension. But as her gentle hands began to massage the tension from his neck, a wave of unexpected relief washed over him.

Her touch was soft and comforting, a stark contrast to the coldness he had grown accustomed to due to Jen’s unwillingness to acknowledge this side of him. She ran her fingers through his hair, coaxing him to relax, to let go of the burdens that weighed heavily on his shoulders. For a brief moment, Bucky allowed himself to forget the walls he had built around his heart. In her presence, her voice, and her touch; he felt a glimmer of hope, a flicker of warmth that he had long since forgotten.

But then, like a sudden gust of wind extinguishing a fragile flame, the weight of Jen's words came crashing back down upon him. Anger flared within him, hot and fierce, directed not only at y/n but at himself for allowing his heart to yearn for her.

He pushed himself away from the table, his movements sharp and abrupt. "I don't need your pity, y/n," he spat, his words laced with bitterness. "Just leave me alone."

With that, he stormed out of the kitchen, leaving y/n alone in the suffocating silence.The disbelief that clouded her thoughts gave way to a searing agony that twisted in her chest. How could he say such things? How could he push her away so callously, after everything they had shared?

y/n buried her face in her hands, her body trembling with the force of her sobs. The weight of her shattered dreams pressed down on her, crushing her spirit beneath its merciless grip. She had never felt so alone, so utterly abandoned by the one person she had trusted above all others.

The pain of losing Bucky, of losing the love that had sustained her through the darkest of times, threatened to consume her whole. Each breath felt like a struggle, each heartbeat a painful reminder of the emptiness that now filled her soul.

In that moment of crushing despair, she couldn't help but believe that Bucky truly hated her. The thought tore through her like a knife, leaving behind a raw, gaping wound that no amount of time or distance could ever hope to heal.

As she sat alone in the suffocating silence of the kitchen, y/n felt the full weight of her heartbreak descend upon her like a tidal wave. She was lost in a sea of pain and sorrow, drowning in the agony of losing someone she had loved so deeply, so completely. And in that moment, she couldn't help but wonder if she would ever find her way back to the surface again.

Unbeknownst to her, Bucky lingered just out of sight, his heart heavy with guilt. He wanted to go back, to take back his harsh words and hold her close, to chase away the tears that stained her cheeks. But the poison in his mind was too strong, clouding his judgement and trapping him in a cycle of self-destructive despair. And so, with a heavy heart, he turned and walked away, leaving y/n to cry alone in the darkness.

The mission had already been tense enough, but as y/n found herself face to face with Jen in a location she wasn't supposed to be, the atmosphere crackled with an added layer of hostility. It was as if fate had conspired to place them in this confrontation, and her jaw clenched involuntarily as she braced herself for what was to come.

Jen's presence in that spot was no coincidence, and she knew it. Her suspicions were confirmed as Jen turned to face her, a smirk playing on her lips, a gleam of malice in her eyes. y/n's grip tightened on her weapon, her pulse quickening as she prepared for the verbal assault she knew was coming.

"How does it feel, knowing that Bucky hates you now?" Jen's words sliced through the air like a knife, each syllable carrying the weight of y/n’s deepest fears. It was a direct hit, striking at the core of her insecurities, and for a moment, she felt as though the ground had been ripped out from beneath her feet.

But she refused to let Jen see her falter. With a steely resolve, she squared her shoulders and met Jen's gaze head-on, her expression a mask of defiance. She may have been shaken by Jen's words, but she refused to let them break her.

Ignoring the taunts, she focused on the mission at hand, determined to prove her worth despite Jen's attempts to undermine her. But with each passing moment, the weight of Jen's words hung heavy in the air, casting a shadow over y/n’s every move.

It was a battle on two fronts – against the enemy they faced together, and against the doubts that threatened to consume her from within. But she refused to back down, drawing strength from the knowledge that she fought not just for herself, but for the team she believed in with all her heart.

But Jen's relentless barrage of insults made it difficult to concentrate, her words like daggers slicing through y/n’s defenses.

"Aww come on y/n, bet you’re reeling in the loss right now, aren’t you." Jen continued, her voice ice cold. "The Asset’s little lapdog, clinging to him like a lost puppy."

y/n’s temper flared at the insult, her grip tightening on her weapon as she fought to keep her emotions in check. But Jen's mocking laughter only fueled the fire burning within her, pushing her to the brink of her patience. "Shut your mouth, Jen," she growled, her voice low and dangerous. "Or I swear to God, I'll make sure that the team finds your body disassembled in one of these rooms."

Jen simply rolled her eyes, unfazed by her threat. "You love him that much, huh?" y/n had no intention to deny that fact; she does love him, "More than you ever could." her voice was firm and true. Jen’s smirk fell as she scoffed. "Ain't that cute, the Winter Soldier and his little psycho sweetheart."

Before y/n could respond, a voice cut through the tension like a knife, freezing her in place. It was Bucky, his expression dark and stormy as he stepped into view. "What's going on here?" he demanded, his eyes narrowing in suspicion as he took in the scene before him.

y/n’s heart sank as she realized that Bucky might have heard everything. She turned around to meet his eyes and his face confirmed her suspicion; he heard it.  Bucky had heard everything – every taunt, every insult, every word exchanged between her and Jen; even the confession of her true feelings. She met his gaze; searching for some sign of understanding of his emotions and the little that she saw was: disappointment, betrayal and guilt, mirrored back at her in the depths of his stormy blue eyes. 

In that moment, all she wanted to do was pull him into her arms, to pull him away from all the painful memories and hurtful words; so far away that he would forget he had ever been taunted, betrayed, or made to feel less than he was.

Before she could utter a word, let alone take a step towards him, Jen's voice broke through, but it lacked the usual confidence. "Bucky, it's not what you think," she stammered, her eyes darting nervously between Bucky and y/n. "I-I was just..."

y/n’s clenched her jaw, her patience wearing thin as Jen stumbled over her words, unable to come up with a coherent explanation. She could see the confusion and hurt in Bucky's eyes, a reflection of the turmoil raging within her own heart.

"I-I mean," Jen continued, her voice faltering. "I was...um...just trying to...uh..."

But her feeble attempts to justify her actions only served to further incense Bucky. His brow furrowed in anger, his fists clenched at his sides as he struggled to make sense of the situation.

"Enough," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "I don't want to hear any more lies."

y/n’s heart ached as she watched Bucky's expression darken with anger and disappointment. She wanted to explain, to tell him the truth about Jen's betrayal and her own misguided attempt to defend him. But the words caught in her throat, choked by the weight of her guilt and regret.

With a heavy sigh, Bucky turned away, his shoulders slumped with defeat. "Let's just finish the mission," he muttered, his voice heavy with exhaustion. "We'll deal with this later."

As he was about to walk away, y/n noticed a red dot on his chest, the unmistakable mark of a sniper's laser sight. Without thinking twice, she leaped towards him, her body acting as a human shield. Time seemed to slow down as she collided with Bucky, pushing him out of the way.

"y/n, no!" Bucky shouted, his voice filled with panic as her body slumped against his chest.

In the chaos, Jen was nowhere to be seen. She had slipped away, taking shelter and ultimately fleeing the area as she heard multiple footsteps approaching.

Bucky tried to pull up his gun, but it was too late. An array of bullets rained down on them. He felt the searing pain of a few shots piercing his own flesh, but it was nothing compared to the sight of y/n’s body being riddled with bullets. She was hit in the shoulder, wrist, thighs, and other places Bucky couldn't even register.

Rage surged through Bucky like an inferno, obliterating any semblance of restraint. He moved with a deadly precision, his eyes blazing with fury as he unleashed a storm of bullets on the enemy. His movements were swift and unforgiving, every shot finding its mark with brutal accuracy. The enemy fell one by one, their bodies collapsing in lifeless heaps. The air was filled with the deafening sound of gunfire and the acrid smell of gunpowder, but Bucky's focus was unyielding.

Within moments, the room was cleared, the enemies wiped out in a flurry of rage-fueled vengeance.

The adrenaline ebbed away, leaving Bucky standing amidst the carnage, his chest heaving. He turned, and his eyes fell on y/n's crumpled form. The sight of her lying in a pool of her own blood shattered his rage, replacing it with a crushing wave of worry and panic.

"Hang in there. Please," Bucky hastily spoke, his voice trembling. He activated his com line, desperation seeping into his tone. "Guys, we need help. y/n... she's... she's been shot. We need to get out of here right now!" Panic coursed through him as he turned his attention back to y/n, frantically trying to stop the bleeding on her stomach. "y/n, doll…please" he pleaded, watching her hazy gaze. "Don't you dare give up on me now. Come on."

"babydoll, stay with me!" Bucky cried, his voice breaking as he cradled her in his arms. Blood soaked through her clothes, staining his hands. "Please, hang on, you can’t leave yet. I haven't told you... I haven't—" 

Her eyes fluttered open, her breathing shallow and ragged. "It's okay, Bucky," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the chaos. "It's okay. Don't cry." Her shaking hands struggled to move, and with great effort, she managed to cup Bucky's cheek. The gesture was weak but filled with tenderness. "It's okay," she repeated, her fingers trembling against his skin.

"Don't talk like that," Bucky choked out, his own tears mingling with the blood on his face. "You can't.. I haven't told you...please doll..." His voice wavered with the weight of unspoken words and unconfessed feelings. He hadn't told her how much he truly cared for her, how every moment spent away from her felt like an eternity. He hadn't begged for forgiveness for his coldness, his mistakes, and for letting Jen's poison taint his actions. The guilt gnawed at him, each heartbeat a reminder of the words he hadn't said, the emotions he hadn't expressed. 

He pressed her hand harder against his cheek, feeling the warmth of her touch anchoring him in the moment.Her hand weakly brushing against his cheek. "I know, sweetheart," she murmured. "I know."

Bucky's heart shattered as he clung to her, feeling her life slipping away. "No, no, no," he muttered desperately. "You can't leave me. Please, y/n. Please."

She smiled faintly, her eyes closing. "I'm here, Bucky. I'm right here."

With a final, shuddering breath, y/n’s consciousness slipped away. Bucky felt a surge of panic, but he knew he had to move. He lifted her limp body, cradling her against his chest as he ran towards the quinjet. Each step was agony, his own injuries slowing him down, but he didn't care. All that mattered was getting y/n to safety.

"Hang on, y/n," he whispered, his voice trembling. "Hang on. I won't let you go."

In the sterile environment of the medical bay, y/n lay unconscious, her body hooked up to various machines that monitored her vital signs. Bucky sat by her bedside, his eyes red-rimmed and swollen from crying. Every beep of the monitor seemed to echo through the silence, a haunting reminder of her fragile state. He held her hand, his thumb gently caressing her bandaged wrist.

Memories of their time together flooded Bucky's mind, each one a bittersweet reminder of the connection they shared. He remembered the laughter they had shared, the late-night conversations that stretched into the early hours of the morning. He remembered the gentle touch of her hand, the warmth of her smile that never failed to chase away the darkness.

But amidst the memories, there was also pain – the pain of their last conversation, the words left unsaid and the choices left unmade. Bucky's throat tightened as he recalled the day he had walked away from Jen, the air thick with tension and unspoken truths.

His voice was cold and final. "You almost got her killed, Jen," he had said, his eyes blazing with anger. "Stay away from us. Stay away from me."

Jen's eyes had flashed with anger, her words cutting like knives as she lashed out in frustration. "And what, you think you'll find someone better than me?" she had spat, her voice dripping with venom. "Good luck with that, Bucky. You'll never find anyone who would put up with your baggage."

But Bucky had remained resolute, his decision fueled by a sense of longing and regret that threatened to consume him whole. "Maybe not," he had admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I'd rather be alone than with someone who doesn't truly care about me."

Now, as Bucky sat by y/n’s bedside, the weight of his decision bore down on him like a crushing weight. Tears welled in his eyes as he reached out to gently brush a strand of hair away from her face, his fingers trembling with emotion.

"I'm so sorry, babydoll," he whispered, his voice thick with unshed tears. "I never meant for any of this to happen. So, please, wake up. I need you."

But y/n remained unconscious, her breathing shallow and weak as she lay before him. And as Bucky watched over her, his heart heavy with worry and regret, he vowed to do whatever it took to bring her back to him, to keep her safe from harm for all eternity.

For in that moment, Bucky realized that he couldn't bear to lose her – not now, not ever. She was his rock, his anchor in a world of uncertainty and pain. And as he held her hand tightly in his own, he prayed with all his heart that she would find her way back to him, to the love and light that had always guided them through the darkness.

The soft hum of machines filled the air as y/n stirred awake, her senses slowly coming back to her. She blinked, disoriented at first, until her gaze fell upon Bucky, who was sleeping soundly in the chair beside her bed. His hands were clasped tightly around hers, his face peaceful in slumber, but she couldn't help but notice the tear stains on his cheeks, the dark circles under his eyes, the worry lines etched into his forehead.

"How long has it been since?" she wondered to herself, her heart aching at the sight of Bucky's exhausted form. She carefully sat up, trying not to disturb him as she lovingly examined his sleeping face. She couldn't help but smile as she gently ran her fingers through his hair, the soft strands slipping through her fingertips.

Bucky groaned as his sleep was interrupted, muttering something about Sam needs to leave him be; before he abruptly sat up, his eyes wide with disbelief. "Hi there," y/n greeted softly, her eyes sparkling with affection as she watched Bucky's reaction.

For a moment, Bucky seemed unable to comprehend that she was finally awake. His eyes widened in disbelief, his mouth slightly agape. But then the realization hit him, and he threw himself at her, wrapping her in a tight embrace as if she were the most precious thing in the world .Despite the pain that shot through her body, she managed to let out a soft chuckle, returning his embrace with equal fervor. The warmth of his embrace chased away the lingering chill of unconsciousness, and for a moment, everything felt right.

"y/n..." Bucky breathed into her neck, his voice trembling with emotion. She hummed in response, her heart swelling for him. "Hmmm?"

Not wanting to let go of her, Bucky called her name once again, his voice wavering with uncertainty. "y/n-..." She paused, her lips curving into a tender smile as she whispered in his ear, "Yes, Bucky?"

Bucky tightened his grip, his breath hitching in his throat as he buried his face in her shoulder. y/n gently rubbed his back, her touch soothing and comforting as she reassured him, "I'm here, sweetheart." The scent of her hair, the feel of her warmth against him—it all felt overwhelming. Emotions churned inside him like a tempest. Relief, guilt, love, and fear battled for dominance, leaving him raw and exposed.

She gently rubbed his back, her touch soothing and comforting as she reassured him, "Bucky, I'm not going anywhere.

Bucky's mind raced, images of the past few weeks flashing before his eyes. He remembered the coldness with which he'd treated her, the cruel words that had slipped from his lips, fueled by Jen's poison. He thought of the sleepless nights, the nightmares that had gripped him, and the aching void he'd felt every time he saw y/n’s hurt expression.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, his voice muffled against her shoulder. "For everything. For not believing you. For pushing you away."

Reluctantly, she pulled away, but not before wiping the tears from Bucky's cheeks and fighting the urge to place a tender kiss on his forehead. As she looked into his eyes, she could see the depth of his love and the pain he had endured for her sake. And in that moment, she knew that she had found her home in his arms. Bucky took her hands in his own, his eyes closed as he pressed a kiss to her wounded wrists. "This will never happen again. Ever," he vowed, his voice filled with determination.

Moved by his words, y/n felt her heart flutter with emotion. She realized in that moment that she could never stay angry at him, no matter what had transpired between them. She understood now that they were both at fault, both victims of circumstance and misunderstanding.

With a surge of courage, she reached out and pulled Bucky into a kiss. Her lips met his in a slow, passionate embrace, pouring all of her love and forgiveness into the tender gesture. It was a moment of connection, of healing, of reaffirming their bond despite the trials they had faced.

The taste of Bucky's lips was like a soothing salve to her soul; it was intoxicating. It felt as if the world had fallen away, leaving only the two of them entwined in each other's arms. When they finally broke apart, Bucky whispered those three words that y/n had longed to hear, "I love you."

Her heart soared with joy, and she couldn't help but tease him, "Took you long enough." her teasing words met with a cheeky grin from Bucky.  "I love you too, Bucky" she blinked slowly. As he whispered softly under his breath, "Come here," he pulled her back into the kiss, their lips meeting in a tender embrace that spoke volumes of their unspoken love. And in that moment, amidst the chaos and uncertainty of their world, they found solace in each other's arms, knowing that together, they could weather any storm.

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: I just needed to let this out lmao. It's been stuck in my head for several weeks. Thank you for spending your time reading this crap... honestly. Love you so much 🤍

[rynfiles]

love island — aot edition !

✎ᝰ — aot boys on love island

★ — eren, connie, reiner, jean x reader

★ — genre + warnings: fluff + boys being boys, casa amor, connie and reiner are the REAL lover boys and no one can change my mind !!!

★ — a/n: i have a bat boys version on my other blog :)

꒰ EREN JAEGER ꒱

ꔛ everyone’s favorite pretty boy or highkey most hated in america, no in between. I feel like he’ll be either very miguel codex or slightly rob coded, aka either open asf or an “onion”

ꔛ he was quite friendly and engaged himself with everyone, platonically or romantically. he gave like a brotherly vibe or “best friend’s brother” vibe

ꔛ butttt I will say that eren was a bombshell that EVERY girl was swooning for and loved all the attention that he got. he was being indecisive on which girl he’d couple with cause he really wanted to get to know everyone

ꔛ a lot of people in america either disliked the way eren moved in the villa or understood where he was coming from. he honestly has tried multiple connections but it seems like none can click in a way that he wanted, no matter how much he tried :/

ꔛ as days and couplings pass, eren decides on the person that was for him, another new bombshell that everyone loved as well. your aura was radiating soft colors, friendly, kind, and a safe space for eren. ever since then, eren has been nothing but smiles, laughs, and always exuding soft love towards his couple

ꔛ with you, he felt like he could see himself in the end, make your relationship official, and show you off. he’s always smiling after you guy’s chats, talking about the outside world and expressing how much he adores you, slight flirting here and there but that’s typical eren

ꔛ every time you guys recoupled, eren’s speeches were short and sweet. some of them weren’t his best but it was still cute how he tries to express himself for you

ꔛ neowwww casa amor, I fear all his respect flew out the window and he just did his own thing. did he think about his couple from time to time? sort of….but he did excuse himself by saying he was testing yall connection (typical male behavior). though, during the casa recoupling he felt his heart drop when he came back with another girl and saw you standing all by themselves, dolled up and waiting with open arms. just to be embarrassed by this man and the girl who stole all his attention

ꔛ for days, he would try to win you back but he started feeling like there was no going back after casa. he made breakfast, wrote cute notes, talk to your friends, any and everything he tried all he can to win them back. in the end, he accepted his actions, the feelings he hurt, and broke it off with the girl he brought back. even after that, he kept up with the little actions to show how sorry he is and slowly won his way into america’s heart :)

ꔛ in the end, eren got eliminated before the final 4. he wasn’t mad at it, sulked a bit cause he’ll miss his friends and all the amazing people he met but he does understand why he didn’t make it to the end. also gave himself time to enjoy you in the real world and potentially become a real couple

꒰ CONNIE SPRINGER ꒱

ꔛ oh connie, the lover everyone wants in their lives. he’s so kordell coded, it’s actually sick just thinking about it; he’s charming, sweet, patient, and funny asf. he was america’s favorite boy and you can tell he definitely didn’t mind the attention

ꔛ I would say he’s an og and got along well with everyone, however didn’t really have a connection. he was in a couple but that didn’t necessarily work out and it kinda broke him, he thought he was gonna be eliminated and don’t experience the love he deserves :/

ꔛ but God bless, you came in as a bombshell and stole that boy’s heart quickly. the boys teased him about how they can practically see heart eyes in connie’s eyes as you entered, but can you blame him? you were stunning, your outfit fitted you well, and your beauty made his pound, he thought he could it for a second

ꔛ ever since you entered, he was all over you and pulling you into multiple chats. he really wanted to get to know you and beg that there could be something between the two of you and there was! it wasn’t there initially but as time passed, you felt giddy when you saw him :)

ꔛ throughout your time with him, he would rave on about how much he adores you, compliment your appearance and personality, doing everything in his willpower to show how much he genuinely likes you. he didn’t force himself on you, he gave you enough space and let you figure out where you stand with him

ꔛ the first time, y’all coupled together, oh that boy was grinning ear to earrrrrr. your speech wowed him and made him fall for you even more. as he approached you, and spun you around, he just can’t get over you he can’t help it. it feels like bright colors and giddiness as he was around you

ꔛ oh casa amor was his BIGGEST villain. he contemplated on staying but the boys convinced him that this will be like a mini vacation from the villa, trust them!! oh how he wish he didn’t listen…

ꔛ casa was fun and he did enjoy the girls that he met, he kept his distance as well and tried to respect himself for those three days. however this one girl was just temptation in a bikini; batting her eyes, touching him in all the right places, knowing exactly what to say to win cornelius over and I fear it worked….

ꔛ one kiss outside challenges and connie became allured by this girl. his hands on her body, enjoyed being sweet talk by her, being clouded by everything she says and does. well, ‘til the morning after, he wakes up and realizes how great of a mess he made for himself. he kissed another girl which lead him into a slight panic cause he won’t know how you’ll handle the news; his heart dropped to his ass when he realized how much he disrespected you

ꔛ the recoupling after casa wasn’t the prettiest, even when he didn’t walk in with ole girl. he did enough in casa and bringing that girl back would’ve done more collateral damage. however, when he received news that you knew what happened, he knew he couldn’t recover from it. he became apologetic as you stood there with an emotion that was anything but excited or happy to see him

ꔛ he spent, and I mean DAYSSSSS, winning you back. he would try what eren did and he went above and beyond to win you back. cooking you breakfast, apologizing daily, write notes, pull you for a chat and try to explain himself, tell you how much he missed you during casa, and try to convince you how sorry he was. it hurts him extremely that you’re upset with him instead of joking and smiling with him like you guys used to, and he was even more hurt when he found out how much you cried while casa and after casa

ꔛ america screamed at you to please take him back cause he’s trying to prove himself that he does like you and didn’t wanna hurt you like he did. y/n pleaseeeee take him back, he’s been silently sobbing in his bed for four days cause he missed you :(

ꔛ the recoupling where you did forgive him, oh he almost lost it (in a good way). he almost cried when you chose him cause he misses your presence, your chats, your beauty, everything about you and no one could have replaced that for him. he didn’t want any chance to ruin what y’all built AGAIN, no matter how tempting

ꔛ connie made it to the final four and won WOOOOOO!!! america already loved him but the dedication and his authenticity to win you back made the perfect love story to win america over. I mean who doesn’t love male groveling ;) ?

꒰ REINER BRAUN ꒱

ꔛ THE BIG, SOFT BLONDIE <33333. he’s kind, sweet, a great helper, extremely understanding, and always there for others. he grew such great bonds with everyone and everyone in the villa loved him from day one

ꔛ an og in the villa that seems to be the most favorited but can you blame them? plus, he wears his heart on his sleeve and isn’t afraid to express himself with every person he’s interested in. he enjoyed his chats with everyone but he enjoyed yours the most, you bring this sort of energy that reiner can’t point out but adores it so well

ꔛ he instantly clicked with you from day one and expressed how much he’s interested in getting to know you. ever since then, you guys were joint at the hip and barely leaving each other’s side, and everyone in the villa always comment how much you two complement each other as you’re together

ꔛ he held your hand during your chats, let you lay on him, give you his full attention, giving you everything you need to know how much he’s invested in you. small compliments, breakfast with your fave drink, made you fruit bowls for snacks, given massages here and there, gave you small kisses, the list can go on how much reiner did for you

ꔛ every time the guys joked about how down bad reiner is, he just took it and agreed. he doesn’t mind being mister romantic for his couple, even after bombshells would pull him for dates and/or chats. he always found himself running back to you <3

ꔛ america’s lover boy and they couldn’t hate him one bit and the amount of fangirls he got? oh goodness, now everyone wants a reiner in their life

ꔛ oh reiner hated casa amor, he liked that he let himself experience it but one kiss outside challenges made you realize how much he missed you. he missed being your arms, he missed your smile, he missed your presence that brought him an immense amount of comfort and happiness. he could barely bare being without you

ꔛ thankfully, all the casa girls gave up and stopped trying to go after him from how much he sulked about missing you

ꔛ after casa was a bit….off. reiner was a bit anxious to tell you that he kissed someone and was scared that you were gonna leave him, he couldn’t let that happen! he worked up the courage to tell you and was ready to accept any sort of punishment that could come, including being apologetic until he was back on your good graces

ꔛ you and reiner ended up either being runners up or the winners! america couldn’t get enough of this big softie who had so much admiration and respect for his couple. he didn’t mind the results, he was just ready to get out the villa and make everything official with you <3

꒰ JEAN KIRSTEIN ꒱

ꔛ at first, america wasn’t really a fan of jean, just like with eren. came off a bit conceited but that ddin’t stop anyone to explore jean and they very much didn’t regret it

ꔛ I would say jean is also an og who quickly hit it off with the guys. some of the girls, not as quick or not as close as he wished to be. there was one person whom he wished he hit it off but it just couldn’t click for a period of time (you)

ꔛ it kinda hurt jean a bit that you guys didn’t get along romantically but it didn’t stop him from wanting to explore you with every chance he got. he’d pull you for chats, do small, romantic gestures, anything to get you

ꔛ even as he was coupled up, he made it clear that he was still open until the recoupling where the boys chose. oh jean was elated to be ready to pick you, his speech was so pretty and emphasized his growing crush on you

ꔛ as episodes passed on, they realized how much of a sweetheart jean is. his recoupling speeches were always thought out and held nothing back. he also made it a habit to kiss your cheek every time you guys recoupled

ꔛ there was a time where a bombshell stole jean and he did explore her. however, that was short filled and fizzled into just friends, mans was just too stuck on you

ꔛ mannnn, casa amor, oh casa amor. he didn’t mind going to casa, as he approached it with the mindset that he was just testing yall relationship, right? wrong! those three days lead to jean explore in a way that even he didn’t expect out of him. it’s not that he didn’t care about his couple but he sure tricked himself into that he was testing himself and boy did he fail!!!

ꔛ to make things worse than he already is, he brought a girl back like wtf. as you stood there, looking stunning waiting for jean, he brings in a girl and your heart shattered. you thought he genuinely liked you but now it seems to be a different reality of who jean is

ꔛ jean didn’t explain himself, he tried to but every excuse had himself look lousy. he gave up and couldn’t even look in you the eyes. a tear trickled down on his face as he realized the the damage he has done

ꔛ time after casa, he would give you space but still pull you to tell you how sorry he is. at times, he would ditch his chosen casa girl to apologize and show how sorry he is. additionally, he was quick to cut things off with the girl which didn’t end well…

ꔛ you would question if he was being genuine and did he ever think about you during casa. he said he did and he completely regrets casa for even existing. he spent days upon days to show remorse for what he has done. he didn’t need to and shouldn’t have tested yall connection just to prove something to himself, and he knew that

ꔛ he started to lose faith that he might lose you forever, around the villa sulking and being lowly. even as the boys encouraged him, he couldn’t bear to accept their advice and would instead go to your friends to figure out what to do

ꔛ you did take him back after one night where yall sat in soul ties and he explained how heavy his heart felt from potentially losing you, sighs coming out when he saw that your doesn’t light up when you see him, or how you would dump him and be with another man. it was a hefty speech that that included extreme emotions, ‘I miss you’, ‘please take me back’, lengthy explanations on why you’re the one he wants and not the other girl, how he would change for himself and you. he’s saying anything so you could take him back and thankfully it worked in his favor

ꔛ in the end, jean ended up in third place :). he enjoyed his time in the villa and felt like he came out as better person, to himself and to you. after the villa, you guys continued to grow what you had and became official in the way of a beautiful picnic and a heartfelt love letter

𖥻 I miss writing for aot BADDDDDDD. like yall don’t understand how much I miss writing for my babies 😣

𖥻 here’s how I see it. connie is kordell, reiner is kenny but white, and eren is miguel. change my mind !!

𖥻 I wanted to make connie and reiner’s longer but had to stop myself 🧍🏽‍♀️. blame champagne coast by blood orange

𖥻 bye babes, drink your water and I love you MWAH 💕

𝐕𝐎𝐓𝐏 💗: ephesians 3:20-21. glory to be God, I love Him so much

© 𝟤𝟢𝟤𝟦 𝗋𝗒𝗇𝖿𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗌. 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗏𝖾𝖽

[saeun]

⟡ 𓂃 SNEAKY ACTIONS . . . STICKY SITUATIONS. gojo satoru ⊹ female reader.

lesson learnt: well, satoru, don’t try to clear the air with your housemate after listening to her masturbate! it won’t end in your favour.

( ﹫note 2 himself : maybe being a bit of a perv works ??? )

+ love, ‘un: okay so he eavesdrops on you a bit ⸝ handjob given: mature content, 18↑ only! ⸝ just a fun post while i try to work out of a writersblock

Satoru has a crush on you. He’s had it ever since you ended up sharing the same house.

No, he never made an attempt to form a connection — besides having manners and engaging in small talk whenever you lingered for too long in the same room. He can’t even look into your eyes for five seconds. Truly doomed.

It’s not like Satoru isn’t confident— he is! After you’ve settled in and agreed upon the yes and no’s with him, he’s found himself unable to charm you into his arms. Satoru knows he’s quite handsome, and has the height to make up for the lack of a better personality.

You were also kind, making sure you buy for him when you’re grocery shopping. You care for him whenever he falls ill, and you never enter his room or touch his belongings without asking. You’re simply the best room neighbour anyone can ask for.

The only problem is that Satoru’s… well, he’s Satoru. He can’t help himself to not eavesdrop if he hears something interesting. This happened a grand total of three times.

The first time, Satoru wasn’t sure if he heard right. Maybe it was the TV? Perhaps a show you were watching? Unable to tell where or what exactly he heard, he tried pushing his ear against your door. Eventually he shrugged it off and continued on with his previous activity. The sounds were too low for him to put a finger on it.

The second time came with some sceptical thoughts. Yet again, he’s hearing the same soft moans but this time it’s followed by a low buzzing sound. Surely you’re just having the time of your life with an electrical massager? He had to gaslight himself in order to trash any perverted thoughts that crept into his mind.

The third time around he gave up. Satoru, with a little bit of shame left in him, stood in his eavesdropping position against your door. Your moans are still soft, the buzzing sounds come in here and there. He’s aware his habit of not minding his business might land him on your hitlist, but he can’t help himself. Your sounds were addictive — the sweetness of it going into his ear and straight to his dick.

Satoru delayed his departure from your door. The blood on his lip due to biting it didn’t bother him. The heat creeping up his neck wasn’t uncomfortable. The growing tightness of his pants was put on hold to be dealt with later. He allowed himself a little more time to indulge in your moans.

Three times Satoru let his perverted mind get the better of him — well, it can be sized down to once. He only jerked off once (after the third time) and refused to face you for an entire day.

One side of him felt ashamed. You’re his crush, and whatever you did behind your door is your private business. He should’ve never “confirmed” it. The other side of him sends blood rushing to his dick every time he looks at you and remembers your moans. His mind takes it up a notch by imagining how your body reacted to self pleasure.

It’s a never ending battle inside him, and the only way to calm both sides is to face his fears and have a conversation with you. Only then would he know true peace but for now, he’ll stick to his hand.

“Like this?” A question followed by a light squeeze around Satoru’s dick.

Instead of the “yes,” he said in his mind, Satoru gave you a short gasp. His arms were firm at his sides, hands balled into a fist as you rejected his pleas to touch you. It was a punishment for his previous actions.

He was completely at your mercy — sitting on the loveseat, pants pooled at his feet. Your warm hand offered a stimulating contrast to the chilled air. Sometimes he opted for leaning his head back, sometimes he went for biting his lips to cage in any moans. It doesn’t match the imaginary dominant image he built up.

Unsatisfied with his reaction, you lowered your hand to grasp his balls, grazing your fingers against the skin. Still, Satoru doesn’t cave in. His jaw tightens, exhaling a shaky breath through his nose.

“I thought you liked me?” You faked a pout, lazily jerking him off. Using your thumb, you rubbed it over his head, spreading the precum to lubricate it even more.

“Fuck—y-yes! I do,” a whimper leaves him. His hips rut upwards in desperate attempts to increase the friction between your hand and his dick.

“But you’re not showing it.” You argued, slowing your movements altogether.

You're having fun, playing with Satoru as he experiences frequent cutoffs in pleasure. He can’t decide whether you’re giving him the best handjob of his life or the worst. The constant edging and taunts makes him tighten his abs but you never allow him an orgasm — hell, you haven’t even let him close.

His bottom lip burns, frustrated tears welling up in his eyes, and he’s probably dug deep into his palm by now. Never has he ever been toyed with for this long. He’s never seen his tip coloured in such an angry red. Satoru might have to beg.

“Please,” Satoru whines, lifting his hips slightly just to feel something—anything.

“Please what?” A smile decorates your face, eyes softened at his desperate figure.

“Do something, please. Touch me.” Finally, he begs, eyes locked on yours hoping you’d give in.

Now you’re satisfied. That’s all you wanted to hear: Satoru begging. That’s all it took for you to bring one hand focusing on his length, jerking it in a steady up-and-down motion. The other gives its attention to his head, keeping your fingers loose as you run it over his head while one finger draws circles around his tip. You kept one hand on his shaft, using it as the main source of pleasure while the other switched to fondling with his balls.

You don’t have three hands, but you do have a mouth. You switched your position to comfortably lower your head to his dick, gathering saliva to spit on his tip. Poking your tongue out, you swirled it around his tip, sliding between the ridge before you fully engulfed his head in your mouth, using it to cover half the area your other hand did.

Satoru’s groans turned into full fledged moans, whimpering whenever you squeeze ever so lightly. The pace of his breathing quickens, his chest falls as fast as it rises, his cheeks fully dusted in a pale pink.

Believe him, he tried his best to not touch you, but he couldn’t dig his nails into his palms anymore. He needed his hand tangled in the strands of your hair, pulling at it whenever he liked without care.

“Close–shit, I’m close,” he chokes out, throwing his head back at your choice of response.

You fastened your speed, coordinating both your head and hands to move the same. Satoru's hand tightens its grip on your hair, somewhat trying to ground himself. The heat of the orgasm’s too strong—your name flows from his lips like a mantra as his hips twitch upwards.

Satoru’s the sensitive type; one, two, three seconds was all it took for Satoru to paint the insides of your mouth with a warm liquid. His torso tenses, body twitching in response to your hand loosely running up and down his dick, helping him ride through his orgasm.

You clean yourself up while Satoru calms down from his high, using your fingers to gather any loose cum that may have landed on your chest.

“Hey,” Satoru weakly calls out to you, smiling ear to ear when you meet his gaze.

“Yeah?”

“Can we do that again — without the edging?”

His bold request made your eyes bulge. It seems that you misunderstood Satoru once he truly became comfortable.

“Let’s not go too fast, Satoru.”

BYE first smut go easy on me i didnt know how to continue/make things flow/end it without switching apps like a fool & if u made it this far mb if there r errors!! i cant reread this yet #shame

[beloveds-embrace]

tf 141 with a reader who loves jewelry >>

It’s not a particularly visible obsession; all your boys know is that they’ve never seen you without jewelry. Be it pretty, delicate earrings, a lovely necklace that rests in between your cleavage, or a gleaming set of rings and bracelets. They are eye-catching, on occasions, and other times they blend so nicely into whatever outfit you have adorned yourself with.

They don’t realize it, they don’t make the connection until you’ve invited them into your house, and then you are leading them deep, deep into the basement until they are in front of a closed room. The entire thing is suspicious, honestly alarming because Ghost did so much research into you but never knew anything about this- but you look so nervous and hopeful, emotions bared.

They aren’t prepared to enter a room stuffed full of jewelry. A room practically glittering, gleaming like you’ve brought yourself a corner of the starry universe. Rows upon rows, cabinets and closed glass cases. And then you are smiling, stepping into the room and urging them in.

“I… I’ve always loved jewelry,” you clear your throat, voice soft and hushed. You look around, an unmistakable look of fondness and happiness in your eyes. “Necklaces, earrings.. anything that can be put on the body to adorn it more than clothes could. Ever since I was a child, I was, well, obsessed with collecting them. I love collecting them, and every piece here is precious to me.”

Your cheeks turn pink, and you look away from their gazes. “…but you are more precious to me, and I trust all of you. Which is why I feel happy, showing this part of me to you. And…”

You grin now, opening a cabinet with a simple key you put away to pull out four jewelry boxes. “-And that is why I got these!”

You open the first box, showing John a beautiful necklace that holds a single garnet shaped into a delicate teardrop. Garnet, for his birthstone. John, John, John- a man who will always have your heart. John, who treats you like a jewel even more delicate than the one in your hands. You’ve never had anyone hold you quite as he does, so full of love.

The second box is for Soap, for your Johnny. A dangling pair of earrings that would brush across your skin should you wear them, almost as sweetly as his kisses across your body. A stormy blue, much like his eyes.

Third box is bigger- the biggest. This one, you had custom-made. Not cheap at all, but worth every single dollar. Made entirely out of diamonds, the shoulder pieces would drape so elegantly across your shoulders and dangle off your back, like a never-ending embrace. Your most expensive piece to this day, and yet you would so easily swear that it did not compare to Gaz’s beauty anyways. It was based on him, on how you looked at him, on the sheer love you felt for and from him.

The last piece is a necklace. It curls around your neck not like a collar, but like a hissy cat seeking warmth. Three rows of pearls, shiny and pretty, and in the middle sits a round red jasper. You don’t remember when it had been, but you’d read that red jasper meant courage, preseverance, and healing. Perfect for your brave, incredible Si, whom you’ll always admire and adore.

But in your enthusiasm of describing how and why you chose each piece, you are blind to the way they look at you:

In a room full of gems, jewels and stars, you shine the brightest to them.