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riddleriddles · 6 months ago

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ಇ do i wanna know, hozier cover.

pairing. mattheo riddle x hufflepuff!quiet!reader

summary. sometimes, pansy knows exactly how to bring couples together. when mattheo, known for his grumpy mood, finds himself growing closer to a quiet, introspective girl, he must come to terms with feelings he never expected to have.

warnings. a bit of suggestive scene, but nothing explicit

add notes. I feel like my dialogues would never be said in real life.

visit my masterlist :)

ಇ

It was Pansy Parkinson’s birthday. The Parkinson Manor was a spectacle—a grand, ancient, and imposing structure, surrounded by meticulously tended trees. Its tall stone towers stood in stark contrast to the ethereal silver of the moon on that autumnal night, while the crisp air carried the fresh, melancholy scent of fallen leaves. The entrance hall sparkled with the glow of greenish lights that reflected off the polished marble floor. Music flowed through the vast corridors of the manor, mingling with the voices and laughter of the guests. Pansy never did anything halfway, and her seventeenth birthday party was no exception.

The main hall was teeming with Hogwarts students, predominantly Slytherins, although a few figures from other houses stood out, strategically placed. Groups gathered around enchanted tables laden with exquisite appetisers, while others chatted or danced in the centre of the hall beneath the enchanting glow of chandeliers and floating magical candles.

Mattheo Riddle leaned against a wall near the fireplace. His spot had been carefully chosen, allowing him to observe the entire room without drawing attention to himself. A glass of some drink—nearly forgotten in his hand—served more as a distraction than a necessity. His eyes scanned the scene with the detached air of someone watching a mediocre play, clearly indifferent to the excitement around him. He despised parties, but Pansy had been emphatic: “If you don’t show up, I’ll never invite you to anything again, and you’ll have to live with that.”

And so, here he was, enduring the loud music, empty chatter, and the unbearable feeling of being out of place.

The room buzzed with familiar faces: Blaise was chatting with Daphne near the makeshift bar, Draco was laughing at something Theodore had said in a secluded corner, and at the centre of it all, Pansy shone like a star, greeting her guests with a smile that was as rehearsed as it was charming.

Mattheo let out a deep sigh, raising the glass to his lips and sipping half-heartedly, merely to occupy himself. His thoughts drifted to the garden, which promised a quiet, solitary escape—perfect for smoking a cigarette far from the noise and frivolity of the hall.

You entered the party hesitantly, your measured steps and reserved posture betraying your unease. Your eyes scanned the room cautiously, taking in every detail before allowing yourself to fully step in. You clutched a small, delicately wrapped gift in your hands, your arms tucked close to your body as if forming a barrier against the chaos around you.

This wasn’t your kind of place—not in a bad way, just different from what you were used to. Your hair, styled in a carefully crafted half-updo, fell in soft waves over your shoulders, catching the golden light of the chandeliers and the greenish glow of the magical candles scattered around the room. Your pastel yellow dress, a nod to your Hufflepuff identity, was graceful and perfectly suited to the occasion, modest yet elegant without being over the top.

Stepping inside, you carefully shut the door behind you with a soft thud, masked by the music filling the air. You looked around attentively, moving with the grace of someone trying to avoid drawing attention. Your eyes landed on Pansy, who, upon noticing your arrival, quickly made her way over, a radiant smile lighting up her face.

“I’m so glad you came! I’ve been waiting for you,” Pansy exclaimed excitedly, and you smiled shyly, offering her the neatly wrapped gift. She took it with equal enthusiasm and, without missing a beat, guided you with a gentle touch on your arm, introducing you to her closest friends, most of whom you didn’t know—predominantly Slytherins. To anyone watching from afar, you might have seemed out of place, but you nodded politely, feeling quietly pleased to be surrounded by the friends of your close companion.

You tried to adjust to the atmosphere. The party was loud and full of people, but you knew this was exactly the kind of event Pansy loved, and it had been hard to turn down her insistence—especially on such an important occasion as her seventeenth birthday. What you hadn’t anticipated, however, was the intensity of it all: the loud laughter, the conversations about topics you barely understood or didn’t care about, and the overwhelmingly high volume of the music.

“Relax,” Pansy whispered in your ear, giving your shoulder a light squeeze as she noticed your discomfort. “You’re going to have fun, I promise.”

Her words carried a hint of something unspoken, though you didn’t catch it immediately. She continued introducing you to her friends, eventually steering you toward a more secluded corner near the fireplace, where Mattheo Riddle stood leaning against the wall, his expression bored, as though he were merely fulfilling an obligation. Holding a half-filled glass in one hand, his grey eyes scanned the room with disinterest.

“Mattheo!” Pansy’s voice interrupted his reverie, casual but still confident. “I want you to meet someone. This is my friend [Name]. [Name], this is Mattheo.”

Pansy smiled, looking far too pleased with the situation. “I’m sure you two will get along wonderfully!”

“Uh… hi,” you said softly, offering a timid smile as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, revealing a delicate gold moon-shaped earring that Mattheo noticed with mild indifference.

“Hi,” he replied curtly, his tone brief and aloof.

Pansy watched the exchange, clearly unimpressed by the lack of enthusiasm. “Did you know that [Name] loves taking care of magical creatures? And Mattheo, you have an impressive tolerance for people who talk too much—aren’t you two a perfect match?”

“Funny, Pansy,” Mattheo remarked, narrowing his eyes and tilting his head with a trace of amusement in his otherwise dry tone.

“Thanks, it was sincere,” Pansy quipped with a playful grin before stepping away with a conspiratorial air. “Enjoy yourselves!”

With one last smile, she left you both alone, disappearing into the crowd.

For a moment, the sound of the music and the chatter around you filled the silence as you, uneasy with the quiet, fidgeted with the star-shaped pendant on your necklace.

“So…” you began cautiously, looking at Mattheo. “Do you not like parties in general, or just the people who talk too much?”

The question caught him off guard, and he raised an eyebrow, taking a moment to think before answering. “Depends on the party. And the people.”

You let out a soft, almost inaudible laugh, but it was genuine. “I get that. This isn’t really my kind of place either.”

“Then why’d you come?” Mattheo asked, his tone casual but curious, as if waiting for your answer without much urgency.

“Pansy insisted,” you admitted with a small shrug. “And you?”

“Same.”

At that, you felt a little more at ease, tilting your head slightly towards him. “Well, at least we’ve got that in common.”

“Besides Pansy,” he added, a faint smirk tugging at his lips as he warmed to the idea that the conversation wasn’t as tedious as he’d expected.

The silence returned, but this time it felt less strained. You leaned against the wall beside him, gazing up at the ceiling, where floating candles with green flames illuminated the room alongside the warm, golden glow of the grand chandelier, while Mattheo’s eyes followed the movement of the partygoers.

Feeling slightly overwhelmed by the commotion, you noticed the atmosphere beginning to feel heavier. The grand and magical hall, while impressive, didn’t make you feel at ease. Mattheo, seemingly indifferent to the pressure of the space, appeared entirely unbothered. So, you decided to suggest something.

“How about we head out to the garden?” you asked timidly, looking up at him. “It’s… quieter, maybe?”

Mattheo, still leaning against the wall with his usual impassive expression, raised an eyebrow. “You really think the garden will be quiet, considering how many people are here?”

You smiled, slightly embarrassed. “It’s worth a try, I guess.”

With a sigh, he slipped a hand into his pocket and pushed himself off the wall, nodding. “Fine. Let’s go.”

The Parkinson mansion’s garden was undeniably stunning, but you barely noticed the perfectly trimmed hedges shaped into geometric designs or the softly glowing magical flowers. Your attention was more on the refreshing coolness of the night air and the silence—a welcome contrast to the chaos inside the hall.

The two of you walked in silence for a while. Mattheo observed you discreetly, noticing how your fingers gently brushed against the petals of the flowers along the path, as if you were connecting with their textures and details. There was no urgency in your steps, and eventually, you reached a secluded corner near an ornate fountain illuminated by floating candles casting dancing reflections on the water. He stopped by a tree, crossing his arms and tilting his head back to look at the starry sky.

“Do you always go to Pansy’s parties?” you asked, finally breaking the silence as you strolled slowly, examining the plants with more interest.

“Not a chance,” he replied with a short laugh, as if the idea were absurd. “I try to avoid them, but she’s always got these… oddly persuasive arguments.”

“Like what?” you pressed, curious.

“Like, ‘if you don’t come, I’ll tell everyone you sketch people in your notebook like a frustrated artist,’” he said, smirking slightly.

You blinked, surprised at the confession, then let out a soft laugh. “You draw?”

Mattheo shrugged, almost defensive. “Sometimes. It’s not a big deal.”

“It doesn’t sound like something to be embarrassed about,” you said simply, your tone free of judgment. Kneeling beside a bush of blueberries that seemed particularly enchanting, their tiny fruits shimmering under the magical light, you added, “Actually, it sounds pretty interesting.”

He frowned slightly, as if unsure how to respond, before muttering, “You haven’t seen it.”

“Maybe,” you replied with a small smile, still studying the delicate berries. “But it’s good to have a hobby. Everyone should have one.”

He remained quiet, thoughtful, as he watched you. There was something about you that felt disconnected from the party—yet perfectly at home here in the garden. The calmness in your movements, even when you seemed shy or slightly flustered, struck him as unusual.

“So, what’s your hobby?” he asked, breaking the silence this time.

You took a moment before answering, as if reflecting. “I suppose it’s taking care of magical creatures… They don’t need explanations. You just feel and understand them.”

He raised an eyebrow, surprised by the clarity in your answer, but didn’t comment straight away. It was rare for someone to talk about something so simple with such genuine passion.

“Fair enough,” he finally said, his voice free of sarcasm but still lacking much emotion, as though he were processing your words.

The silence returned, though it was comfortable now—almost natural. Yet, your curiosity about him grew too strong to ignore.

“Do you go to these parties often?”

“Not at all,” he replied, his tone carrying a faint hint of amusement. “Just every now and then. Pansy’s good at twisting my arm. If I don’t show up, she starts predicting my social death.”

You chuckled lightly, your gaze shifting to him rather than the garden around you. “And you always give in?”

“I’m not great at resisting emotional blackmail,” he admitted with a short, slightly insincere smile. There was a coldness in his comment, as though he didn’t place much value on his presence here. “Pansy has a way of turning invitations into ultimatums.”

The floating candles swayed gently around the fountain, their light casting dancing shadows on the stone. You took a step aside, feeling the cool night breeze against your skin. After a few moments of light-hearted conversation, you realised the dialogue had run its course.

“Maybe we should head back,” you suggested, breaking the silence. “Before Pansy comes looking for us.”

He remained silent for a moment, his gaze fixed on you. His expression still carried a hint of seriousness, but his eyes had softened somewhat.

“Maybe you’re right,” he finally said, the faintest trace of a smile on his lips. “But you decide when to go back, not me.”

You chuckled softly, shyly, as though the conversation had taken an unexpected turn, though it didn’t bother you. “Alright then. Let’s go.”

ಇ

The Slytherin common room was bathed in a cosy silence, broken only by the gentle crackle of the fire. The flames cast flickering shadows across the stone walls, creating an atmosphere that felt entirely separate from the rest of the castle. Mattheo was sprawled across one of the black leather sofas, his posture completely at ease, as though he belonged to the room itself. He twirled his wand idly between his fingers, his sharp gaze lazily drifting over the surroundings, disinterested.

The peace was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of firm, purposeful footsteps echoing off the cold floor. Mattheo didn’t look up—he didn’t need to. Pansy Parkinson always made her presence known. She strode into the room with the kind of authority that promised trouble, her eyes glinting with determination.

“Riddle,” she started, stopping in front of him with her hands firmly planted on her hips. “Saturday. Hogsmeade. You’re coming with me. Theo, Blaise, Luna, and [Name] will be there too.”

Mattheo didn’t even glance up, continuing to spin his wand between his fingers. His lips curved into a faint smirk. “No.”

“No?” Pansy echoed, raising an eyebrow, her expression morphing into one of incredulity. The set of her jaw only made her look more stubborn. “Come on, you haven’t even heard what I—”

“I’ve heard enough,” he cut her off, finally lifting his gaze to meet hers. His voice was dry, laced with boredom. “And the answer is still no. I’m not going, I don’t want to, and I’m not changing my mind.”

Pansy let out a heavy sigh, though the self-satisfied smile creeping onto her lips only deepened Mattheo’s irritation. “You say that now, but come Saturday, you’ll be there.”

Mattheo let out a short, humourless laugh. “Pansy, I’d love to see you try. I’m not Theo, who does everything you say just because he thinks you’re ‘cute.’”

“Thanks for the compliment,” Pansy shot back, her tone dripping with sarcasm as she crossed her arms. “Is this about [Name]? I saw you talking to her in the garden. You actually looked… sociable.”

“And? We exchanged a few words. That doesn’t mean anything.” His tone hardened as he narrowed his eyes, clearly irritated. Leaning back into the sofa, he added flatly, “If this is some attempt to set me up with someone, just give up now. You know I hate that.”

“Merlin, you’re dramatic,” Pansy scoffed, rolling her eyes. “No one’s setting you up. [Name] doesn’t even care if you’re there, to be honest.”

“Brilliant,” he replied, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “All the more reason for me not to go.”

Pansy let out a long-suffering sigh, though a mischievous smile tugged at her lips. “I know you, Mattheo. You say you won’t go, but come Saturday, you’ll end up tagging along with Blaise and Theo anyway. You need to connect with the world once in a while, you know.”

“I’m perfectly connected right here, thanks,” he shot back, gesturing around the room before rolling his eyes again. “I’d rather stay here than deal with people who think I owe them the courtesy of being interesting.”

Pansy tilted her head slightly, as though considering his words. “You’re so full of yourself. She’s not even thinking about you like that. And you know what? Maybe you should try acting normal around people who don’t fear you because of your surname.”

Mattheo huffed, but before he could muster a retort, Pansy was already making her way up the stairs to the girls’ dormitory. She threw a parting remark over her shoulder, her voice bright with smug amusement. “Saturday, Mattheo. Be there, or I’ll add this to my list of lifelong grudges!”

He stayed where he was, his gaze falling back to the wand in his fingers. It spun faster now, less smoothly than before. Pansy was wrong. He wasn’t going. And if [Name] didn’t care whether he came or not, that was fine by him. A relief, really. A big relief.

ಇ

The streets of Hogsmeade buzzed with chatter and laughter, the crunch of footsteps in the snow, and the sweet smell of warm drinks wafting out of nearby shops. Despite the lively atmosphere, Mattheo would still take this over the castle any day—at least here he wasn’t constantly followed by stares and whispers. He walked with his hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his black overcoat, his expression bored, though his sharp eyes missed nothing.

“So,” Blaise started, nudging Theo with his elbow. “Whose brilliant idea was it to drag him out here? Thought Mattheo was allergic to socialising.”

“Don’t start,” Mattheo muttered without even glancing at them. “I’m only here because someone wouldn’t shut up about how this was going to be ‘fun.’”

Theo laughed, unbothered. “It is fun. You should be thanking me.”

Mattheo opened his mouth to fire back but was cut off as the three of them rounded a corner and found themselves face-to-face with Pansy, Luna, and [Name] standing outside the Three Broomsticks.

“Oh, what are you lot doing here?” Pansy exclaimed, her voice dripping with faux surprise. Only Mattheo caught the teasing glint in her eye.

“Pansy,” he began, narrowing his eyes. “Don’t even try it.”

“Try what?” She blinked at him innocently. “This is pure coincidence.”

Mattheo was about to argue when his attention was pulled to Blaise and Luna. The moment they spotted each other, Luna lit up with a bright smile, and Blaise… Well, he looked like someone had hit him with a softening charm. It was rare to see him like that—genuinely smitten.

Luna stepped closer immediately, lightly tugging Blaise by the arm as she spoke. Whatever she said made him laugh, low and almost shy, a side of him Mattheo hardly ever saw. Blaise was usually so composed, but with Luna, he seemed… different.

That’s when it hit Mattheo. This wasn’t some trap for him. It was for them.

He glanced at Theo, who was watching the scene with a smug smile. Theo shrugged in response, as if to say, Don’t look at me, this wasn’t my idea.

Pansy, however, wasn’t even trying to hide her satisfaction, though she kept her focus firmly on Luna and Blaise.

Mattheo sighed quietly. Right. Maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe this whole outing really was just about those two.

But then his eyes landed on you. You stood a little behind Pansy, a small, almost shy smile playing on your lips as you watched Blaise and Luna. You didn’t seem out of place, exactly—just quiet, like someone unsure where they fit into the group dynamic.

He looked away before you noticed, but Pansy, ever observant, caught the movement.

“Well,” she said, a sly smile tugging at her lips. “Since we’re all here, why don’t we do something together?”

Mattheo was already preparing to decline, but something stopped him. Maybe it was the way you, distracted, reached out to catch the falling snowflakes in your hand, that soft, almost enchanted smile still on your face.

He frowned. What was so special about snow, anyway?

“Relax, Riddle,” Pansy said, pulling him back to reality. “I didn’t plan this.”

“You planned this,” he replied flatly.

“And if I did?” She held her hands up, her smile infuriatingly casual. “It’s not the end of the world. Try being social for once.”

Before he could respond, Theo slung an arm casually around his shoulders, as if to stop him from bolting. “Not every day we hang out with such a… diverse group.”

Mattheo rolled his eyes but didn’t bother arguing. Judging by how glued Blaise and Luna were to each other, it was pointless. Still, the way Pansy kept glancing at you before whispering something to Theo made him suspicious.

You, meanwhile, seemed completely oblivious to it all. You adjusted your scarf, your attention caught by a nearby shop window where tiny enchanted ice figurines were dancing.

“Alright,” Theo said, breaking the moment of silence. “So, what’s first on the agenda?”

Mattheo let out a heavy sigh and glanced over at you. You were standing a bit apart from the group, but somehow, your eyes met his. A small, tentative smile crossed your face, the kind that seemed unsure of its place, before you quickly looked away.

He considered walking away, but something made him stay. Maybe it was the sense that Pansy would never let him hear the end of it if he left.

“The Three Broomsticks?” he suggested, his voice laced with reluctance. “If we’re doing this, might as well get it over with.”

Pansy’s smile widened, like she knew exactly what he was thinking, but to his annoyance, she said nothing.

ಇ

The Three Broomsticks was as crowded as Mattheo had expected. The buzz of conversations and laughter mingled with the clatter of mugs and the sweet smell of butterbeer, creating a lively, almost chaotic atmosphere. For most, it was a place to forget about the pressures of school, but for Mattheo, it felt suffocating. He stood near the entrance, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his coat, ready to leave at any moment.

“See? Told you this would be fun,” Theo said, flashing a carefree grin as he dropped into a chair beside Pansy.

“If this is your idea of fun, I’d rather be back at the castle,” Mattheo replied flatly, choosing the chair furthest from the table.

Pansy, ever the orchestrator, settled in beside Theo and shot a smug look at Mattheo. “Oh, stop being dramatic. You’ll survive.”

Luna and Blaise took their seats next, the pair seemingly lost in their own little world. Blaise leaned in to whisper something, and Luna let out a soft, musical laugh. Mattheo rolled his eyes.

“They’ve already forgotten we’re here,” he muttered, tapping a keyring against the table in an almost absentminded rhythm.

Pansy smirked. “Leave them be. They’re cute.”

Mattheo huffed but didn’t bother replying. His eyes drifted across the room, eventually landing on you. You had chosen a seat near the window, detached from the group’s chatter. The soft glow of candlelight reflected in the glass as you gazed out at the falling snow, your expression calm and contemplative, as though soaking in every detail of the world outside.

For a moment, Mattheo found himself wondering what was so fascinating about the snow. It was just snow—falling endlessly, especially this time of year. But to you, it seemed to hold some deeper meaning, something he couldn’t quite grasp. You watched the flurries with a quiet intensity he found… puzzling.

“Paying attention, or has the snow got you too?” Theo teased, nudging Mattheo as he caught him staring.

Mattheo shot him a sharp look. “Shut up.”

Glancing at you again, he lowered his voice. “Why’s she so quiet?”

Pansy, ever observant, turned her gaze from you to the two whispering boys. “Because that’s how she is. Maybe you should try it sometime.”

“Very funny,” Mattheo shot back, narrowing his eyes at her.

Theo chuckled. “She just doesn’t like all the noise. Makes me wonder, though… why’s she here with us?”

“Because you invited her,” Mattheo said dryly, his tone clipped. Theo shrugged, unbothered.

“She’s here for Pansy. And maybe because sometimes people like to shake things up a bit,” Theo replied, as if it were obvious.

Mattheo didn’t respond, his attention drawn back to you. You were still lost in the view outside, but you must have felt the weight of their stares because, after a moment, you turned to face the group. Your smile was small and uncertain, a touch of embarrassment in your eyes. “What?” you asked quietly, your voice soft and cautious.

“Mattheo thinks you’re mysterious,” Theo said boldly, grinning as he leaned back lazily in his chair.

You frowned, your gaze shifting to Mattheo, who let out an irritated scoff. “That’s not what I said.”

“No need to explain yourself, Riddle,” Pansy chimed in with a sly grin, hiding behind the menu.

You gave a shy smile, clearly flustered, and buried yourself in the menu as if it were a shield. Mattheo caught the faint blush creeping across your cheeks, and for some inexplicable reason, it made him glance away, feeling oddly unsettled.

“What’re we ordering?” Blaise asked suddenly, breaking the tension and redirecting the group’s focus.

While the others debated their orders, Mattheo remained silent, his fingers tapping against the table. He didn’t want to admit it, but there was something about you that left him uneasy—not in a bad way, but in a way that made him feel restless, like he couldn’t quite figure out what to do with himself.

The waiter arrived, looking a little tired but polite, his quill poised to take orders. Theo and Blaise rattled off their choices with ease, but when it was your turn, you hesitated, your voice so soft that the waiter leaned in.

“Sorry, could you repeat that?” the waiter asked, his tone patient.

Mattheo noticed the discomfort on your face as you tried again, your cheeks flushing with self-consciousness. It was such a simple moment, but something about it made Mattheo feel compelled to step in.

“She’ll have a butterbeer,” he said abruptly, leaning back in his chair as if it were no big deal. “And I’ll have the same.”

The waiter blinked, then nodded. “Right, and the rest of you?”

You glanced at Mattheo, your surprise evident. For a moment, he wondered if he’d made things worse. But then you murmured, “Thanks,” so quietly it was almost inaudible. Your smile was small and a little shy, but there was something about it—something genuine—that made Mattheo’s chest tighten unexpectedly.

Their eyes met for a brief moment, and while it wasn’t much, it was enough to make Mattheo look away, feeling a strange heat rising in his neck. What the hell was that?

He focused on the table instead, letting his gaze fall on Pansy. She was watching him with her usual smirk, the kind that screamed, I know something you don’t. That look alone was enough to irritate him further.

He clenched his jaw, determined to brush it off. Whatever Pansy thought she saw, it didn’t matter. It wasn’t like him to get caught up in whatever game she might be playing. And yet, he couldn’t shake the thought of that small, genuine smile you’d given him—or the way it had made him feel completely out of his depth.

Later, the group had finished their meal and was now strolling leisurely through the softly lit streets of Hogsmeade. Snow fell in delicate flakes, blanketing the rooftops with a fine layer, creating a scene that was ordinary but, in your eyes, uniquely enchanting.

Mattheo walked in silence, his hands casually shoved into his pockets, while you stayed a little ahead with Luna, Blaise, and Pansy. The latter seemed particularly alert, as if she were plotting something in her mind.

“Let’s stop by Honeydukes,” Pansy announced suddenly, pausing beside Blaise and Luna. “I’m absolutely craving those ginger caramels.”

“Now? is probably a nightmare,” Theo grumbled, though his protest was pointless as Pansy was already dragging him firmly towards the shop’s entrance.

Before you could say a word, she turned to you and Mattheo with a sly, self-assured grin.

“How about you two check out the bookshop? We’ll catch up in a bit!”

You hesitated for a moment, glancing uncertainly in the direction of the bookshop and then back at Pansy. But she didn’t wait for a reply. Without giving you a chance to argue, she disappeared into Honeydukes with Theo in tow.

Mattheo let out a quiet sigh, his expression laced with a knowing irritation at Pansy’s obvious intentions. But he didn’t comment. Instead, he gave a small nod towards the bookshop.

“Fancy it?” he asked, his tone straightforward.

You nodded slightly, not trusting your voice to come out steady, and followed him towards the shop.

The interior of the bookshop was warm and serene. Tall shelves were crammed with books, from old, worn-out tomes to pristine, freshly bound editions. The air was filled with the unmistakable scent of aged paper, and the soft glow of strategically placed lamps added to the cosy atmosphere.

Walking slowly down the aisles, you trailed your fingers over the spines of books, savouring the texture of each one. Mattheo had wandered to a quieter section, where he pulled an old, dark-covered book from the shelf and examined it with mild curiosity.

“I’ve read that one,” you remarked casually, stepping closer.

Mattheo looked up at you, his expression faintly surprised. “Have you?”

You nodded, your eyes lighting up shyly but genuinely. “It’s really good, though a bit sad.”

He shrugged, placing the book back and reaching for another.

“That one too,” you said, glancing at the new book in his hand.

He raised an eyebrow, holding the book for a moment before putting it back and selecting yet another.

“Oh, that one’s brilliant!” you exclaimed, a spark of enthusiasm slipping through. “A bit heavy in parts, but it’s one of my favourites.”

Mattheo paused, studying the book in his hand before looking back at you.

“Have you read all of these?” he asked, disbelief evident in his tone.

You hesitated, your gaze flickering away briefly before meeting his again, your cheeks warming under his scrutiny.

“Almost all of them,” you admitted softly. “I just… really like reading.”

A faint, genuine smile tugged at Mattheo’s lips as he shook his head slightly.

“All right,” he said, holding up another book. “How about this one? Have you read it?” He revealed the title: The Great Gatsby.

Your eyes lit up instantly as you nodded. “Yes. It’s a classic. Sad, but so good.”

Mattheo let out a short sigh, glancing at the book with more interest. “Do you cry at all of them, or just the ones I pick because I like the cover?”

Your timid but sincere smile answered before your words. “Only the good ones.”

For a moment, he just watched you, his eyes lingering as you studied the shelves around you with quiet fascination.

“So,” he said, breaking the silence. “Think I’ll like this one?”

You tilted your head thoughtfully. “Depends. Do you like happy endings?”

Mattheo chuckled lowly, a hint of dry humour in his voice. “Wouldn’t know what that’s like.”

Your expression softened at his response, but you didn’t say anything right away. Instead, you looked up at him, as though trying to understand him better. He shifted uncomfortably under your gaze and glanced away.

“I’ll take it,” he muttered, holding the book firmly. “If it makes me cry, it’s your fault.”

You laughed quietly, the sound lighter this time, as he tucked the book under his arm.

“Do you read much?” you asked, your voice still a little shy as your eyes lifted to meet his.

“Not really.”

The moment was abruptly interrupted by Pansy’s familiar voice cutting through the quiet. She appeared suddenly beside Mattheo, a smug smile on her face.

“You two are taking ages,” she teased, throwing a loaded glance between the two of you. “Buying a book or writing one?”

Mattheo rolled his eyes, refusing to dignify her with an answer, while you glanced away, feeling slightly flustered. Pansy’s satisfied grin made it clear she’d gotten exactly what she wanted. Without ceremony, she tugged Mattheo towards the counter to pay for his book. You followed quietly as they left the shop, snow beginning to fall again outside.

ಇ

Once again, the group had gathered, this time in a more comfortable setting, as if they had already gotten used to the rhythm of their regular outings. The Slytherin common room felt cosy and calm, bathed in the soft light of the fire crackling in the hearth, casting a warm, golden glow across the space. Theo and Pansy were chatting animatedly about something trivial, while Blaise and Luna stayed, as usual, wrapped up in their own bubble, oblivious to the world around them.

You and Mattheo, however, were more on the edge of the group, tucked away in a quiet corner where silence hung comfortably in the air. He was staring into the flames, his mind distant, while you flicked through a book, your eyes quickly scanning the shelves of volumes in the common room.

It was you who broke the silence, your voice soft, laced with your usual curiosity.

“Have you finished that book, Mattheo?”

He gave you a look after a brief pause, responding casually.

“Yeah, it was quick to read, just like Cat’s Cradle.”

“You’ve read Cat’s Cradle?” you asked, surprised, your eyes lighting up instantly at the thought that he might be interested in such a quirky book.

Mattheo nodded with a relaxed gesture.

“Mm-hm.”

“I love that book,” you said enthusiastically. “I thought you said you didn’t read much.”

He laughed and shrugged, not giving it much thought.

“Well, what’s ‘much’?”

You laughed, satisfied with the answer, before diving back into your love for the book.

“Cat’s Cradle is just so chaotic, so human, you know? Like a distorted mirror of ourselves.”

Mattheo furrowed his brow, now visibly more interested.

“Human?”

“Yeah,” you continued, gesturing lightly. “The way Vonnegut portrays people, with all their confusing flaws—it’s so real. It’s a bit uncomfortable, but still, it’s genius.”

Mattheo watched you for a moment, trying to understand your perspective before replying in a teasing tone.

“I’m not sure ‘genius’ is the right word.”

You let out a soft laugh, not offended.

“No? And how would you describe it?”

He shrugged, his eyes drifting to the window beside him, watching the snow fall gently outside.

“It’s more like… a bunch of people getting into trouble because they’re too thick to see what’s right in front of them.”

You tilted your head slightly, amused by the simplicity of his argument.

“Exactly. That’s what makes it genius.”

Mattheo blinked, clearly impressed by your response. He wasn’t sure if you were joking or if you really believed it.

“You think stupidity is genius?”

“Nooo,” you said with a sideways smile. “But it makes us reflect on that human stupidity, like a portrait of our own contradictions, in a raw way. It’s uncomfortable, but in a weird way, it’s beautiful.”

Mattheo fell silent for a moment, processing your words.

“Beautiful?” He raised an eyebrow, as if trying to decide whether the comment was fascinating or just plain weird.

“Yes, beautiful,” you insisted, your tone calm but firm. “I think there’s beauty in accepting that we’re flawed, that we’re always trying, even when we know we might fail.”

He let out a low, almost incredulous laugh.

“You’ve got a peculiar way of looking at things.”

“Peculiar?” You laughed back, not losing the lightness of the moment. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Before he could respond, you leaned forward slightly, without thinking too much, and with a gentle gesture, you brushed a stray curl of hair from his face. Your touch was so natural that he barely had time to process it. Your fingers slid smoothly through his dark hair, pushing the curl away, and you did it with such ease that it felt completely normal to you. But for Mattheo, the action was enough to freeze him for a moment.

Mattheo froze. His mind instantly went on alert. The touch, though brief, had triggered a cascade of disconnected thoughts that he had no idea how to sort or deal with at that moment.

You, completely unaware of the inner battle Mattheo was facing, turned your attention back to the book you were skimming through, still intrigued by the shelves in the Slytherin common room. They were filled with delicate details, snakes and symbols, which gave the place a peculiar touch.

Mattheo, on the other hand, remained silent, lost in his own thoughts. He tried to push the moment’s impact aside, but it seemed impossible. The touch was still fresh on his skin, and the echo of your words about the book lingered in his mind.

ಇ

The night was quiet and peaceful at Hogwarts Castle. Mattheo lay in his dormitory, the soft light of the moon streaming through the window, casting a subtle glow over the room. His mind, however, was restless, filled with thoughts that were hard to sort. Almost mechanically, he reached for his wand, and with a subtle motion, began to move it, calling the music.

The first notes of “Crash Into Me” began to fill the room, softly, as Dave Matthews’ voice echoed through the space, enveloping him in a familiar melody. The song seeped into him like a comforting whisper, and something in it gripped him almost viscerally. He closed his eyes, allowing himself to be consumed by the music, and, without knowing why, raised his wand again to put the track on repeat.

The words of the song began to take on more meaning, subtly echoing within him, much like the thoughts swirling in his mind that he couldn’t quite organise. It was as if the song spoke directly to him, not in a clear and direct way, but through its rhymes and melody, something in between the lines made him think of you. Your calm presence, yet shrouded in mystery, took shape in his mind.

He turned over in bed, still immersed in confusing thoughts, trying to understand the nameless feeling that overtook him. What was this unease? The music seemed to break something inside him, as if it were unveiling parts of himself he didn’t know existed.

As the chords of the song filled the space around him, a quiet exhaustion began to settle in. He surrendered to the melody, letting himself drift, without haste or resistance. The last thing he thought of before falling asleep was your face.

In his dream, you were beneath the Astronomy Tower. The stars watched silently as you leaned against the balustrade, your hair softly shimmering, floating with the night’s breeze. They saw when you approached him, and the world around seemed to shrink, as if everything became insignificant. You kissed him, a simple, gentle kiss, incredibly soft, full of sincerity. When you pulled away, his eyes opened.

The song “Crash Into Me” still played in his ears, but the sensation of the kiss, the soft touch of your lips, lingered with him, even though the dream dissipated as quickly as it had come. He lay there, motionless, not knowing exactly when he had been struck. The confusion that had once dominated his thoughts now seemed entwined with that fleeting memory, and he allowed himself to feel.

ಇ

Theo’s dormitory was as cosy as ever, lit only by the bedside lamp, casting a soft yellow glow that created an intimate atmosphere. The lazy tendrils of cigarette smoke drifted in the air, mixing with the low hum of music playing from a small gramophone in the corner. Lorenzo was slouched on the sofa, his feet carelessly propped up on the coffee table, while Theo, seated on the floor with his back against the bed, took long drags from his cigarette, releasing the smoke in the air as if following a ritual.

Pansy, meanwhile, leaned against an armchair, distractedly fiddling with her wand. Mattheo remained on the outskirts, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, and visibly more distant than usual.

“So,” Pansy began, breaking the silence with a mischievous smile playing on her lips, though her tone remained casual, “I’m thinking of organising another group trip to Hogsmeade next Saturday. You coming?”

Mattheo raised an eyebrow, sceptical. “Who’s going?”

Pansy shrugged nonchalantly. “Me, obviously, Theo, Blaise, Lorenzo, Daphne… if she’s not busy.”

He gave a small nod, considering the idea. Maybe getting out a bit wouldn’t be so bad, even if he wasn’t exactly in the mood.

“And [Name],” Pansy added casually, throwing him a sly sidelong glance.

The effect was immediate. Mattheo froze, quickly averting his gaze. “Ah… no, I don’t think I’ll be going, then.”

Pansy stared at him, taken aback. “You’re not?”

“I’m just not in the mood,” he replied flatly, still avoiding her gaze.

“Not in the mood or running from her?” Pansy pressed, her tone sharp. She uncrossed her arms and stepped away from the armchair, facing him head-on.

He let out a humourless laugh, pushing away from the wall. “Oh, spare me, Pansy. This is just one of your dumb ideas to try and push me onto one of your friends. I’ve told you, it’s not going to work.”

“Push you onto my friends?” she repeated, incredulous, the disbelief clear in her voice. “Merlin’s beard, do you even hear what you’re saying? I’m just organising a trip, it’s not your bloody wedding!”

“Oh, right,” he shot back, his voice rising slightly. “You think I don’t notice? You’re always trying to set people up, like it’s some kind of game. But this isn’t some stupid romance novel. And honestly? She’s none of that, not worth the hassle.”

The silence that followed was thick, almost tangible. Even Lorenzo, who had seemed absorbed in his own thoughts, lifted his gaze, surprised by the bitterness in Mattheo’s voice. Pansy stood still for a moment before letting out a bitter laugh.

“Not worth the hassle?” she repeated, each word laced with icy venom, as she stepped right up to him. “Do you have any idea what utter rubbish you’ve just said?”

Mattheo tried to hold her stare, but there was something in her stance that unsettled him.

“You don’t even believe that,” she continued, her voice firm now. “You’re so terrified of the idea of liking her that you’d rather say something vile like that than admit it to yourself. But guess what, Mattheo? It doesn’t change a thing.”

He crossed his arms, frustration clearly etched on his face. “I’m not scared of anything. You’re the one harassing me with this ridiculous conversation.”

“Ridiculous?” Pansy raised her voice, frustration seeping through every word. “You’re the one acting ridiculous! As if liking someone is some kind of weakness. It’s pathetic, actually—it’s so sad, it’s almost funny.”

“Oh, fuck off, Pansy,” he snapped, his anger boiling over.

She laughed, a sarcastic chuckle escaping her. “I’m just trying to stop you from being an idiot. But, then again, maybe you don’t deserve someone like her. Maybe she’s too good for you, yeah?”

Mattheo clenched his jaw, irritation flashing across his face before he stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

In the stillness of his own dormitory, he threw himself onto the bed, his chest still heaving from the argument. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to organise his thoughts, but Pansy’s words continued to echo in his mind like an unshakable spell.

“Maybe she’s too good for you.”

He knew he shouldn’t have said that. It wasn’t true, and he knew it. She was worth the effort, without a doubt. He remembered the way she spoke about books, how her eyes lit up with passion for things he didn’t even bother to notice. She was kind, funny, incredibly genuine, and, above all, special.

With a heavy sigh, he closed his eyes and stared at the ceiling. Pansy was right. He was an idiot. And, worse yet, an idiot in love.

ಇ

The pub in Hogsmeade was packed, but the noise around Jasmine felt distant as she watched the group of friends play pool with curiosity. The soft lighting gave the place a warm, inviting atmosphere, while the low music in the background punctuated the occasional laughter of Theo and Lorenzo, who were arguing about who the better player was.

Mattheo kept his gaze fixed on you, knowing there was no escaping this. He was already falling, and he knew it. Rather than resist, he decided to enjoy the moment. There was something about your cautious yet charming manner that stirred him in a way he couldn’t quite understand. But soon he realised there was no need to comprehend it. It was as if the fall was inevitable, and somehow, the view would be worth it. All that was left for him to do was relax and let it happen. Maybe it was time to be bolder. Let the fall happen. He was ready for whatever came next and wanted to see how far it could go.

“Go on, who’s next?” Theo asked, twirling the cue stick with a teasing smile, aiming it at you.

“Definitely not me,” you muttered instantly, shrugging behind your butterbeer.

“Oh, come on,” Pansy teased, smiling. “You’ve never played?”

You shook your head, feeling a little out of place. “No idea how to play.”

Before Pansy could insist, Mattheo pushed off from the wall where he had been leaning, arms casually crossed, and approached. “I’ll teach you.”

You looked up at him, surprised. “You don’t have to, I—”

“Come here,” he interrupted, leaving no room for protest. He reached out and, before you could object, gently took hold of your wrist, guiding you to the right spot at the table.

Frozen, you watched him as if he’d just cast a spell. There was something so natural about the gesture – as though you’d shared this kind of proximity for years – that it left you speechless.

“Grab the cue,” he instructed, his voice low and slightly husky. You obeyed, holding the cue with clear hesitation.

Mattheo took a step back, so close that you could feel the warmth radiating from his body. “Like this,” he said, adjusting his hands over yours. His fingers were firm but didn’t squeeze; the touch felt casual, yet it carried an intimacy that made you blush instantly.

He tilted his head, his voice close to your ear. “You need to align with the ball.”

His breath seemed to brush against your skin, and your heart raced. “Right… okay.”

He chuckled softly. “Relax, you’re all tense.”

“I’m not tense!” you protested, though the nervousness in your voice gave you away.

“Of course not,” he teased, shifting his hands slightly to adjust the position. “Now aim here.”

Biting your lip, you tried to focus, even though the closeness made it nearly impossible. The sound of his voice, the way he leaned in, his firm yet careful touch – it was all making your mind spin.

“Ready?” he asked, and you nodded, feeling your face heat up.

With his help, you moved the cue forward, striking the ball harder than you expected. It rolled across the table, hitting a few others before dropping into one of the pockets.

“See?” he said, stepping back slightly but keeping his hand near yours. “That wasn’t so hard.”

You laughed nervously, too shy to meet his eyes. “I think it was more you than me.”

“Maybe,” he replied casually, but his gaze was now locked on yours.

You noticed he was still holding your hand, even though it wasn’t necessary anymore, and for a moment, you were completely speechless. When he finally let go, the touch seemed to linger.

“Next,” he said, handing the cue to Theo, who was already laughing.

You stepped away from the table, trying to regain your composure, but your heart was still racing. Pansy watched you with a mischievous smile, but said nothing – which, in some way, was even more embarrassing.

Mattheo, now leaning back against the wall again, looked relaxed, though a subtle smile played on his lips. He knew exactly what he’d done – and he seemed to be enjoying it.

The night was light, filled with laughter and pool shots. You still felt a bit embarrassed about the last shot, about Mattheo’s unexpected touch, and the way he seemed so at ease. The way he approached so naturally, as if there was an intimacy between you two that you didn’t know how to handle, made you nervous, but also… curious.

At one point, you stepped away to grab the drink you’d left on the table, and Mattheo was right behind you, not wasting a second before taking the empty glass from your hand.

“I’ll get you another,” he said, flashing a casual smile.

You raised an eyebrow, glancing at him and then at the empty glass he’d taken from your hand. “Hey, I can do it myself.”

He shrugged as he walked away. “So what? Let me do it for you.”

You stared at him as he made his way to the bar, wanting to protest, but knowing he probably wouldn’t care. He was back quickly, drink in hand, placing it gently in front of you.

“Here,” he said, smiling tranquilly.

Still unsure how to react, you responded, “You really don’t listen, do you?”

He laughed easily and sat beside you. “I listen, I just don’t care. And let’s be honest,” he chuckled softly, “you’re not exactly good at hiding that you like it when I do things for you.”

Your face flushed, but you weren’t sure whether you were more surprised by the comment or by how comfortable he seemed with the situation. You tried to change the subject, though your voice still sounded hesitant. “I really could’ve filled my own glass.”

“Sure,” he interrupted with a sly grin, “but I wanted to do it.”

Not knowing how to respond, you looked down, crossing your legs and resting the drink on your thigh, unsure of how to act when Mattheo was messing with your composure. But secretly, you were enjoying this new side of him – unsure of how to react, but liking it all the same.

“I know what I’m doing,” you whispered, more to yourself.

“I know, princess,” he replied with an easy grin, “but I like doing it.”

ಇ

As time passed, your meetings became more frequent. The group hangouts gradually gave way to moments alone, and the relationship between you two became more comfortable and intimate. Being in each other’s company felt natural, easy, almost like an extension of everyday life. Mattheo’s behaviour grew more spontaneous, with fewer of the usual walls he built up when you were around. And it wasn’t just you who noticed; the entire group of friends could see it too.

One night, you were in Mattheo’s dorm. The atmosphere was calm and welcoming, with the scent of scented candles he’d started using now permanently filling the room. They were burning all around, three on the dresser and others on the bedside table. Meanwhile, Mattheo was rummaging through the wardrobe shelves and found a few hidden bottles. It was cheap wine that Theo had bought to settle a silly bet, but had forgotten there. Mattheo remembered it like it had happened yesterday. He looked at the bottle with a smile, laughing to himself. You raised an eyebrow, suspicious.

“I can’t believe you’re going to drink that,” you said, laughing lightly while lying on the black carpet in the middle of the room, fiddling with the radio.

Mattheo shrugged, flashing a carefree smile. “Of course I am, it’s here, right?”

You gave him a sceptical look, but couldn’t help but laugh at his audacity. “That’s a bit weird.”

“It’s nothing,” he replied, walking over and sitting beside you, holding the bottle out. “Try it, go on.”

Hesitant, but tempted, you sat next to him, smiling nervously. You took the bottle from his hand, laughing before bringing it to your lips, keeping your eyes fixed on his.

After a bottle and a half shared between you, the effects of the wine were already clear. The conversation flowed easily, words coming out freely, and you both laughed at anything, letting yourselves enjoy the sense of freedom the moment brought.

Then Mattheo stood up, walked over to the radio, and adjusted the music. Fleetwood Mac, one of his favourite bands, and he knew it well. The soft notes filled the room, creating a relaxing and warm atmosphere. He smiled at you, stood up from the carpet, and waited for you to follow. “Don’t you want to dance?”

You looked at him hesitantly, but he was watching you as if daring you. It didn’t take long before you got up, still a bit loose from the alcohol, and started dancing awkwardly, singing along with Stevie Nicks, a silly grin on your face. Mattheo held your hands and settled on the bed, watching your dance. There was no pretension; it was a spontaneous dance, a bit off-beat, but genuine.

Mattheo watched you with a satisfied smile, but his gaze revealed something more. He saw you differently. You moved with clumsy grace, not caring about the rhythm, and he was completely captivated by the way you threw yourself into the moment, without a hint of self-consciousness. Your movements, though not sensual, were, in that instant, the most captivating thing he’d ever seen. You were so at ease, as if you were dancing just for him. And, in a way, you were.

You laughed, unaware of the effect you had, how your hair shone and moved perfectly with the rhythm of your motions. That sight, so natural, only drew him in more. When the music finally ended, you stopped, out of breath, and looked at him with a mischievous grin, holding onto his shoulders while he watched you from below, his expression one of admiration.

“See? Was this what you wanted?” you asked, regaining your composure, but with a faint blush on your cheeks.

“More than I expected.”

The music still filled the room, but slowly, it became a distant echo, overshadowed by the tension that now dominated the space. The air felt heavier, each heartbeat ringing in your ears as you locked eyes with him. Your hands still rested on his shoulders, and despite the relaxed smile that appeared on his face, there was something in Mattheo’s gaze that made the lightness of the moment take on a new weight.

His eyes were fixed on yours, serious, intense, filled with an emotion you couldn’t quite decipher. Something in that look seemed ready to spill over, and before you could even question it, the space between you two was vanishing. Mattheo moved, his strong hands reaching up to cradle your face, holding it with a gentleness that contrasted with the fervour in his expression. The world around you faded in the blink of an eye. No more cheap wine, no more candles, no more Stevie Nicks in the background. It was just the two of you.

“I’ve been wanting to do this for a while,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, filling the silence between you. His gaze didn’t waver, and the proximity made each word feel even more intimate, almost like a confession. A shiver ran down your spine, but you didn’t respond. There were no words that could capture what was going through your mind.

When he finally closed the remaining space between you, his lips found yours, and everything seemed to fall into place. The kiss began firm but soon softened, as if he was exploring each detail, testing, savouring the moment with an almost palpable intensity.

His hands didn’t stay still. One slid to your waist, fingers slipping beneath your shirt, touching your warm skin with a mixture of firmness and care. The other moved up to your neck, fingers light as a caress, but determined, keeping you close, as if he wanted to make sure you wouldn’t slip away.

When his lips left yours, it was only to trace a deliberate path along your jawline, down to the delicate spot on your neck, where he could feel your pulse quicken. Each kiss was meticulous, almost reverent, as you closed your eyes, surrendering to the sensation. The softness of his touch seemed to contradict the intensity he maintained with every movement, and it made the moment all the more overwhelming.

Then, unexpectedly, Mattheo made a quick movement, pulling you onto the bed.

He was firm, but careful, lying you down with precision and security, as if guiding you through a dance he had already mentally rehearsed. Your bodies moulded into the surroundings, as if the moment had been waiting for you both.

Mattheo pulled back slightly, his hands slowly lifting your shirt, with a near ceremonial slowness. There was no rush, just a clear intention in every gesture, as though he was absorbing the significance of what was happening. His eyes scanned your body, but not with haste or crude desire. There was something almost devotional in that gaze, something that made your breath quicken and slow at the same time.

His lips descended to your stomach, touching it with the lightness of a promise. Each kiss seemed to hold something unspoken, something long-kept. Mattheo's fingers traced slow paths along your skin, as though he wanted to memorise every detail, while you let out a sigh that seemed to echo in the intimacy of the room.

For a brief moment, he lifted his head, meeting your gaze. His eyes sparkled with a mix of desire and playfulness, and a light smile curved his lips before he leaned in again, the kisses resuming their course, now with even more care, as if each touch was a silent vow of adoration.

#harry potter #riddleriddles #slytherin x hufflepuff #slytherpuff #mattheo fluff #mattheo imagine #mattheo riddle imagine #mattheo riddle fluff #mattheo x you #mattheoxreader #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle

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spurbleu · 8 days ago

Text

smoke break.

a short fic about smoking that got away from me. all of them want you, so 141 x reader.

it’s like clockwork.

it’s 9:43 PM, with an early autumn breeze that still smells like summer breaking through poorly sealed windows. the sky is blooming in violets. there is barely anyone left in the office. it’s silent.

and then four pairs of heavy footsteps break it.

its always the same order, too. johnny’s first, hands in his pockets. his shoulders shrug as he braces for the cold. kyle follows. he always itches his knuckles before holding the door open for simon, who walks behind him silently. price, unsurprisingly, brings up the rear.

his hand always digs into his back left pocket before the door closes.

and you, every time for the past 2 months, have ignored them. but curiosity is a ceaseless, immortal creature, isn’t it?

it got the best of you, today.

it’s 9:41, you’re out for some air. stretching your legs on the balcony, that has a much less depressing view than your cubical. a city beginning to sleep. a sky that is bigger than feels right, even if it’s beautiful. keeps you company.

that, and your anticipation.

it bites when the door creaks open.

there’s a pause. you breathe three times, white clouds hissing from your teeth before you hear the first boot plant.

1 pair. 2, 3. a longer pause. two breathes. the 4th walks two short steps, before you hear the door close.

you finally turn. kyle speaks first.

“needed air?”

you nod. you’re at an awkward distance, that no one moves to close. all four of them stand a couple of paces away, like startled animals. “I needed a break.”

johnny nods. “aye, tats what we’re oot ‘ere for. seen us come’up- yeah?”

“no. didn’t know it was you’re spot.” you lie.

johnny smiles. he’s letting you. “mm, tat’s alright,” he glances over his shoulder to the men, who have not stopped looking at you, “we can share.”

you swallow as they turn away from you. you see price pull out a cigar, and kyle with a lighter. theres a click of steal on butane followed by the smell of expensive smoke. you turn around.

what else would it be? of course it was a smoke break. their 10 minute respite from cement sweat and checking their six. paperwork and chairs they don’t fit in. from you.

you’ve stepped on sacred ground. invaded territory. walked into their carefully crafted den to, for selfish reasons, figure them out.

the dynamic no one else can crack or join. a wall of force by interlocked arms. a brotherhood. a blood bond. a loyalty. in life, in death. in this brief moment, where they share a cigar and say nothing.

you’ve done the office equivalent to spitting on an altar. you should go. you need to g

“ever smoked?”

suddenly, you’re aware of how warm everything feels. how it smells like tobacco that belongs to luxury. how when you look forward, broad shoulders are in your periphery. you don’t move.

“s-sorry?”

its price, he’s next to you. “i asked if you’ve ever smoked, darl,” you look at him, with all your doubt and confusion and vulnerability, and he cracks a smile, “probably not, then.”

there’s pressure on your shoulder. you give in and turn around. simon stands in front of you, and between his fat, gloved fingers, is a cigar that looks above your pay grade. and your tolerance.

“open.”

“oh i-“ you shake your head, looking to any of them for a bit of leeway, “I don’t- I wouldn’t want to waste any-“

“price is offering, love,” says kyle, who is to your far left, “your chance to take it is now.”

initiation. welcome mat, made by smoke and grime and all the things that make them who they are. all the things you are not. at least, not now.

not without that cigar in your mouth.

you do as simon says and he places it to your lips.

“inhale.” he says.

you’re doing as your told until it itches. something in your throat burns. then your lungs. then it’s lingering in your chest until-

you’re coughing. you see grey cloud around your vision, and catch how white they’re teeth look when they smile.

strangely white, for smokers.

“good girl.” says price, “learning how to manage. takes a couple of times,” and his hand is on your chin, you aren’t coughing anymore but you’re certainly flushing, “but you’ll get there.”

“aye, we all got t’ere.” say johnny. he’s smiling too, next to simon, who is not. but he’s looking at you, and that feels more intimate.

“and we’ll help you get there, too,” price says, voice like his presence- warm in the way a fire burns, iron formed in its wake. it’s a middle ground between unsettling and comforting- a strange, dangerous place to be with your boss, “that right, boys?”

you didn’t even notice until now, but kyle’s hand rests on your lower back. it keeps traveling down.

they speak in unison.

“yessir.”

#hey im back #whatever this is you can have it #call of duty #cod #john price x reader #captain john price x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #johnny soap mctavish x reader #soap x reader #ghost x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #gaz x reader #price x reader #141 x reader #141 x you

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5sospenguinqueen · 9 months ago

Text

Tastes Like Gin | Max Verstappen x Best Friend! Reader

Summary: Max turns 27, and his best friend surprises him with a birthday party. Unfortunately, a few shots from his fellow drivers gives Max more confidence than he expected.

Warnings: Fluff. Friends to lovers.

Requested: No. Just a birthday piece

F1 Masterlist

━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━

redbullracing just posted

liked by schecoperez, christianhorner and others

redbullracing so many max memories 🎂 here’s to 27. happy birthday

2,331 comments

christianhorner happy birthday, champ

f1 happy birthday, max

user not rbr only using pics of max in team gear

user waiting (not so) patiently for yn’s bday post because she posts the softest pics of max

user i love how this post is just fans complaining about max’s car

→ user it’s ‘cause all the drivers will be waiting for yn to post

user here’s to hoping for more wins when the autumn break is over

user have a purr-fect day 🐱

yn_ln just posted

liked by landonorris, danielricciardo and others

yn_ln happy birthday, maxie. no matter how old you get, or how many records you set, you’ll always be the goofball that peed in my paddling pool. happy 27th 🧡🦁

5,533 comments

user yn’s yearly dose of humbling

→ user she always posts the most ego destroying photos of him

→ user as a best friend should

maxverstappen1 i was 5! and you promised you would stop bringing that up

→ yn_ln was i drunk when i made this promise?

→ maxverstappen1 yes…

→ yn_ln then you know it doesn’t count

→ maxverstappen1 for my birthday this year, i’d like a new best friend

→ yn_ln already bought your present and i can’t refund it. soz

danielricciardo why have you posted two pics of him with his tiddies out

→ yn_ln you mean you don’t like the vertiddies? i’m blessing the mv1 fan base

→ redbullracing and my timeline

→ yn_ln see

landonorris 27 years means 27 shots

→ yn_ln only if you’re taking him home at the end of the night. he can puke in your bathtub

→ maxverstappen1 that was one time! and tbf, i’d just won my first wdc

→ charles_leclerc why do you keep desecrating this woman’s water features

lilymhe ew, is that a man?

→ yn_ln i’m only friends with him for his money, i swear! you’re the only one for me

→ user um, haven’t you been friends since you were kids

→ yn_ln it’s called playing the long game. i could tell he was going to be rich since he was little

→ maxverstappen1 i can’t tell if i’m insulted or complimented

maxverstappen1 added to his story

yn_ln added to her story

landonorris added to his story

landonorris replied to maxverstappen1’s story wow. what a gorgeous date → i still think you should set us up → maxverstappen1 fuck off → landonorris with a sight like that, i thought you’d be in a better mood

maxverstappen1 replied to yn_ln’s story i can’t believe you pulled off a whole surprise party without me knowing → you’re phenomenal → yn_ln you’re not mad at me for ruining our nice, quiet evening like you were expected → maxverstappen1 no. i get to celebrate with all the people i love → and we still had our quiet dinner just the two of us → i can’t believe you’ve done all of this for me → yn_ln i’d do anything for you

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Tangled in the white bedsheets, you realised you hadn’t changed out of your dress from the night before. Max’s old hoodie, a 33 above the breast, covered the top-half of your frame, providing some semblance of warmth and comfort. Head propped up on the pillows, you squinted at the bright screen in your hand. Blinking furiously, you couldn't tell if the pounding in your head was from the lack of sleep or the disbelief at what you had done. A friendship of over two decades ruined in a single night. Thumb swiping at the screen, a wave of shame washed over you as you scrolled to another post. And then another.

Another image. Another angle. Another trending tweet.

All of them accumulated in one place, screaming at you. For years you had buried the feelings you harboured for your best friend. Shoving them deep down below the surface, hiding them under quick-witted remarks and fleeting touches. He had never shown even an inkling that he returned the way you felt. Laughing it off when the other drivers questioned the nature of your relationship. Shoving you at Lando when he joked he’d “take you off his hands”. Asking you for fashion advice a few hours before a first date. And you had endured it all, in order to remain under the light of his platonic love. In one night, you had torn down the wall you had sloppily cemented together.

The shrill sound of your phone pounded against your skull, piercing through the destructive thoughts. Blurry images of his face pressed against yours were replaced by a professional photo. Max’s face grinning back at you, his cheek smushed against the sliver of your face caught in the edge of the photo. Another night. Another celebration. A very different ending.

“Why are you awake already?” You muttered to yourself, looking at the contact picture filling up your phone. You thought you’d have more time. More time to think of an excuse, to plan a lie, to pretend you knew nothing about it.

About his face going viral, her body going viral, the pair of them connected going viral.

“Morning, old man.” You answered, attempting a light-hearted tone. “I thought you’d still be passed out.”

“I tried,” grumbled Max. “But my phone wouldn’t stop blowing up.”

“That’s odd.”

“Uh, huh. You been on Twitter this morning?”

Silence fell. You didn’t know how to respond to that with a clear voice. Max didn’t need you to. He could read your silence almost as well as your words.

“Did that really happen?”

A sting shot through your chest. Here came the let down. “Well, it can't have been a very memorable kiss if you don’t remember it happening.”

A false laugh echoed down the phone. Max’s eyebrows scrunched together and the unspoken pain.

“I remember every second of it,” he said vehemently. “I just thought I was dreaming again.”

You didn’t hear his words. Already having prepared your next line. Say the words before he can. That’ll make them hurt less.

“It’s okay. I know they didn’t mean anything. You were just drunk. I’m sorry it’s gone viral. I can’t imagine the kind of PR mess this will be.”

“No! No, I wasn’t. I mean, I was intoxicated, sure. But, not drunk enough to do things I didn’t mean-”

“Max, it’s okay. I get it. Nothing will change between us because you had a few too many G&Ts. I’m happy to speak to PR with you and see how we can fix this-.”

“Will you just stop?” Max demanded, voice too loud to both your sensitive ears. He winced as you fell silent, sharp intake of breath filling his ears. “Stop trying to brush this off as nothing. Yes, Charles filled me with shots, and I was more easygoing than normal but I remember every. second. of. that. kiss. You had a cocktail umbrella tucked behind your ear, and Alexandra’s lipstick mark on your cheek. Lando had stolen your hair clip so it was down and loose, just how I like it. I was intoxicated but just enough to give me the courage I didn’t have before.”

“You tasted like gin,” was the breathless reply he got.

“What are you doing this morning?” Max asked, desperate to break the heaviness between the two of you. Desperate to hear your usual answer after a night out; ready for him to take you for a greasy breakfast to mop away the alcohol.

He could hear your smile - picture it in his head - when you said, “Waiting for you to pick me up, of course.”

“I’ll be there in 20.”

“Make it 30. I have terrible morning breath.”

Max’s laughter eased the tension in her body. “Maybe this time you’ll taste like mint.”

maxverstappen1 just posted

liked by charles_leclerc, alex_albon and others

maxverstappen1 the best birthday gift this year

6,333 comments

yn_ln i love you 🧡 i can’t wait to spend many more birthdays by your side

→ maxverstappen1 mijn hart

redbullracing finally. we’ve been waiting for this to happen since abu dhabi 2021

→ user rbr so real for that because the way he grabbed her. i fr thought he was going to kiss her there and then

→ maxverstappen1 i wanted to

landonorris but i got you personalised gaming headphones :(

→ oscarpiastri and i got you the ultimate guide to minecraft

→ danielricciardo yes but neither of you got him laid. yn did

→ yn_ln daniel!

→ charles_leclerc i got him drunk enough to kiss her. does that count?

→ yn_ln no!

→ maxverstappen1 yes

→ yn_ln you guys suck

→ landonorris sounds like that was your job

→ yn_ln @/redbullracing @/mclaren @/scuderiaferarri pr training for all of them!

━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━

Requests are open. Coming up;

Drunk and flirty Toto

K Mag Part 2 ‘cause it seems I’ve converted some of you

1K notes · View notes

rainrot4me · 10 months ago

Text

Outrun, Undone

Summary: Your body hurt, heaving and clawing to escape. They were catching up, laughter echoing through the dense trees as you ran, praying for your stamina to hold. But you knew you weren’t fast enough, and so did they…

Characters: Masky & Hoodie x Female Reader

SMUT WARNING MINORS DNI

TW: Chasing, predator and prey, primal sex, blood, injury, fear, threesome, double penetration, vaginal fingering, anal, blowjob, vaginal, overstimulation, power play, fighting, aggression, mocking, degradation, forced submission, pussy spanking, oral fixation

Words: 8.2k

Fight or flight is described as an instinctual reaction that occurs when the body perceives a threat, rallying for survival.

Psychologically, it changes you, gripping for any out or sense of security as it pushes its own comfortability. It’s primal, animalistic, and desperate; mind clawing for any serenity. Your mind and body were screaming, like every inch of your consciousness was being ripped apart the harder you fought. You wanted to cry and scream and get away, but they wouldn’t let you. They were going to make sure you lost this bet.

The woods felt like they went on forever, large pines and ominous maples cutting off your direction and forcing you into a maze, the schlick of mud under your shoes echoing with every quick step. You were soaked with sweat and rain, hair clinging annoyingly to your face and blocking your vision. Your clothes felt heavy on your skin, making it hard not to get overstimulated and tired. “Fuck-” You gasped, rounding a mound of roots to find a patch of brambles, head spinning and looking for another direction. The loud thumping of boots was heavy behind you, branches and leaves snapping as you heard hollers paired with eager laughter calling out your name, searching for you. There was no other direction. You hauled forward.

It was your fault, really. You roused them on, claiming stealth and agility were better tactics for a killer than brute force and power. The boys chuckled, arms crossed and stupid grins shining as they teased. It was always so odd to see them without their masks, especially in such good moods.

“Oh yeah? And who says that?” Masky poked at you, leaning back into the door of the rental truck you had all lived in for the past week. This mission was exhausting, another hitman job for the Operator that you really couldn’t bring yourself to be passionate about. The boys weren’t too thrilled either. Sleeping cramped into a single cab as the only girl was devastating. The smell of no showers and lack of proper meals was getting to you now, a two-day headache pounding at the base of your skull and making you nauseous. At least they let you have the back seat to yourself.

“Uh, says the one who’s gunned down more than both of you?” You scoffed, kicking some gravel from the campsite parking lot. “Don’t you ever notice how I’m the one having to pick off the stragglers when you two come in guns blazing? I swear, you two only think with your revolvers instead of your actual brains.”

Hoodie chuckled, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he leaned against the truck bed. “These brains don’t do much thinking anymore anyways.” You rolled your eyes, “Obviously.” Looking out across the field meant for hunting, a dense treeline hung just over the clearing as the sun began to set, deep oranges and pinks pushing through the leaves. You couldn’t remember what state you were in, somewhere north and cold, early autumn setting in as the breeze whipped against your cheeks. It was going to rain tonight, you could see it in the way the leaves upturned, the thick smell of distant downpours on the bark stirring in the air. “Just saying. I could outrun you both and still have the energy to take down someone. You two wouldn’t last a second without your precious little weapons strapped to your hip.”

The boys tensed, eyes narrowing as they looked at each other, a silent challenge welling up. “How about a game then? Put your little stealth tactic to the test.” Masky huffed, a stupid grin matching the eagerness in his eyes. Hoodie nodded along, pushing off the truck bed as he stepped closer, his boots crunching into the gravel.

“The woods out there. It’s only about fifty acres worth, but it’s dense. Good enough for hide and seek, huh?” Hoodie’s voice sounded a little more chipper than his usual monotonous one, laced with excitement and almost giddy. “We’ll give you ten minutes, put your money where your mouth is. If we can’t find you, we’ll buy you a hotel room for the rest of the trip.” You glared, heart thumping at the idea of finally getting a shower and some heat, fingers fidgeting at your sides. “But, when we catch you, and we will, who knows what we’ll ask for?” Masky shrugged cockily. “Guess we’ll be thinking about it while you’re runnin’.”

The boys pressed forward, shoulder to shoulder as they stared down at you, nauseating smiles making your heartache. You glanced back to the tree line. Crossing your arms, you rolled your eyes, stupidly accepting their bet. You were going to win, you knew you were, but all they could do was smile. “Ten minutes starts now, sweetheart.” Hoodie fiddled with his old-style military wristwatch, wiping the glass as he clicked some buttons to start a timer.

“So I just… start runni-”

“Fifty-nine, fifty-eight, fifty-seven…” You tensed, taking steps back before spinning on your heels, zipping your jacket up as you began to run, slipping into the trees.

When you began to run, that’s when the excitement truly swept in.

The ten minutes had long passed, your feet carrying you deep into an unfamiliar forest where every tree looked the same. But you had to keep going, if for nothing else, then to create distance.

It was getting too dark to see, the sun hanging low on the horizon and dense night setting in. The silhouettes of trees stretched ahead, endless in every direction. There was no trail or path to follow, only the thick underbrush and ferns that whipped at your legs as you ran, branches scratching your skin. You had no clue where you were going.

The rain had begun as well, thick droplets soaking your clothes and face, making your hair cling to your skin. Your legs burned, muscles tensing as you dodged trees, mud clinging to your shoes the further you went, your breath already quickening. When you reached a small clearing, you paused, catching your breath as you searched the shadows, listening intently for any signs of movement. Nothing caught your attention besides the heavy patterns of rainfall, leaves, and branches whipping in the wind as you set off again, catching your pace.

Adrenaline couldn’t differentiate this from real danger. You dealt with these boys every day, watching how they worked and killed, studying their every move. But now that you were on the other side of the fight, there was no clue just how real they were going to make it. You knew they wouldn’t kill you. They were all for bets, but they weren’t sore losers. They might catch you, they might hurt you, but they wouldn’t kill you. And, somehow, that excited you.

There was something so rousing about playing the victim for once. It made you feel vulnerable and small, but oh did it make you desperate.

Climbing over a fallen pine and sliding down the short ridge beyond it, you crouched close to the ground, pressing close to the roots and bushes as you caught your breath again. You had to think one step ahead, had to conserve your energy; any chance for a break was a good one. They wanted a chance, so you’d give them a chase. But you had to be smart too.

Snap.

You froze, slow breaths shaking as the condensation fogged at your mouth. You clenched close to the ground, careful not to move as you heard the thumps of boots more clearly now, a matching pair. You clenched your jaw, bracing your hands against the side of a tree as their voices grew too.

“Come on, little mouse,” Masky called out, the giddiness in his voice making you cringe. “You’re not very good at hiding your tracks.” Shit. The rainfall had roused the ground with mud, your imprints being left everywhere and leading right to where you crouched. You had to move.

Rain and sweat dripped off your nose, teeth clenched as you shook, the cold breeze cutting against your skin. Your pupils blew wide as you scanned the ground, snaking your body up quietly as you took eager steps in the opposite direction of the boys. The mud squelched, your body aching as you pushed off the tree, steadying your pace back into a jog to not make too much noise. You heaved, letting your pace grow the further you got, the small steps turning into a desperate sprint as you whipped through the trees, the wind burning your cheeks raw. You were panting, sucking deep breaths of air, and fighting against the strain in your chest.

“There!” You cursed, Hoodie’s voice ringing through the trees as you sprinted, fists clenched as you dug your feet into the ground. In your attempt to get away, you had done exactly what you wanted to avoid, catching their attention. You heard the sound of their boots taking heavy steps in the distance, far enough but definitely still too close for comfort. Your heart thumped, adrenaline pumping. You tried to look back, to gauge just how far they were, just how fast you needed to run. You couldn’t see when your ankle snapped against a root popped from the ground, flinging your body down.

The ground was damp, mulch and rocks lodged into your knees as you clattered to the dirt, heaving for breath. You didn’t remember which direction you were trying to go, but it didn’t matter as you pushed your aching body up, lunging back into a sprint. Rain and fog blurred your senses, the stout smell of wet earth suffocating you with every labored gasp. You groaned, palms and clothes covered in mud and grass, your chest aching from the abrupt contact. The boys howled with excitement, their chanting and loud laughs making you nervous, and desperate to get away. The worst part, however, was the fact they had now put on their masks.

The three of you had grown comfortable, there was no desire to cover their faces around each other, saving the covers for jobs. But now, the stupid masks were snugged on, concealing their expression and making this situation all the more terrifying. Now, you realize they saw you as a job, a mission to catch and take, no longer just a little game. You wanted to cry, the anger shooting through your veins as you ran, heaving for air and distance, your brain screaming to get away. They were going to catch you.

You were so used to being on the other side. You were the one chasing, the one seizing runaways. But, something about being the one having to get away, the thought of you fighting within an inch of your life against your friends. It got you stirred in the worst kind of way.

You sprinted, half-running half-sliding down the steepening slope, your shoes catching on vines and mud as you went. You had no clue where you were going or why the terrain was suddenly changing, but you continued to press forward, feet flinging out from under you as you sprinted. The slope picked up, rocks and thicker soil breaking under your steps, clattering down the side of the hill you were pressing down, leaning back to claw into the mud as you lost your footing, pummeling down. Your foot caught on a root, hauling your shoe off your foot and snapping your body with it.

You met the clearing at the bottom face-first.

You landed hard, a thick stream of water splashing against your face as you gasped. The air knocked from your lungs, rolling onto your back as the water flowed around you, the tiny stream picking up from the rain. Rocks and moss stuck to your clothes, your teeth grit as your chest ached. You had to get up, you had to keep running.

But the chuckles from above you made you whine, footsteps crunching down the muddy slope as they paced just out of your sight. “Aww, think before you run. Don’t go panicking now.” You could hear the smile in Hoodie’s voice despite your dizziness.

Out of pure adrenaline, you shoved yourself up, looking towards the slope, but finding nothing there. You spun on your heels, surveying the trees and sides of the hill, nothing sticking out. You hissed, looking down towards your hands as dirt sunk into the cuts, your palms torn and bleeding down your wrists, mixing with the rain. Your socks were soaked with mud, your feet aching and pounding with pain as your foot had been welted raw. But you couldn’t find them. For how large and annoying they were, you couldn't find them. You had to keep moving.

Turning away from the slope, you dug your heels in, pushing away from the stream. It was hard to focus, hard to keep your mind from spinning as you clawed, legs burning every step they ran. Your head felt light, too nauseated to notice the flash of yellow in your direction.

A hand seized around your throat from behind, the other gripping into your hair as you cried out. You flung, fighting back against the tight grasp Masky held, kicking your knees. How the hell had he gotten to you? You swung your arms, reaching back to claw at the fists wrapped around you, elbow flying back to make contact with his ribs.

Masky gasped, grunting heavily as how grip loosened, reaching for his side. You slammed back hard, taking the opportunity to shove your shoulders back, knocking the brunette off balance and releasing you. In the process, you took the chance, sprinting away and pressing through the rain, gasping as you heard his yells behind you.

Gripping the side of another steep hill, you clawed at the roots and rocks protruding from the side, launching yourself up the side of the ravine and scrambling up onto flat ground above. Your socked foot caught on a rock, slicing through the fabric and through to your skin too, making you hiss and clench your jaw. Don’t look back, don’t stop, don’t be afraid-

Hoodie grunted as you slammed into him, chest knocking against him so hard you landed flat on your ass. He wasn’t so easy, not allowing you to get back up as the taller man pinned you down. You thrashed wildly, arms and legs flailing as his fists gripped your jacket, raising your chest to slam you back down against the ground, knocking the breath from your lungs. You gasped, tired arms reaching up to claw at his hoodie, tugging the soaked cloth, and trying to reach his skin. Hoodie laughed, his fingers digging into your sides as you groaned, panting your exhaustion. Masky was following behind, grappling up the side of the hill and chuckling his amusement. You were panicking, flailing under the man as you whined.

“Didn’t last very long at all, huh?” Hoodie mocked, pushing your legs out of the way as you tried to kick him, your hands still clawing. The man just pressed harder, reaching up to clench your jaw, angling your head closer to the ground and into the mud. It was disgusting, your pants and whines making him smile as you gripped his hoodie, feeling for anything you could use.

When your fingers brushed his pistol holstered snugly against his side, you strained your jaw, reaching as far as you could. Hoodie was focused, eyes locked onto your face as his fingers clenched around your throat, tightening excruciatingly as you gasped, head already spinning. Your breathing was labored, the intensity of his grasp faltering your reach as you strained, the eagerness in his grasp making you dizzy.

You whined, pressing your shoulder down as you finally wrapped a finger around the end, tugging the weapon out of its holster. Masky was close now too, boots crunching in the mud as your vision blurred, rain and lack of oxygen snaking a darkness into the edges of your sight. You snagged a finger around the cold metal of the gun, hauling it up and bringing it down quickly, slamming against the side of Hoodie’s skull. His groan rang, his grasp on your throat letting free as he hauled back, gripping at the side of his head.

You scrambled up, panting breaths of moist air as you pushed back in the mud, hauling yourself up. Masky tried to press in, your hands were quick to shoot up and aim the pistol, a finger placed steadily on the trigger. The man stopped, mockingly holding his hands up and laughing, angling his head to the side in amusement.

“What? Is the little mouse scared now? What happened to all that big talk earlier?” You cringed, panting loudly as puffs of condensation clouded around your mouth. You were shaking wildly, mud and rain crusted deep into your clothes and skin, soaking you to your core. “I thought this was some game, not a real chase.” You grit your teeth, snarling your desperation through angered words.

Hoodie was up now, looming close to Masky’s side as he watched, an expression showing he was ready to pounce. He wanted more, you could see it in the way his fingers flexed and palmed against his jeans. You shook, keeping the pistol aimed between both of them. You didn’t give them a chance to get to you again. Turning on your heels, you lunged into another sprint, chest, and legs aching at the sudden burst. The boys latched on, not giving a second thought before chasing behind you, desperately trying to match your pace. You were faster than them, but there was no way you would be able to beat them again physically. With a hurt foot and weakened body, they would overpower you in an instant.

Mocking chants and laughs echoed loudly behind you, the rain and wind snapping at your skin. You limped through every step, trying to keep a good pace as the pain began to sink in, mud clinging against your cuts. Your mind was racing, excitement and pent-up energy exerting themselves in every ache and stretch. So many times on missions you were forced into uncomfortable situations, clawing and begging to prove yourself, to show just how useful you were.

But now, you weren’t chasing anymore. You were the one running, the one begging and sobbing to be shown mercy. Masky and Hoodie weren’t capable of mercy, they didn't know the meaning of the word. So now, the role flipped on its head, you were truly aware of just how much you needed to get away.

You swung your arm around as you felt bodies close in, gripping the pistol tight and aiming high as you took a shot. An ear-piercing ricochet rang through the trees. Curses shouted, loud gasps as the bullet whizzed past their heads, and maniacal laughter soon followed. “Shit, Hood! Mouse’s got some bite!” Masky panted, exhausted tone showing as he continued to run. Hoodie growled his approval, grappling off of trees and closing in again. You’d been a fool to think they’d scare so easily. Of course, your violence would just get them more excited.

Clattering across a stretch of gravel and mud, you cursed, the gash in your foot screaming with pain. The limp caused you to be ill-timed, Masky taking the falter and seizing you, your bodies clattering to the nasty ground.

Masky chuckled, your hair knotted in his hand as he forced you onto your chest. Your fingers dug into the mud, desperately trying to push yourself up as you flailed, pistol gripped tight. Limbs burned, lungs gasping for air as you felt a knee press between your shoulder blades before you could move. He crushed you against the gravel harder and harder. Masky pressed down close, dragging your head to the side so he could groan into your ear. Hoodie was already on you too, the sole of his boot crushed atop your hand to pry the pistol away, tossing it a few feet away. Masky’s knee pressed hard, the mask covering his expression, but you could hear his excitement all too well.

“All that running just for us to still catch you, little mouse. I say we deserve some compensation for all that work.” You clenched your teeth, tears welling in your eyes not only from the exhaustion that was creeping in but from the terrible pain shooting through your body. Everything hurt, sleepiness hanging on every limb. They must have noticed as the Hoodie knelt down beside your head.

He caressed his fingers over your skin, marveling at the softness of your cheeks cool with the rain, before nudging your jaw with his fist. “I think I know a pretty good reward, eh?” His hoodie was soaked, the usual mustard color a dark brown as Masky loosened his grip on your hair, tugging your shoulder over as his knee lifted. You tried to gauge their expressions and understand what they were so giddy about as you lay on your back, face, and clothes splattered with mud and rain. “I’d say I have to agree with you there, man.”

As Masky stood, you tried to sit up before large pairs of hands shoved you back to the ground. Your bodies pressed close, Hoodie wedging himself against your side as Masky gripped your arms, pressing them down against the rocks. That’s when you felt it, the heat in his jeans pressed against your hip, your skin exploding with warmth. You tried to look through his mask into his eyes, shimmying your hips as Hoodie did the same, gripping the side of your face to keep your head down. They were overpowering you, binding you down to submit, forcing you to stop. You didn’t want to. They wanted a fight, and you weren’t so willing to lay down and take it.

“Keep moving your hips like that and watch what happens.” Masky barked, snaking a knee between your legs as he pressed close, breathing muffled as he held you. Your body was useless, their arms and hands gripping tight and hauling you close, gasps ringing at every fist tightening. “You’ve lost, alright? Just fuckin’ give up.” Hoodie jerked your jaw, pressing your shoulder to the ground as you kicked your legs, Masky’s knee slid up against your core and held it there even when you squirmed. “Even after all that runnin’ you’ve still got energy? Fuck.” Masky angrily laughed, tugging at your jeans and undoing the buttons, your heart immediately jumping from your chest.

“Masky-” Hoodie clasped a hand over your mouth, tugging your body up against his own as he pressed beside you. Masky let go of your hands, Hoodie quick to take them in one hand, and hold them above your head as the latter worked on shimmying your pants off of your thighs. The rain made you twitch as drops hit your bare skin. “We won, remember? Gonna have to show you just what girls with big egos get, yeah? You could use a little humbling…” The hooded man smiled, snaking a hand around your throat and clamping down, your airway choking closed as you gasped. It felt like a rush, every inch of your body overwhelmed as they gripped at your skin. You were falling apart, fighting and fear leaving your body, anxiousness and excitement slowly creeping in the lower Masky’s hands dipped against your thighs.

“Every inch of you is a tease.” He snapped, your muddy jeans discarded as fingers dug into your skin. The man acted ravenous, fingernails clawing against your damp skin as he nudged himself between your legs, your head swaying lightly as Hoodie pushed his grip on your throat harder. “Been dying to get a good look.”

You couldn’t deny how many times you caught them staring. Every time you stripped down to your underwear to bathe in the creek or laid out in the truck's backseat to get some rest, their eyes lingered, awkward silence hanging in the air. It was obvious now. That same ravenous look was caught behind the eyeholes of their masks, your heart skipping as Masky hooked his fingers into the waistline of your panties. Jerking against Hoodie’s grasp on your wrists, you let your back arch off the ground, panting against the fingers gripped onto your throat as Masky slowly slid the cloth down.

Rain soaked your face as Hoodie took his time sliding a hand up your shirt, palming at your moist skin and dragging your jacket off of your shoulders. “You’ve always had such a loud mouth, y’know that? It’d be nice to see it occupied with other things.” Hoodie chuckled, letting his fist off of your throat to slide up to your lips, your gasps and coughs music to his ears. He was quick to slide two fingers past your teeth, shoving them down to the knuckle and pushing down your tongue. You gagged, head rearing back but his fingers followed, pressing down into your throat with a cough. He let go of your wrists, snaking a fist into your hair as he held his fingers still, your throat constricting around the digits as you reached back to grip his hoodie, tugging him closer. Masky watched close, your warm cunt throbbing as the cold air ran goosebumps across your skin.

“Christ.” Masky hummed, pressing your knees apart as he adjusted himself between them, his cock constricting tight against his jeans. He slid your folds apart with his thumb, swiping the digit through your wetness and spreading it, smiling at the way your hips instinctively jerked. You whined, senses overwhelmed as you choked again, gagging as Hoodie began to pump his fingers. “If you can’t even take my fingers, how are you supposed to take my cock? Do better.” Hoodie was so much more gruff than Masky, barking his command and pushing you further than you knew he could go. The man was always the quieter of the two, his shadow-like demeanor starkly contrasting Masky’s. So when it came to primal instincts, the two flipped like a coin. Masky took a much more silent authoritative stance, while Hoodie was all bark and bite. The two worked perfectly together, you realized, in murder and sex. Perfect contrasts no matter the circumstances.

Your cheeks shot red, your eyes watering the louder you heard him huff. You tried to let your throat relax, you tried to breathe steady. But when you felt a finger screw into your cunt, forcing its way into your hardly prepped warmth, you cried out.

Masky’s nails dug into your thighs, his knees shoving your legs open as he twisted his middle finger, angling to press up against the gumminess of your walls. “So warm, damn…” He grunted, letting his thumb press against your clit and rub aching circles against the nub. Hoodie didn’t give you a moment, however. His fingers were soon tugged from your lips as he snagged your hair back, pushing your cheek against his jeans, face-to-face with his boner. How were you going to take that? You tried to stammer, tried to press your hands on his legs, but he was already undoing his belt. “Hoodie-” You hissed, your sentence cut off as you jerked your hips up when another finger crammed itself into your tight cunt, digits spreading and scissoring you loose. Your eyes shot back and forth, focused on fingers tugging down their zipper but also on the hungry way fingers dug into your folds.

You were overwhelmed, the rain and wind snapping at every naked part of your body and sending chills. And the boys were eating you alive.

“Wait, please- I’m sorry! Ah! I was wrong okay-” Hoodie’s palm was back around your mouth, your pants and whines muffled behind the hand as he tugged his jeans down with his boxers. Your eyes shot wide when he tugged his cock out, shoving his waistband below his balls and giving his length a few good tugs. Masky chuckled, pressing the heel of his palm down onto your clit as he rhythmically curled his fingers up, your cunt soaking them. “If you’re so sorry, then show it, sweetheart.” You gawked at the girth wrapped in Hoodie’s fist, unsure of how you were even supposed to take half of that in your mouth. But take it you would. It didn’t matter if you screamed, bled, or passed out, Hoodie was going to make sure you would melt on it.

You were trembling, as vicious as you were, you were excited. Hoodie and Masky could see it. They had no intention of hurting you, but they had every intention of breaking the little ego you held onto. You held their gaze, rain streaming down your face as you whined. “Open up.” The brunette didn’t give you much of a choice as he pressed his cock to your lips. You gasped around the tip, his hands wrapping into the back of your hair and pressing your head closer. Hoodie groaned as he went deeper, your throat convulsing around him with a barely suppressed gag. You felt like you were losing air, taking a last deep breath before Hoodie stopped, your lips wrapping tight around the middle of his girth.

He held steady, Masky keeping you distracted with his fingers, but you couldn't fight the dizziness in your head. Hoodie drank up the way your eyes slammed shut, the way your hands gripped into his clothes and pawed for release; he couldn’t stand it. Masky couldn’t either.

When you caressed your tongue along the bottom side of his cockhead, Hoodie growled, fisting your hair tight. He snapped your head closer, pushing your throat open around his girth and tugging you back off quickly, snapping his hips back again to set a sickening pace. You choked, slobber pooling around your lips and glistening on his length as he fucked into your throat, giving you no time to breathe. You dug your nails into his hoodie, clawing for something to hold onto as he rattled your head. Every squeeze of your throat just spurred him on, the resistance only making him more eager to fuck you open and raw. “God, you must be real sorry, huh?” Hoodie growled, letting one hand shove up your shirt up and tug your bra off of your tits, gripping onto the mounds.

Masky watched, smiling wildly behind the mask as his cock throbbed against his jeans. Your cunt had soaked his fingers loose enough to slip another in, his free hand shimmying his belt undone and tugging his zipper down. The man took a shaky breath when his cock met the cold air, twitching and eager as he unscrewed his fingers from your cunt, surprised at the way your hips tried to follow them. The loud sound of slobber and gagging on Hoodie’s cock made Masky excited to hear more, pumping his cock in his fist covered with your arousal as he pressed a free hand back to your folds. “Don’t pass out now, little mouse.”

You couldn’t hear him over the sound of your own head roaring, throat tensing and convulsing at every press of Hoodie length into your mouth. He was so rough, so aggressive in his actions, desperately clawing for more as if he had been begging for this for forever. You finally felt like you could get the hang of it, finding a good position for your mouth until-

Smack!

You nearly screamed when you felt a palm slap down on your cunt, snapping against your cunt and sending your hips shooting off of the muddy ground. Masky laughed, his fist jerking his cock as your eyes shot open, trying to pull your head back off of Hoodie’s length. He growled, snapping your head back down onto his cock and shoving your nose into his pubes, snapping at you to stay still.

Masky raised his hand again, your stomach tightening as you watched through tear-beaded eyes when his palm made contact with your clit again. It stung, your throat grunting and sobbing as Hoodie gripped either side of your head in his hands, fucking his hips into your warm mouth. You tried to press your thighs shut, Masky shoving them apart as he slapped again, spanking your cunt and grinning at the squelch. Pained whines muffled around Hoodie’s cock as he rubbed his fingers against your clit before hauling his hand up, smacking back down to watch your hips jerk. You dug your heels into the dirt, trying to press away, but Masky’s hands were already gripped around your hips and tugging you back.

Your head was light, oxygen barely seeping through as Hoodie completely ignored your wails, hips jerking, and balls slapping against the side of your face the deeper you drank his cock down. “So good…” He muttered, gasping as he hunched over your head, driving his hips at an exhausting pace. Your jaw hurt, eyes raw with tears as you lulled your tongue against the underside of his length to desperately hurry his orgasm along.

Your mouth was so full, so warm and tight, and took the brunette the best you could. Hoodie whined when he felt his balls tighten and abdomen tense, ecstasy shooting through his body as he throbbed in your mouth and spilled down your throat. You clung to his hoodie, unable to swallow as quickly as he pumped into you, cum and slobber dribbling down your chin. You gasped as you felt the intrusion leave your mouth, desperately trying to catch your breath as seed dripped down your chin. Masky didn’t give you time, barely able to swallow before you felt a tension pushing into your cunt.

“I think you still owe me an apology, right?” The man between your legs chuckled, pushing your hips down to the soaked ground as he slowly sunk in, stretching your cunt uncomfortably. Hoodie was panting, wringing the last of his orgasm from his cock as he hauled your head up, craning your neck to face him. He shoved his mask up, the fabric bunching at his brow as his flushed cheeks glistened with sweat. You whined as you felt Masky’s cock press deeper, your walls throbbing around him as Hoodie caught your lips, breathing deep as he panted into your mouth.

“Mmn, fuck-” Masky chirped, raising your ass off the ground as he pressed against your tightness, sinking into your gooey warmth. Hoodie ravaged, gripping your jacket and shaking it off your arms, fingers tugging at your shirt until you could hear the seams popping and snapping. Masky bottomed out, you gasp giving Hoodie enough access to shove his tongue past your lips and suck on your own. Groans and whines swapped, Masky watched, stomach twirling with arousal.

He slowly tugged his hips back, your thighs trembling as you peeked out, groaning when you watched Masky slide his own mask off of his face, the object clattering into the mud. His hips didn’t get far before they snapped back, nails tugging your hips back to meet with a stifled moan. Hoodie shuffled behind you, adjusting himself to your back pressed against his chest as Masky started his drowsy pace into your puffy cunt. You whimpered with every inch, panting desperately. Your pussy gripped him tightly as Masky pressed all the way inside—before withdrawing completely and plunging back in again. You screamed, the sound choked with frantic need as Hoodie replaced his lips with his fingers again. Masky pulled your hips back, fucking mindlessly until your knees tightened around his sides. He snaked a hand between your legs and rubbed your clit, grinning as you shook from head to toe and went limp against Hoodie’s chest, the pleasure shattering you.

“Too much, little mouse?" You managed to shake your head, defiant little thing. Masky snapped his hips again, pace slowly and sickeningly increasing, thrusts getting harder but not faster. You mewled, sucking on Hoodie’s digits as he played with your nipples, massaging your tits with every heave of your chest. “Don’t get needy now, sweetheart,” Hoodie noted the way your hips craned to meet Masky’s every move, stomach tightening to get a better grip around his cock. You groaned, flexing your hands as they both laughed at your desperation. You were irritated. They wanted badly to ruin you, to make you theirs. But when it finally comes time for you to enjoy their part, they won’t let you. You felt yourself snap as you hauled your bodies forward.

Masky grunted as you shoved your hands against his chest, kicking your feet free from his hands and slamming the big guy on his back. Hoodie was quick to follow, stunned at the sudden movement but sure to find his place snagged onto your back as you straddled Masky again.

“You’re a fucking prick.” You groaned, pressing your nails into his face as your knees dug into the rocky mud-caked ground. You all were nasty, sweat and rain dripping from your brows but you were so horny it didn’t matter.

Masky pressed back, tugging at your wrists to let off of his face. It was only when he shoved your jaw back did you saw the gleam of metal in the rain, the dark pistol smeared with mud but close enough to grasp. You pressed forward, shoving Masky’s forehead down as he snapped, Hoodie gripping your hips to drag you back.

You tried to claw, to reach the gun, but the boys were stronger. “Little cunt. You never learn, huh?” Masky barked, gripping his cock tight as Hoodie angled your hips to sink back onto the length. You choked out when they slammed your hips together, Masky setting a brutal pace up into your cunt as Hoodie pressed you down, jerking his own growing cock now.

“I don’t know where you- ah- where you get this attitude from,” Masky growled into your ear, your chest pressing down against his as he quickly tugged his cock in and out of your drenched warmth. You whined through every echoed slap, the rain, and sweat making you both slippery, and every thrust of his hips reverberating off the density of the trees. You reached out, stretching your shoulder as far as it would go to reach the pistol just at your fingertips. You groaned, pressing your sore hands into the mud for one final stretch, your index brushing the metal and tugging it in your direction.

“Fuck you.” You growled out, tugging the gun into your hand and turning to aim it at the side of Masky’s temple. You wanted a reaction, for his pace to hesitate or his eyes to stutter, but they never did. He just kept tugging your hips down, mercilessly shoving the air from your lungs with every press of his cock against your sore walls. Your noses brushed as you stared deep into the other’s eyes, a silent challenge. If anything, he went faster.

Hoodie chuckled behind you, letting his cock slide between your ass cheeks every time they bounced in Masky’s cock. He was grunting, pressing your lower back down to get a better arch out of you. “Cute.” He smiled.

Masky glanced, acknowledging the weapon pressed so aggressively against the side of his head, but keeping his attention on you. You wanted to yell, to tug the trigger just enough to watch fear creep in, but your thoughts got abruptly lost.

Masky let your hips go, tugging a fist into your hair as he slammed your lips together. You grunted into the kiss, anger fuming between the two of you and tearing your resilience apart. The kiss was aggressive, teeth snagging on lips and tongues shoving against cheeks as Hoodie took his chance to rest his hands on your hips. “Shit.”

Hoodie tugged his cock back, your hips riding Masky on their own and setting your own pace, cunt gushing and squelching at every move. You hadn’t even cum yet, and the desperation was getting to you.

“Stick your tongue out.” Hoodie reached between you two, cutting your kiss short as he selfishly shoved two fingers into your mouth, Masky growling at the loss. The brunette just laughed, a cheeky grin flashing as he tugged his fingers back, swiping them between your asscheeks.

You hissed, hips stuttering their pace as you felt Hoodie press his index finger against your asshole, swirling the muscle eagerly. “Hoodie.” You grit, craning your neck to look back at him, Masky letting his hand fall to your upper thighs. The brunette smiled, slowly nudging his index finger through the tight ring and making you sit up straight. Masky growled, reaching up to wrap his arm around you, tugging your shoulders back down, your neck in a headlock against his chest.

He slowly began to thrust his hips up again, achingly slow to distract from the feeling of Hoodie stretching your asshole. You wanted to growl, to fight back, but your eyes just rolled. Masky smiled as he watched the pistol slowly slip from your grasp, clattering back against the gravel as he fucked lazily up into your cunt, the warmth a lot more gooey than before. You could feel your abdomen flutter, clit brushing against Masky and sending your thighs tensing. “Please…" you moaned. "Coming… make me come…”

Hoodie craned his index, stretching the rim of your asshole and jerking your ass apart. Masky’s breath startled, resilience cracking as you came on his cock, cunt tightening and throbbing around his length. You convulsed, breath hitching as they brought you to your peak, shuddering violently in Masky’s arms. He couldn’t take it, he had to pull out.

You moaned out, whining when Masky slipped from your cunt and groaned loud, regaining his composure. Hoodie still worked your ass, the sting and stretch were painful but strangely so addicting. He let a second finger tease the rim, your hips sensitively jerking against the feeling as another finger slowly sunk into your ass. Your cunt clenched on nothing, tensing through your orgasm before Masky realigned himself, squeezing his cock back in. He could’ve come from how warm and gummy your walls were after cumming.

“You ready for both, mouse?” You felt dizzy, head straining as Masky kept a hold on your neck, locking you down against his chest. You tried to nod, mumbling your eagerness as Hoodie successfully pressed another finger past your rim, your whine making them grin. The brunette gave you a few good tugs before pulling his fingers out, stroking his length as he pressed the tip to your rim. You groaned against Masky’s chest, biting into the cloth of his shirt as he thrust his hips, trying to give you a good duality as Hoodie slowly pressed in.

It stung, the stretch and fullness making your fingers grip into anything you could get, nails indenting into Masky’s sides. Hoodie cursed, fingers digging into the mounds of your ass and tugging them apart, trying his best to sink in through the constraint. “Fuck, sweetheart. You’re tight as hell- shit-” You sobbed through the tension, trying your best to relax as both of your holes slowly filled, your abdomen swirling with waves of arousal. You felt dizzy, panting in Masky’s scent as Hoodie finally snapped in the rest of the way, the stretch making tears spill down your cheeks.

“Fu… Fuck me…” You choked out, craning your hips just enough to make Hoodie whine, nails cutting into your hips. The boys got the hint, Masky slowing down his pace to match Hoodie’s stuttered one, the brunette fighting against the constraint of your ass while he bluntly thrust. You moaned anyways, Masky’s cock snagging your g-spot and ramming there, his grin telling. He couldn’t resist leaning forward to steal a kiss again, biting into your plump lips.

Hoodie couldn’t get over your mouth, however. He needed to be in that warmth again. So, he leaned forward, pressing his fingers against the side of your cheek and pressing them into the corner of your mouth, Masky tensing at the foreign taste. He looked like he was going to say something, but you shut him up with a plop of your hips, raising your ass up to fuck against Hoodie’s cock and ride right back down onto Masky’s. “Be nice.” You gasped as Hoodie curled his finger into the side of your cheek, tugging the skin back to make drool pool against your lips. Masky growled, rolling his eyes before snagging your lips again, loud groans and hisses panted into the other’s mouth. You felt so full, holes stuffed so nauseatingly well you could feel the way their cocks brushed together inside of you.

You could feel it again, the way your gut clenched. Masky clenched your thighs, his cock aching inside of you as Hoodie snapped his hips, riding close to the edge again. You tried your best to angle your hips back, giving them both the best angle to tug their cocks in and out. “‘M coming- Fuck! Please, please, please…” You panted through every snap of their hips, their cocks squeezing and stretching your holes so wide you knew you were ruined for anyone else. Your head was so tired, cunt throbbing and aching for release the harder they went, chasing their own.

“Pull out, Hoodie…” Masky choked, getting the last few thrusts he could as he felt you tightening, his cock teetering dangerously close to the edge. Hoodie whined, the tip of his cock popping in and out past your rim and dragging him closer too, both of the boys a whining grunting mess with you sandwiched between them. “Ma- Masky… Hoodie…”

Both of your holes clenched down as you came, the intensity of your orgasm washing over you so strongly that your eyes lulled to the back of your head. Your stomach twisted, the knot unraveling as you released on their cocks. Masky moaned lowly, biting into his lip as he forced his cock out of your swelled cunt, ropes of cum dripping from his tip as he stole your lips. Hoodie followed quickly, pushing your ass off of his cock as he started fisting his length quickly, pumping tight at the base to shoot his seed across your back. He whined through his orgasm, smearing his cum across your ass and lazily smiling at his work.

You all panted, shoulders slumped and bodies sore. You felt like you couldn’t move, every muscle inside and out aching from the exertion you had gone through.

Rain still poured, the chill seeping into your bones as you shook, water and sweat dripping from your nose. You felt so spent, cunt and ass ruined and throbbing wildly as you let your head go limp on Masky’s chest, the man grunting underneath you. “Fuck…alright, mouse.”

You were far too sleepy to care much as they shoved their limp cocks back into their jeans, everyone’s clothes soaked and cold as Hoodie wrapped his arms under your limbs, hauling you up. “C’mon, sweetheart…” Even they sounded tired.

You slipped in and out of sleep on the way back to the truck, Masky collecting your items as they went and tossing everything into the bed as the engine roared. Hoodie laid you in the backseat, climbing into the passenger as Masky peeled back towards the interstate. You were too tired to ask where you were going.

You only stirred back when the obnoxious luminescent lights showed into the truck window, blinding you. You squinted, tossing your hand in front of the light as you sat up, the backseat suddenly opening.

“Don’t make me regret buyin’ this,” Masky growled as he tossed a blanket towards you, you just now realizing how nasty with mud you all were. You smiled as Hoodie helped you out, shuffling you close to his side as the boys dragged you around to the shabby door of the motel they had found. You flinched as you remembered your foot, the crusted blood and mud staining the underside of your sock as you limped through the rusty door.

It wasn’t anything nice, definitely not five stars.

But as you three tugged off your clothes and cleaned as much of the mud off as possible, it didn’t matter. The boys cringed at your cuts, mumbling their apologies and helping you clean them up, too. Exhausted, the three of you crawled into the way-too-small bed, the boys on either side of you as they cradled in, sticky and sore body parts finding their comfortable spaces.

It wasn’t anything fancy, but it was better than sleeping in the back of the truck. You smiled when their breathing labored, faces cradled into your shoulders while you slowly blinked your sleepiness away. You didn’t want to acknowledge what this night might mean for the future, at least not tonight. You’d much rather sleep.

But as Masky and Hoodie slid their arms around your torso, legs interlocking as you all finally relaxed, maybe it didn’t seem so bad anymore.

You’d have to learn to watch your tongue, though. For your sake.

This was an anonymous request!

Comments and reblogs are appreciated! 𐚁₊⊹

Thank you to my wonderful editors: @h3llw1 and @solarbites!

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cacoetheswriting · 3 months ago

Note

girl you have that really angsty Eddie fic where he gets hooked on things he shouldn't and it ruins his relationship with reader - please please please write some more Eddie angst, BEGGING

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader [modern day au] word count: 5k

summary: a weekend gateway to with your old high school friends? sounds like a dream! only it’s not really as it’s been three years since you last saw them. three years since you left hawkins without so much as a goodbye, and certain people tend to hold grudges.

content warnings: heavily unedited (sorry): angsty angst, mature themes & adult language, mentions & descriptions of underage alcohol consumption / substance abuse, anxiety / panic attacks, emotional hurt / no comfort, unrequited (sorta) love, some mutual pining, love triangle?, eddie is a bit of an asshole, also touches on topics of: divorce, death, grief — pls let me know if i missed any!

AUTHOR UPDATE: SERIES MASTERLIST HERE

Parking your car at the desired destination, you glance out the half-opened window and note how the weather is far from ideal for the planned activities.

It’s cold. Cold enough to make anyone's atoms shiver. Dark grey clouds cover every inch of the sky above, hiding the beautiful autumn sun. The air is brisk. It’s harsh against your skin as you eventually get out of the red Jeep and the unwelcoming breeze that follows makes you wish that you had packed warmer clothes for this weekend.

Jesus, you think, as if this trip wasn’t going to be hard enough.

When your feet hit the gravel below, you exhale, wondering whether it’s too late to change your mind about agreeing to come. Since the weather was seemingly against you, what’s to say the universe wasn’t going to continue ruining this weekend? But before you get a chance to decide what your next move is going to be, the door of the lake house swings open and Nancy runs out, arms spread wide as she squeals with excitement.

“I can’t believe you actually came!”

The hug she gives you is strong, almost full force. It takes you a second to register that one second she was running out of the house, and the next, her arms are wrapped tightly around you as if no time has passed between now and when you last saw her. Therefore, it takes you a second to hug her back, but when you do, a small smile circles your lips. Familiarity. Maybe this trip won’t be so bad after all.

“Of course I came,” you say as she draws back, “You know me, Nance, always down for a good time.”

Nancy laughs. “Oh, I remember.”

Then her smile falters just as fast as it appears and you know exactly which memory crosses her mind because your own thoughts wander back to that moment too, along with the people involved.

“Sorry, my joke was in poor taste. If you can even call that a joke.” You admit with a lighthearted huff.

“No, no.” Nancy shakes her head, but even with the years that have passed since you last saw each other in person, you know the look in her eye is one of concern.

You think to try and ease at least some of her worry since she did go through all the trouble to organise this weekend for your high school group to get together and the last thing you’d want is for her to second-guess ever inviting you.

“I- uh… I actually don’t really drink anymore.”

Her facial expression shifts to one of surprise, though she doesn’t say anything which would demonstrate that. Instead, she smiles again.

“Good for you,” the tone of her voice conveys pride and you’re grateful.

“Thanks, Nance.”

One day you’ll tell her about the road that led you to sobriety, but today’s not that day.

Today is about reintroducing yourself to the friends that have helped you get through four hellish years that were called ‘high school’. The people that were there for you through the good and the ugly; which got real fucking ugly sometimes. The group that most often than not was your literal lifeline.

Nancy, your best friend. Robin, your sidekick. Jonathan, your unlicensed therapist. Steve, your partner in crime. And Eddie…

You haven’t seen any of them since graduation.

Three years of virtually no contact.

Sure, it made you wonder why you were even invited to this weekend getaway in the first place, but Nancy was always like a sister so you knew her motives were definitely not malicious.

“Let me help you with your bags,” the brunette girl offers and before you get a chance to decline, say you’ve got them on your own since you really didn’t bring much with you, she’s at the boot of your car.

While Nancy fills you in on the plans she’s made for everyone, the various activities she’s organised for the days ahead, the two of you gather your belongings before making your way towards the big house.

Apparently everyone is already here.

Nancy, Jonathan, and someone called Argyle (a new addition to the group, undoubtedly a breath of fresh air following your departure), got here last night. Steve, Robin, and Eddie arrived this morning.

“But the boys went to the shop to get all the groceries we need for this weekend, so right now it’s just me and Robin.” Nancy explains, fingers wrapping around the door handle. It’s her way of saying not to be nervous, he wasn’t here right now, and with that your shoulders relax in relief.

The inside of the house is even more impressive than its exterior. High ceilings, all wooden floors, and decor that undoubtedly cost more than anything you own or could actually afford. In the living area, there’s paintings on the walls that depict the home during construction, then in its full glory, as it stands now. Various knick-knacks fill the shelving, and the bookcase at the back of the room is filled top to bottom with stories you’ve never even heard of.

You allow yourself to continue into the kitchen, which looks like a piece out of Architectural Digest. Modern touches to the original design, upgraded appliances that look like they’ve never been used. There’s a large dining table in the back of the space, already set for dinner. The windows behind it offer a perfect view of the lake and as you look at the water; peace. For a split-second, you let yourself really think that coming wasn’t a bad idea after all.

“Jesus, Nance, how the hell did you find this place?” You ask in awe once the girl stands beside you.

“Argyle has this aunt who’s an avid Airbnb user. Honestly, when he first showed me the pictures, I thought he was out of it, like he usually is, but here we are...”

You don’t get to tell her how beautiful you think it is ‘cause there’s a high-pitch screech that startles you, and within seconds, someone’s arms wrap around your frame, swaying you from side to side.

“When Wheeler told me you agreed to come, I swear I thought she was bluffing!”

Robin drops her arms, allowing you to turn in your spot and face her. The grin on her face is wide, complimenting her new haircut, which is about the only thing that’s changed in her physical appearance over the last three years.

She playfully smacks your arm. You do the same to her. It’s reminiscent of a handshake, an acknowledgment that despite the years of only sending and receiving generic birthday texts, you guys were still as close as ever.

“Long time no see, Buckley. Loving the new look.” You point to her long bleached locks.

“Yeah? I was going for that badass lesbian vibe. What Daenerys should’ve been.”

You chuckle. “Well, I’d say mission accomplished.”

“Thanks,” Robin smirks then takes the duffle out of your grasp and turns to Nancy, asking to lead the way to the room that’s been assigned to you.

Up the stairs and down the long hallway, the girls point to the shared bathroom, but Nancy says your room actually has an en-suite. Then she outlines which door leads to whose bedroom — Eddie’s is first up the stairs and you wonder whose choice it was to deliberately keep you two away — before stopping at the last door and pushing it open to reveal your safe space for this weekend.

First thought that crosses your mind is how this one bedroom is bigger than your entire apartment. The bed alone would probably not fit in your current home. Second thought is how you have the same view as in the kitchen, only higher up, and you thank Nancy for assigning you this room for that reason alone.

“It’s no big deal,” she replies with a shrug, “You had the longest trip out here, only fair you get the best room, so you can properly rewind.”

“As the organiser, you should have the nicest room,” you counter, but Nance just waves her hand, dismissing what was going to be an offer to swap.

She proceeds to place the bag she was holding at the foot of the bed.

“Get settled in and we’ll start on food once the guys return.”

“You should have enough time to shower, if you want,” Robin chimes in, also dropping the duffel she carried up for you, “Knowing the four of them, they’re still trying to locate the gluten free sticker on the pasta Nance asked for.”

“Rob,” Nancy snorts.

The blonde shrugs. “You know it’s true! Those idiots can’t fucking read.”

They leave you shortly after, telling you to take your time to clean up and change into something more comfortable.

When the door shuts with a soft thud, you exhale a breath you didn’t even realise you were holding. It’s all okay, it’s all okay, it’s all okay, you repeat to yourself silently, and although you feel a little calmer than when you first arrived, there is still tension in your neck. There’s only one reason for that. One that isn’t here right now, but is bound to arrive at any point in the next hour.

‘arrived safe & sound. still feeling a little nauseous about this whole thing, but I’m taking your advice.. keep positive.’ - The text to your mom sends with a whooshing sound as you throw your phone on the large bed.

You glance around the room again, taking in the decor as a distraction to the anxiety bubbling in your chest. The furnishings are similar to the rest of the house, classy with a modern twist. Peaceful colours that perfectly compliment the wooden fixtures, and the birds chirping melodically outside the open window only add to the serenity. It’s really one of the nicest places you’ve ever stayed in and you take a mental note to send Nancy a bouquet of flowers when you get home, as a thank you.

When you step under the shower, you’re even more grateful.

Back in your own apartment, you’re not guaranteed warm water, having to often make a choice between rinsing off the hectic day or cleaning the dishes so there’s something to eat off. It’s the life you chose, so you really can’t complain, but standing here in silence as the hot droplets wash over your skin, you think maybe you chose wrong. Then you think how fucking selfish that is of you since there’s a clear list of reasons why, aside from the comfort of a scolding shower, the choices you made three years ago where far from good.

Leaving without saying goodbye to everyone, for one. No explanations, no notes.

Only Nancy knew of your plan. After all, she was the one that talked you into leaving.

The final nail in the coffin — so to speak — was her opinion on the literal shitshow that the final months of your high school career had become. And when she sat you down, the afternoon before graduation, she made it clear how she was worried about you and perhaps it was for the best to get away from Hawkins. Leave everything and everyone behind, allowing yourself time to heal and get your head straight.

You had only planned to be gone that one summer. But things never go to plan, especially for you.

Three months turned into four, then six, and before you knew it, a year had passed since your departure. Some of the group had tried to reach out at various points during that time, but you didn’t engage — only replied to Nancy the odd time, and texted Robin the mentioned before birthday wishes.

The one person you really wished checked in on you, was the only person that didn’t. Not like you could blame him. You broke his fucking heart.

It wasn’t entirely a secret that Eddie Munson had a big fat crush on you.

He wouldn’t call it love at first sight, but it was pretty damn close — as you later found out from Robin. Later. Too late. She then went on to say, when the rocker first laid eyes on you, standing at Nancy’s locker and laughing at something she’d said moments prior, Eddie’s heart skipped a beat. Then two. The metalhead thought you were perhaps the most gorgeous girl to ever walk down the halls of Hawkins High, although he never said it out loud.

(Not to you anyway.)

Things changed however, when you started dating Billy Hargrove.

That boy was a bad influence for sure, even more than Eddie’s wild antics, but at that point in your life, you saw the world through rose-coloured glasses and turned a blind eye to Billy’s shitty behaviour.

Your first drink was provided to you by the scruffy blonde.

The first time you blacked out was after his funeral.

Earth shattering, his sudden death. Having lost the first love you’ve ever had, you didn’t know what to do with yourself. You didn’t know how to cope. By the time your senior year came around, and Eddie’s third attempt at graduation, your life only continued to spiral out of control.

Your parents announced their divorce. It was apparently no one’s fault — irreconcilable differences — but their break up meant the house you’d grown up in was being put up for sale and you suddenly had to choose who you wanted to live with.

Being an only child never brought with it any pressures, until now. Your father was moving cross country. Relocating with his job, who no longer needed him at their Indianapolis location, preferred he run the new branch in Las Vegas. Your mother was also venturing outside Hawkins, just not as far. She apparently found this cute place in Fort Wayne and was already in talks with a local school there for a part-time teaching position.

The Wheelers took you in following a conversation between Karen and your mom about how you shouldn’t be finishing your high school education someplace new, so this solved one problem.

But being away from your support system unfortunately made you feel increasingly isolated. Your parents had this “open door” policy that you didn’t realise you needed until it was no longer readily available. Phone calls and texts just weren’t the same.

This time in your life proved how difficult it was to pretend you were genuinely happy.

Eddie was the first to notice the subtle change in your attitude. He’d often ask what was bothering you, but you’d always tell him nothing, so he eventually learned to stop and simply tried to distract you with his usual antics.

You hated him for it. You hated how he just knew how you were feeling. How he could sense those deep and inner thoughts you were trying to hide. And you hated now he would try to make you feel better when all you really wanted was for the sad feelings to swallow you whole.

Without proper supervision, your after school activities also shifted into ones that would fill the emptiness you were constantly feeling. You were always quite outgoing, always the first one to say yes when someone mentioned a party, but the months between December and April unlocked a new version of you. One not many people in your friend group were particularly a fan of, though all too afraid of saying something.

It all came crashing down the night of Chrissy Cunningham’s farewell party. A few days before graduation, she invited the entire senior year to her parents’ lavish home for a get together that her dickhead boyfriend called: Project X 2.0.

You asked Steve to come with you — much to Eddie’s dismay.

In the end, Carver got his wish. The party was indeed memorable for all the wrong reasons and the endless list of mistakes you made that night, in your inebriated state, was precisely why you left Hawkins in a hurry.

Las Vegas turned out to not be so bad.

There were a few bumps in the road upon your first arrival. A few too many drunken nights, drunken fights, and drunken one night stands. But once your dad acknowledged your reckless behaviour was becoming a serious problem, things got a little easier. Therapy helped.

A year and a half later, there was only one thing that made you want to reach for a drink to flush the hard work down the drain: Eddie Munson and how you treated him at that party, what you put him through that night.

In retrospect, you should’ve been the one to reach out to him. At least a call to say I’m sorry for the things I did and said. No time just felt like the right time and then, when Chrissy posted a picture of herself sitting happily in Eddie’s lap, it seemed a little too late.

Did it hurt to see him move on from the crush he had on you? Yes.

Again, you couldn’t blame him for doing so.

“How was your shower?” Nancy asks when you come back downstairs.

She’s sitting on one of the sofas, a cotton blanket covering her legs. Robin is next to her, fingers working the keyboard of her phone, and looks up following Nancy’s question.

“No offence, but you look a lot better than when you first arrived.”

The comment earns Buckley a good nudge to the rib cage by the brunette beside her.

“Ow! Jesus Christ, Nance—”

“We talked about this,” Nancy interrupts, narrowing her eyes at the girl.

“It was a simple observation,” Robin defends, “I’m sure she’s fucking nervous to be here, rightfully so—”

“Robin!”

“It’s okay,” you chime in and the girls simultaneously turn to look at you once again. “Buckley’s right. I am nervous.”

Both their expressions simultaneously turn to one of sympathy. You plaster on the best smile you can muster before making yourself comfortable in an armchair by the open window, feeling their gaze follow your every move. You want to tell them to stop, tell them that the nerves will pass so it’s no big deal, but they’d see right through you. The topic of you, Eddie, and that horrendous high school party will haunt this group like a ghost, lingering in the background even if it’s addressed — which you’re going to have to do very soon. That’s why you came.

“He asks about you all the time,” Nancy says after a long pause, “What’s she doing? Is she working, studying?”

“Is she seeing anyone?” Robin adds.

“Is she happy…”

The ache in your chest increases with every spoken word, fueled by the guilt you carried every single day for the last three years. Somehow knowing now that Eddie asked about you was worse than thinking he’s moved on because, selfishly, if he was happy, then it wasn’t all bad. If he was happy, then the harsh truths you drunkenly sputtered in his direction weren’t a cruel thing to do, they weren’t as vile as you remembered them to be. If he was happy, then what you did after wasn’t a complete betrayal.

“I-I never meant to hurt him,” you finally whisper, forcing down the tears that threaten to break. “I never meant to hurt any of you.”

The girls both offer you a smile.

“We know,” Nancy reassures, “That’s why we thought it’d be a good idea to invite you this weekend. What happened three years ago is so minor in terms of the rest of our lives, it’s time we all move past it.”

Nancy, the peacemaker.

“Plus I’m planning a trip to Vegas for my birthday and I need your help with organising,” Robin chips in, her smile shifting into a grin. “You wouldn’t have answered my call, but now there’s no escape.”

Robin, the girl that can always get you to laugh.

The chuckle that escapes your lips is genuine. For a split second, your nerves are eased and you’re transported back to the basement of your childhood home where the three of you spent hours planning your futures while flicking through trashy magazines in accompaniment to old hits blaring through the docking station your dad’s iPod was connected to.

Back then, turning twenty-one seemed like a distant dream.

So you proceed to reassure the blonde you are going to get her name on the list of some of the best clubs Vegas has and she squeals, jumping up to squeeze you with excitement, and telling you how Vickie, her girlfriend, was going to lose her shit over this, then she disappears into the kitchen, presumably to call Vickie with the news.

“You just made her day,” Nancy says, smiling kindly.

“I’m glad I could do at least that,” you reply, then add, “I’m happy to be here. Thank you for thinking of me, Nance.”

Whatever Nancy is about to say next is interrupted by the sound of tires on gravel. The engine is shut shortly after your head snaps in the direction of the entryway, a large gulp forming in the back of your throat.

The next few minutes pass at an agonisingly slow pace. You think you hear Nancy call out your name, but your focus is on the door alone, waiting for it to open, waiting for him to come inside. You’re anticipating his reaction to seeing you after all this time, wondering if he’d even acknowledge your presence or skip straight to the kitchen with the acquired groceries.

From a recent post on Instagram, you know what he looks like. Really good, if anybody asked. You were careful not to like it despite your finger hovering over the image for a few seconds too long. Then you were careful not to like any other picture as you scrolled through his profile until you reached the very end: a post of the two of you at a Halloween party your junior year, the night you finally talked him into creating an account.

Thanks to the light stalking, you also know him and Chrissy broke up a few weeks ago. He seemingly deleted any trace of the preppy blonde from his profile, she did the same with him, and you couldn’t deny the stinge of satisfaction that cursed through your veins upon that revelation.

When the doorknob rattles, you hop on your feet.

There’s no going back now. You prepared yourself for this moment ever since you accepted Nancy’s invitation. Time to face the music.

Jonathan walks in first. He greets Nancy with a kiss before offloading the twelve-pack of beers onto the floor and turning his attention to you. His smile is big and you’re feeling a little less nervous when he pulls you into a silent hug. When he pulls back, he pats you on the shoulder, then picks up the box he’s after placing on the floor and walks in the direction of the kitchen.

The guy that introduces himself as Argyle is next. Heavy lidded, he’s holding an open bag of Doritos and jokes about how he’d also give you a hug but he doesn’t trust himself with the orange residue on his fingers.

“White t-shirts are the devil, man,” he draws out the last syllable and flops onto the couch next to Nancy, offering her a corn triangle. When she politely declines, he just shrugs and throws it in the air, only to not catch it with his mouth, the piece falling onto the wooden floor.

With your gaze now focused on the chip, a single step away from you, Nancy scolds Argyle to not do that again. In the midst of this small ordeal, you don’t hear your name being said. Only when a white Nike sneaker appears in your field of vision, stepping on the Dorito and smashing it to pieces, you look up at the person addressing you.

Steve’s expression is full of emotion, but he doesn’t move from the spot he’s found himself in. He doesn’t attempt to hug you or reach out for you like the others did, only staring into your eyes as if he was mesmerised by the fact you were actually here.

“Shit– I mean…”

“Yeah…”

That’s all that you can say right now because it’s not yet the time to address what also went down between the two of you at the infamous party. Steve seems to be on the same page as you, opting instead to finally take that step forward and hesitantly wrap his strong arms around your frame.

The hug is awkward at first, but when you nuzzle your head into the crook of his neck as if no time has passed, exhaling softly when your hands make home on his back, the boy relaxes and his grip on you tightens ever so slightly. He whispers, “I missed you, sweetheart.”, into your ear and you instantly return the sentiment because it’s true, you missed him terribly. More than you cared to admit to yourself before this very moment.

For a few seconds, you forget where you are. Inhaling the scent of Steve’s aftershave and revelling in the way his arms perfectly folded around you, making you feel safe. For a few seconds, you feel at peace. For a few simple seconds, you forget about the person you’re still to see. The person that most likely wouldn’t be as open to seeing you again, especially now that you were in Steve’s arms.

The door shuts with a tame bang, a distinctive sound of runners tapping against the wooden floor, Nancy says your name as Robin calls out for Steve, you think you hear Argyle murmuring “Ohhh shit, dude”, then someone clears their throat and you finally open your eyes, which seemingly have closed moments prior.

Your throat dries.

There, leaning against the archway with his hands hidden in the pockets of his dark denim jeans is the boy who was once your friend, if not more.

Unlike Steve, Eddie stares at you with a blank look in his eyes, devoid of any real emotion. The emptiness behind the mahogany sends a shiver down your spine and you’re suddenly hyper aware of the position he has once again found you in.

Freeing yourself from Steve’s grasp, you hold your arms close to your chest for protection. He places a hand on your shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze, before motioning for Argyle to follow him out of the room, where Nancy and the rest of the group just disappeared — leaving you alone with Eddie.

Neither of you says anything for what feels like an eternity.

You’re afraid to blink, just in case he disappears during the brief second your eyes close. Truthfully, he has every right to do so. Rush upstairs and slam his bedroom door shut as you remain right where he left you, forever haunted by the choices you made three years ago.

No, no.

There’s a reason you came and that’s to say you’re sorry.

Before you get a chance to break the silence, Eddie scoffs under his breath, dipping his head while running a hand through his brown locks. His hand remains at the back of his neck when he looks up at you again, a stupid smirk now plastered across his face.

“So, you and Harrington seem close as ever.”

Not the first words you expected to come out of his mouth, but given the situation he’s just encountered, they’re not surprising.

You nervously clear your throat, hugging yourself tighter.

“Uhm… No, we were just—”

“I don’t care,” he interrupts, his words cold yet the tone of his voice deceives him just a little. Also, if he actually didn’t care, then why make a sly comment in the first place?

But you don’t get to point that out, firstly ‘cause you’re still building up the courage to speak, and secondly because he’s quicker to continue with making his opinion known.

“Obviously you’ve always done whatever the fuck you wanted. Whoever you wanted.”

Ouch.

“Eddie, I-I…” you sigh quietly, “We were just hugging. We haven’t seen each other in a while.”

Eddie scoffs. “Cute.”

“Don’t do that. Don’t be condescending.” You shake your head. “I didn’t come here to argue with you.”

“Then why did you come here?”

“‘Cause I missed all of you, plus Nancy invited me and I-I wanted to take this trip to apologise. Explain myself.”

Eddie rolls his eyes.

“Well as far as I’m concerned, you can keep your apology,” he states sternly, standing up straight and taking a step in your direction. “Clearly the rest of them are right back to licking your ass, just like they did in high school. Entertaining your shitty behaviour, but I’m not interested.”

His words hurt. It feels like tiny nails are being hammered into your heart and you’re helpless to stop it.

“I don’t care for you and I don’t want to be around you. Since we’re stuck here, just refrain from jumping on Harrington at every chance you get. It’s fucking desperate behaviour.”

Tears burn down your cheeks slowly. They blur your vision and make you look like a giant fucking fool, even bigger than you already are. Eddie doesn’t owe you anything, you know that. Yet here you stand, silently crying over his animosity.

Nancy's words ring in your ears, “he asks about you, he asks if you’re happy.”. What a load of bullshit. He clearly doesn’t give a shit.

“I’ll make sure to stay out of your way then,” is all you manage to blurt out, wiping the wet droplets with the back of your hand.

Pushing past him, making a point to shove his shoulder with a little force, you hurry upstairs and into the confines of your bedroom. You make sure not to let the door shut with a bang, steering away from the dramatics Eddie undoubtedly wanted to provoke. Yes, he hurt your feelings, but you sure as hell weren’t going to let him ruin this weeknd for you and the rest of your mutual friends.

His reaction didn’t surprise you. In fact, you expected it.

That doesn’t mean it’s any easier to digest.

Taking a few minutes to collect yourself, you check your phone and begin to open unseen notifications from various social media sites in an attempt to think about anything else than Eddie’s words.

“Deseperate fucking behaviour,” he’s said that to you before. The deja-vu hits harder than anticipated, making the nausea you thought you surpassed earlier spring right back up, stronger.

Yup. As you regain control of your breathing, you think for sure that coming here was definitely a mistake.

thank you for reading & please support your writers by reblogging <3

AUTHOR UPDATE: SERIES MASTERLIST HERE

#i have severe imposter syndrome bc i cannot tell if this is really good or really bad #either way i hope you enjoy!#and remember anon: you asked for angst #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson angst #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #right where you left me.

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daycourtofficial · 2 months ago

Text

An Autumn Courting

Pairing: Eris x winter court!reader | WC: 12.5k | warnings: sexual tones, mentions of hunting

Summary: coming into his role as High Lord of the Autumn Court, the first thing Eris does is make a proposal of marriage to you, something you’re going to make him work for.

A/N: this has been in my drafts since October 2023, I’m so glad to let this be out in the world. Happy @sjmxreaderweek !! This is way too long but enjoy anyway

Eris Vanserra had three soft spots.

First: his mother - a female who spent her life trying to make his better. The first and perhaps only person to show him pure, unconditional love. Someone who did not balk at the terrible things he had to do and endure to survive. One of his most complicated and long lasting relationships where nothing truly made sense.

Second: Lucien. He had a soft spot for all of his brothers when they were born. Being raised by Beron sucked the life from most of them. He watched as they slowly became apathetic at best, cruel at worst. All except Lucien.

Lucien, his baby brother, who remained a good, loyal male, despite everything Beron tried to do to him. Lucien, who looked at him with wide eyes and a big heart. Lucien - his first contact leading up to his father’s death, the only person he wanted there.

Third: his hounds.

Eris adored his hounds. He spent thousands of hours training them, breeding them, and preparing for the next litter. Their kennels were a refuge for him, a place no one in the family ever ventured out to. Only a handful of servants ever got close and they merely mucked out the stalls and changed feed for the dogs. They were the first things to ever truly be his.

Eris had three soft spots. Now it was four.

Your continued presence, skirting on the outside of his periphery for years meant more to him than you could ever possibly know. The only fae willing to talk back to him but keep a twinkle in their eye.

He spent years trying to figure out why your eyes plagued his dreams, how the wind would blow past carrying your laugh. He could never quite pinpoint an exact reason.

Staying away from you during court events was the best course of action for everyone. He knew if he got too close to you, Beron would notice and insist on exploiting this weakness of Eris’s by either a) trying to arrange a marriage between the two of you, putting you under Beron’s control and driving Eris further under Beron’s thumb, or b) keep you far away from Eris.

He knew which one was worse.

You had known Eris for centuries, a tenuous friendship due to his lack of trust and your uncertainty as to where you stood with him. Something inside of you always felt there was more to him than the mask he wore to the public, but you could never truly be certain if it was just naivety and hopefulness.

Years of seeing each other at inter-court events, culminated in the two of you finding each other, having occasional moments that left you wanting to see more of him. You could never linger together for too long, lest Beron catch on to how his eldest son’s eyes bore into yours for a second longer than appropriate. Every meeting, dance, or word shared between you two always left you flustered, every moment shared was dissected at length afterward.

One night, while under the mountain, Eris took a risk and found you in your chambers. He had to know that you were okay - as okay as one could be in such an environment. He was used to this environment- he knew how to play the game, how to endure the atrocities in front of him. But you didn’t.

Eris had pushed his way into your chambers, quickly shutting the door behind himself. The intrusion had left you so flustered, you ran to him, prepared to chastise him.

Instead he grabbed your shoulders, quickly spinning you before he rested your back against the door, ensuring no one could burst in without his knowledge. He caged you in with his arms on either side of you, his amber eyes roaming your face, inspecting for injuries.

“I don’t have much time. But if this ever ends, it will not be long until I put the pieces into place to better my position.”

You understood the meaning behind his words, ones too worried to utter the real truth out loud.

He was going to kill Beron. Or someone was.

You knew he was concerned about ears in this place, so he didn’t speak freely.

“I cannot promise you much, but if you wait, I will do things properly. But I would not hold it against you if you cannot wait.”

He hung his head, his long, red hair falling into his face before taking a deep breath and slipping out the door before you could say anything.

So, you waited.

You had survived the atrocities that happened under that cauldron-forsaken mountain and helped your brother Kallias rebuild the Winter court.

Then the war with Hybern happened. You continued your work trying to provide security and sanctuary to your citizens, but it was hard and draining.

The years carried on, until one day Kallias was called off quite quickly by mail, leaving you and Vivian quite confused but not for long. News of the death of Beron Vanserra traveled quite quickly through all of Prythian.

Kallias had returned for mere minutes before a letter arrived in front of you, a second one appearing in front of Kallias a moment later.

The envelope was sealed with the Autumn Court insignia, one that you’ve admired for many years now: a fox curling around a fire. It felt homey.

It was the Court’s official crest - and the Vanserra family’s familial crest resembled it. You broke the seal, reading the letter.

Fawn,

It is my hope that this letter finds you in good spirits and good health. I am writing this as a formal declaration of my intentions.

With your agreement, it is my intention to court and wed you, making you the Lady of the Autumn Court. It would be my honor to serve my court as your husband with you at my side.

This decision lies solely with you. I have, however, written a similar letter to your high lord, Kallias, so he will not feel blindsided should you accept.

Take your time over this decision. I will be busy in the coming weeks, adjusting to life as High Lord, however I will make whatever time is necessary for you shall you wish it.

Yours,

Eris Vanserra, High Lord of the Autumn Court

You smiled at the title in his signature, sure that this was the first time he got to write it out.

Your eyes glanced up to find Viviane and Kallias’s peaking glances at you as they read the letter Eris had sent them.

“It would appear as though you’ve caught the eye of Prythian’s newest High Lord.”

It was no question that you would attend his coronation. Autumn was a direct border to Winter and Kallias had been waiting decades for Beron to die to potentially work with one of his sons on building better relations. He had always hoped it would be Lucien, the easiest and most diplomatic Vanserra. The two had a working relationship and he would be a lovely neighboring ruler.

During the whole affair, Eris’s eyes hardly strayed from yours. They followed you, not straying to any of the hundreds of fae gathered, not to the other court nobility that had arrived.

Just you.

His eyes had followed you as you lingered after the ceremony, finding Lucien just as the letter had instructed. You kept his gaze as you spoke to the youngest Vanserra, giving him the answer to Eris’s letter. You nodded just enough for the new High Lord to see, and his posture immediately relaxed. You stood taller knowing on a day all about him, he clearly had only been thinking of you.

You had written back to Eris after the coronation quite quickly, much more quickly than a proper lady should, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. Excitement coursed through your body, almost impossible to sit still.

Corresponding with Eris was more fun than you had anticipated. It took a few letters, but he began opening up more and more, telling you stories about his day or some memory long forgotten. Most letters include some story about Lucien, but they felt much more relaxed than the version of him you knew at court events. He even stopped signing them with his full name, shortening it to just ‘Eris’ eventually.

You had made the mistake of mentioning to Kallias about Eris’s intentions. Your brother had been upset at first to find out his sister had caught the eye of a Vanserra - he had never trusted the family, always on guard in their presence. But when he heard the words ‘courting’ and ‘traditional’, you swore his eyes danced with amusement as he plotted something.

Official courting was very similar across Prythian, with minor details changed for each court. For members of nobility and highly esteemed families of the Winter Court, it was usual custom for the betrothed pair to visit each other’s villages. Time spent partaking in the customs of each village was essential - life in Winter could often feel very insular. Villages less than a day’s travel from each other could be quite different, even language differences occurring. Holidays across the court looked similar to outsiders, but traditions held a wide range of activities.

Kallias would allow you to do as you wished as long as you weren’t tricked or coerced into anything. However, your brother would make Eris regret his exact words of a ‘traditional courting’.

Eris had agreed to the terms, but sent many letters about his brother in forewarning and to not take him seriously. Having met the youngest Vanserra on several occasions, you were well prepared for what he might do.

An agreement was formed - Eris was to spend two weeks in Winter before you would spend two weeks in Autumn. At that point, you would provide some form of answer. You had some idea of what you would say - you wouldn’t be wasting everyone’s time otherwise. But it would be foolish and rash to wed without spending any time alone with the male.

Eris was set to arrive in a week’s time, coming to your home, coming to Winter. It felt surreal, not quite allowing yourself to believe it until the male was standing before you. A week was nothing for a High Lord - Kallias’s visits to other courts usually required several months of notice. But seven days still felt too long after seeing him at the coronation. You did anything to make yourself busy - planning activities for the two of you, reassuring your brother once again that this was what you wanted, trying to showcase Winter in the best light.

Still, every night when you laid in bed, everytime you closed your eyes, you were brought back to the coronation, how his eyes followed you across the room. A room full of the most powerful and important people in Prythian, and his gaze never left yours.

You hardly slept the night before he was set to arrive, waking with the sun as if it would bring Eris here more quickly. The morning went by at a snail’s pace, the palace unhurried for the day. You had bathed, dried your hair, paced around, tidied your room. You did anything you could think to keep busy, to keep your mind off the clock.

Eventually enough time passed for you to make it to breakfast, sitting across from Kallias and Vivianne’s amused glances. They chatted idly, amused smiles directed at you that you pretended to ignore. You only pushed the food around on your plate, watching the sun through the window, trying to will it to move faster.

“Something wrong?” Kallias’s question made its way through the fog, the only words he had spoken you had been able to make sense of.

“Sure, sure.” You waved him off with your fork, eyes moving to the entryway to the dining room every so often. He laughed, amused at how little you were listening to them, but you had tuned him out once more. Doubt crept in as each second passed, your anxieties certain something would keep the two of you apart. Had he changed his mind? Was it all in the chase for a hunter like him?

As if your doubts had conjured him, he was striding through the entrance hall, his red hair practically melting the walls as he went past. Over the years, you had seen Eris in a variety of wardrobe: deep reds ranging to bright green, a variety of embroidery threads on every piece. He made every color his own, gravitating towards richer, earthier shades. The dark blue jacket that hung from his shoulders made the color seem so new and exotic, despite being a significant portion of your own wardrobe. The depth of color popped beneath his pale skin somehow, unjustly proving there truly was no color he couldn’t make his own.

The piece looked like anything you would find in Winter, but somehow like nothing you had ever seen before.

He had looked so sure of himself at the coronation, steadfast in a way a High Lord needed to be. In the few weeks since, he had somehow grown even more into himself, standing tall and sharp. His hair was much shorter now than it was under the mountain, the weight of that place chopped off with the fiery locks.

Eris stopped before you, smiling as he took you in, a bit of shock mixed in with the delight. Too caught up in your wandering eyes, you completely forget to even pretend to courtesy until it’s too late and you fumble a short bow. His face lit up with amusement, and you hoped he'd ignore it. Your prayers seemed to be answered until he leaned in and asked, “see something you like?”

The question sent chills down your back, your spine straightening. Your mouth became too dry to respond, and even if you could, you couldn’t think of anything to say. This thing with Eris, however mutual it may be, had alway been fleeting - small conversations, loose promises. No matter how your heart pulled to him, you still knew so little about him.

Kallias cleared his throat from behind you, his focus completely on Eris. The males only nodded to each other, not even attempting small talk. Kallias had been on edge ever since the first letter arrived - you heard him pacing at night, sure that the Autumn male was planning something. But those concerns hardly made it to your ears, your brother staying tight lipped about his reservations.

You didn’t think there was any validity to Kallias’s concerns for even a moment, especially not as he stood before you, a glimpse of vulnerability in his eyes.

“I didn’t think you would allow this. I expected to be thrown out of Winter.” His voice was soft, the usual sneer or jestful tone gone, leaving room for something more vulnerable.

“Do you take me for a liar, High Lord? Not a good look for a new bride.” The quip sent him slightly off balance, surprise or pleasure at the change in your attitude.

“My apologies.” He bowed low at the waist causing you to go completely still. As High Lord, he didn’t have to bow to anyone. The other High Lords were his equals, but they didn’t deserve this level of respect.

“I’m just kind enough to forgive you, Eris.” He straightened at the sound of his name, the slight smirk enough to let you know how much he enjoyed it.

You spent the afternoon showing him the palace and the grounds, noting the amusement on his face at the ice gardens. You showed him the deep blues of the palace, listening as he compared them to his own home, the Forest House.

“I have arranged for some private dining for us. Kallias wanted some grand banquet in your honor, but I shot that down.”

“Wanted to get me alone?”

“Oh, we won’t be alone.” He waited for you to go on, still keeping stride next to you. “There are eyes everywhere in Winter. Why do you think we don’t have a chaperone?”

Eris turned in a circle, moving around the landscape, searching for anybody. There wasn’t another living thing for miles in the vast wintery expanse.

“Can you keep a secret?” He nodded, leaning his face closer to yours. You did the same, leaning up on your toes to meet him. You lowered your voice, soft as the snow fall. “It’s the animals.”

“The animals?” A mixture of shock and delight came across his face, a hint of disbelief as well. You nodded, not elaborating further. As far as you could tell, the animals in Winter were vastly different from the animals of other courts. They were larger, better at hiding, and were connected to Kallias somehow. You had tried for years to get him to explain it - why arctic foxes lingered at the palace doors, hares burrowed beneath every window. He always stayed tight-lipped about it, but he always knew things he shouldn’t. He was always the first to know your business, even if you never told him.

“I don’t really get it, but they like my brother.”

Eris followed as you led him to the west side of the palace. Light snow fell, crunching beneath your feet as you made your way down the path to the stables. You finally reached the surprise the servants had set up - a massive sleigh fronted by a team of large reindeer, stocked with blankets and food.

“What is this?”

“Our chariot.”

Eris looked over the sled, the reindeer all standing at attention, dark fur accented with lush garlands.

“Couldn’t we just winnow?”

“Yes, but where’s the fun in that?”

He huffed, his breath visible in the air. He followed you into the sleigh, his body pressing close to yours. You let out a low whistle, the reindeer taking off quickly. Eris fell back into the seat, unprepared for the quick takeoff. Your hand covered your mouth, trying to hide the laugh that escaped, but you knew he heard it from the way he looked over at you.

His magic made a warm bubble around the two of you, blocking out the wind as the reindeer picked up a good pace. The sleigh glided across the snow, making fresh tracks as it moved. Eris looked around, trying to find any hint as to where the two of you were heading off to.

“What are we waiting for?”

“You’ll know it when you see it.”

He studied you then, really focusing on you. You did the same, studying how much he contrasted the wintry landscape passing behind. His blue coat helped him blend in somewhat, but he stood out too much from the ice and snow to ever be able to fully hide.

“Have you ever been to Winter?” Your voice was louder, trying to be heard over the wind. You’ve seen him in Winter three or four times, the Vanserras never lingering long, only here to discuss things related to the border. Your father despised having them around, always tense in the days leading up to their arrival. But you wanted to hear it from him, wanted to know what your home was like to an outsider.

“Officially or unofficially?”

“Both.”

He leaned back on the seat, stretching out his long legs in the sleigh, his body still touching yours but not encroaching on your space.

“Officially, a handful of times. Unofficially, a few dozen times. I’ve snooped around the border a time or two.”

“To see the sights? Or do something a bit more?”

He gave a sharp look, some debate happening behind his eyes on how much to tell.

“I’d be lying if I said the land on the border between our courts was anything less than spectacular.”

You had never been so far north as the seasonal courts, but the lands connecting Summer, Winter, and Autumn were quite the sight. A blend of all three courts, a beautiful lake laid in the middle of the tricourt border. The wind blew falling leaves and soft snow across the water, but somehow the air was the perfect temperature to go swimming. It was a beautiful spot, popular with travelers.

“My excursions were less than savory.” His face was grim now, hard set with bad memories. Your breath hitched at how quickly the conversation had turned. It’s not too surprising to know Eris has snuck across the border - you have snuck off into Summer a time or two, emboldened by youth and recklessness.

But a few years ago, someone had done something so heinous the memory still made you gag.

“Have you ever harmed one of Winter’s citizens?” It still wasn’t known who killed those children, their deaths still a heavy tragedy for your court. Their wailing parents could be heard across the court. Your brother had long suspected the High Lord of the Night Court of it, but he had no leads.

“No. Mostly a neutral meeting site for discussions.” He seemed less than forthcoming, not wanting to linger too long, but willing to answer any questions you had. You only had one last question, needing it answered before letting this subject die.

“Did you have any involvement with the children?” You didn’t have to specify, you knew he’d know what you were referring to.

“No. I would never.” Relief washed over you. He seemed open in a way you’ve never seen before. You wanted to see more of it, let him tell you who he is in his own words.

The sled started slowing down at your whistle, halting in the middle of a barren field. The dark sky stretched on for miles, filled with galaxies of stars too numerous to count and too small to quantify. You unfolded the blanket, draping it across both of your laps, before opening the picnic basket. You passed him a small mug, filling it with hot chocolate from an enchanted kettle.

“Tell me something I don’t know about you.” You tried for a more hopeful tone, the lilt in your voice asking to move on from the tragedy. He thought it over seriously for a few moments, watching the steam from his mug dissipate before settling on something.

“I have twelve hounds, all named after ingredients in pumpkin pie or apple varieties.”

“You have hounds?” He nodded, allowing you to continue. “I’ve only seen hounds from afar around here. In Winter, they work either with hunting or guardians. I’ve heard in Day it’s popular to keep them as pets. Are yours more pet or worker?”

“Anyone else, I’d say they’re workers. But in the interest of honesty, they are more pet.”

The mug of hot chocolate in your hands was the only thing keeping you from squealing in delight.

“Do you spoil them?”

“No.” You eyed him skeptically, not accepting his answer. “Okay, fine. I spoil them. But I make them work for it.”

“That’s so sweet. I’m sure they all love you.”

He didn’t respond, but you were sure it was the truth. You couldn’t imagine any being not falling in love with him, especially after spending years with him.

You slowly leaned into him, trying to soak up all his warmth. He turned, his face only inches from yours. His nose was a hair away from bumping into yours. Amber eyes flicked down to your lips and back up, but he stayed where he was.

You pushed back from him, catching the glimpse of color from behind his head, telling him to look up.

The sky above you, previously pitch black, slowly allowed streaks of green and light blue to ribbon across its landscape. The sky was a living painting, bright hues stretching across the blank canvas. The movements seemed random, smooth strokes looking for a place to rest. Every stroke looked intentional, every color carefully picked to complement the ones around it.

The hundreds of times you had seen it before didn’t matter - each time was brand new, never looking the same as the last. Eris was quiet beside you, the silence stretching up to the sky in appreciation of its beauty.

For a long time, neither of you say anything, but Eris’s hand slowly moved closer - first resting next to yours, each finger slowly and gently making contact, until he was holding your hand in his, gazing at this new beauty to bask in.

You smiled to the sky, thankful for whatever reason it was here. It would be the first thing the two of you would share, your shared focus on the same thing. The whole ride home would be devoted to talking about it, sharing feelings and observations, but now the two of you stared, necks craning at something that had stretched across Winter for as long as fae had existed.

On Eris’s second day in Winter, the weather was just right for an activity you were determined to see Eris try before accepting any proposals. You bundled yourself up, donning several layers beneath a coat before you bounced down the hallway. His room was several doors down from yours at Kallias’s input no doubt, but it gave you an extra moment to smooth out any wrinkles in your coat.

Deep blue skies filled the windows you passed, the day outside exceedingly bright. It was springtime in Winter, one of the warmer days that brought fae outdoors in droves, but your intended destination would be quite cold.

Your knock on his door was quick, three taps before his face greeted you.

“You’re quite chipper this morning,” he greeted.

You beamed, excitement for the day coursing through you. “It’s a beautiful day, of course I’m chipper.”

You looked down from his eyes to find his chest bare, no shirt to cover the pale skin littered with freckles. A set of two moles beneath his left clavicle caught your eye, before your gaze stuck on the red hair beneath his navel, leading into his trousers.

“I can meet you for breakfast downstairs if you wish to eat.”

Your eyes snapped back to his, a hint of arrogance lacing his words at having caught your ogling. He spared you from any other jabs at your expense, at least.

“No need, we’ll be getting breakfast out in town.”

A surprised look crossed his face before he quickly changed it for one of intrigue.

“Spare a moment so I can change.”

He came out exactly a moment later, not letting you wait too long. He stepped out in brown trousers, brown riding boots, a loose white shirt, and a beautifully decadent emerald green vest with gold detailing. He looked so autumnal, almost like a crisp apple you were dying to bite into.

Your lips puckered. “You’re going to need more clothes.”

“Oh? You seemed quite happy with the lack of layers I was wearing earlier.”

You scoffed, trying to cover the heat that was spreading up your face. “I am a lady, High Lord. Of course I am happy to see a lack of layers in my attractive guests.”

He laughed through his nose, an almost pleased snort at your unabashed comment.

“Any hints as to the day’s plans?”

“None until you get dressed.” He grumbled something as he turned back, leaving the door open before rifling through his trunks again.

“You do know I can warm myself quite easily with my magic.” He found a larger coat, probably the thickest one he owned, but it looked thin in comparison to the large, feather coats of Winter’s citizens. You followed him, standing in his doorway as he spoke to you.

“That’s cheating, though. Besides, your magic could be a hazard.” He stopped buttoning his jacket, fingers pausing mid movement.

“I thought I wasn’t getting any hints until I was better dressed.”

“You are better dressed.”

“I would never leave with my buttons undone. I’m not an animal.”

You stepped aside, walking down the hallway and away from him. His door shut softly behind him and he quickly caught up to you, matching your stride through the palace. No matter how much he asked, you didn’t let up, leading him out of the palace and onto the cool paths that navigated around the property.

You thought he would give up - it would only be a ten minute walk, after all. But he was unwavering, determined to get the answer from you, so much so he wasn’t paying attention to the upcoming view.

“We’re going ice skating!” You declared proudly, pointing ahead at the frozen lake coming into view. Figures glided across the frozen surface, laughing loud enough to be heard from far away.

“Why are we going ice skating, my ice princess?”

The nickname caught you off guard, the title not sounding as stilted as it usually did. You tried to keep your composure, a difficult task as your tongue suddenly became very thick in your mouth. “It’s tradition.”

“Is it now? Or do you just want to admire me gliding across the ice in those tight uniforms your skaters wear?”

A sigh escaped you, careful not to let him hear your laugh.

“It’s tradition in Winter for betrothed couples to skate together.”

“We’re a betrothed couple now?”

Heat rushed to your cheeks. You still hadn’t technically given him an answer nor did you plan to until the end of the trip. Everything was going so well, you had to ensure you liked being in his company before agreeing.

“We’re something.”

“I suppose ‘something’ is the most serious relationship I’ve ever been in.”

“Haven’t you been engaged to the Morrigan?”

“I was a child. I had met her all of a handful of times before it ended.”

“So us ice skating is the most serious romantic endeavor you’ve ever been involved with?”

“It would appear so.”

“If I may be so bold, that is quite sad.” A pair of ice skates appeared in your hands, the size determined by some servants who snuck into his chambers last night and measured his shoes. You held them out to him before gesturing for him to sit on a nearby bench to put them on.

“What’s sad is going to be seeing me out on the ice and that will be the end of my most serious romantic endeavor.”

You reached out, gently pinching his cheek between your thumb and forefinger.

“I wouldn’t end things with how pitiful you look on the ice. I find pathetic males endearing on occasion.”

“I will note to never allow you near Lucien again.”

Your own skates appeared in your hand as you sat next to Eris. The two of you laced boots in tandem, listening as a few kids played a game of hockey on one end of the lake.

“You’ll probably be a little wobbly getting out there,” you warned, standing up to help him. You held your hands out, which he gladly took, helping him find his balance on the mat.

“This is ridiculous.”

“Oh, just wait.”

You helped him waddle to the entrance, his body instinctively reaching for the short walls that had been erected around the lake. Eris moved onto the ice, attempting to keep the blades beneath his feet connected to the ice. It was much slippier than he anticipated, his feet moving at an odd angle before he quickly moved back to grip the wall once more. His eyes met yours, your face barely able to contain your grin. Your eyes shone with delight, your tone laced with wicked amusement as you held out your hands.

“Forgive me, High Lord. I didn’t realize I was in the presence of a skating prodigy.”

His jaw tightened at the jab, annoyance simmering beneath his skin. Everyone else on the ice made it look easy, skating past the High Lord in pairs. One male even did a jump right in front of him.

If there was one thing that would never change about Eris, it was that he was a sore loser if he wasn’t automatically good at something.

A skater passed by, ice shavings hitting Eris in the chest. It was enough to get him to remove himself from the wall, to move out toward your outstretched hands. He looked like a newborn foal, standing for the first time on fresh legs. You suppressed a giggle, reaching out for him.

He made it halfway between you and the wall when one of the kids from the other side of the lake hit the hockey puck too hard, the black circle skidding fast directly at Eris’s feet. It hit the blade of his left skate, sending him falling forward.

A loud, boisterous laugh fell from your lips. Your head tilted back, the sun nearly blinding you, but you couldn’t contain the joy you felt in this moment.

A beautiful male fell into your arms, looking more like a fresh fawn than the high lord he was.

He clutched at you, his feet giving out beneath him as he tried to find his balance. The blades slashed the ice, cutting and churning up slush until eventually he slowed down, his feet able to stay in place long enough for him to straighten up.

Eris still clung to you, but his face came close to your ear, whispering so only you could hear.

“I look ridiculous.”

“Yes, you do.”

“And you’re enjoying it.”

“Very much so.” A meteor couldn’t wipe the smug look off your face at his struggles. You pried his hands from your shoulders, holding them tight in your hands as you slowly started skating backwards. The shock on his face had you biting back another laugh, but you held him tight, gliding backwards without a concern in the world.

He slowly began figuring out how to move his feet, making short glides. Each sweep of his legs brought more confidence, but his hands still remained tight in yours.

Eris didn’t have many courtly duties to take up his time while in Winter. He had spent most of the last week preparing for this, but he only had to put up with daily updates and light correspondence taking no less than an hour a day.

You took him everywhere you thought of: nearby villages, sightseeing, trying restaurants. He was more receptive to Winter cuisine than you had anticipated, but it shouldn’t be too shocking that there was some overlap between your courtly palettes.

Today the snow came down in massive heaps, a sheet of white covering the windows, making it impossible to see past a few feet.

“Please don’t tell me we’re going out to do something like see how much snow we can catch.”

You smiled, turning from the window to find Eris looking down at you. You stood, practically bouncing the balls of your feet at the plan for today.

“I’d never do that to you and your delicate constitution.” A huff escaped his lips at your taunt, but no retort came back.

“We’re going to bake and assemble a gingerbread house.”

It was too early for yule, the ingredients necessary for the traditional dishes out of season. But you craved to showcase Winter in all its splendor.

“A gingerbread house? To live in?”

“Not for us to live in. For the gingerbread fae to live in.”

He only stared blankly, the concept clearly a new one to the High Lord.

“Do you not celebrate Yule in Autumn?”

“We burn bushes and the like, but we don’t make gingerbread.” He said it with a grimace, like the cookie was offensive.

“Well, you can help me build it and decorate it.”

A few hours later, when the cookies were taken from the oven, the two of you took a break, venturing around the palace grounds, talking about everything and nothing. At some point you were sure the cookies had cooled enough to work with, but there had been a break in the snow and you weren’t quite ready to return yet. Instead you had detoured into the nearby village, taking Eris to get hot chocolate.

“I promise, I’ve tried so much hot chocolate over the years, but this is the best.”

“Very convenient that they live so close by.” You smiled over the mug, taking your first sip, the sweet rich flavor one you couldn’t get enough of.

“I may have persuaded him to move his shop here.”

Eris held his drink, waiting for it to cool more.

“Here I thought I was the scandalous one of us.”

“It all worked out! He met his wife here and they’ve been very happy for a long time. And they have me to thank for it.” Pride was etched into every inch of your smile, to see happy citizens and watch things work out for them was a joy.

“Winter’s own little matchmaker.”

After enough time (and Eris admitting it was the best hot chocolate Prythian had to offer), the two of you had wandered back to the palace, taking your sheets of cookies into the dining room. Servants had already arranged all your decorating needs neatly onto the table: icing, gumdrops, sugar. Anything sweet your heart could desire was on the table.

“The world’s supply of sugar was dropped off in our absence.”

It didn’t take long before he was sucked into the work, determined to make a grand gingerbread house fit for a High Lord. You watched as he carefully iced one of the walls, applying windows and doors to it. His lines were perfect, a steely look of determination on his face.

This was what this trip was about. Seeing Eris for who he was at all times: relaxed, enthralled, annoyed. After a moment of watching him, you turned back to your own house, hoping a distraction would quell the butterflies roaring in your stomach. You picked up one of the tiny ginger males, picking out the perfect red icing to make his hair with.

Before long, Eris’s two weeks in Winter were coming to an end. It felt surreal to watch him winnow away, feeling juvenile over the longing you felt in his absence.

Eris would head to Autumn a day before you, so the two of you hadn’t lingered long on saying goodbye. It had taken longer than expected for him to depart, as if the both of you were unwilling to give the other up for any amount of time. The pull you had felt toward him all these years, the seemingly insurmountable obstacles keeping the two of you apart, and yet a whole day felt impossible.

Life had continued on in your whirlwind romance, but it felt different now. Two weeks away and it felt like being in someone else’s clothes, stepping into someone else’s life.

The silence felt louder, your room colder. The halls you grew up in, the room you’d known your entire life - they felt so empty now, so lifeless without a redhead blazing fires.

The next day Kallias winnowed the two of you to Autumn, somewhere about a mile from the perimeter of the Forest House. He spent the twenty minute walk probing you nonstop about if you were truly happy to do this.

“It would mean living here year round.” His arms spread out, sweeping across the landscape. It was so different from your home in the Winter Court, trees full of leaves that are about to shed, woodland creatures skittering all around, watching the two of you.

The air was always so still in Winter, but here it ebbed and flowed, carrying the scent of bonfires and apples wherever it went.

“I don’t think that would be so bad.” You failed to mention how excited you’d be to live with a certain male, not wanting to endure Kallias’s teasing or gagging noises from him.

Your brother escorted you through the woods, your arm tucked into his as you passed through the wards placed around the Forest House. The large, dark estate was tucked away in the woods, trees as tall as the sky surrounding it. The sun was hitting it just right, letting it shine in all its glory, as if even the weather was happy with the change in Autumn.

A servant had found the two of you - some guard, you assumed from the weapon at his side. He bowed quickly before the two of you, quickly turning on his heel for you to follow. You didn’t have to follow long, Eris already waiting in the front hallway for the two of you.

It was hard to decide what to look at - the male or the gorgeous interior of the home. You were set to be here for two weeks, plenty of time to ogle the decor and architecture, so you opted to keep your eyes on Eris. He looked different in Autumn, more at ease, but also brighter somehow, as if every room and background bent toward him, trying to complement his skin.

He kept his eyes on you the same way, likely figuring out how much you contrasted against the earthly shades of the court. You didn’t care, certain he would spin it in a more favorable light than you would. He eventually took his eyes off of you, turning towards your brother, reaching out a hand. Their hands met, slight steam coming off from their touch before your brother chuckled. It wasn’t until you peeled your eyes from Eris to find one of his brothers, Lucien, standing behind him

“Eris,” Kallias’s voice took on a more stern tone, one that had a groan coming from the back of your throat. Kallias’s blue eyes met yours, a silent conversation taking place while he was still shaking Eris’s hand. After a minute of glaring back and forth, he turned back toward Eris, patting his hand before retracting it.

“Eris.” It said all that Kallias wanted to. The threat hidden in the one word, the tight grip he had on Eris’s hand. Eris only nodded, a tight lipped smile at either Kallias’s rigid position or the tight grip he had on him. Kallias examined him for a moment before letting go, his arm moving to wrap you into a hug.

“Last chance,” he said quietly into your ear. You softly shook your head no as you leaned into his touch, the cool air enveloping you in such a familiar way. He patted your back before letting go.

“I’ll see you in two weeks then.” This time he spoke loud enough for everyone to hear, accenting every word in a ‘I’m the High Lord’ way. You chuckled softly as he turned, nodding at both Vanserras before walking out of the house.

The three of you stood in silence for only a moment, no one quite sure how to continue on after Kallias’s departure. Lucien’s eyes gleamed with excitement, a smile full of mischief and trouble sent your way.

“Would you like to walk around the estate?”

It was an interesting sight to behold - two fae, each over several centuries old, strolling about Autumn with a much younger and louder chaperone following behind them.

“I have to say you do seem quite different since the last I saw of you in Autumn, High Lord.”

Lucien’s steps followed the two of you, his whistling an overt measure to ensure you both remembered his presence. When you had asked for traditional courtship, you hadn’t had Lucien in mind.

“Autumn is seeing a great change.”

“You may speak freely, if you wish. I understand double speak is common around here, but I am unfamiliar with it and find it tedious.”

“Autumn is doing quite well now that the blight that was my father has been taken care of.”

Lucien’s whistling stopped, an almost choking noise coming from his mouth. Eris shot a spark from his finger at his brother. Even though he couldn’t see it, he heard Lucien patting the fire out of his breeches and smiled. Your eyes caught Eris’s, unable to stop the enjoyment at seeing him so happy.

“How crass, High Lord. To speak of your departed father in such a way.”

Eris’s eyes nearly bulged from his head, an excuse sitting on the tip of his tongue until he caught a glint of amusement in your eye. He clicked his tongue, looking straight ahead toward the path.

“You sound like Lucien, my least favorite brother.”

A cough came from behind, but Eris didn’t turn to look at his brother before replying. “Chaperones are merely to ensure our innocence and chastity, not to butt into conversation.”

“Yes, we are quite innocent and chaste up here. No deflowering has occurred on your watch,” you added.

“I do love a good deflowering, but watching it happen to my brother is not what I wish to see.”

Steam practically shot out of Eris’s ears at Lucien’s quip, but your giggles broke him from his anger.

“A virgin High Lord. How noble of you, your grace. And you picked me to deflower you? I’m so honored.”

The High Lord of Autumn had half a mind to forego the frivolity of tradition. Two weeks of his brother following him around was sure to end in murder. He knew you were quite a fan of them, some romanticized notion of courting traditions in your mind he couldn’t quite bear to see squashed.

Your first night there had been enough for him to put up with meddling brothers for a lifetime. He had shown you around the Forest House per your request. He listened intently during the tour as you compared the Forest House to the Snowflake Palace, comparing your current home to what was hopefully set to be a future one. You were now comparing balconies, ones you had shown him on his tour, balconies carved in part from ice in the upper levels of the palace.

“I’m sure you could remodel here with your flames a bit.”

A chuckle made you smile, happy to amuse him over such silly imaginings.

“I don’t think they’d be structurally sound to stand on.”

“Hmm, that’s a shame. A flaming throne room would really make the place shine.”

The two of you moved through the house, wandering through centuries of history. Stories flowed from Eris’s mouth - items that were millennium old, passed down through the Vanserra line carefully. Things the high lord has grown so accustomed to seeing every day he had forgotten to enjoy the intricate details of them.

At some point on the tour, Lucien had stepped away, having to attend to some matter on his own.

“I could show you where your chambers would be if you moved here.”

You stopped, grabbing Eris by the elbow to get his attention. You held his arm as you spoke, the fabric of his jacket soft in your hand.

“Eris, if I am to wed, I would rather spend my nights with my husband. It’s no fun sleeping alone.”

He swallowed harshly, needing a moment before he responded. “Noted.”

“Would that be a problem?”

“Not at all.”

“Then can you show me your chambers?” Eris swore under his breath, the direct question straining his pants.

“Lucien steps away for an hour and you’re already trying to deflower me.”

“Maybe the chaperone was for me, Eris.”

Eris was still staying in his old chambers, wanting Beron’s old chambers completely renovated before he moved into them. His room was somewhere in the west wing, the windows facing a large field that had massive stables at the end of the horizon. You walked to the window, ignoring inspecting the rest of the furniture in favor of the lush green pasture.

“Horses?”

“Hounds,” he corrected, his voice dripping with pride. It jogged your memory - the brief conversation you had earlier about his pack of hounds.

“Do they sleep in the bed with you?”

The silence stretched on for a moment before he asked, “how important is the answer to that?”

You shrugged your shoulders, squinting your eyes as you looked at the field, trying to make out any dog-like shapes. “I’m often incredibly cold during the night and a warm, furry friend would be nice.”

“It’d be a shame then to not tell you that they all end up here during the night.”

You whipped your head to him, incredulity coating your words. “How many are there?”

��A dozen or so.”

A laugh escaped from you. Eris Vanserra, a male supposedly cut from Beron’s cloth who had half of Prythian annoyed at him and the other infuriated with him, had a pack of hounds to keep him company at night?

“This is delightful.” Only a few hours into the trip and you had already learned so much about Eris.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing.” You leaned against the wall, turning your body toward him. It didn’t go unnoticed when he stepped slightly closer, following to not let any more distance linger between you two. “The other courts think you’re the Mother’s curse upon faekind. If only they knew you liked snuggling.”

“Even cursed ones have hobbies when they’re not ransacking villages or plaguing the common fae.”

The day was supposed to end with a dinner in your honor, celebrating relations between Winter and Autumn, and a way for you to meet more people in the Forest House. Instead you had asked if you could share dinner in his chambers, citing the travels of the day making you weary.

An excuse Eris saw through, but elected not to say anything. He’d be damned to give up this much alone time with you, certain Lucien would make himself known at any moment.

The two of you ate and drank in Eris’s sitting room, not having ventured into his bedchambers. This trip was about you and he’d follow your lead, no matter how straining it became.

“We’ve been on our own for several hours now. Do you think our chaperone’s gone?”

“With any luck he’s fallen into an uncapped well or perhaps gotten lost at sea.”

“I don’t think we’re that lucky, Eris.”

He leaned back in his seat, the wood creaking as he stretched out his long legs.

“It’s night time. He’s likely off writing a letter, waxing poetry about how much he’s missing his mate.”

“You’re not concerned about any interruptions, then?”

“At this point Lucien should be old enough to know better. What he sees is on him.”

The words had barely left his mouth before you glanced down at his trousers, noting the clear outline of his bulge. You looked back up to find his searing gaze on you, amber eyes full of molten want, the air around the two of you hot enough to have sweat prickling at your neck. You patted his shoulder, trying to soothe the rejection before it came.

“Still, he only has the one eye. Wouldn’t want to completely blind him.” You wanted to - your legs practically shook with need. Something held you back from allowing him in fully, to take in every aspect of this potential relationship.

Eris had escorted you back to your room, unperturbed by the earlier rejection. He only waited as you stood across from him, not quite ready to open your door and bid him goodnight. The longer you stood here, his body heat practically inviting you closer, the more likely you were to cave into your carnal wants.

His own restraint did little to quell the ache between your legs. In fact, it made it worse. He was being respectful, never pushing or upset at the space you needed.

“I should go to bed.”

A half attempt at moving, to get your brain in gear, to retire for the evening, but as long as his eyes were on you, it was hard to pull away from his orbit.

If Eris had it his way, this whole visit would have been structured so differently. Every meal just the two of you, spending only a few hours apart for some necessary meetings he had.

But you had asked for traditional courting.

So he put up with more chaperoned walks through the garden, meals spent with others, hardly getting a moment alone with you for weeks until you slipped into his sitting room each night, recounting the time spent apart. You saw more of Lucien than you did him, his brother neglecting almost all of his duties in favor of entertaining at all hours of the day.

Eris was on the brink of wringing Lucien’s neck. Watching his eyes pop from his head would amuse him, wondering if the mechanical one would pop out too or if it would stay in its socket forever.

Most of Autumn’s rituals around love and commitment were saved for the day of the wedding or the ceremony itself. Fire night was a big event, but that was six months out and Eris couldn’t wait that long. He had been racking his brain for ages, trying to figure out something to showcase Autumn.

The proposal weighed heavy on your mind over the days you spent with him. While you were having a great time, Kallias never made you feel like you had to marry for political advantage. He actually seemed to prefer you to marry outside of it. Your brother desperately wanted you to marry any of the athletes of Winter, preferably from his favored teams.

You were having a great time being courted - finally being allowed to soak in Eris’s company was a delight. But you couldn’t quite say yes.

Eris had told you it would be an early morning and to dress in layers and to wear pants, but it was all he’d give you. You took his advice, layering well for the Autumn chill, lacing up your boots when a knock came at the door. Eris stood on the other side of the door, a tweed jacket unbuttoned, showing off a matching vest beneath it. Dark pants clung to his thighs, disappearing into the knee high boots hugging his calves. He said nothing, letting his gaze trail up the pants that hugged your thighs, a devilish smirk on his face that almost had you pulling him into your chambers.

“Ready?” He asked, extending an elbow toward you. You accepted it, letting him lead you on whatever adventure he wanted to show you.

“I thought I would show you one of my traditions.” You stayed silent, waiting for him to tell you more, but he didn’t say more, only looking forward as he walked. He guided the two of you through the house, up to some side hallway that led to the pasture behind the house. Barks came from the door at the end, either excitement or aggression you couldn’t say.

“And what is this tradition?”

“Whenever my mother would successfully give birth, I would take my hounds out and catch dinner.” He paused, one of his hands resting on the doorknob before he turned to face you.

“Would this bother you?” He fully faced you, close enough that you could almost touch him. You reached out, your hand brushing his, letting his warmth wake you up. Standing in the hallway with him felt like standing in the sun after a long, cold day, his gaze enough to warm your bones.

You shook your head, hunting for game a familiar one in Winter.

“I’ve never hunted with animals before.” The only movement was an eyebrow before his fingers held your hand. “Kallias is really into trapping.” Furs and meat were the two necessities to make it in Winter, most court citizens avid hunters.

He nodded, surprise evident on his face, but he said nothing. He squeezed your hand gently, looking deep into your eyes, fondness clear in his gaze. He looked on the verge of saying something, but only turned the knob, letting the early morning haze in, not quite clearing the lovesick haze that had settled in your stomach.

All the barking stopped immediately once Eris opened the door, the sound of dozens of paws hitting the ground thunderous in your ears. They quickly mobbed the pair of you, standing politely, tails wagging furiously. Several colors of fur tried to make their way to you, a dozen noses desperately trying to reach you. You giggled, reaching a hand out to pet one of them. You’d get to nuzzle one of their heads before another hound pushed it out of the way, trying to get your affection.

Eris gave a short, high-pitched whistle, sending the party into a frozen state, each one on high alert as they waited for his next order. It was almost terrifying how well they listened to his command, moving in tandem as if from one mind.

They all focused on him, a few with tilted heads. He let out a series of whistles, the meaning lost to you, but they understood. They moved as a group, their movements wispy and light, practically floating on air as they moved through the pasture, keeping a pace you couldn’t even dream of reaching.

“How do we find them?” Eris began trudging off after them, following the line in the morning dew they had made. From the front of the house, when you had arrived only a few days ago, you couldn’t have guessed at this large field hidden among the trees, this quiet sanctuary beyond a house containing Prythian’s greatest secrets.

“We follow as best we can. They’ll let us know when they find something.” A large crossbow was hung across his shoulder, not quite sure how you had missed it beforehand. It covered the muscles of his back, showing off his broad shoulders.

“What sort of expectations are there for the Lady of Autumn?” You had briefly met the previous one on this trip, Eris’s mother graciously inviting you for afternoon tea. You spoke for an hour with her, charmed by her while also being moderately terrified of her.

A woman married to Beron for centuries certainly had some skeletons in her own closet. You hadn’t thought to ask about her duties as Lady of the court, but rather mostly about Eris.

“There are a few, first and foremost being at court events.” Something you had expected - it would be silly to have a title and never be seen by the public. “My mother has her own passions and hobbies that take up her time, I don’t expect anyone,” he sent you a pointed look, “to do exactly as she does. Be present, be someone Autumn recognizes. Represent Autumn and see dignitaries from other courts. Other than that, it’s how much or how little sway she wishes to have.”

“Would I have to wear all green and red?” He laughed, the sound disturbing some roosting birds nearby, their wings taking flight.

“You may wear whatever color you like.”

“How often is Lucien around?”

“Not very. He comes usually for a day at a time, if that. He’s only here so frequently because he jumped at the chance to be a thorn in my side.”

Barks came from up ahead, the whole pack in an uproar, clearly catching the scent of something.

Eris grabbed your hand, the two of you running to catch whatever it was they found. You felt giddy at it all - his hand around yours, running through the trees. You felt so much younger and freer as the wind blew through your hair.

Could this be life with Eris?

The dogs had been unsuccessful. Eris did not want to admit it, but you were certain it had to do with how many questions you asked him, the chatter enough to scare off any nearby game, no matter the lead the dogs had on you.

The two of you spent the entire day outside, trying to find anything worthwhile, only calling it a day as the sun began to set. You had trudged back to the Forest House, unsure what you wanted more: a good meal or a long hot shower. Stepping inside, the house smelled divine - rich, fragrant foods that had your mouth watering.

The cooks must have heard your dilemma and answered for you. The two of you sat and ate, not much to say, too exhausted and gross to have anything of note to vocalize.

The silence gave you plenty of time to think. Eris had shown you a part of himself today, showing one of his favorite pastimes, it was only fair you did the same.

“Can I stay with you tonight?” It was the first thing you had said since coming inside, waiting until Eris was walking you to your chambers to ask it. The question clearly caught him off guard, his head lightly shaking in surprise.

“Of course.”

A rhythmic ceremony of sorts played out as the two of you prepared for bed. Taking turns bathing and changing into bed attire, nestling into bed, it all felt so comfortable and relaxing. The room smelled like him, coated in a smoky scent so thick it nearly made you dizzy.

As you lifted the covers laying next to Eris, two of the hounds jumped onto the bed, curling at his feet. You laughed, patting the bed next to you for one of them to come closer, but it only invited one of the ones on the floor to jump up.

Her brown fur was soft as it landed next to you, your hand petting her automatically. You curled around her body, an almost crescent moon shape to both of you. You felt the bed shift before Eris had done the same to you: contorting his body around yours, pulling your back flush to his chest.

The room smelled of Eris, but it also smelled like his hounds in the best way. The one in your arms, Cinnamon, nestled in for the night, and the contentment at being cocooned between their two bodies quickly lulled you to sleep.

A few hounds had made their way into the bed through the night, rotating as if in shifts to ensure they all got a turn. One or two were posted at each entrance, guarding both the bathroom and the door to his sitting room. One sat beneath a window, stationed there most of the night, her eyes on you whenever you woke up in the night.

Eris woke not long after you did, his arms circling tighter around you as he breathed you in.

“Does she sleep at all?” You asked, breaking the stillness of the morning. Eris only groaned, burying his face into your hair. His fingers dug into your hips, the millimeter of space between the two of you too offensive. He grumbled something incomprehensible into your hair, the words unintelligible.

“What was that?”

“Who?” You nodded toward the dog beneath the window, her gaze already on the two of you. She had a dark auburn coat, her long hair perfect to disappear amongst fallen leaves.

“That’s Lady. Not a cuddler.”

“Not even with you?”

“She cuddles in her own way. Sits near me and I have to stay very still.”

The image was incredibly endearing - the High Lord of Autumn letting his dog come to him in her own way, accommodating her as best he could. It had your heart practically bursting in your chest. You didn’t ask anymore questions, letting the room grow quiet with laziness.

Nobody moved for a long while, even the hounds staying still as they sprawled across the floor. Eventually a stomach growled - yours or Eris’s, you couldn’t tell. One of the hounds, Clove, you think, came over and nudged his back, her long snout attempting to get him out of bed.

It took longer than the dog had wanted, reluctance in every movement from both of you, but eventually the two of you left the warmth of the bed and took a walk in the woods, dozens of paws following you around.

Your remaining days in the court went by in a blur of red hair, warm skin, and explorations of the house and the forest surrounding it. You spent your nights tucked in Eris’s arms, the sweet domesticity of sharing a bed enough for both of you.

Each day brought a new confidence, that this was where you were meant to be, but every day something would hold you back, some new question keeping you from saying yes.

Before long, your shared two weeks in Autumn were up, your last night spent in Eris’s chambers, tangled in his arms and legs. He had held you tight all night, not wanting to let you go even as he slept.

A few hours before you were set to leave, luck had been on your side. One of the servants had let slip that Lucien had set off early that morning, some business in the Night Court requiring his immediate attention.

The sun was rising through the trees, chasing away the darkness of the night, bringing with it new life. The sun, for all its glory, hadn’t warmed up the ground yet, unable to fight the cool morning air yet. The cold in Autumn was different from Winter. It was familiar, a few details exchanged. The cold in Winter was dry and bone deep. The Autumn chill clung to you, stuck like a second skin.

Eris walked beside you, a few of his hounds trotting around the pair of you. The rest of them were out in the woods, chasing each other, investigating every scent trail they could find. The ones left behind were a guard of sort, likely expected to raise an alarm should anything happen.

The air was heavy with humidity and uncertainty, neither of you ready for what the afternoon would bring. Once you left, he’d have a busy day, ironing out the details of all the things he had pushed aside the past few weeks.

You weren’t sure when you would be back, if you would be back. Your mind was telling you stay guarded, to not give in. But you remembered Lady’s bright eyes, how she watched Eris everywhere he went, how he made time out of his day to spend a few moments alone with her, letting her come to him.

But now he walked beside you, silent and sure, unwavering as he walked over roots and bramble, a dog weaving between his long legs on occasion.

You bent over, crouching low to the ground and picking up a fallen stick. The leaves on it were still vibrant, some perfect color between orange and red. You held it up to the light before holding it close to Eris’s head, comparing it to his long, bright locks.

“They’re the same color as your hair.”

He moved one of his hands through the air, vaguely gesturing all around. The movement caught someone’s attention, a ball of red fur sitting in anticipation for the stick to be thrown their way.

“Most of them look like my hair.”

“Well that’s not fun.”

“I’m the High Lord of Autumn. It’s not far-fetched to think my lands resemble me.”

You only hummed, marching onwards, more determined with each step. After a moment of pretending to ignore the dog, you threw the stick off to the left when you figured they would least suspect it. The two of you continued in silence, the crunching of your boots crackling through the woods as four legs darted after the stick.

After a moment, you stepped off the path, looking for what had caught your eye. Quickly plucking the flower from its stalk, you hurry back to the bewildered male you left behind. You presented the flower to him before holding it next to his face, pointed so you could see the flower. The bright orange flower flared to life next to him, the perfect companion to the hundreds of freckles dancing across his cheeks.

The flower practically glowed next to him, its petals slightly bending in his direction. You’re not sure which came first: the magic or the life of the land.

“It matches your eyes.”

“My eyes are not orange.” You pulled the flower back, rolling your eyes as you did so.

“Not the petals, the eye of the flower. The center.” You pointed to make it clearer for him, the deep amber middle a perfect match for his eyes. He watched you carefully before looking down at the flower, the orange reflecting in his eyes.

He smiled, his mouth curved in a gorgeous upward tilt. He looked made of the woods, the forest around him bending to be seen by him or to catch a fraction of his warmth.

The crinkles in the corners of his eyes were enough proof you would go to great lengths to see them more permanently.

“So, to whom do I owe the pleasure of your undivided company all morning? I haven’t seen Lucien running about today.”

Eris only looked ahead, picking up a fallen stick and tossing it as far as he could, two of the hounds circling you chasing off after it.

“It seems he found a new toy to play with.”

“Must be some toy to pull him away from any opportunity to bother you.”

“I’m quite skilled at bargaining when there’s something I desire.”

“It wasn’t just luck that sent Lucien off this morning, was it?”

He merely shrugged, his hands clasped behind his back, the air of nonchalance he was attempting not quite landing right.

“I’m sure my brother’s told you I’m a selfish creature.”

A coy smile made its way across your face.

“Perhaps.”

“He’s not wrong.” The look he gave you felt all consuming. Amber eyes peering through every defense, every blockade of yours. He looked down at you, more resembling his hounds on the hunt for their toys than a male. The look pierced through every defense you had, nearly crumbling at the sight of it.

You had one last meal planned with Eris, one last time to speak over everything. He didn’t ask - staying silent, waiting for you to come to him.

There was one last question you couldn’t bring yourself to ask yet. It was the one thing keeping you from saying yes. Your last inhibition. It could all end depending upon his response.

“Eris, how are you different from your father?” He had only touched on the subject of Beron your first day here. It had been in an unfavorable manner, but you couldn’t tie yourself to someone without knowing the full truth.

“I haven’t burnt anyone alive so far.”

Your fork fell to your plate, so surprised at Eris’s words all of your senses stopped working. You knew Beron was a cruel man, but the extent of the harm he was producing in his court was unknown.

“That’s diabolical.”

Eris put his fork down softly, wiping his mouth with his napkin.

“Forgive me, it’s a question I am asked over and over again, even by myself. It’s a bit frustrating.”

His hand reached across the table, holding yours softly. His eyes were molten amber as they looked at you, honesty pouring out of them.

“I fear becoming like my father. I fear it’s inevitable. That is why I wish to keep people around me who will keep me in check. Lucien does a decent job, but he’s an emissary. He’s not always around. My mother wishes to spend her time between Day and Autumn.

“I need a life partner. Someone that will keep me from my worst tendencies. Someone that will keep me from becoming him. Someone that I like spending time with.”

“And I’m all of those things?” Your voice was soft, a murmur amidst the candlelight.

“And more.”

“Well, for the sake of honesty, maybe you should continue on with that list.”

His smile made your heart beat wildly, erratic beats you couldn’t calm no matter how hard you tried. The incandescent glow of the candlelight made him so striking it almost hurt to look at his beauty.

“You have always seen me. And I made a promise to you all those years ago. I know you aren’t seeing anyone else, and I’m a lovestruck fool who can’t help but hope that that is because of me. That you return my feelings toward you.”

You leaned in, desperate to close the space between you.

“And what are your feelings toward me?”

“Ones of yearning and love.”

Your breath caught in your throat, his eyes pleading with you to return his affections.

“Eris Vanserra, the secret romantic.”

“Only for you.”

You reached a hand out, caressing his cheek. You watched him swallow hard, his adam’s apple bobbing with movement. Your gaze kept flickering between his eyes and his lips, debating where to pay attention to.

All along, every decision was yours. You took the lead while he waited, letting you guide whatever this was. He did it with Lady, taking his time, putting her comfort over his wants.

“You were right. I was waiting for you.” You closed the gap between your faces, bringing your lips to his. He tasted sweet and warm, a bit of spice to it. His lips captured yours, melding perfectly to the shape of them. It felt perfect as his hand slid down to your waist, pulling you closer to him.

You almost fell out of the chair, breaking the kiss to squeal, but he caught you, pulling you into his lap. His lips reconnected with yours, more fervent this time. He had gotten a taste, and now he was desperate for more. His hands cupped your cheeks, pulling you flush to his body.

It felt right. This was the last thing you needed to say yes.

You pulled back from his lips just enough to speak.

“There’s one last thing I need to know before I can make up my mind.”

“Anything.” Looking into his eyes, you felt the truth to that one word. He would give you anything you wanted, all you had to do was ask.

“I’d never marry someone without spending the night with them.” Your low voice was dripping with innuendo. The smell of his arousal coated the air as you leaned in to kiss him once more. His hands moved down to your ass, gripping you tight against him. Too caught up in the moment, neither of you heard the door open, ana mused Lucien trying to look displeased.

“Well, well, well, High Lord. And you mocked me for needing a chaperone. I leave you alone for five minutes and you’re-“

Eris quickly pushed the door close with his magic, forcing Lucien from the room without leaving your lips.

He held you close to him, savoring the moment. His mouth curled into a smug expression, an arrogant look in his eye before he said, “I’m sure I was worth the wait.”

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kooyabooya · 11 months ago

Text

PARADIGM

yunjin x m reader

19k words

Let’s get one thing straight: it’s incredibly difficult to get a good read on Huh Yunjin.

Goes without saying, she’s the girl that everyone wants. Exuberant on a vibe that’s very easy to fall into whenever she steps foot into the room; anyone within less than a three feet radius can notice it at first glance.

You’re bumping shoulder to shoulder with friends around the table - having a good laugh over lunch while she’s passing by with the slightest bit of eye contact with you and, fuck.

(Yeah, that’s usually how all good stories start.)

–

One big question that people would ask: how did all of this come to be in the first place with you and Yunjin?

You see, it’s kind of a long story.

(Technically, not really.)

It’s your fourth year of college. Not counting the additional fifth year because of some loose ends coursewise; you’re near the finish line, nonetheless.

Kazuha has been your roommate and close friend since the second year. She met you by random chance during orientation the first year but didn’t actually build a sense of closeness until you and her shared two classes together in between. Since she sat next to you in the lecture hall that first day of the new semester, she’s tagged along with you in the dining hall, the library, in some club activities that you were the plus one in, a few scattered parties here or there, and occasionally times where you’re nursing Kazuha for having one too many drinks.

In some ways, she’s the opposite of your ideal paradigm, or at least how you want things to be in the fast-paced style of college.

It’s through Kazuha where you meet Sakura. The first impression of her in comparison to Kauzha is that Sakura’s the kind of girl who knows exactly what she wants in her life. She’s foot to the floor, no bullshit type of deal. You don’t really have any classes with her specifically since she’s busy down in the fashion part of campus, but drops by to chill with you and Kazuha in between her long hours of sketching and crocheting. To Sakura’s credit also, she’s the one who roped in Kazuha on the party side of things, always coming over on Friday nights to pick her up and giving you some sort of codename through text to signify that Kazuha royally fucked herself over and needs a designated driver, or another word to let you know that she’s getting her legs split open by some guy that they met at the club.

(You’ve dealt with it for so long since the first time, it’s basically kind of the norm when she brings over her boytoys while you’re also in the house. Some of the guys are nice, and one of them was actually one of your classmates - so, that was a bit weird for a short while.)

Moving forward,

It’s lunch, probably on a Tuesday or Wednesday; your mind was already plagued with the bombardment of assignments and extracurriculars filling up your calendar. Kazuha and a few others in your circle are beating the dry autumn heat by taking refuge in the student center, occupying one of the conversation spots debating over something stupid. One of your friends tells you to dish your opinion and you tell them that you’re too checked out to even listen to the topic that they’re discussing. Now that we’ve got that sorted, can you guys let me put my head back down? You plead, earning a few laughs and a shoulder rub from Kazuha sitting next to you.

“Have you eaten yet?” Kazuha asks you, sitting up to grab your nearly empty water bottle. “God, it even sounds unnatural for me to be worried for you.”

“I had like-” you say, chugging down the bottle, letting the plastic crunch around your hand, “-a big breakfast, and I’m just tired. Thank you for asking.”

Kazuha gives you a light shove while you let out a small laugh, acting like the blowback was gonna have you fall off the table. She hates how much you fake things with her, but it’s not her fault how unbelievably gullible she’s made herself to be. “This is exactly why you’re not dating material.”

Another one of your friends sitting chimes in, “That’s a little rude coming from you, Kazuha.”

“I didn’t mean it like that!” she refutes, hands up to proclaim her innocence. “You guys should be the one to press him since he almost skipped class this morning.”

“Only because I overslept from the night before doing an assignment that took way longer than I expected.” You state your case, reaching in your bag for a small ziploc of cookies, sliding it over to your classmate sitting on the opposite end of the corner. “And are we not gonna talk about how Kazuha slept with one of the people in my accounting class?”

“Yeah, what the hell is all that about Zu?” Jisun asks suddenly, sitting next to Kazuha on the left side, “Since when have you been sleeping with guys on a weekend basis?”

“Ever since Sakura brought her out clubbing one Friday night,” you butt in, fingers to your temple and elbow on the table, reminiscing on the memories like some war flashback, “You guys should see what it's like back at the apartment.”

“What was the initial reaction to seeing your classmate from accounting?” someone at the table asks, “God, that must be like, so weird to see them walking down the hallway.”

“Believe me,” you breathe, not sure whether to be shocked or disappointed at the memory, “I talked to him on the way out the next morning and he asked me about our next lecture.” Kazuha bumps your shoulder to let you know that she was in on the conversation that morning after, “At least he has his priorities straight after the one night stand.”

Kazuha's face cringes out towards the group which makes everyone laugh, including you. One of the other table members joke about this story of someone doing the walk of shame after getting caught in the science building by security, discreetly pointing them out since they walked by on the opposite end of the walkway. The way they had their hoodie up covering their face in public, can’t help but feel bad for them.

At the same time, two girls walk towards your table, on the edge. One of them was slightly taller than the other with a different hair color as well. Your attention was focused on the taller person, who had a prep school type of vibe in their appearance. She was wearing a plaid skirt, high socks with stilettos, one earbud on while she’s looking over to her friend talking about something - not wanting to wonder what they’re talking about.

It’s when she looks out to the windows behind your table, where there’s this weird feeling in you that shifts the balance of the universe it seems like. Nothing ever in your life makes you stop and wonder if the next day would be your last, but in this case - well, the only case, where a girl crosses your path and makes you lose every bit of composure built up in a matter of seconds.

This girl is cute. That’s the first (and evident) note of observation. What makes it even more puzzling is how this girl is maintaining eye contact with you the whole time as she’s walking. Everyone around the table is stuck in a state of confusion while you suddenly stood up without any reason. Kazuha notices the glances from you and the girl passing by, assessing, connecting the dots together, and she looks back with a realizing ‘ahh’ leaving her mouth.

Once you sit back down, the girl walking by looks forward, but does a double take back at you that only solidifies the growing mystery brewing in that short connection. The table all exchange looks at each other, wondering what in the fuck happened just now, and they have questions.

“Uh,” one of your friends sounded off to break the silence, “What was that just now?”

“Yeah,” another adds on while clearly trying to put it together with pointer fingers, “That wasn’t normal.”

“Clearly,” you say, scratching your neck to play off the awkward exchange of eyes. “Who was she?”

“The girl?” Kazuha beams, “Huh? Oh! That’s Yunjin! She and I actually go way back. I didn’t even realize that was her because of her hair color.”

“Are you serious?!” Jisun asks, distraught at the name itself, “You’re friends with Yunjin? The Yunjin that everyone wants to get with here around school?!”

While Kazuha drops the short summary of her backstory with her childhood friend, one of the other guys at the table walks over to you with hands on your shoulders, massaging them as a way of saying congratulations to getting one of the hottest girls on campus to notice you. You’re still processing - it might be a coincidence, or accepting the fact that one-in-a-million moment will never happen again.

“Alright you guys,” you say, shouldering on your backpack while patting down the hoodie, “As much as I’d love to stay and chat about what just happened with that little staring contest, I’ve gotta go to class.”

“Boo, no fun,” Kazuha says, pointing a thumb down while a few others around the table are doing the same thing, “Hope you have fun in your class, or sleep through the boring lecture at least.”

You walk off with a subtle wave, and that’s where the story should end, without ever hoping for a second interaction with Yunjin in your life anytime soon. The staredown for a few seconds would be funny to think about for the rest of the day, but the story will be something to joke about long after getting y’know; life and everything else together.

–

Or so you thought.

Turns out that your afternoon class is running later than usual, an email notification from your professor spelled out the message of him being stuck in traffic due to an accident on the way here. Some students are just lounging on the seats while others have their heads down to catch up on sleep - you could also use the power nap, too. Let’s not forget about the type A students reading into their textbooks and iPads sitting at the front row, could be you if you actually tried but you’re good with just doing enough for your own academic standards.

Kazuha texts you that she’s gonna be late tonight, probably because of some cramming with Jisun or Saerom or whoever she tagged along with that isn’t Sakura, hitting a fast reply of okay, i’ll make sure to save some food for you when you get back.

Right when you hit send, the empty seat next to you becomes occupied, and the hair color looks a little too familiar from the millisecond glimpse out of your peripheral. Her fragrance comes off as coconut, maybe something syrupy, but the sigh of relaxation curtained by her overcast shade of sunset cherry in her hair, how she swivels her head towards your direction; determined, upbeat, and strikingly beautiful.

“Hi,” Yunjin says, and you’re stuck frozen with parted lips. There’s a sudden chill running down your spine, a snap of the door being shut by one of the students that almost mocks the sound of a gun being fired in a closed-off chamber. There isn’t any sunlight that’s breaking through the overhanging windows beneath the top half of the class, but you’re simply starstruck from the mash of highlights in her almond eyes, the rose pink shade of her lips, her sunset colored hair that looks unreal for someone to have, how you might be thinking of the radiating beams of light shooting on the edge of her stature; no this isn’t a mere hallucination or a prank from someone else, this is actually the real deal. “I wasn’t here for the last lecture, so would it be okay if I could borrow your notes?”

You hate how vulnerable you are in this state. You would’ve answered in an instant, but this is Huh Yunjin we’re talking about here. Oh, by the way, you should probably say something before–

“Sure.” you answer, snapping yourself from the momentary trance of this girl’s beauty sitting next to you, rummaging through your backpack to pull out your notebook following your tablet, sliding it over while Yunjin clasps her hands together in prayer, bowing her head as thanks for not turning her down. “It’ll be the page before the blank one when you flip through it.”

“Thanks.” she says, happily flipping through the notebook to see the contents of your notes, tongue stuck to the corner until reaching the most recent page. Reaching in her bag for the pencil case and notebook already opened, she begins to jot down whatever missing material she has while you observe her work.

Her penmanship is actually pretty to look at, and the fact that she puts a curve up with her apostrophes - not to mention the amount of small cat ears and hearts she doodles with on her page while reading your notes? Yeah, you’re a goner already.

And for the most part, how could you not be? You’re already entranced at the way her hands twiddle the mechanical pencil, how her nails clack along the desk, how she’s reciting terms and the articulation behind her words sound very intricate and clear. An elbow’s holding your head while your eyes skim through the words being transferred over from your notebook to yours; watching the drawbridge of her eyebrows quirk up at some unknown, but her whisky colored eyes spark up along with the arch, appearing bigger, can’t help with the force in your heart smiling at the sight of learning something useful.

“-and when this occurs, oh- I see.” She’s nodding at the understanding of what she’s quickly reading. This is someone who knows what they’re doing, who has their priorities straight; humming with pure delight with the way she likes learning. Hang on a second, when the hell was she part of the class?

“Take it that you’re done with this?” you ask, fingertips grazing the rings of the notebook while Yunjin sets her pencil flat on the desk.

“I’ve already got what I need to catch up on, thank you.” Her laugh is subtle, and quiet, closing up the book and sliding it back towards you while tending to her own. “Thought I’d be missing a lot, but good to know that I wasn’t.”

“In this kind of class? You could say fuck all with the attendance and just come in for the exams.”

Her head dips down, eyes sweeping from one corner to the other. She’s hiding the smile, but there’s something lovely about the way her mouth quirks. That dimple is a lovely sight, a gold medal you’ll keep in your head, whether she’s interested or not.

She puts the pencil back into her case, zips it across halfway. “Can I ask,” she says, twisting her body to face yours, “You’re close with Kazuha, right?”

“If you consider me to be her roommate as close, then, yes.”

Yunjin gawks at you in shock, connecting the dots, another point brewing.

“You’re the same person that I saw while walking in the hall earlier? Oh my God!” she realizes, trying to keep her excitement down in the quiet classroom. “I was hoping that she’d help me in meeting you, but-”

“Looks like you skipped the hard part all by yourself.” you tell her, acknowledging, blinking with a wide grin. “I know enough from her about you, but she’ll be thrilled to hear about this after.”

“What makes you say that?”

You notice the small stack of post-it notes sitting adjacent to Yunjin’s pencil case, pulling one from the stack and writing down something on the paper that you didn’t think of having the courage to do in the first place.

A smooth operator move, she chuckles at the phone number sketched on the small slip.

This probably might be your favorite day to attend class so far this semester.

–

For what’s it worth, the attention garnered around you and Yunjin wasn’t asked for. If anything, the noise around campus just made it a bigger deal than what it actually seemed. The added reputation didn’t even feel forced from others - much rather the opposite; almost in mixes of praise and pats on the back for doing something that most couldn’t be able to do.

Some would ask too, about what it’s like ‘dating the hottest ticket around college?’ or ‘who made the first move?’

To that, you shake your head and laugh, though the answer to the first question in itself was quite simple to say:

Pretty fucking crazy at times - but good, mostly great.

Honestly, you’d also imagine this sort of parallel universe where you’re not in a relationship with Yunjin. What would it be like? A few of the positives would probably be the better balance between classes, or maybe the cash in your wallet and card would be a little bit more than what it is now; god, the list can just go on the more you think about it. Worrying would be overstepping the thought itself, complicating the mental picture would make it even more cathartic. Bottom line is: it’s a surreal thing to actually be with someone who’s ten times out of your league.

Some would also ask, what’s your favorite thing about her?

Man, that’s already a tough question as it is, so that one doesn’t get answered easily.

Best that you could settle for is the way she presents herself. One day she walks in the classroom as if it’s the runway at Paris Fashion Week with the most jaw-dropping outfits created by the industry’s best designers - the next day she could walk in with the most casual, comfy fit ever created from the bedroom closet. From the makeup and hair color all the way down to her shoes and socks, she’ll magnetize anyone with low or high effort. There’s something in the way that she extends herself to others; the way her eyes widen at someone she knows, how the sun kisses her skin so tenderly - radiating richness and grandeur to compliment the addicting smile and laugh she possesses. When you look closely, you could also see the tiny hints of freckles spread across her cheeks; oh, and the moles, specifically underneath her right eye and off-centered to her nose, you’d kiss them for eternity if you had the chance to.

It’s unfair how you can’t compete with that.

How could a person that’s on the cusp of making a whole world’s difference with their life manage to get with a guy like you? Had it been anyone else in your position, they’d be the happiest person on the planet, no denying that. There has to be an endless plethora of things that could serve a plausible reason to this, but out of everyone, she chose you.

(The standard she has. The status, the reputation, the talks that people have when she’s strolling through the hallways and around campus.

Everyone can read the outside aspect, but within the inner circle, it’s a completely different conversation entirely.)

“And let me tell you this,” Kazuha says, leaning back on the seat with one leg over the other, “He told me that and I quote, ‘I would go all night with you,’ and he didn’t. Came in about two minutes flat, maybe less.”

You’re facepalming hard while Kazuha pushes you close to the edge, almost offended by your reaction. The amount of stories with her short-term flirts and one night stands have gotten so bad to the point where, only a stark few of them were worthy enough of a debrief by you. This usually occurs on a weekend basis, you assess, not wanting any part of it after the first time it happened - and then the next, then the next, and the next one.

“Have you ever wondered like,” you ask while reaching forward for your glass half full of your usual liquor, “Wanting to actually date with one of your fuck buddies, like for real?”

“I’ve thought about it,” Kazuha replies, sitting up with her phone facing flat across her thigh, “The chance hasn’t really come my way yet.”

“I’m sure it’ll come.” you tell her, downing another swig of the drink.

“You think I’ve got a screw loose with how I act?”

“Are you kidding me? Show me how many booty calls you’ve got on your phone since Sakura hooked you up.”

Kazuha sticks her tongue at you, pulling herself away from your reaching hand, laughing while she’s practically got her feet up with the cushions now. A lean over more, and she’s curling herself up into a ball while you’re looking around to see if anyone’s paying attention.

“We could get kicked out of here.” Kazuha says, properly sitting up while you’re hunching over to slip on the lent pair of bowling shoes, undoing the set knots and opening up the tongue of the shoe while the sounds of knocked pins echo underneath the blasting bass coming from the speakers.

“Get kicked out before we even get started?”

“You’re the one who’s trying to grab my phone!”

“I asked nicely.”

“Didn’t hear a ‘please’ from you.”

You roll your eyes, stamping a foot down lightly to ensure that the shoe fits perfectly as intended. Might be a bit tight on the back of the heel, but it’ll do. Besides, this Wednesday-night planned hangout at the bowling lanes was on the agenda for quite some time, only put off because certain people have been busy with a few assignments from classes, which you can’t blame them since the semester has been a bit stagnant midway through.

A look at the watch, and the time was a bit delayed than the intended arrangement. “Where’s Chaewon and Sakura?”

Kazuha checks her phone for any updates via notifications, “Sakura’s running late. Chaewon and her boyfriend just picked up Yunjin ten minutes ago. They should be here any minute now.”

With that taken into account, you take small steps to the little control panel, looking up to the tv to put in the proper abbreviated nicknames for the competitors who have yet to arrive at the lanes. There’s a small sense of creativity amongst the five or six competitors: Kkura, Chae, Zuha, Jen Jen, yours (which is pretty bland for your taste, but Yunjin likes it), and whoever Sakura invited along with her if she brought them. “Didn’t buy three to five games for nothing.”

“You’re literally the only one here that likes to bowl in their free time.” Kazuha deadpans.

“Tell that to Chaewon and Sakura who competed in ping pong the last time.” you tell her, pressing some of the unresponsive keys that forces a typo on Sakura’s, but you don’t bother changing it back. “Those two will take up the last two games for sure. Put my money on it.”

“Not even worth losing ten bucks for that.” Kazuha scooches over to the end of the seat, french fry hanging off her mouth, texting whoever it may be whether it’s one of her classmates or one of Sakura’s flings being thrown down her pipeline. To be fair, it’s been about two weeks since she brought someone into the apartment, and she’s quite overdue for a good dick appointment.

Whatever that may be, you’ll pay no attention to that.

“Speaking of which,” she continued, with a bowling ball in her arms, polishing it with the sleeve of her puffer jacket, “Where is Yunjin? And why wasn’t she with you in the first place when we left the apartment?”

“It’s because she insisted on turning in our flash drive for the project we worked together on for one of our classes,” you answer, pressing a thumb down on the panel to finalize the names for the game’s competitors, watching off in the distance as the machine barrier lifts up opening the ten bowling pins to the line. “I offered to go with her so that it shows the professor that we actually did a collaborative effort, but then you called me.”

“Ouch, sorry.” Kazuha winces, you wave her off with a shake of the head while she puts her preferred ball on the rails of the return system next to yours. A size seven ball with medium finger placements in comparison to your size ten with the large specified holes. You argued that weight was better than speed, and Kazuha was willing to bet who scores the highest with their preferred bowling ball pays the other person’s meal at the next outing. “If you’d told me that before I bolted to my morning class, I wouldn’t have called you.”

“Wasn’t my fault you overslept your alarm three times,” you agree, chuckling. “To be fair, I hate the alarm sound for your phone anyway.”

“Not changing it anytime soon,” Kazuha says proudly, hands firmly in the pockets of her jacket, “Looks like you’re gonna have to deal with it.”

“And I’ll cockblock your next dick appointment personally, just out of spite.” you say, and Kazuha frowns with a pout instantaneously.

Amidst the slow riff of the electric guitar lightly reverberates along the subwoofers hanging above the lanes. There’s a sudden surge of newcomers looking to simply let loose and have a good time. It’s a Friday, middle of the semester, one of those weekends where you’re just mentally checked out from all the buzz between school and the extracurriculars and stress for the coming midterms. That’s how it is in this kind of environment: work hard, play harder.

While some are here to just take space in the pool tables, others are in the arcade to break the ice in the lines of a first date. Few people here are actually closet bowlers with a different avenue of profession holding them back from wasting their time rolling their life or something of that substance. You’re tired with school, but it won’t be long until you’re walking in about a year or less, nothing wrong with having nights like these.

Your ears pick up on a familiar honey saccharine laugh, along with a string of bickers from a voice constantly sounding angry. A look slightly up to the walkways, and there’s a quartet approaching your spot before the lanes. One of them in a vortex of blonde hair, hands gesturing behind someone else in front of her before slapping their back lightly. The girl in front with the same hair color has her brows furrowed, scrunching at the slight pain from their back, but also letting out signs of fun with good intent. Then there’s the two individuals in tow behind the first duo; a girl with hair colored a mix of sunset orange and a dash of red along with a single guy who’s slightly taller compared to the trio. You automatically connect the dots in your head to deduce that to be Chaewon’s boyfriend, and the other head towards you and Kazuha. It’s an impending headache of bullshit heading your way, but you’ve put up with it for so long and it’ll happen again.

“You’re late,” you announce, finger to the top of your wrist. “Zuha and I have been here for the past twenty minutes.”

“Fuck off,” Sakura sneers, shucking off her handbag to the seat while letting her lent pair of bowling shoes hit the hardwood. Her tone comes off as harsh - might be mistaken as someone to be antagonistic. To be fair, her and Chaewon have grown up together since they were little, wouldn’t be normal if one didn’t annoy the other to the point where both of them would have to draw knives. But you’ll keep the popcorn behind your back until that moment comes, “Tell that to Chaewon who almost ran my ass over in the parking lot.”

“Did not!” Chaewon exclaims, already on the seat and untying her shoes while her boyfriend does the same, “It’s not my fault that you didn’t look both ways before crossing!”

“Both of you guys need to chill,” Chaewon’s boyfriend chimes in, hoping to defuse the situation before it even gets worse, not paying any ounce of attention while slipping on to his pair of bowling shoes. “I thought we all came here to have some fun, did we not?”

“We did,” you sigh, gliding on over with a cup half full of the beer that you ordered for the group. Chaewon’s boyfriend looks up, slightly hesitant in taking the offer - knowing that if everyone in the group drank tonight, no one was assigned to be designated driver. So, he takes the cup, raises it to you in acceptance, and takes a quick sip. “It’s still on the table if the two most competitive people I’ve ever met can actually make up before going crazy with the game.”

Chaewon and Sakura both look at you in disgust, simultaneously giving you the middle finger while you shrug, swiveling your head to the opposite direction to finally see the third girl that was with the group - the only person you were technically waiting for since arriving here, and she doesn’t really need an introduction.

A walk up to her on the opposite bench that wasn’t occupied by four people, and Yunjin matches your demeanor.

It’s the most innocent look you could give her: a sheepish smile. She looks at you while you’re noticing a small speck of dust at the edge of her jacket before tending to her stray wisps of hair. The way she bats her eyelashes through those rimless pairs of glasses, it’s impossible to not notice the wideness her eyes zeroing in on you while playing the worrying boyfriend you are. Consider it to be a protocol - the smug smile across your face, and you haven’t said anything to her in the opening five seconds of seeing her.

“Missed me that much?” Yunjin asks, slipping out of the lent leather jacket she swiped from your closet. “You could’ve gone with me to turn in our assignment together.”

“You see, about that.” You got a hand on the jacket, tossing it over to the seat. “I would have, if Kazuha didn’t egg me ten minutes before we left the house.”

It’s been merely more than five seconds, and the pleasantries are already skipped over; though there’s a small exchange of smiles and ghosting hands - not wanting to taint the perfect appearance that Yunjin has, wandering eyes all over her like an art piece. She’s stolen your jacket, the shirt underneath was also one of yours from the closet; within all the lines of casual, she owns the category second to none.

You’re rambling about how much of a pain it was bringing Kazuha, even though she wasn’t even the sole person who planned this hangout in the first place. A second look at the shirt that Yunjin’s wearing and you point it out while dumping the exposition. She runs a hand through her hair, coming it downwards with her fingers while paying half attention to the words spilling out of your mouth. “Did I also mention that you’re wearing one of my favorite shirts again?”

She just laughs, takes a few steps forward, gives you a quick kiss right then and there.

She also loves how that simple action shuts you up.

“You’re missing something,” she tells you, fixing a few places of your hair while you’re standing there completely frozen.

Acknowledging with a nod, “Yes, I did miss you that much.” Giving her a few light head pats while her eyes smile with content. “Thank you for turning in our project for us. I’ll owe you my life.”

“You will,” she says, sitting down and untying her sneakers, “Still should’ve gone with me though.”

“I know.”

“Are we gonna get this game started?” Sakura asks across the table, holding up a bowling ball that is clearly Kazuha’s, but she doesn’t care. “I just bet that if I beat Chaewon, she’s buying all of us dinner when we’re done here!”

“You’re shit at ping pong, and I’ll kick your ass at bowling too.” Chaewon rebukes, clearly motivated now to not let that happen on her watch. “Unless pretty boy over there and his girlfriend want to join in the competition to make things more interesting.”

“A double team against you two?” Yunjin inquires, finishing up the last lace on her shoe before standing up, walking over to the return system to see which ball to pick, “How ‘bout whoever scores the lowest gets to pay for the meal. Deal?”

“You’re on,” you say, “But Yunjin’s winning in a landslide over the three of us.”

Sakura presses a few buttons on the touchpad, finally getting the long-awaited bowling game started.

(Yunjin wins by no surprise, Sakura nearly edges you out by single digits, and Chaewon came dead last which means: the meal was on her after the games.)

–

Each new week into the semester brings a new tale of challenges, assignments, and fun plans with peers in and out of the campus - except this time; however, because you fucked up.

The swing of the door into your apartment should already spell some sort of bad omen with the way that you’re frantically pacing into the kitchen, overlooking into the small opening to the living room, seeing Yunjin wrapping up her fifteen minute ab workout video, not paying any mind to while finishing the last few reps.

“Babe?” you call out while putting a thermos onto the countertop, one sweep over with a poking head to see her laying on the mat. “Ah, right. Your workout.”

Her brow furrows while trying to concentrate in holding the planking position, holding herself in place for another five seconds or so, finally falling flat when the timer goes, softly panting before sitting up and facing you. She’s in a sports bra and one of your sweatpants that pool at her feet - though the robbery complaint will get ignored.

There’s something about her being astonishingly pretty in homebody clothes. Hair in a low ponytail, lip lightly touched, there’s a thin layer of sweat covering her upper body. Normally, you’d tell her to go take a shower right away. You’re committing perjury for not telling her in the first place.

“You took longer than expected,” she says, looking up to accept the greeting kiss while you’re towering over her. “Where were you?”

“Had to take care of some stuff outside class. And then I had to take care of something else,” you answer, backpack to the couch. “Which leads me to my next thing that I have- no, need to tell you.”

“Have you done something wrong?” Yunjin asks, standing up, eyes narrowed when she notices your worrying expression. Her hand dances along the hem of her sports bra when you help her up, while you tend to her messy hair as she tries to read into your body language.

“No?” you tell her, hoping that answer would suffice for the time being.

It doesn’t.

“What did you do now?” She frowns, eyes squinting closely together - pushing further into admitting what was going on. That was already strike one, and getting two more was never an option. “As long as you tell me, I deserve to know at least.”

“Promise you won’t be mad?”

“Can’t promise you that.”

Taking a deep breath, you place both of your hands on her shoulders, guiding her down to sit with you on the couch while you take another momentary silence to gather your thoughts and words, hoping to bring the news up in the most sincere and serious way as you could.

“Well?” Yunjin asks again, prompting you to get on with it and drop the stalling.

“Alright,” you start, “Do you remember that uh- sex tape we made together last week?” Might be a dumb question, but how could either one of you forget? The look on Yunjin’s face says a whole lot more than what her answer might be, and she’s grinning just thinking about it. “I thought you were serious about–”

“I am!” she exclaims, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks and the grip on your hands grow tighter, “But what does that have to do with your-”

“I know, I know. Stay with me here.” you assure before delivering the final blow.

You can’t help but laugh while your finger presses softly to her lips. The memory itself is also flashing through your mind, how your hands grip around her ass with her back arched up, the way she’s splayed on her back, filling her pussy up with your cock working its way down to her stomach. Bending her in half while her lovely heat clenches around you to the point where she’s screaming. The assessment running behind Yunjin’s eyes and the glossiness tells you everything that there is to know about it. Her brows furrow again with an inward lip, thinking about the way she marks you up with scratches across your forearms and back, groaning into her ear while you’re shattering her into the mattress.

(Can’t forget about the face she has while you’re fucking her rough - a string of pants and whines that go up in two ascending octaves, then diminishes to almost nothing, unraveling herself all over your dick when she locks you down with her ankles to the small of your back. She’s so helpless, especially when-

“Fuck, yes baby, right there-”

More on that, eventually.)

“So you might’ve turned that flash drive in to our professor.” you tell her, squeezing your eyes shut, bracing for a hit from Yunjin. “Not your fault though, this was all my doing.”

“Okay,” she laughs in disbelief while doing this form of jazz-hands, “First of all, we can just ask to exchange it. Second of all, who the hell saves a sex tape on a flash drive? I mean, what the fuck were you thinking while setting up our final submission?”

“I was looking at it while editing our project and I just got so caught up with the way your soft moans got to me in the recording and how your tits were just–” you remark, quivering with a grin while Yunjin scrunches her face at you.

“And what are we waiting for?” she asks, wrinkling her nose while laughing out loud. “Either we act now or get both of our asses expelled before we even get to graduate?”

“If all goes well, we should honestly be fine.” you tell her, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead, hand quick behind your back to give her a face towel. “If it doesn’t, at least we can say that we tried to prevent this from happening.”

“This is your fault, by the way.” Yunjin says while taking your hand up and on the way out the door. “I was the one who turned our sex tape in supposedly, and I’m gonna be the one to get it back.”

The way that you don’t even put up a refute to her, the way your feet carry themselves behind her, the loud ‘thum’ of the deadbolt outside the apartment should already be a sign of what’s to come.

–

You’d be amazed at how well you’ve held your patience while Yunjin was doing all of the talking with the professor, trying to reason out as much as she could for just a simple exchange. For some reason, the man wouldn’t even budge without the speculation of nothing being in the contents of the flash drive and considering the fact that it was the deadline.

“Sir, if you could please just-”

“Save it,” he says, pressing the bridge of his glasses up towards his face, “Look, I know that you two are of my brightest students in the class, but it’s just oddly suspicious that you’re asking me to swap out the turned in flash drive for another all because of some mix up?”

“Can’t you just not do that instead?” you ask, offering the proper flash drive to the professor. “Yunjin and I have already proven to be your most esteemed students this semester, this small mixup just shows that there’s that built trust from over the past–”

“I understand that, but I just can’t fathom that you two are pulling this over me at the very last minute right before I go over them,” the professor declares, “It’s too suspicious as it is and if worse comes to worse, I’ll have to report both of you to the dean’s office if we can’t come up with a compromise here.”

“But sir–” Yunjin tries to butt in, hoping to reiterate the case.

“I expected more from you, Yunjin.” He says, leaning back on his chair, “I’m very disappointed in the way you are acting just now. This isn’t like you, and I expected better.”

“Blame me instead of her.” you plead, standing in front to neutralize the hostility. “She was turning it in for us in the first place.” The professor just scoffs mockingly, sputtering different kinds of insults that would be enough evidence for him to get fired, and that’s where you reach the boiling point first.

“Enough of this nonsense,” the professor scowls while tossing the very flash drive Yunjin gave into the basket filled with the others. “You’ll get it back when I’m done grading these come Monday. Now please, get out of my office before we really start to have an issue.”

Before Yunjin opens her mouth to protest, you toss the correct flash drive into the professor’s chest, fishing into the basket to grab the other one resting atop of the pile. She picks up quickly to what you were doing, tossing a jar filled with pencils off the desk that leaves him in visible confusion, pulling her by the wrist and out the door where you and her make a break for it out in the hallway. Once rounding the corner, she starts giggling out of nowhere while you’re looking over your shoulder to see the small figure at the end of the corridor. Things take a turn for the worse when the sound of radio chatter could be heard coming up the stairs off your right, and on the opposite end was the janitor's closet. Any delay by more than two seconds would only spell disaster if you didn’t yank her inside right away.

“Fucking security,” you mutter, following the slam of the door and a press of the ear against the wood to get a better chance of hearing what was being said. Yunjin’s pressed close to you, meeting your gaze once the conversations faded out into the hallway. A sigh of relief leaves your lips while Yunjin again is trying not to laugh at what you two did. “Okay, I think they’re gone, but we can’t leave now. There’s too much commotion down near the office, so we gotta wait.”

“I can’t believe we just did that.” Yunjin breathes, hand to her chest to calm down her heart rate, still trying to come to grips with what just happened in the span of three minutes. “Even crazier that you managed to get the right flash drive.”

“Well shit,” you tell her, hand out to see that the outer case of the flash drive had been damaged, much to your responsibility since you stepped on it by accident while stumbling over in the hallway. “Expulsion is out of the equation, but man,” you say, putting the damage back into your pocket, “This sucks. I was hoping to save the contents in that drive.”

“This might be a good thing.” Yunjin tells you, reassuring.

“What makes you say that?” The sigh leaving your lips is laced with frustration, “I don’t think- ugh, that was some of the best sex we had. Yunjin, I- you don’t realize how hot that video was when I was looking at it and now? It’s gone.” She looks at you in sympathy, pulling her lip inward while trying to calm down your clenched fists, trying to not let her thoughts get the better of her with the way your hands could grip her hair.

“Since we’ll be here for quite a bit, why don’t we get to work making a new one?” She asks with a chin tilt up, pressing your back against the door when her lips meet yours, taking you completely off guard by the contact.

It’s a full on advantage for Yunjin in this case, swirling her tongue against yours, not willing to bear in mind when the feedback of a radio approaches near the door. Getting caught is one thing - but there’s worse ways to go. You pull back from the lack of oxygen, a swipe of her upper lip to yours, warm breath hanging in the open space while you collect your thoughts. “Y-You’re gonna have to give me a minute here.”

“What for?”

“I’m not complaining at all, but uh, what’s with,” a giggle leaves your mouth, “the affection, all of a sudden?”

“Nothing,” she replies, “It was just hot- really hot. I just think you giving your piece of mind to him for me was probably the best highlight of our whole semester so far…” Her voice trails off while her hand slithers down to your waking cock through your pants to cement down her thoughts. A hand pulls you by the nape of your neck to meet her lips again, moving sensually in the closed space, her mouth leaving these teasingly touches while she’s assessing your length in languid pumps.

From the dazed expression in your eyes and swollen lips, you’re already entranced at the way she’s sinking to her knees in front of you, the hitched breaths and slow shuffle at the pull of your sweats and boxers to the ankles. Yunjin softly gasps, a thrill that never gets old when she uncovers the length from it’s clothed chamber, licking her lip while all of her attention focuses in on your cock hanging proud between your thighs; the many things she’s currently thinking about - and you’re not far off the thread of thinking too.

You’re already imagining the velvety heat of her mouth while she’s preparing for that familiar ache of taking you down her throat. Before she could have fun for herself, she pulls the zipper of her track jacket, revealing the same sports bra from earlier, pulling the tight piece up and over to reveal her tits, noticing the small twitch when she finally runs her fingers along the veins of your shaft, wrapping slowly while the jerk in your knees ends with a mouth curl from her.

“The video would be really nice right now, wouldn’t it?” she breathes, thumb grazing the slit of your tip that’s soaked with a small hint of precum leaking, assessing the conditions with clinical precision every pump. Her eyes meet yours, already wild with imagination as she continues to stroke you softly. “Babe?”

“No- no phone.”

“I brought mine with me, stupid.” Yunjin tells you, dropping the excitement from her face.

She laughs when you’re murmuring out these complaints, only for that to be ignored when she’s quick to hand her phone to you. “You were in a rush,” you reason, “Didn’t have time to grab mine sitting on the kitchen countertop.”

“What would you do without me?”

“I have my right hand to do the job.”

“Angle it properly,” Yunjin instructs, smirking at the gasp while she cradles your balls. “Is it in the right position?” Your hands steady over her head, pointing the camera while her gaze transforms into something more needy, someone who’s desperately hungry to get herself satisfied. It’s unbearably pretty the way she gets like this for you, pulling her lips inward to get them wet while your eyes are fixated through the phone screen, flexing your waist a bit in anticipation while her tongue licks up your cockhead - an appetizer of sorts, before finally taking you in.

Everything rushes and slows down the way her lips close around the third of your shaft. Not wanting to focus on what’s happening below, you look up with eyelids fluttering shut at the way her mouth and tongue continue to lap up the length, eventually sliding down, easing more and more of you down her throat, coating your cock with her mouth the more she sinks. She knows all of the inner workings of what you love in blowing you.

“Yunjin, fuck. Baby,” She intends to break you apart with her mouth, once she reaches down the base, holding you there while some of her saliva leaks out in repeating gags, hips twitching at the clench while her tongue sweeps underneath in a slow, consistent rhythm.

The vibrating hum she rumbles along the line of your cock, she steadily keeps up her pace while her ears pick up on the shallow breaths coming out of you. Forget about the video, or the noises that pick up in decibels - in addition to the back of your head hitting the door. It’s always addictive the way her mouth sheathes your length, having no gag reflex was something amazing for Yunjin to have, repeatedly pulling her head back up and dipping back in to take you deep.

She grazes her teeth to a smile while your fingers thread through her hair, internalizing the pulse, that sweet heat of her mouth and how wet it is; the fucking suction, goddamnit. Her suction was way to fucking good for you to pay attention to. “There. Y-you’re so good- great at- fuck-”

Yunjin just hums to accept the compliment, pulling away to angle your cock upwards to put one of your balls in her mouth, lathering it in her spit. “Camera, tilting.”

“Yeah, yeah.” you say, lazily. A small fix of the phone in your hand finds her face right in frame, as she resumes her oral assault on your cock. The volume of moans increases slightly from her and you, highlighting how much you’re enjoying this while she hollows her cheeks halfway, taking you all the way down tight. Tighter. The sound of her throat clicking when your cockhead rests at the opening in her mouth, you’re furrowing your brows together while trying to keep it together as much as you could.

Pulling back slightly, tongue licking across the swollen head, she winks at you while you’re biting your lip so hard to the point that you’ll probably draw blood from it the next second. It’s not helping your situation - she’s giving these subtle ‘mhms’ when she slides you back into her mouth, eyes closing in bliss, upping the pace while you’re nestling a hand to the back of her head, dragging your cock along the top part of her mouth, forehead wrinkling in approval to let you know that she likes it.

Sliding you out for a second, “Put your shirt in your mouth.” She tells you, placing a precise kiss at the base while you’re staring at the screen. “You listening?”

You just groan.

Her hand is quick to hike up the bottom hem of your shirt, rolling it up to put a clump of the cloth between your teeth, and she just laughs before inhaling your length again.

You’re also trying to keep it together over the fact how much of a slut Yunjin gets for you, hoping that all of the button pushing will leave you into fucking her just exactly how she wants - you’ll just stand there like a good boy she'll ask, using that pretty mouth over your cock for what feels like an entering until you bust inside that lovely hole just to fill the other one later.

The pop she does off of your cock is obscene, jerking your shaft while she’s staring up, and the image on the screen is already something to capture for later.

“Are you liking this so far?” Yunjin asks, doe eyes doing very little for the heinous act she’s committing, giving your underside scattered pecks mixed with slurps over your drool covered cock. “I can tell from your writhing face that you are.”

“Bitch.” you spit, a futile effort at best.

“Fuck my mouth.” She orders, inhaling your cock down - all the way, clasping her lips to the base. You clench your teeth together, get your hand to her head again. Her eyes go wide in content while you slowly thrust up with her against your hips still, slacking her jaw to let you build up some speed to bury your dick in her throat.

Doesn’t take much long, mouth hanging in awe by the way she’s pulling up and out and going back in. A few good thrusts is all it takes to get the perfect pressure and suction around your cock, spit leaking out of her mouth while you’re finally getting your work cut out the more she gags around you. That fucking tongue is your worst enemy - the way that it’s licking up underneath a few times, one of the key ways to get you to finally open up that eventual bursting drain from within.

“Jen,” you hiss while fighting the urge to bust at the nickname alone, pushing her down while the moan she elicits over your dick throbs in her mouth, nearly breaking, “Gonna just, fuck, ‘m so close-”

“Mhm.”

The spit remains where its at while pleasure surges through your body, grinding your teeth to mask the heated groan while you cum down her throat, spilling copious amounts of your release into the hollow of her throat, feeling the languid clench past the opening while she’s swallowing it all. Her eyes go wide for a second at the load, closing them soon after as you manage to keep it together from your high, coming down when she slides herself off of you, coughing a bit while your knees jerk together in a millisecond of shock. Some of your cum spills out of her mouth and dribbles down between her tits, keeping the camera angle on her surprisingly while your cock floats right in front of her face. Yunjin leans forward to give a peppered kiss to the tip, collecting some of the remnants that rest at the slit before retreating, fingers treating the damage of her soaked and swollen lips.

“Thanks for that.” she says, chuckling, wiping off some of the evidence with her knuckles while blinking in quick succession, looking up at you fondly with those enormous bark eyes of hers while you stop the recording to hand her a piece from the brown paper towel roll sitting on the shelf, helping her up soon after while you’re fixing your clothes. “Told you that it was worth killing time for.”

“Looks like I owe you again for this,” you tell her, treating the drawstring of your sweats to a knot. “I’ll peek out to see if we’re in the clear.” Soon after you said that, you lean your head out the small opening of the door, realizing that there wasn’t anyone within a close distance in the hallway, stepping out and helping Yunjin out the closet, feeling out her jaw with her knuckles, trying to memorize the ache of her mouth you just gave her.

“We should get going, no?” She asks, hand to your shoulder while you’re about to enter the stairway. “And I’m holding you to that returned favor, since you’re gonna fuck me till I need to be in a wheelchair.”

“Isn’t that part of the fun we’re doing already?” you rebut, grabbing her hand, “The sooner we get back home, the faster I’ll make you cum, deal?”

You’re a silly idiot the way you’re pulling Yunjin by the wrist, picking up the pace while her smile was impossible to take off. She’s laughing again at the proposal, but also very looking forward to it.

–

The thing about Yunjin, you learn, for the most part, is how she’s painted to be this great girl that is only primed for success - and nothing less.

What others don’t realize, is the conventional pains and struggles she poses towards you - to the point where that agonizing migraine in your head just keeps on ringing. And sure, she’s the top student and role model amongst peers for a reason, showing up where it matters; but when it comes to the actual long hours of grinding schoolwork and building up her own life bit by bit, it’s within the walls of your apartment where the real stuff takes place.

A clean room at the beginning of the week, only for it to be completely ran through like a tornado and all over the place come Sunday.

In terms of assignments? She’s clean, all across the board - with the rare occasion of one class slipping out of her mind if you’re not there to remind her or bail her out since some subjects in her schedule are not her forte, but you’ll help out where you can.

The standard that she’s always trying to raise, for the most part, is the sex. Always the sex was the emphasis. She tries and you try, getting one over another or deal with whoever is going through it the most, especially if Yunjin’s the one who’s got a higher sex-drive than you, not that you’re putting it up for an argument, but willing to compete when present. Whether she’s looking for it or you are, she’ll find a way to push that idea into reality no matter if you’re with her or not.

“This better be important,” a familiar line you’ve been saying for quite a bit as of recently. “Couldn’t let me go for a few hours to have some fun with the rest of the guys?”

“When are you gonna be back?” She asks, and the tone in her voice comes as peculiar the way she sounds out of it. “I’ve been reading this stupid book before Kazuha and the others came back with some snacks.” There’s some laughter in the background, probably someone bickering over some gossip that happened earlier in the week that was sufficient enough to report. “Bless Kazuha, for getting me out of the room at least to socialize.”

“I thought that would kill more time for you while I’m gone.”

“It has, but everyone’s gone now. And Kazuha’s in her room asleep already.”

“And you?”

“In bed, trying to watch this series, but I miss you.”

“Aren’t you cute.” You muse.

There isn’t anything to be considered unusual with conversations like these over the phone or text. In all fairness, you did kind of feel bad for leaving her alone for a few hours since there were already plans made as it is, but Yunjin’s pouty face did everything it could to stop you until you left.

“I miss you. Can I not admit that?” She sighs. And you’re probably painting the picture of her being in one of your shirts, laid back on the bed or sat criss-cross - doing literally anything to keep herself moving as you two prolong the conversation.

One of the guys bumps you on the shoulder, hinting that they’re walking on ahead from the bar. You nod and start walking with them, clearing your throat before answering, “What if I told you I feel the exact same way? You can add on from that, I’m pretty sure.”

“God, the slight change in your voice when you’re trying to make me work,” she says, grinning while you continue to keep the steady walking pace. “Maybe if you can excuse yourself before the new hour, I’ll let you tie me up to the bed.”

“Yunjin. Christ-”

“I’ll let you know right now that I have nothing underneath your shirt at the moment. Just for good leverage.”

Oh, it’s another challenge alright. Two can play at this.

“Which shirt?” You ask, gauging the image forming in your head. “I forgot to give you thanks for doing the laundry earlier after, y’know.”

“This old shirt from that thrifting run we did. And you can thank me in other ways.” Yunjin says, humming as you can tell exactly what she’s doing. “I’m already imagining it, what you’ll do to me if you get home fast enough.”

“Like what,” you breathe, the huff going into the microphone that has her mixing her giggle with a half-moan in between. “I’m a visual learner, but I need details to set the picture right.”

There’s a quiet whine heard when you stop at the intersection, turning yourself away so that no one else in the group can pick up your current phone call, or at least have the frame of mind to ask you who’s on the other end. The stiff breaths on Yunjin’s side pick up in a loose rhythm. It’s no surprise; she’s slowly touching herself, and you can picture it. Forming the image of her hand between her thighs, letting her long figures slide in and out with a bit of a twist, increasing the sound of slick.

“I’m picturing your hand, thumb on my clit, getting me dizzy.”

“And?”

“How you’ll stretch my tiny pussy out, pressing my back down while I’m screaming into the mattress.”

“I will. What else?”

“Your cock-” she says, “Your lovely cock, how your hands roam across my body. Marking my skin up with your mouth and teeth in all the ways that I like it,” Yunjin inhales deeply, and you can visualize the arch in her back when she bottoms herself out, “-no idea, how good you’d look inside of me, right now. Bending me over the bed, riding you out, until you fuck me deep, using me just to get yourself off. The way you, fuck- get so addicted to me.”

“I know.” You tell her, looking both ways while crossing, “How many fingers did I get inside of you? Remind me again, three?” As you’re asking, one of the guys looks back in shock at what was said out loud, winking at them while nodding in approval. They know, besides, it’s the unspoken bro code.

“Three,” she whines, letting you know she’s limit testing herself with three of her fingers inside her pussy. “Your fingers are better, and maybe we can try four. The offer is still on the table.”

This fucking girl. “What’s my time limit here?”

Yunjin sounds unorganized, humming and breaking a whine. “Come back any later than eleven, and you don’t get to cum inside of me. I’m gonna get so close till you get here, and I’ll let you finish in my mouth as mercy.”

You click your tongue, convinced of the fact that you’re cornered for now, but it won’t matter if the end of the deal is held; with gritting teeth, Yunjin giggles at the assertion that you’ll fuck her senseless if that’s she wants. There’s nothing wrong with that declaration, since she’s the one who started all of this anyway.

“Alright, pretty boy. Thirty minutes.” Is all she says, and then hangs up. A second later she sends a picture of her reflection in the mirror, legs raised and spread apart like a normal split, a string of slick to be clearly seen.

A look at your watch. The dinner you attended with the guys was at seven. It’s thirty minutes until eleven. You’re not far from the apartment from where you’re at, and as luck would have it, one of the guys was looking to call his night early. Even better when he’s living in the same apartment complex as you; all you need to figure out is how to convince him to rush back home.

While breaking away from the group, the bro code comes into play again, and apparently his girlfriend sent him nudes while eating earlier. Not exactly sure why he would show you a picture of his naked girl in the first place but hey, great minds think alike.

–

You kinda blame Kazuha for making Yunjin like this at times.

Not your fault however, since the pair of them conveniently share a brain cell together whenever Yunjin stops by your shared apartment with Kazuha to stay over and chill. From what you can recall, these two have been best friends up until middle school; Kazuha went overseas to pursue her passion for ballet while Yunjin was focusing on the performing arts - and in a way, they were still tethered together despite being miles and miles apart across the globe.

(Call it a fine pairing of toothbrush and toothpaste, but the connection you saw what these two had was something to admire.)

“You sure you don’t want a bite?” Kazuha asks, opening up the styrofoam box to reveal a set of six takoyaki pieces. Yunjin sits next to her on her phone, switching between apps in record time from the socials to her emails, a mean look to her face when she looks at the grade from her art project, a perfect score to the narrowing eyes as if she herself couldn’t believe her own work.

“Save one for me,” you answer, getting up from the lounge seat to migrate towards the kitchen, hoping to satisfy your food cravings with a light snack to slowly administer the growing appetite. “Yunjin’s the one who suggested getting takeout in the first place so I think you two should at least have most of it for yourselves.”

“I told you ordering eight was better than having six,” Yunjin scoffs, scraping Kazuha’s shoulder while lowering the plastic bag to pull the other foods that they ordered from their go-to place that was on the outside of campus. “Now, are we gonna eat this together or are you gonna give me another play-by-play with your sex shenanigans for the tenth time.”

You roll your eyes while ripping the wrap of the instant ramen, “Zuha, who was it this time?”

“Uh, none of your business?”

“It should most definitely be my business if I can’t find the fucking cable to my keyboard,” you retort, frowning while Kazuha flips you off with the middle finger. “I already had to scold Yunjin for stealing my pants, bleaching them by accident, and then giving it to Sakura for her fashion project.” Cocking your head over, you see Yunjin set up her phone for the mukbang they’re about to do, the tripod already centered between the two of them on the table and the pair already fixing up their hair a bit to make it presentable. “Please don’t tell me you got that on camera.”

“Bloopers.” Kazuha adds, “I’ll let Sakura know to return your pair of pants later with this clip.”

“Enough talk,” Yunjin says, pulling a takoyaki out and hovering it over her other hand. “Think we can eat this in one bite?”

“Ready to do this?” Kazuha asks.

“Let’s go.” Yunjin answers.

You’re muttering to yourself behind the counter: “The food is still hot, you idiots.”

“I think we’ll be okay,” Kazuha replies, leaning closer to the camera with her piece of takoyaki, “Might be a little dangerous, but we’re gonna do it anyway.” You’re trying to fight the snort in your throat while you’re looking over to see both of them eat it, getting two solid bites into the delicious snack while you’re still watching them.

Kazuha leans back, covering her mouth while Yunjin hollows her cheeks, lips slightly open, breathing out hot air. Both of them move in opposite directions, but Kazuha follows Yunjin’s movement, keeling over to the right side. While that was happening, the table shifted from underneath, moving the camera and causing it to tip over to their right side as well. Soon after, Yunjin’s quick to sit back up and fix the phone to make it stand upright, laughing while Kazuha’s face literally goes beet red from the hot food.

Rolling your eyes, you continue to make your own, paying no attention to the girls in the living room. You hear them arguing over how the takoyaki was still hot when Kazuha claimed that it wasn’t, “I thought you checked that these were already cooled down.”

“And I told myself that it wasn’t going to be that hot still, but it’s that hot!” Yunjin says, mouth full while Kazuha is trying to fan her face.

You’re leaning over again with the steam from the pot rising to your face, “I’ll have that one extra piece for me,” telling Yunjin with a cracked grin, “Thank you very much.”

–

(Kazuha claimed a while back one night, whilst you’re trying to conjure up a preliminary profile with the new phone number sitting in your phone, that there is someone who is equally bad as her. In terms of bad, you’re assuming that in all the ways Kazuha falls under. The appearance only shows half the tale when it comes to Yunjin; until your first date with her at the end of the week, of course.

You’re also making the counterargument that Kazuha didn’t even tell you that she and Yunjin were close friends in the first place, accusing her that the piece of information was ‘need to know’ leading up to the interaction later on with Yunjin in class that day.

“I’m telling you this now,” she says, stealing your onion ring from your fingers before you could even get a bite to it, “She’s a freak just waiting to be let out.”

“You’re serious?” you say at the time, keeping eyes locked with Kazuha with a nursing cup of milk as your nightly beverage. The soft slurp is just audible enough to hear through your ears, “She’s a lot like you in the way that she acts.”

Kazuha bobs her head in agreement, “Trust me. Her and I did a lot of experimenting and research, even though we were like- in our teenage years, but you get the point.”

Then you run a hand to your face, recalling every single characteristic with your fingers while Kazuha grabs another onion ring from the bowl. “Okay, so it’s like this: she’s sweet, has this sort of attitude if she doesn’t get what she wants, needy, doesn’t clean up after themselves especially when it comes to their laundry, and self-absorbed with the help of their friends.”

“Ouch. Who the hell hurt you?” Kazuha tuts, flipping you off with a stray onion ring thrown at you. You’re laughing, but it’s all good vibes and jokes with your roommate.

“You’re right,” she says soon after, “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”)

–

All credit to Kazuha, for slightly playing the role of matchmaker. Though, it’s already a difficult task to do in dealing with her around the house - now imagine with two Kazuha’s, figuratively speaking. The only contrast is, Yunjin’s outlook may be similar to Kazuha’s, but she’s entirely different that's way more appealing to you.

She breaks the pattern in your life in a lot of ways you don’t expect.

–

Unhinged.

That could be-

“Let me hear you moan, baby. I need to know how much you like this.”

-one sure way to describe it.

Yunjin’s voice rasps against your ear, while the only thing that’s pooling through your eyes is the carmine shade of hair, while her back is pressed against the door of the stall in the gentlemen’s room. It’s some mixer that Sakura and Kazuha insisted that you two come along for fun; some alcohol is in the system, maybe it’s the heat from the amount of bodies on the dance floor, you don’t really remember how you got to this position - not that it really mattered.

She’s got one of her long legs wrapped around you, a hand firmly grasped to the back of your neck while your is well worked past the elastic of her panties, curling a finger inside her that makes her sing these wondrous hums and whimpers, watching has her half-lidded eyes glisten in the low light hanging above; and those thickly rimmed specs of hers, the glance alone makes you want more of her. It’s incredibly ethereal how she looks when her lids flutter shut, swollen lips half open when you’re edging her out even harder, cheeks flushed while she’s doing this plié motion on her single foot, hoping to fuck herself more with your fingers - sliding in and out in a steady motion for as long as she could hold it.

“Fingers babe,” she breathes, nose wrinkling while you’re massaging her clit with your thumb, sinking all over her weight onto your hand. Her glasses slide off the bridge of her nose slightly, pressing it up before shooting her hands down to the button of your pants, feeling the hard line of your cock against the cloth, fumbling with the button until she successfully takes it apart. “Yes, right there, ugh, god, please, don’t stop..”

“Don’t you know I never will,” you tell her, twisting your face over to get her lips on yours again, attacking her neck while you manage to get her pussy to clench around your fingers more. “You’re a greedy little girl aren’t you? Wanting to get fucked in a place like this.”

“Yes. Yes.” Yunjin nods, compounding the right words while squealing with the drag upwards to her stomach, “I’ll let you do anything to me, please, fuck me right here, I don’t give a shit if somebody walks in, I want them to hear you fucking me with your cock.”

The wistful inhale of breath through your lips is a moment of satisfaction, the second she gets her fingers wrapped around your cock, gently. She likes playing this little game with you, the kind of game to get you in the right mindset to where you’ll drop all sensibilities with the sole intention - the only intention: to have you fucking her like it’s the one purpose you’re all good for with Yunjin. It can go both ways, but more often than not, it’s always her that’s the one to get you over that sheer line of craziness, fueled by the reverberating sounds of her moans bouncing off the walls and words ordering you to put your cock inside her, pull you in to this inescapable black hole of lust that you’ll come back to again and again and again.

“So-” you shut her up with a kiss that she hums in content, “fucking needy.” And when you slip your fingers out of her warm cunt, that should solidify the commitment to finally build on what you’re working towards.

Until Yunjin takes your matters into her own hands.

The moment comes to you much like in a black flash; a blink and you’ll miss it type of deal. One second you’re pinning Yunjin to the door of the stall, the next second she’s pinning you to the door with her hands yanking your pants down, stroking your hard cock that’s already leaking with every pump.

“Didn’t you want me to, shit-” you try to ask, Yunjin’s lips making you not think straight, the intoxicating flavor filling your tastebuds, pulling your bottom lip slightly while shoving you deeper into the door. “I thought you wanted-”

“Shut up and relax,” she says, lowering herself to her knees as you’re getting vivid flashbacks to the exact same thing she did in the custodian’s closet a while back. “Can’t let you have all the fun now, can I?”

It’s funny how Yunjin enticed and waltzed her way into your life, without really selling anything significant until shortly after, to where she would find herself as this pliant puddle of wobbling lips and uneven moans; only to have the whole persona completely shifted to where you’re the one getting thoroughly fucked over, and falling for it every single time.

Never gets old, really.

You’re still trying to process what’s happening, maybe it could be the buzz whirling around your head, as this vibrant hum of the flickering light over you in the men’s bathroom keeps you conscious. When you look at Yunjin’s gorgeous eyes, almost like she’s stargazing into yours, it doesn’t help with the obscene act of her jerking your throbbing cock, lathering it lightly with those delicate flicks of her tongue starting at the base, working her way up while you can feel the beads of sweat start to trickle down from your forehead. She’s basically asking for it: to wrap those plump lips around your cock, use her mouth as the sole bucket for you to spill inside, make you forget about any current worries plaguing your mind.

She’s leaving these scattered chaste kisses across your shaft before pulling away, licking her lips slightly, mewling when she decides to play with you a bit longer, catching one of your balls into her mouth. The whole half of your upper body shifts, almost unsure what to do while her hand glides across your length with the help of her spit coating it. She rests just underneath the tip, puckering up at the sensitive area while your grip on her shoulder gets tighter. It’s the fucking drag, the way she traces her fingerstips and tongue, she’s so fucking evil.

“Those fucking glasses,” you grit, hand ghosting to the right side of her head like you’re trying to prevent some piece of artwork from falling, potentially ruining it. “You’re not thinking about taking them off anytime soon, are ya?”

“This is my favorite pair,” she muses, raising a hand up to your chest while her soft lips slips the head of your cock into her mouth, a prelude for what’s to come. “Wonder how I would look with your cum on them.”

“Fucking. Filthy.”

“Had enough yet?” Yunjin asks, teeny bit tipsy in her voice as she laughs, “Don’t try to think so hard this time.”

All of that tension in your fists suddenly goes away when Yunjin finally dips her head down, deep, deeper, where your hand shifts from her shoulder into her hair, slippery hot and soothing the more she bobs at the gradual pace. Your eyes can’t help but zero their focus on the perfect glide her lips have over your shaft, increasing the suction every pull back and up till the back of your head hits the laminate behind you. It’s a recurring lesson you’re learning each and every single time: the moment Yunjin has your cock in any way, she intends to unravel you with her hands, her lips, her pussy; she’ll get what she wants, all you have to do is just take it.

“Fuck.” Is a word you can manage to say; the only word you’ll keep saying, for that matter.

“Mm?”

Yunjin, is a perfectionist, an artist ready to give a jaw dropping performance; the way that her lips continue to slather up your cock, drawing back just past the tip, hollowing her cheeks slightly that makes you slap your free hand to the door to let her know that you’re teetering towards absolute chaos. She freezes for a second, just to build suspension, before picking up where she left off, taking you back into the unbelievable heat of her mouth, deepening the angle right to the base, until her nose grazes your hips, keeping you in her throat, feeling the first twitches get to you.

And when she looks up with your whole length, the gaze is undeniably impossible to break away from. She’s reading into the shallow breaths leaving your mouth, how your chest does these irregular motions when she ups the sensual pace to something desperate, working you with the added twist of her hand, jerking you while some of her shoulder is exposed from the leather jacket she was wearing. You’ll mark up that collarbone sooner in here or later at home, it’ll happen.

Few minutes pass for what feels like an eternity, she releases your cock from her mouth, returning back to your balls while she strokes you with your free hand, purring at times that you can barely hear due to the loud music right outside the bathroom. “Jen, you look so fucking good like that.”

“Like it when I get your cock all fucking sloppy for me?”

“God-”

She forces your right hand to a bundle of her hair, you follow the natural instinct to make it into a ponytail or bun or at least something to hold onto when she takes your cock back into your mouth. No verbal cue, just the implication is enough to know what she wants and what you like, simple as that.

Just when you think you’ve kept yourself safe from the immeasurable amount of pleasure filling your mind, tensing up your balls and stomach to ensure that you can hold out as long as you could, the eyes and ears can only register her head bobbing back and forth in a consistent rhythm, hypnotized at the sound of those gags she’s making along your shaft.

You’ve got two hands in her hair, hips thrusting while pulling her head back in to meet in the middle. There’s a slight adjustment of tilting her chin up, so that you can shove your cock a little deeper. Thank God that you’ve secluded yourselves away from the crowd, not wanting anyone to see the campus’s ‘it girl’ take your cock so well into her throat. Nobody knows this side of her, except for you, and you’ll keep that to yourself. Here you go, you’re telling her, keep gagging on my cock like this. God, you look so amazing, holy shit, I can’t with your mouth, it feels so damn good.

Thank the stamina you’ve built over time, holding out long enough while Yunjin continues her relentless assault on your cock, inhaling it every chance she gets. She’s got two hands dancing along the soaked shaft, hoping that the heat and friction combined would be the final push to make you bust right here and now. It’s happened before, and she’ll make you cum like this again; all you have to do is just let her.

And so you say:

“-jin, I’m gonna fucking cum.”

Those enhanced eyes with those glasses of hers shoot up in excitement, popping her mouth off the head of your cock, furiously jerking it to no avail, with the only thing left to do is to break you. Your knuckles are probably white from the death grip you’ve got to her hair, but all you’re feeling is the flattened tongue she’s swiping on the underside, right at the tip until the contraction was too much to bear, and you let go.

In most cases like this - that’s how everything goes.

The face she makes is probably one of the most angelic expressions you’ve seen of her, the way her mouth opens in acceptance while her eyelids flutter shut. You let go in sudden pulses that diminish into jittery jolts, every sash of cum shooting out of your slit paints across the scaffold of her glasses, glazing her lens with the sound of content leaving her lips. An obscene image, there’s cum everywhere across her face, on her lips, some of it got to her eye, and in her hair; the sensation of pleasure gets driven out as your shaft moves gently on her face, giving exactly what she wants, to see you ruined.

“Good fucking job, pretty boy. There we go.”

The sigh that leaves your lips is much like a weight lifted off your shoulders. Eyes soon gandering down at the shimmering image of this devil in a daydream or something straight out of your fantasies, darting their tongue out and about with a smug grin spread across their face, with a pair of glasses in their hand with enough messy evidence to conclude that ‘wow, you actually came so much for me’ kind of deal was indeed, wow.

She’s humming along this little victory in her throat when you check her phone for the time, only for it to be snatched from your hands and-

The selfie session is actually salacious.

Yunjin shifts along the bathroom floor, next to your cock, camera angle ready and snapping away at the work that was just done on her. The poses she makes, puckered up lips and angling your delicate cock as the additional prop is just downright insanity from her. And you imagine if school wasn’t really her kind of style, then the other line of profession that you know exactly what would definitely suit her well. She’s a slut in the making, oh wait- she already is one.

“Are you done?” you ask, moving your head around to ensure that there’s blood flow while you have a hand down to help Yunjin up, “I think it’s a good idea to go home now.”

When she finally stands up, she puts back the cum covered glasses on her face, scrunching her nose while some of the evidence on her forehead, cheeks, and chin just stay where it's at; almost like a wax candle after being blown out. That beautiful face is completely yours to ruin, and you’re contemplating on whether she should back out to the club like that.

“We should,” she says, while a stray hand grabs yours, feeling the plane of creamy skin underneath across her waist, slipping underneath her tube top to feel the hard nub of her nipple. Her head lolls a bit with the same glint in her eyes, and it only tells one thing: this girl wants more. “If you want to leave already.”

Something snaps inside you, like a gear clicking in your brain to get it moving again. Legitimately, fuck. She’s got you all wrapped around her long finger, that pretty face that’s just been defiled and fucked upon that most of her mascara is dripping at the sides because of her tears; you’ve filled one hole in her body, what’s wrong with one more?

So you swivel her around, press the front over her body to the door of the stall, strip off that annoying and bulky biker jacket she stole from your closet, pull her top to where all of her lower back could be seen in the dim light. Her hands are quick to slip out of her pants, just enough to where you see the fine curve of her ass, pulling her hips out so that you can get the right position to slide your cock into her. She tiptoes a bit slightly to make the process easier, and she gets you-

“Sir,” she breathes, gasping out at the fufillment, “Your fucking cock-” Her head dips down while your length continues to part her walls. It’s already a good thing that she’s wet, but some of the leftover drool that’s damp around the skin of your shaft, makes everything in her cunt just that wetter. It’s slow, drawn out, and pure delight.

“Your cunt, babe.” You’re gritting out, and you hear the bathroom door swing open to the laugh of a group of guys. The drag back is only met with the harsh drive back in, causing Yunjin to yelp out in pain. The group of guys sound confused at first, but it’s the audible slap of her ass that you make soon after solidifies the hint, and they hush each other to make sure that what they’re hearing is legit.

She whines at the second or third slap while the guys standing outside the stall murmur in confusion, shuffling out of the bathroom while the pitches in her moans pick up along with your pace, grabbing a handful of her hair to pull her head up, angling the curve of her back where you’re sinking deeper.

“God, baby, I can’t-” she gasps out, feeling it all the way down that plush crevice of her pussy. She’s gotten so slick to the point where the glide feels effortless.

“Uh huh,” you mumble, mind already drifting to a plane where you’d never see yourself return to. Yunjin has an outreaching hand backwards to somewhere along the top of your thigh, hoping to grasp with what little brain power she has while getting railed, your grip at her hips - how your fingertips are scraping along the fine skin, the visible red shade across the canvas of her ass when the light flickers for a moment before you’re drowned in darkness. “Just shut up and take it, like the little slut that you are.”

She’s spilling out words and words of nonsense, giving you the limitless praises that you’ll hear again and again, telling how perfect you are, with that fat fucking cock, choking up her cunt in all the places and spots where she knows you’ll hit, the sounds of the slaps fading out from your ears like a soldier experiencing shellshock, penetrating her poor pussy until–

“I can feel you t-throbbing, please-”

Christ, you’re cumming for a second time now. Yunjin’s hushed screech fills your ears while you pull out of her cunt, painting her ass across the slick skin. She’s pulling up the bottom of her leather jacket, hoping that you won’t hit, but you do. These white ribbons you’re spurting across the place will be a sight to behold; the things that this woman does to you, fist still wrapped tight around your cock while you’re seeing stars in the back of your head.

“Jesus shit, Yunjin,” you warble, “fuck, I can’t believe- ugh.” She shelters her face beneath the red curtain of hair, slouching forward while you’re holding her at the hips still, thumb rubbing across the sides while the words coming out of her mouth are still incoherent, still in the utter awe of the defiling act that was committed in this bathroom stall.

(Shit, you’re saying, we forgot about Kazuha and Sakura. What would they think? The look on their faces when they see Yunjin completely soaked in cum, they’ll probably congratulate her, considering the kind of freaks they are.)

Yunjin finally stands up, guiding your hands to the bottom of her waist, twisting her head back so that you can inhale the sweet stench of sex emitting from her body, grinning with no care in the world. It’s unreal how she is, but you’ll chalk up a final thesis down the line.

“I’ll say this again,” she tells you, turning around to let you have a closer look of her face still drenched in your cum, “Love it when you cum so much for me.”

“You’re not serious about walking out of here looking like this.”

“I am.” She projects, dropping her frames a bit slightly so that her eyes can hover above, “This is proof that I’m yours to the world. Now let's get out of here with Kazu and Sakura so that they can know what you just did to me.”

–

Predicting Yunjin’s next move or quirk is practically a dice roll at times.

Most times, it’s pretty easy and straightforward with all of the usual activities and shenanigans around school or at home. She’ll be in the cafe with you, buzzing her lips while you’re sitting across from her editing something for a commission or writing up a paper that will work towards a letter of recommendation if you pick and choose your professors wisely. You’ll look up to see that rich smile, something that will send your heart beating away double time from the first glance. Maybe on the way back home she’ll sneak a candid picture of you doing absolutely nothing, and she’ll adore it because you’re just being yourself.

On other occasions, she’ll come pin you down or bring something up unprompted. All it really just takes is a simple conversation to get it going.

“Hey, you’re done?” she asks, standing in the kitchen one night, whipping up one of your favorite comfort foods that will always be the problem solver: smoked salmon mixed with some vegetables. “Thought that you were never gonna come out of that room alive.”

“Yeah,” you answer, ruffling the back of your head while your feet scrape across the hardwood, “That portfolio was a little bit tough to get started, but it’s almost there. Stomach’s killing me anyway so-”

“Came just at the right time. It’s finished, have a seat.”

There’s something domestic with this style of living you’ve constructed. Wondering, maybe through the little hole in the lock of a door, what it would be like for you and Yunjin to have a place together. With stable incomes and the space wide open enough for literally anything and everything that you and her could imagine together. It’s all there, but it’ll be a matter of time before you cross that bridge.

Yunjin twists around, smitten at the fact that you’re sitting across from her with your head resting on your hand, just watching from afar while your girlfriend is doing one of the most plain acts in cooking. She’s in your hoodie, a bit oversized to where it covers past her hips, sleeves rolled up to her elbows, there’s a soy sauce stain on it where the pocket is - you just wore that yesterday, but it’s fine. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because I can?” you answer, stifling a laugh.

She ruffles her messy bun a bit (since she knows that’s your one true weakness), putting the wooden spoon in her hand to her mouth, tipping it along her chin, scanning your expression with narrowing eyes, pulling her bottom lip inward slightly, clearly not satisfied with the vague reason.

“Are you thinking about me naked?” She asks, tilting her head to the left. “I can see you imagaining it right now.”

“No.”

“You are, aren’t you?”

With you saying nothing, the staring doesn’t help and it’s telling her otherwise.

“You’re already imagining it!” She exclaims, pulling the wooden spoon in her hand back, nearly ready to throw it at you. All you give her is the simple shrug with your shoulders, proving her suspicions right, but you’ll be proud in not hiding things from her, especially if it leads to sexual escapades later.

“Go wash your hands, dirty boy.” Yunjin instructs, giving a ‘shooing’ motion with her other hand while you’re standing up from the chair, not saying a word but using your face and arms to dispute her claim, despite being completely right and you’re picturing her not wearing anything beneath your hoodie anyway. “I can’t have you fucking me later if the tank is empty.”

Softly laughing, you give her a pfft underneath the sound while looking away, already twisting your body towards the dark hallway where the bathroom is. “I was thinking about something else,” you tell her, cocking your head to refute her observation, “but I was also picturing you naked without my hoodie.”

“Mhm, okay. Sure.” she says, giggling while you’re walking away defeated, looking at her phone resting on the counter while you make headway to the bathroom. “Don’t spend too much time in the bathroom with your hand, by the way.”

She notices the middle finger you’re giving behind your back, but you’ll listen and honor the request.

–

Some days, she just does things without an explanation. Forget about questioning as to what or why, the glare in her eyes have sunk so deep into yours with this heavy urge to just let Yunjin have her way and show no restraint to what she wants from you.

“No? I’m not really doing anything right now.” She answers, parting your legs while you’re shifting your hips forward to the edge of the cushions, feeling the layer of shorts and boxers get discarded in a few seconds. Kazuha’s on the other end, probably giving a debrief or probable game plan to get with a guy who’ll be fucking her later; it’s one of those weekends again, the usual business.

You pay no attention, scrolling away lifelessly on three different social media apps with the occasional jump to reply to this group chat for one of your classes, seeing the crimson hair hovering right over your crotch while Yunjin takes your cock in her free hand, slowly stroking to full hardness.

Looking over, she locks eyes with you, wearing her favorite pair of specs; the thickly rimmed ones, to be more specific. Those doe eyes magnified ten times while her long fingers work around your growing cock, leaving a slow kiss along the side while she’s listening to Kazuha’s verbal dump on the phone. “Who me? I’m just on the couch, sucking cock. No big deal.”

Just as you’re about to say something, probably a quick ‘no’ to let Kazuha know of the complete opposite on the phone, her tongue swirls at the underside as her mouth seals around the head, pressing a bit across the sensitive area until your hips give up the lightest twitch off the seat.

It’s so, so fucking warm in there.

This is a problem.

Yunjin hums this sort of answer, shimmying her head to take the rest of you into her mouth, simmering your length with a giggle as Kazuha’s muffled voice through the phone, probably rambling on about her recent adventures with Sakura that you don’t know about. You’ll think nothing of it, locking eyes with her while she pulls a bit of her hair over her ear, swirling tongue at a vein while her hand floats across your stomach, then down to your thigh, feeling the light scratch of her nails as she continues to bob her head up and down.

“I’m gonna say something if you just-” you hush while the vice around your cock tenses up your legs and hips, feeling the press of your heels onto the floor while Yunjin muffles herself again. Some of her hair trickles down to the inner side of your thigh, holding onto some of her hair while your mouth is parted open, vacuuming your gut from the inside as your ass is practically off the seat.

This is gonna get entirely fucked over if she doesn’t play nice. “Yunjin, I swear to fuck-”

You’re stroking the crown of her hair, bobbing at a consistent pace now. At this point she’s just listening to Kazuha explain to Sakura now about her troubles with her friends with benefits, free hand that’s not holding the phone now at the base to hold your cock still as she does this party trick of pulling her mouth over her teeth - and the slide of her lips across the soaked surface is so sensitive, and you’re fighting every natural impulse to not ruin this just for your own pleasure.

It’s so subtle, the way her tongue passes through, swirling the stiff line beneath, lips wet and warm across your cock, sliding in every way she pleases; your phone is pretty much off to the side, forget about texting back that group chat for your class.

She pulls back, moaning while there’s a visible line of spit from the tip, “Huh? Oh, I don’t have any plans for tomorrow. But we can go with Chae if she’s free.” She smiles widely, hand skating up the length to keep you pulsing. “Me? I just have this one assignment, but I’ll have him help me when we’re done here.”

“Can I? Uh-”

“Yeah you can remind him, Zuha.” Yunjin glares, licking her bottom lip, kissing the area between your base and balls, tongue flattening and elevating up the side. She can tell that you’re getting agitated, with every passing second of her hot mouth and the addicting feeling of how her lips wrap around you, hoping to let her push you over the edge. “Alright, have fun with your dick appointment, girl. I’ll see you soon. ‘Kay, bye.”

There could be a vein or two popping out of your brain and neck, and Yunjin flashes this mischievous smile, hand sliding on the upper half of your cock while her mouth nurses the base, beautiful hazel eyes crossing as one of your feet slip out from under the coffee table, head hitting the cushions while this girl between your legs take full control of the lower half of your body. A hum leaves your throat, slurring, Yeah, fuck. That’s all you’re able to say, but it’s fine. Relax, Yunjin will take good care of you, always does.

Once she stands up a bit, twisting your cock to ensure that it’s still ready for what’s next, you don’t even remember her being in just her panties. The blank canvas of holy skin, the even divide of how her waist forms to her hips, long legs moving one over the other, and that ass is literally a treasure from another planet. “You’re the absolute worst,” you tell her, hand moving to touch the rare artifact that is her body; so perfect and ready for you to absolutely fuck and ruin. “I’ll remember that for later.”

Yunjin swings her ass, pulling her lacy black panties to the side, one hand to your the top of your leg while the other is still wrapped with your cock, teasing the head with her glistening lips, dipping down to get that first rush of new heat; you’re groaning at this point, as her face hides but you can imagine the satisfied expression when she inserts you in.

“Baby,” she mutters, keeping herself sliding down the fullness of you, letting every edge of your thick cock press against her walls - the feeling itself is too much to handle. Her ass crashes down, a measured test from the first move. You’ll make a rein with anything that’s within reach. The ass is one option, the crease where her hips and legs meet; her tits also, and let's not forget about that waist.

You’re pulsing again. Her heat choking your cock is molten, you can hear the gasps in her breath, the sighs of delight from your own, filling her cunt like it's the only thing needed as of right now.

“I’m so gonna get you back,” you growl, “by filling up your sopping little cunt with my-”

The movements still for a bit, but the grind she does when she bottoms up your length at the hilt; you could’ve came right then and there, though you did everything in your power not to - not yet.

She trembles for a second, muttering some nonsense that will have no attention towards while her pussy lips keep you focused on the grip - how it slides up and down. She stops, only to rise with her knees while giving the slightest look back. Fucking insane.

“Please,” she begs, “I’ll let you do anything to have you cum inside me.”

–

Sometimes, Kazuha likes the sudden change of patterns with the things you do with Yunjin.

Consider it to be a full circle moment to from watching her bring her fuck buddies over to the place, now it’s her watching you have your fun that was bound to happen sooner or later. She always brings that up once in a while, just to tease you. That’s the partial point of the social construct of college: to get with people and see if things work or not. If they do, great; and if they don’t, well that’s just part of the fun anyway.

“Really?” Kazuha asks, amused at the sight taking place in front of her: Yunjin splayed across the kitchen countertop, “You two really have no shame.” She says, watching you lick your heart away over the skin of her naked body as Yunjin rakes her fingers into your hair, lets out a shaggy exhale when your lips slide up from her chest back up to her neck.

You look up, clearly fed with what the observation was brought up now.

“What can he say,” Yunjin groans out, caressing the back of your head when you’re nestled right underneath her jaw, “Lover boy here got a little hungry after our study session.” She giggles when you hit her favorite spot right at the pulse point, hands trailing underneath her back when she arches while her arms hook your back to keep the contact going.

You pay no care to Kazuha, keeping your priority on Yunjin, who’s squirming at every touch and lick you’re giving to every discovered part across her body. “Can’t seem to get enough of me.”

“Whipped.” Kazuha laughs, walking behind you to the fridge, grabbing two bottles of water to take back to her room. “I was wondering whose shirt it was sitting in the middle of the hallway.” She looks over your shoulder, seeing her friend completely marked all over; up and down, neck and chest tattered with hickeys and bite marks, legs spread apart where your hips sit in between. “Are you coming tonight?”

“To where?” You ask, letting a stray hand to her tit while you’re looking over to give Kazuha the proper attention. “I thought you didn’t have plans tonight.”

“I didn’t,” Kazuha says, “Until Sakura finally let me have a go with her on and off fling she’s been seeing for the past two weeks. She showed him a picture of me and was like, automatically into me. Now I’m gonna close the deal with him.”

“Are you now?” Yunjin asks, on an elbow while your stray hand trails down to her clit, lightly massaging it to keep her occupied. She’s tugging on your shirt, keeping a close eye to your fingers dancing along her leaking slit, sighing prettily. It didn’t take that long for her to get comfortable with Kazuha being in the house while you’re fucking her on any given time of the day, and the idea of privacy was thrown out the window long before that.

“So that explains the fake ID sitting on the coffee table,” you tell her, feeling Yunjin’s hands on the elastic of your sweats, unveiling your cock when you take the hint and assist. “But don’t you have your own to use? Or did you lose it?”

Kazuha’s extended period of silence says everything that you need to know about her situation. And the fact that it had Chaewon’s picture on the card, proves the slightest concern that’s rumbling through her mind right now.

“Kazuha’s still a good girl at heart.” Yunjin observes, shuffling to the edge of the countertop while you’re tugging along the length, lightly tapping her core as the purrs start to fill up the kitchen. “You’ll be fine, we’ll move back to the room before Sakura comes to get you. Promise.” Her head hits the marble when you slip inside into her cunt, hooking onto the top of her thighs as the irregular breaths coming out of her start to stabilize. You haven’t even sunk all the way in yet, sliding until you’re parting her soaked lips, making her feel full.

“I think you should go to Kura’s.” You add, looking up while composing yourself in Yunjin’s tight pussy. “Would be better for her to see that you’re ready at her place rather than the other way around, I think.” The slick should be the only thing you’re worried about now, her hand grasping onto your wrist when you drag out the first few times, gradually picking up the pace while the lovely glow on your girlfriend’s face starts to set in. “Just try to match the same hairstyle like Chae’s in the picture, and you’ll be fine.”

Kazuha nods, pursing her lips while she starts to step away. “As much as I love to sit here and watch, I’ll treat myself to my own cock in about a few hours.” She walks away while you’re nicking your head and Yunjin’s waving a loose hand goodbye as Kazuha makes her way back to the room, relaying your focus to the girl at your hips getting slammed with every hit your cock makes into her sweet spot.

“Now that she’s gone, where was I?” you say sweetly, shifting your hands upward to her hips, admiring those pretty pussy lips, clamping up her cunt.

Yunjin loves how wrecked you get her, it’s an essential thing that will keep her going, the way she’s sighing out all of the praises and sounds, “G-God, please. Fuck me more.”

You don’t even have to think twice about it. Because that’s the typical Huh Yunjin style she proses. It comes in a cycle, going on and on and on for as long as you could recall, unsure how things fell to the way that it did, but you’ll be there to listen to everything that there is to hear coming both from and out of her lips.

–

(The funny thing about patterns, is the sense of normalcy at how things are around the apartment.

You don’t even hear the front door open since you’re heavily focused on Yunjin’s thick ass bouncing back on your cock, giving yourself time to breathe while she’s doing all the work for the next few moments. Kazuha peers through the crack of the open door leading into the room, a lone pair of eyes finally catching the picture of you two on the bed; there’s her forehead, slipping back out into the hallway in a string of laughs.

A sole assumption that Sakura’s skill for matchmaking helped Kazuha’s love life get it in the right direction.)

–

You’re not entirely sure how things flowed this way.

Though, it’s been really easy to get swept up in all of the different responsibilities falling onto your plate as the weeks continue to pass. Assignments get turned in on time, some parties are on the calendar every few weekends, and the days are winding down until you’ve got that degree in your hand. Only a matter of time before the real world’s calling, but that bridge will come when you get to it.

“What's the measured response?” Yunjin asks one day, tilting her head at an angle while watching something on her iPad, “I know the whole premise of this show but, I’m literally lost at what the final movie’s overall theme is.”

She’s got her feet up on the seat, you on the opposite end zoning out after she made you cum down her throat in a corner hidden away from everyone else at the library, not trying to let the sounds of her soft moans fill your ears as she’s slurping your cock’s life away in broad daylight (technically working hours, but you get the point.)

“I mean, the movie itself is-”

“Amazingly depressing, unsettling, downright traumatic. I think I might just cry.” Yunjin answers, leaning forward as you’re wrapping up a page of some Murakami book that Sakura handed to you for an early graduation gift. “Is that book also depressing to read too? I know Kkura said that she has a couple at her place.”

You look at the front cover. Norwegian Wood was pretty much a blind read, and Sakura herself didn’t really tell you what the whole story was about to begin with. So far, it’s been intriguing with every ten pages or so, aside from the fact the love interest has got some issues by a third of the way in? Maybe halfway? You’re flipping pages whenever you can because it’s a good way to pass time.

Yunjin leans a little more across the table, studying your features, the way that your eyes move with every passing word in the passage, pursing her lips with every small nick of your head when there’s something interesting to note or probably worth annotating later. She thinks that you’re being intrigued, when in reality, you’ve just discovered another thing about the main love interest that’s running the ‘oh, what the fuck?’ in your mind just now.

A look up slightly above the pages, and she’s sitting there. From her eyes alone they’re staring at you in admiration.

It’s still impossible to tell what this woman wants from you sometimes.

“What?” you ask, softly giggling when she’s giving this quizzical look with her knuckles resting under her chin. “I thought you said you needed to study?”

“I did,” she shrugs. “I’ve just come to the probable conclusion that you’re an interesting human being.”

“Well what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Yunjin bobs her head confidently. “You’re a smart guy.” An outreached hand over yours to close the book, her eyes flick back to you again while you’re trying to observe her body language, the way her glances exchange from seeing you to some passerby walking in the library. “I’m sure you’re still thinking about earlier.”

Your jaw drops slightly, repulsed at the sly wink that she’s giving you. There’s no deniability coming from you, she’s just pulling the rope at every urge within the bones in your body to see what she demands. “And what if I am?”

She grins, finger between her teeth, “What do you say we get out of here then?”

You’ll follow her back to the apartment in a heartbeat.

–

A quote is said at the end of a lecture one day from your finance professor: “This too, shall pass.” The interpretation alone could be applied to a wide variety of things throughout a busy schedule. It could be passed as advice, a lesson, a reminder; or at least a simple mantra to go by once you’ve reached the crossroads from one turn of the page to the next.

Some of the remaining morning classes get skipped.

Some of the study sessions leading up to finals get cut short.

Every passing day until the eventual break has been met with a metric of unpredictability that you still can’t quite fathom about. That’s the beauty of what life has to offer, actually - to break the solid cycle of that routine that’s basically second nature up until now, do stuff that’s worth the fun without worrying about what’s to follow after. You’re always on the receiving end of this, getting pulled by Kazuha or Sakura or Chaewon or literally anyone that’s willing to peer pressure you into doing the stupid shit that they always get themselves into.

At the end of every probable argument, Yunjin always gets the final say.

Doesn’t matter if you’re fighting the sounds rumbling out of your chest, or the endless streams of begging please keep fucking me coming out of her. What keeps you in is the way she rolls her hips, slowing the movement for a second when she’s reaching over to the nightstand to grab her phone, answering Hanni’s call as she has a hand to your mouth to keep quiet. The drag alone is an overload for your brain, falling off the edge till you’ve got your load fucked deep enough into her pussy and get several more after because she wants it.

She’s got the phone between her shoulder and ear, “yeah, got it. Okay, awesome. I’ll see you soon, yeah, mhm, we’ll be there, I’ll tell him. Yes, yes, yes. Uh huh, bye.”

God, and when she pulls herself up to a kneeling position over you, looking below at how well your cock fills her. It’s making you want to do all of the things she knows you’ll do to her. Put her in her place, have her screaming until the neighbors next door come over to complain for the hundredth time, and for the love of god, just keep her hips there so that you can-

“Make a mess of my pussy baby. I want to feel it so deep inside me.”

This side of her…man. It’ll happen now, and it will pass. But it will most definitely come back again soon.

The weeks after blow by like a bullet train, and before you know it, it’s grad season.

It’s a few days before everyone in your cohort gets the sought out reward of walking across that stage and pulling that tassel from the left over to the right. You’re at a party hosted by one of Sakura’s friends, taking it easy in one of the seating areas in the backyard with the overhanging lights, occasionally fighting off the bugs that come every now and then. Consider this to be a tune into one of those many conversations:

“So what are we thinking?” You’re looking down to see Yunjin lounging, head on your lap as her lanky legs are taking the remaining space at the left side of the couch. “You still haven’t told me about your new interest in art recently.”

She looks up to your hand massaging her head before returning eye contact with you, staring, contemplating before giving an answer. “I told you. I like the whole dreamy, pastel, impressionist vibe from certain works.”

“So like Van Gogh?”

“Kinda. I’m more into Sorolla and Monet.” Yunjin answers, voice lighting up. “Now that I think about it, a trip to France would add years to my life.”

You nod in agreement, but your attention gets diverted to the beer pong table beneath the awning, watching as Kazuha and Sakura win their game with their new boyfriend. Just by looking at them, it’s pretty odd to see how it’s working, but you’ll give props to the effort they’re putting in.

Yunjin then sits up next to you, stretching her limbs, yawning a bit with a pout at the end. Her hair shuffles down her shoulder, flashing her face towards you, bright smile and squinting and eyes flickering. She’s doing that thing again: trying to assess what’s going through your thoughts right now, hoping to pick apart your brain bit by bit since she’ll manage.

“What,” you ask her, head falling horizontally, “is there something on my face?”

“I guess you’re on the edge,” she tells you, shifting her body closer to yours, examining your appearance with a move of your hair to the side, tracing a finger tip along the lines of your face; to the cheekbones, then the jaw, dusting off a stray leaf on your collarbone before cocking her head back in questioning, “Relax, I’m just trying to figure out what’s really on your mind.”

(Consider it to be Yunjin’s signature idiosyncrasy. She’s good at reading faces and eyes, connecting the dots of what one’s true thoughts are. It falls into a certain structure, the way that you answer her questions, how your body reacts to hers, the key habits that falter when she’s getting warmer to something. You envy how good she is at reading between the lines, wishing that she’d be anything else but that.)

Though, two can play at her game. “I think you know what’s on my mind.”

Her eyes glisten off of the floating lights from above, fading laughs in the background like there’s this bubble encapsulating you two. She’s been in this scenario so many times before, and from the look in your eyes, it leads to one thing and really one thing only.

She grins, pulling her bottom lip inward with a twirling finger to the end of her hair, “So. You wanna like, get out of here?”

#le sserafim smut #kpop smut #male reader #yunjin smut #huh yunjin #kpop fanfic #le sserafim yunjin

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marisolls · 2 months ago

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121924. ❀ ₊˚⊹ HERSHEY’S KISSES

haikyuu 𝜗𝜚 tsukishima kei x fem!reader

you’ve had your fair share of experiences when it comes to relationships. yet for some reason, the one you have now, with a certain blonde who gives you love that’s tangible enough to feel its warmth flowing your skin— makes all your hair from your nape rise in an indescribable feeling. it’s a mix of apprehension, excitement, and an overwhelming desire to do something you have never done before.

or: 4 times you felt the urge to kiss him, and 1 time he acted upon it.

❀ MASTERLIST. PREV. IV. U CAN'T. NEXT

content 𝜗𝜚 2.7k wc. museum date. h*nd h*ld*ng. gut wrenching tension. tsukki is disgustingly and effortlessly handsome.

the date almost seems too good to be true.

you start your morning relatively productive, perhaps because you slept early, tucked yourself into bed, and let yourself grab a well-deserved rest from all the overthinking you’ve been doing. perhaps because of tsukishima kei, who’s always subtly punctual with you, or when he looks good in everything he wears, like he’s not even trying.

he’s leaning casually against a column, earbuds hanging loosely around his neck, posture as clean as ever. there’s not a bone of nervousness in him, a picture-perfect example of calm in any circumstance he’s in.

but up close, it’s different.

there’s a rosiness colouring his cheeks that almost looks natural. he twists and flexes his wrists when he’s trying to distract himself—from what, exactly? a knowing smirk curls up on your lips.

“stop staring,” he says dryly, which translates to, ‘i know what you’re thinking.’ but the way his gaze flicks to the ground betrays him.

“who’s staring?” you tease, feeling coy.

he doesn’t push you away when you edge into his space, though he does roll his eyes when you make a show of squinting dramatically at him. “what are you doing now?”

“just trying to figure out if you’re actually excited,” you reply with a bubbling laugh, poking his arm. “you’ve got this adorable pink thing going on—”

“would you stop that already?” he mutters, ducking his head as if that’ll save him from your relentless teasing. a payback of sorts. and you relish every twitch in the expression he makes.

the sound spills into the cool, crisp air around you. the faint scent of blooming flowers from the museum gardens mixes with the earthy tang of autumn, and you feel the moment settle in your chest like a warm ember.

you don’t miss the slight curve of his lips, though, or the way he subtly adjusts his glasses, buying himself a moment to retain his composure.

“ready?” he asks, shifting gears as you rummage through your bag, double-checking for your stuff.

when you nod, it takes you a second to register that as he lifts his hand, he’s actually offering it to you. your eyes flicking between his face and his hand, before he sighs dramatically, intertwining his hand with yours without a word and begins to walk.

there’s a shy smile slowly forming at the corner of your mouth, “you’re… unusually affectionate.”

he scoffs, a soft, dismissive sound, and holds on tighter. “we’re just going inside, not a battlefield.”

the words are typical tsukishima—and you can’t help but chuckle. can’t help but bask in the gust of wind brushing past, tousling your hair. the slight pressure he puts as he holds your hand, slowly filling the spaces between your fingers so casually.

you don’t do this on the daily—then again, today isn’t just any other day.

it’s special. in his own quiet way, your boyfriend’s been making that point all along.

inside the museum, the air is cooler; faint hums and murmurs of conversation amble within the space. you glance around at the towering exhibits, and though you try to be subtle about it, your focus keeps drifting back to him on your side.

you see his top swallowing his figure snugly, baggy in a way that’s comfortable. he wears a buttercream knitted sweater vest layered over a mustard yellow long-sleeve shirt, and the sleeves are neatly rolled up at the cuffs. with dark blue slim-fit jeans, slightly cuffed at the ankles, paired with brown leather loafers.

you’ve fully mastered the art of self-restraint; nobody can suspect from your relaxed expression that your insides are crying out to just nuzzle your face against his clothes and inhale every bit of his floral cologne. the thought could make you wheeze, though you’d look insane if you did.

you’re also unsure why the warmth that radiates off of him whenever he moves, like fixing his glasses, is directed to you. maybe because you’re close; even if divided by the clothing material, your skin still meets his. and most of his energy just simply lands on you, like a weighted blanket on a cozy evening.

you pause in front of a massive dinosaur skeleton, craning your neck to take in the sheer size of it. its towering frame almost scrapes the museum ceiling, sharp teeth glinting under the overhead lights. “imagine living in a world where this thing just… roams around,” you muse aloud.

“humans wouldn’t last a week,” he says flatly.

“speak for yourself,” you retort. “i’d probably tame it and ride it to work.”

amusement dances across his features, as he raises a brow, “you? tame a dinosaur?”

“don’t underestimate me,” you say, squinting at him dramatically. “i have hidden talents, you know.”

“like burning your leftovers?”

you feign offense, “hey. that never happened! only once.”

the exchange dissolves into quiet laughter as you both move on, his hand never leaving yours. weaving through the museum’s curated halls, one exhibit catches his eye—a sleek glass case displaying an ancient clay tablet.

he lingers, adjusting his glasses as he leans in to read the plaque.

“look at this,” he says, pointing to the intricate carvings etched into the clay. “it’s from mesopotamia. early cuneiform script.”

you capture each moment with your digital camera, taking candid pictures of your boyfriend who keeps his gaze forward, reading the plaques with a quiet intensity. always soaking in every detail without a word.

“what’s that look for?” he asks suddenly, catching you watching him.

“hm?” you tilt your head at him. “oh. nothing, you’re just...kind of a nerd.”

his voice drips with sarcasm, unimpressed. “you’re just figuring this out now?”

“no, of course not,” you chuckle. “…okay, maybe i’m finding it only adorable now.”

he acts exasperated as he heaves a sigh through his nose, but ultimately relents. “you just can’t stop saying weird shit, huh?”

“you love it though.”

he doesn’t answer, a smile dancing around his pretty lips.

there it is again.

‘not now’ you think to yourself, pausing to readjust your tight shoes. ‘it’s too early for this.’

you clear your throat. “what does it- what does it say?”

“it’s probably a receipt or something.”

“aw, and here i was hoping it was a love letter,” you grin as you nudge his side.

the faintest smirk tugs at his lips. “if you wanted one, you could’ve just asked.”

your laughter echoes softly through the exhibit, blending with the muted chatter of other visitors. as he steps back to give you space, your camera clicks again, capturing him mid-thought, his gaze focused and serene.

“…you look good,” you murmur suddenly, lowering your camera.

his head snaps toward you, startled. “what?”

“i said you look good,” you repeat, and this time, you can see the way his ears turn pink.

“...thank you,” he mutters, glancing down at his outfit, having the audacity to feel conscious and forget what he’s wearing. the audacity to look so pleasantly surprised.

the audacity to look so cute for you to soak and commit to memory.

when his gaze returns to you, though, it’s different—slightly softer, slightly bolder. his hand shifts to fix a stray strand of your hair, and he lets it linger for just a moment too long. eyes smoothly tracing you from top to bottom, feeling your palm sweat under his honed stare.

(you know what, this should be the one captured by every angle with a click. this should be sheltered in your camera that could last for eternity, immortalised. his eyes on you, engulfing you with a stare that makes you feel so wanted, even without saying it outright.)

he pinches your cheek and you hear the hushed way he says, “you’re going to kill me at some point.” he resumes his walk without a hitch, rendering you speechless.

(you want to kiss him so bad.)

the shokudo feels worlds apart from the quiet sophistication of the museum. it’s smaller, cozier, with soft yellow lighting that casts a warm glow across the wooden tables. the faint sound of clinking dishes and murmured conversations fill the space, merging seamlessly with the hum of the air conditioner.

the museum date stretches to lunch like clockwork. you manage to convince your boyfriend to take a stroll towards the bookshop you frequently visit later, despite the pile of books on your shelf that you haven’t finished yet. you might have to sort that out soon.

a server places steaming bowls of udon on your table, the savory aroma wafting through the air. the broth glistens, rich and golden, while thinly sliced scallions float on the surface like tiny green rafts.

tsukishima picks up his chopsticks with practiced ease, twirling the noodles once before taking a bite. you, on the other hand, pause to inhale the scent, your stomach growling in appreciation.

“i swear, this place gets better every time,” you say, breaking apart your chopsticks. “the broth smells amazing.”

he hums in agreement, swallowing before replying. “it’s the same as always. you’re just hungry.”

“rude,” you say, pouting as you take your first sip of the broth. the warmth spreads through your chest instantly, a satisfied sigh leaving your lips. “see? perfect.”

he rolls his eyes, half-smiling. for a moment, you’re knocked over by a sense of deja vu. his lips glinting against the light, tantalizing in a way that pulls your stare more strongly than ever. you gulp,. nervous.

his jaw relaxes as he slightly opens his mouth to slurp the noodles effortlessly, the steam curling up and casting a soft halo around his face. when he swallows, his adam’s apple bobs up against his throat. you forget your own food for a while.

you cringe at your behaviour. the realisation kicks you in the gut as the ache slowly creeps in, your nails digging crescent moons against your fingers.

you’ve never been this obsessed with any other person at all. there’s so much to learn about tsukishima kei still, so many things to trek through this relationship that was initially built upon unspoken affections; many sweet nothings that never seemed to sit right when uttered, too awkward for your liking. but you’re not sure if you can show it well, either. you’re not sure if he understands this growing part of you that longs to be closer to him. closer than anything you’ve had.

your eyes can only show it as he notices the way you stare at his lips, unflinching, even when his brows draw back in a silent question. waiting for you to say something.

you blink and look up, heart stuck to your throat.

“you have uh… a little under your lips.”

“what?”

tentatively, you snatch your handkerchief and swipe it against the lower half of his face, careful in the way you gently swipe your thumb across his chin, feeling the soft plush of his lips against the fabric. maybe it’s the steam of mist from the udon wafting, but you feel your cheeks heat up.

and if he sees it, this fear of being misjudged for how you’ve tipped into unfamiliar territory, that even as you’re together, or if you’ve been with other people before him, you still feel like this is a first. if he sees it, that you’re able to show how you can be so affectionate in many different ways, in many forms of sentiment, he doesn’t say anything.

“there.” you breathe out, pulling your hand back and redirecting your focus towards your food as you munch far more eager than intended. and if you think about the ghost of that simple touch for too long, it burns your skin and leaves you breathless and shivering, like a finger tracing the length of your spine.

he’s stunned for a minute before he scoffs to the side, and when you take a peek at his ears, you see them flushed pink. he mumbles faintly, something about how you should hurry up eating, before resuming his meal.

something bubbly forms in your throat, a quiet giggle, a soft sigh in having achieved such a minuscule thing.

that warm look of love stretches onwards; when you leave the shokudo, when you waste half the time on recounting the lore from your favorite book instead of buying the sequel, when you decide to spend the rest of the evening walking around the park with him, when silence hums in your chest and you’re holding hands and you feel like he’s your hallway crush all over again.

“can we uh, sit down for a sec?”

he grins a little, “are you sure you’re not just making excuses to not go home yet?”

you shove him with your elbow as you sit down on a nearby bench, massaging your feet, sore from all the walking—or perhaps from your shoes, which tsukishima has been eyeing for a while.

golden brown flickers to you briefly, then back at your shoes.

wordlessly, he kneels in front of you, hands reaching to take them off.

“oh-”

“you’ve been enduring this all day, you know these are too small for you already, why wear it?”

you’re going to lose it any moment now.

“it’s the only pair that matches my fit, kei,” you admit, hushed, a secret whisper of his name that he could only hear. the sky breathes in the night light without haste. his skin looks so much softer and tantalizing to caress.

he skims the edge of your knee-high sock with a featherlight touch, but you wonder why it sears. gaze sharp and almost reverent. he tugs the fabric down carefully, allowing it to unravel from your skin as if it’s something sacred.

he doesn’t look at you at first, too focused on the task at hand. then, just as the sock slips past your ankle, his gaze flickers up—golden brown catching the dim glow of the streetlights, unreadable yet steady.

you swallow.

“seriously, kei,” you murmur, voice barely above a whisper, “you don’t have to—”

“i know.” his voice is even, but its laced with something else, something that makes your breath hitch. his thumb brushes your ankle absentmindedly before he reaches for the other sock, starting the process all over again.

he finishes sliding off the second sock, folds it loosely with the other, and sets them gently beside your shoes.

you’re watching him, wide-eyed, heart beating somewhere between your throat and the stars above. the silence hums again, but this time it’s taut with something you can’t name. the hairs on your nape rise, buzzing in anticipation.

he stays kneeling for a moment longer, his hands resting lightly on your calves. then, his thumb brushes a slow, thoughtless circle against your skin.

“dramatic as always.”

“excuse me?”

“for your outfit,” he clarifies, gaze tilting up again, but not all the way to your face—his eyes are on… your lips? “you wore those torture devices just to match it.”

no shit. you want to swat his shoulder. to say something snarky. but all that comes out is a helpless (and hopeless) laugh.

“i wanted to look nice,” you say, and it’s softer than you mean it to be.

“for me?” he asks, and he says it like a joke, like a tease, though a tease shouldn’t sound like he’s genuinely touched. sets your heart racing.

“…you did,” he says, not a question this time.

wordlessly, you nod. that’s when you hear the quiver in his breath, like he’s been holding it the whole time.

you cup his chin and turn a little to the side.

kiss.

maybe on the cheek wouldn’t hurt. oh god.

“come on, it’s getting dark.” you finally stand up, feeling your knees wobble like ice cream ready to melt within seconds. “let’s go home.”

“yeah…” he stares up at you, awestruck, “let’s..”

when he rises to his feet, you don’t reach for his hand again, but you walk close—close enough that your shoulders graze. and neither of you says a word. the kiss, the socks, the world tilted slightly off-axis.

as you walk, he glances at you sideways. “so… what part of the outfit were you hoping i’d notice the most?”

you nearly trip over your own feet.

“i’m never dressing up again,” you mutter.

“good. your socks were offensive.”

you shove his shoulder. he doesn't stop smiling for the rest of the walk home.

taglist (closed) — @stellar-haikyuu @kokokoula @luvether @yoru-exe @reirain @hwanghyunjinismybae @astolary @albakugo @zarisluvr @kazucee @23soong @anqelkoz @starstrikeer @liliesofdawnnn @tiramizuloz @leafington @velvetreds @thatonesilentviewer @sickpatientt @eclipse-0303 @b1xi @tsumya @jpegarchives @anonymity-222 @livin-life-high-and-dry @beezhives @snowthatareblack @ilovepeachesuwu @kukikoooo @livixxn @chubbymarshies @supahumbreon @smorgasbrods @st3rdust7 @reidringer @hewittlover @livin-life-high-and-dry @kurominz @sypnasis

#❀ ₊˚⊹ hershey’s kisses #tsukishima kei x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu tsukishima #tsukishima kei #haikyuu fluff #tsukishima fluff #tsukishima x reader #hq tsukishima #hq x reader #hq fluff #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu headcanons #hq #hq x you #[✦]. solvia’s

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sadgirlautumn · 11 days ago

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fuck health insurance companies and the people who work for them who have no idea what they’re doing and are bad at their jobs

#this woman really told my mom that she can’t switch me back to my original insurance i was forced off of and i should refill all my meds #so i wouldn’t have to worry about about it but what this person doesn’t understand despite it being explained to her multiple times that i #get medication INFUSIONS which means i have to go to the hospital and get an iv that then puts the medication into my bloodstream #and i can’t exactly go without it for more than a month but once again im being fucked around for the second time this year when my body is #still recovering from missing two infusions back to back despite having two infusions since…#like sure yeah let’s make my body that hasn’t even fully recovered go through this again #i know this rant doesn’t have full context but that’s because there’s genuinely so many evil and deranged layers to this situation that i #don’t have the energy explain #moral of the story if you’re chronically and under the age of 26 you are vulnerable to being forced onto a different crappier insurance #just bc your mom went full time at her job a few months before they went BANKRUPT and fired everyone and now her health insurance people #are acting like they don’t know how to out me back on my original better insure despite the welfare people saying otherwise #it’s incredibly frustrating and it makes me feel helpless bc i know im going to relapse again bc these people refuse to call me back and #actually do their jobs #like don’t think i won’t report your asses i’ll do anything to speed this up bc i have a monthly time restraint bc of the two biologics im #on you don’t get to ignore my case #and not to mention the HR people at my mom’s work are on vaction until june 30th with my insurance ends so i can’t do anything about that #and it’s delaying the whole process even more #ugh i didn’t want to write this much but holy fuck!!! hire someone to take over for the person on vacation especially when everyone got #terminated and are DESPERATE for help #autumn rambles

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minniesfiles · 5 months ago

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PEOPLE LIKE ME

Jeonghan loved you. He loved you in a way that terrified him, in a way that made him selfish and silent and a coward.

❧ PAIRING; jeonghan x reader

❧ GENRE; angst

❧ TAGS/WARNINGS; strangers to lovers to strangers, heavy angst, timestamp, oneshot, emotionally unavailable jeonghan, major character death, implied depression, smoking, alcohol consumption, grumpy x sunshine with tragic ending, inspired by the song ‘Angel’ ft Jimin

❧ WORDCOUNT; 3.2k

𐚁₊⊹

▍18 OCTOBER 2021

It was autumn the first time Jeonghan saw you.

It was a late afternoon, where the sky was a faded blue, and the golden leaves settled on the ground in a final display of warmth before winter’s icy touch.

You were standing beneath a rust-coloured oak tree, watching a flock of birds taking off into the sky. And there was something about the way you watched them with your head tilted slightly and lips parted like you were whispering a wish only the wind could carry. It was like you wanted to follow them.

It was as if you had wings yourself. Something untouchable and too delicate for this world.

As another cool breeze blew, it tangled through your long, dark hair, lifting stray strands and sending them floating like silk ribbons around your face.

You had no jacket on and your oversized blue sweater had slipped off one shoulder. Jeonghan wondered why you’d wear something like that on a cold day.

He was sitting on a park bench with a cigarette dangling between his fingers, watching you the way someone watched something they know they shouldn’t want.

Then, as if you sensed him, you turned and met his gaze.

Most people looked at him and saw trouble. Some saw a lost cause.

But you? You just smiled.

It was the kind of smile that could undo a man. And maybe, just maybe, that was the moment you undid him.

And perhaps it was also the moment you started ruining him.

Jeonghan saw you as someone who belonged in the sky. Someone who wasn’t meant to stay tied down to the earth like he was.

▍8 DECEMBER 2021

He learnt your name without you even telling him. Kim Y/n.

He wasn’t supposed to, but the name-tag you dropped when you were rushing to work was what got you and him at his point.

“You don’t talk much, do you?” you asked him one day as you stirred your coffee absentmindedly.

It was his first date with you — or whatever counted as a date in his world. He took you to a dingy little café in the corner of Gangnam, which had the kind of scent that smelt like burnt espresso and nostalgia to him.

“Not much to say” he shrugged.

You smiled and rested your chin on your hand as you studied him. “I think you just don’t know what to say to me.”

That should have been Jeonghan’s first warning. You were right.

You had this way of looking at people like you could see all their secrets. Like you could unravel them without even trying.

And for some reason, Jeonghan wanted to be unraveled by you.

You were all light and warmth. Laughter that filled a room. The kind of person who danced barefoot in the rain just because it made you feel alive. You would drag him into old record stores, press play on songs you swore could change his life.

You had a way of seeing the world that made one believe in magic. You believed in love, in fate, in the kind of things he stopped believing in years ago.

Jeonghan, on the other hand, was the kind of guy people warned a girl like you about. He had a past filled with bad decisions, hands that had held too many things too tightly and ruined them in the process. He had walls so high no one ever dared to climb them.

Except for you.

You climbed them without hesitation.

─────

It was past midnight, and both of you were lying on the roof of his apartment building, staring at the stars.

“I used to think I was meant for something bigger,” you murmured. “Like I was supposed to be something more.”

“You are,” he said without thinking.

You turned to face him, the city lights reflecting in your eyes. “You don’t even know me.”

He did, though.

Jeonghan knew the way you hummed to yourself when you were lost in thoughts. The way you always smelt like lavender and old books. The way you could fill up a space just by being in it.

You were the kind of person one could not help but notice. The kind of person who made the world feel less empty.

And Jeonghan knew, deep down, that he didn’t deserve you. Because in his world, Y/n and Jeonghan weren’t supposed to happen.

But God, he wanted you anyway.

▍12 FEBRUARY 2022

One night, Jeonghan laid tangled with you in his bed while the city lights casted shadows on the ceiling. You traced lazy circles on his pale skin with your soft fingertips while humming a song under your breath.

“Tell me something real,” you whispered.

He exhaled smoke as he watched the way the glow from the bedside lamp made your eyes flicker like candlelight.

“I don’t deserve you,” he admitted.

You smiled, that soft, knowing smile of yours, and kissed him like you didn’t believe him.

Like you thought love could save him.

Jeonghan always reminded himself how he wasn’t like you. That he came from shadows, from a past filled with darkness.

But you — you weren’t afraid of the dark in him.

You leaned into it and traced your fingers over the rough edges of his life as if you could smooth them out.

▍27 MARCH 2022

Jeonghan tried to warn you.

One night, when you fell asleep beside him, he brushed a strand of hair from your face, “please angel, don’t fly so close to me” he murmured.

You didn’t hear him.

Or maybe you did, and you just ignored it.

Because you were also the kind of girl who didn’t believe in warnings.

You believed in love. And love, you thought, could fix anything.

He should have let you go sooner.

Jeonghan knew how this would end. He knew that he would only ruin you, that people like him don’t get to keep something as pure as you.

He told you again, and then again.

“Don’t fly so close to me angel” he’d mumble against your skin on a usual Saturday morning.

But you would simply laugh, tucking your head against his chest. “You always say that.”

“Because it’s true.”

You lifted yourself up on your elbows and looked at him with those wide, trusting eyes. “You don’t get to decide what I do with my wings.”

He sighed. “Y/n…”

“I love you,” you whispered.

Jeongan wanted to believe that love was enough.

But love doesn’t change what a man is.

And people like him? They break beautiful things.

▍10 JUNE 2022

It started the way all things break — slowly, and then all at once.

Jeonghan had a habit of disappearing. Not physically, but emotionally. Some nights he would pull you close, whisper things in your ear, let you think you had all of him. And then, without warning, he would shut down. He’d go out, stay late, drink too much, lose himself in the noise of the city so he didn’t have to feel the weight of what you made him want.

Because you made him want things he didn’t deserve.

And you — you deserved someone whole.

The first time you cried over him, it was because he didn’t come home. He found you sitting on the sofa with your arms wrapped around your knees.

“Where were you?” you asked with a small voice.

“Out” he simply shrugged, like it was no big deal.

“Out where?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

You shook your head while your hands trembled. “It matters to me.”

Jeonghan wanted to tell you the truth. He wanted to tell you that he was afraid, that loving you made him feel like he was standing on the edge of something too high, too terrifying.

Instead, he kissed you.

And for a while, you let that be enough.

Until it wasn’t.

It then started becoming too frequent. Small fracture, things that seem insignificant at first. Another night where he didn’t come home. A fight over nothing that turned into something. The way you would look at him sometimes, searching for something he couldn’t give you.

“You keep shutting me out,” you whispered one night, hugging your knees to your chest.

He lit a cigarette and avoided your gaze. “I never asked you to stay.”

You flinched, and he hated himself for saying it.

You should have left then. You should have ran before the darkness in him swallowed you whole.

But you stayed.

Because you always saw the good in people. Even when there was nothing left to see.

“Why do you do this?” you asked with a shaky voice as tears rolled down your cheeks, breaking the long silence.

“Do what?” he muttered, lighting another cigarette after the first one finished in a flash.

“Push me away.”

Jeonghan exhaled smoke, still avoiding your gaze. “Because one day, you’re going to leave. And I’d rather it be now than later.”

You stared at him for a long moment before whispering, “You really believe that, don’t you?”

He didn’t answer.

You sighed, standing up and walking closer to him. “I’m not leaving Jeonghan” you said as you reached for his hand. He wanted to believe you.

But people like him didn’t get to keep people like you.

▍23 JULY 2022

The night you and Jeonghan ended, it was raining.

You both stood outside his apartment, neon lights from a nearby diner reflecting in the puddles at your feet.

“Tell me the truth,” you pleaded with your trembling voice. “Do you even love me?”

Your voice broke on the last word, and something inside him cracked. Your hair was soaked, raindrops clinging to your long lashes like unshed tears.

He should have told you what you wanted to hear. Maybe it would have saved you and him. Maybe it would have saved you.

But the thing about Jeonghan was, he destroyed everything he touched.

“You don’t wanna lose those wings because of me Y/n,” he said with a hollow voice. “People like me break beautiful things like you.”

You let out a soft, broken laugh, shaking your head. “I don’t care,” you whispered. “I don’t care if you’re broken. I love you.”

His hands curled into fists. “You shouldn’t.”

He saw the way your breath hitched. “Then tell me you don’t love me. Look me in the eyes and tell me, and I’ll walk away.”

He should have told you the truth — that you were the only light in his life, that without you, he was nothing.

But if he loved you, he had to let you go. So he gave you the lie that would set you free.

“I don’t love you.”

The moment the words left his lips, he wanted to take them back. You inhaled sharply, as if he had struck you.

And then you turned, walked away without uttering a word, disappearing into the rain.

And he just let you go, no matter how much it destroyed him inside.

▍25 JULY 2023

Jeonghan received a phone call two days later from an unknown number. His heart dropped before he even answered. Like there was an unshakeable dread filling up in his chest. Something felt wrong. There was a hollow pit in his stomach he couldn’t explain.

When the shaky voice spoke, his whole world shattered.

A drunk driver. A car that never stopped. The impact was instant. No chance to say goodbye.

You were gone.

The phone in his hand slipped and fell on the floor with a thud. His knees gave out and he collapsed to the floor, numb and breathless.

His breath hitched, but no sound came out.

Memories flooded in — when he first saw you, the warmth of your hand in his, the way you chased away his darkest days with your light. He could almost hear your voice, but it slipped away like a whisper in the wind.

The sun crept through the window as the new day began, but it felt cold. How could the world continue to turn without you in it?

Just like that, the light you carried — his light — was gone, snuffed out.

▍30 JULY 2022

He went to your funeral. It was raining heavily that day.

He made sure to stand in the back where he was hidden in the shadows like he always was, drenched in the downpour.

His hands were clenched into fists at his sides, nails digging into his palms. It was as if the pain would keep him grounded and keep him from shattering completely.

Jeonghan watched as your family and friends wept for you. He listened as they spoke of you — how vibrant you were, how you lit up every room you stepped into, how you had dreams bigger than life itself.

Someone whispered about how unfair it was, how someone so full of life could be taken so soon. Someone else wondered if you knew how loved you were. He swallowed hard at that because he knew the truth. You didn’t.

Because of him.

No one knew that you died thinking he didn’t love you.

No one knew about the nights you stayed awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering why he kept his distance, why he always seemed just out of reach.

No one knew about the unanswered messages, the half-written replies he never had the courage to send. They didn’t know about the way he had watched you from afar, longing to reach out but never daring to.

And that was the worst part.

Jeonghan loved you. He loved you in a way that terrified him, in a way that made him selfish and silent and a coward. He thought there would be more time. More chances to say the things he had locked away in his chest. More moments where he could turn around and run to you instead of away.

But life had stolen those chances. Death had taken away the possibility of redemption.

And now, as he stood there, his heart breaking under the weight of words left unsaid, he realised something far worse than his own grief.

That you had left this world believing a lie.

That you had gone thinking he never cared.

And no matter how many sleepless nights Jeonghan spent whispering apologies into the dark, no matter how many times he wished he could trade places with you, the truth remained. He had lost you. And you never knew the depth of his love.

Perhaps the cruelest thing about regret is that it changed nothing.

And so, as the final words were spoken and the casket was lowered into the earth, he turned and walked away — back into the shadows.

The only place he ever truly belonged.

▍15 AUGUST 2022

Jeonghan never stopped seeing you.

It wasn’t just in his memories, though they haunted him endlessly. It wasn’t just in his dreams, where you stood just close enough to touch but always disappeared the moment he reached for you. It was in everything.

In the blinking street lights that reflected on the wet pavement, your laughter still echoing down empty streets, just like the nights you used to walk home together.

In the sound of a song playing on an old record player, static crackling between the notes that reminded him of the way you used to hum absentmindedly. How your voice blended with the world around you.

In the scent of lavender that sometimes drifted through his apartment, even though you were gone, even though he threw away the candle you left on his shelf months ago.

It was maddening.

He drank to forget. Bottle after bottle, glass after glass, burning his throat, numbing his mind. But even in the haze of intoxication, you were still there, slipping into his thoughts like you had never left.

He smoked to forget. Let the smoke fill his lungs, let the world blur around him, hoping that maybe it would drown out the echoes of your voice in his head. But it never did. The memories clung to him that made it impossible to wash away.

But nothing worked.

Because the truth was, Jeonghan had never been so afraid of loving someone before. He never let himself feel something so deeply, never allowed someone to carve their name into the walls of his heart. And yet, you did it easily, without even trying.

He was afraid of losing you. So he kept his distance, kept his heart guarded, kept his love hidden behind silence and stolen glances. He thought that if he didn’t hold on too tightly, it wouldn’t hurt as much when you were gone.

But in the end, he lost you anyway. And the pain was unbearable.

Because now, there were no more chances. No more time to fix things, to tell you the truth, to hold you just once without fear. There was only regret. Only the ghost of you, lingering in the spaces you used to fill.

And Jeonghan knew, with every aching part of him, that he would never stop seeing you. Not now. Not ever.

▍18 OCTOBER 2022

He found your journal two months later which was tucked beneath the old record player you left in his apartment.

The irony wasn’t lost on him. It was the same day he first saw you, a year ago, standing beneath a rust-coloured oak tree, looking like something out of a dream.

Jeonghan never believed in fate, but this? This felt cruel.

The pages were filled with you. Your thoughts, your feelings, the little fragments of poetry you loved so much. Lyrics scribbled in the margins, quotes that must have meant something to you, tiny doodles in between sentences. It was chaos, yet somehow, it was unmistakably you — warm, messy, alive.

But then, his fingers hesitated as he reached the final page. There, written in your delicate, familiar handwriting, was a single line.

“Even if you break me, I’d still choose you.”

His breath got caught. A sharp, unbearable ache spread through his chest which pressed against his ribs and crushed him from the inside.

His vision blurred as he read the words again and again, as if they might change if he stared long enough. As if there might be some other meaning he could twist them into, something that didn’t feel like a knife to his heart.

But the truth was undeniable.

A lump formed in his throat that was suffocating him. His hands trembled as he clutched the journal closer, as if holding it tightly enough might somehow bring you back.

And for the first time since you left, Yoon Jeonghan wept.

He cried out loud as he fell to his knees. He screamed as he held your journal to his chest, feeling himself break the last of him completely.

Because you were never afraid to love him. And he was too much of a coward to love you back.

You were always fearless. You ran headfirst into love, into life, into everything. You were meant to fly. And maybe he was the one who clipped your wings. Maybe, all along, he was the weight dragging you down, like a storm that pulled you under.

Maybe he was always meant to watch you fall.

Because the thing about people like him?

They don’t just break beautiful things.

They destroy themselves in the process.

And as he sat there, drowning in the words you left behind, Jeonghan realised that he never truly feared losing you.

He feared what it would mean to love you completely.

And now, it was too late.

451 notes · View notes

callsigns-haze · 4 months ago

Text

-ˋˏ The week it all went south ˎˊ-

Part 5

Part 1 here Part 2 here Part 3 here Part 4 here

Pairing: Azriel x Rhysand's sister!reader

Azriel has the perfect life. You as his wife. Kaia as his daughter. But him and the boys are stupid enough to challenge you for a week and then his perfect life might simply...disappear

Warning: ANGST, mentions of past lovers, mentions of sex, cursing, kissing, mentions of injured child, drinking, mentions of character death (nobody is dead though they just mention it), throwing up, Az being an ass and MC being a badass mama, kidnapping, mentions of physical force against characters, mentions of bleeding.

Word count: 16.4k

The guards at the River House barely had time to react as Eris winnowed into the courtyard, his usual composed demeanour replaced with an urgency that radiated off him like heat from a flame. His fiery hair was dishevelled, and his sharp features were drawn tight with exhaustion and determination.

Two Illyrian sentries stepped forward, wings flaring slightly in caution. "State your business, Eris Vanserra," one of them said sharply, though his grip on the hilt of his sword remained steady.

"I don’t have time for pleasantries," Eris snapped, his amber eyes blazing as he strode past them with a commanding air. "I need to see Rhysand. Now. Tell him it’s about Kaia."

The guards hesitated for only a moment before one of them nodded, stepping aside and sending a mental note to their High Lord. Eris didn’t wait for formalities or introductions; he shoved the heavy doors open and stormed into the River House, the sound of his boots echoing off the marble floors.

Inside, the tension in the air was palpable. Rhys was already in the main room, standing hunched over a table scattered with maps and reports. His hair was tousled from days of restless searching, and dark circles rimmed his violet eyes. Cassian sat nearby, sharpening a blade, his face grim and his posture radiating barely contained frustration. Azriel leaned against the far wall, his shadows shifting in a restless, agitated dance, his haunted expression betraying how close he was to breaking.

Eris didn’t bother with decorum. "Rhysand!" he barked, his voice cutting through the tense silence like a knife.

Rhysand’s head shot up, his eyes narrowing as he took in Eris’s wild appearance. "What are you doing here, Eris?" he demanded, his voice low and dangerous. Cassian and Azriel straightened, both watching the Lord of Autumn Court with barely veiled suspicion.

"I found her," Eris said, his voice sharp and urgent, his chest rising and falling as though he’d run the entire way. "I found Kaia."

The room froze. Rhysand’s expression turned from wary to disbelieving in the blink of an eye. Cassian stood abruptly, his blade clattering to the floor, and Azriel pushed off the wall so quickly his shadows scattered in confusion. "What did you say?" Rhys asked, his voice dangerously soft as though he didn’t dare hope.

"I found her," Eris repeated, more slowly this time, his voice steady and certain. "She’s at the Forest House with a healer. She’s alive."

Rhysand staggered back a step, his hand gripping the edge of the table for support. His violet eyes were wide, shining with a mixture of hope and disbelief. "Alive?" he whispered, as though testing the word on his tongue.

Cassian let out a string of curses, his wings flaring wide, while Azriel simply stared at Eris, his face blank but his shadows curling tightly around him, a storm waiting to erupt.

"She’s injured bad," Eris continued, glancing at each of them in turn. "Her wings... they’ve been damaged, and she’s weak. But she’s alive, Rhysand. She’s safe for now."

Azriel’s voice broke the silence, low and razor-edged. "Take me to her. Now."

Rhysand straightened, the shock on his face hardening into resolve. "Cassian, alert the others. Azriel—" he stopped as his brother began striding toward Eris without hesitation. "Go. Now."

Eris didn’t need further prompting. He held out a hand, and Azriel grasped it without a word. In a flash of flame, the two were gone, leaving Rhys, Cassian, and the heavy weight of relief mingled with dread in their wake.

Azriel and Eris winnowed into the Forest House, the cold air of the autumn woods immediately replaced by the warmth of the small, dimly lit structure. The faint scent of herbs and antiseptic wafted through the air, and the crackling of a nearby hearth filled the silence. Azriel didn’t take a moment to orient himself—his focus was already on the figure standing rigidly outside a closed door.

Lucien.

The Autumn Court emissary leaned against the wall beside the door, his arms crossed over his chest. His russet eye glimmered in the low light, while his mechanical eye rotated subtly, scanning the hallway with precise attention. At the sound of their arrival, Lucien’s gaze snapped toward them.

"Finally," he said, his tone a mixture of relief and tension. His usually sharp and calculated demeanour was tempered by something softer—an almost sympathetic edge.

Azriel was on him in an instant, stepping so close their noses were nearly touching. "Where is she?" he demanded, his voice rough, strained. His shadows lashed around him, crackling with his barely-contained fury and desperation.

Lucien, to his credit, didn’t flinch. He gestured to the closed door beside him. "In there. The healer is with her."

Azriel moved toward the door, but Lucien stepped in front of him, holding up a hand. "Wait," he said firmly, his golden eye locking onto Azriel’s. "She’s stable, but she’s in bad shape. You need to be prepared for that before you go in there."

Eris, standing a few feet back, observed the exchange silently, his arms crossed and his expression unreadable.

Azriel’s hands curled into fists at his sides, and his wings flared slightly, the tips twitching as though he could barely restrain himself. "Move," he growled, his voice low and lethal.

Lucien held his ground, his gaze steady but not unkind. "I’m serious, Shadowsinger. You’re not going to want to see her like this—not without bracing yourself first."

"I’ve been searching for many weeks," Azriel hissed, his voice shaking with emotion. "Many weeks without knowing if she was alive or dead. If you think for one second that I’m not going in there—"

"Azriel," Eris cut in, his voice calm but firm. "Let him speak. For her sake, not yours."

Lucien’s gaze softened slightly, and he lowered his hand. "She’s been through hell," he said quietly. "She’s scared, she’s hurt, and she’s weak. The healer’s doing everything she can, but... just don’t expect her to run into your arms the moment she sees you."

Azriel’s throat worked, and for a moment, he looked like he might crumble. But he nodded, swallowing hard. "Move," he said again, though this time his voice was softer, less edged.

Lucien stepped aside, and Azriel immediately reached for the door handle. He hesitated for only a fraction of a second before pushing the door open and stepping inside. Eris and Lucien stayed behind, neither speaking as the door closed softly behind him.

Azriel stepped into the room, his heart pounding so violently it echoed in his ears. The space was dim, lit only by the flickering glow of a lantern on the bedside table. The healer, a middle-aged woman with soft features and a calm, steady demeanour, glanced up as he entered but said nothing, her hands moving carefully over the small figure lying on the bed.

Kaia.

Azriel's breath caught in his throat as his eyes landed on her. His daughter looked so small, so fragile, cradled in the mound of blankets. Her usually vibrant skin was pale, almost translucent, and her dark lashes rested against cheeks stained with tear tracks. Her tiny wings, his pride and joy, were bandaged and bound tightly against her back. Even through the layers of gauze, he could see faint traces of blood seeping through, and his stomach churned violently.

Kaia's little body barely stirred as the healer adjusted her position, whispering soft reassurances. The sight of her there, so still, so unlike the lively, curious child he knew, nearly brought him to his knees. He had imagined this moment—finding her—so many times over the past two weeks, but nothing had prepared him for this.

"She’s stable for now," the healer said softly, her voice breaking through his haze. "But weak. She’s been through more than any child should ever endure."

Azriel nodded mutely, his throat too tight to form words. He stepped closer, his footsteps almost silent, and sank into the chair beside the bed. He reached out with a trembling hand, hesitating for a moment before gently brushing his fingers over her tiny hand. Her skin was cold to the touch, and his heart fractured further.

"Kaia," he whispered, his voice barely audible. His thumb ran softly over her knuckles. "I’m here, sweetheart. Daddy’s here."

Her eyelids fluttered faintly, and for a moment, he thought she might wake. But she only whimpered softly in her sleep, her little face scrunching in pain before settling again.

Azriel inhaled sharply, his free hand curling into a fist on his thigh. He couldn’t protect her from this, couldn’t take the pain away. And that knowledge gutted him. For the first time in centuries, he felt powerless.

"She’s been sedated to help with the pain," the healer explained quietly, her voice gentle but firm. "She needs rest above all else now. Physically, she has a small chance of recovery. But emotionally... she’ll need you. Both of you."

Azriel nodded again, his jaw tightening. "I failed her," he whispered, his voice cracking. "I should’ve found her sooner. I should’ve—"

"Stop," the healer interrupted, her tone surprisingly stern. "Blaming yourself won’t help her now. Focus on what you can do moving forward. She needs you strong, not consumed by guilt."

Azriel swallowed hard, forcing down the lump in his throat. He leaned over the bed, pressing a soft kiss to Kaia’s forehead, his shadows curling protectively around her tiny form. "I’m so sorry, baby," he murmured. "But I swear, I’ll never let anyone hurt you again."

For the first time in weeks, Azriel let his tears fall freely, his shoulders shaking as he kept his head bowed over his daughter. He would stay by her side now, no matter what it took. No matter how broken he felt, she would never feel alone.

Azriel sat there for what felt like hours, his hand never leaving Kaia’s. The room was silent, save for the occasional sound of the healer preparing fresh salves and the soft, shallow breaths of his daughter. His shadows crept out, brushing lightly over her form as if they, too, were trying to comfort her in their own way. They whispered to him, a thousand sounds he couldn’t quite make out, but their presence was grounding.

The door creaked open behind him, and Azriel tensed instinctively, his wings flaring slightly. When he glanced back, his shoulders relaxed only a fraction. Rhysand stood in the doorway, his face as pale and drawn as Azriel had ever seen it. Behind him, you hovered, your hands clutching the doorframe as if it was the only thing keeping you upright.

Azriel’s heart clenched at the sight of you. Your eyes were bloodshot, your face tear-streaked, and you looked like a ghost of yourself. You locked eyes with him, and in an instant, everything came crashing down. You pushed past Rhys, crossing the room in hurried steps until you stood at Kaia’s bedside.

“Kaia,” you choked out, your voice trembling. Your hands hovered over her as though afraid touching her would break her further. Azriel reached out, gently guiding your hand to rest on her arm. She didn’t stir, but the warmth of her skin under your palm seemed to ease some of the tension in your body.

"She’s alive," Azriel said softly, his voice hoarse. "She’s alive, Y/N."

A sob tore from your throat as you leaned over, pressing your forehead to her tiny hand. "My baby," you whispered, your voice cracking. "My sweet girl."

Rhys stepped fully into the room, his violet eyes taking in the scene before him. He moved to stand at the foot of the bed, his usual composure shattered. He reached out, brushing a hand over Kaia’s bandaged wings, his jaw tightening as he took in the blood-stained gauze.

"This should have never happened," Rhys said quietly, his voice filled with guilt. "I failed her. I failed you both."

Azriel looked up at his brother-in-law, his expression hard. "Don’t," he said, his tone sharp. "This isn’t on you, Rhys. It’s on me. I’m her father. I should’ve been faster. Smarter. I—"

"Enough," you cut in, your voice trembling but firm. You lifted your tear-streaked face, looking between the two men. "This isn’t the time to point fingers or wallow in guilt. Kaia is here now. She needs us to be strong for her, not broken."

Azriel nodded, his throat tightening. He reached for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours as you both sat by Kaia’s side. Rhys lingered for a moment longer, his gaze heavy, before stepping back toward the door.

"I’ll let the others know she’s safe," Rhys said quietly. "They’ll want to see her, but... later." He glanced at Azriel, his expression softening. "Take care of her. Take care of both of them."

Azriel gave a faint nod, his focus returning to his daughter and the mate he swore to protect. For the first time in weeks, hope flickered in his chest. It was fragile, tentative, but it was there. And as he held your hand tightly in his own, he vowed to do everything in his power to make sure his family healed—together.

-----

It had been two weeks since Eris and Lucien had found Kaia, and you and Azriel hadn’t left the Autumn Court since. Moving her back to Velaris was out of the question; her condition was too fragile, and the healers insisted she remain where she could be closely monitored. The forest house had been converted into a sanctuary of sorts for your little family, though it hardly felt like one with the constant weight of worry hanging over you.

Kaia was still weak, her small body fighting to recover from the injuries she’d endured. Her wings remained heavily bandaged, the cuts along their stems slow to heal, and she was often too tired to do more than whimper softly when you or Azriel were near. The sight of her like this broke something in you every time you looked at her. Your vibrant, mischievous toddler, who had once chased butterflies and giggled endlessly, now lay quietly on her bed, her golden-brown eyes dull and filled with exhaustion.

Azriel rarely left her side. He sat by her bed for hours, his shadows constantly swirling around her, as though trying to offer her some semblance of comfort. He barely slept, and when he did, it was in the chair by her bedside, his hand always resting lightly on hers. His face was gaunt, his hazel eyes rimmed with dark circles, and his shoulders seemed perpetually hunched under the weight of his guilt.

You weren’t much better. The two of you hadn’t spoken about what had happened—not really. The shared grief and fear seemed to have built a wall between you, one neither of you dared to break through. You spent most of your time tending to Kaia, whispering soft lullabies to her as you held one of her favourite teddies, the same one you’d clung to in those harrowing weeks she was missing.

The healers came and went in quiet intervals, bringing fresh salves and herbs to aid her recovery. One of them had told you just the day before that her wings might never fully recover, and while they assured you she might possibly be able to live a full life, the thought of your baby losing even a fraction of her joy was unbearable.

Eris had been surprisingly accommodating. He ensured you had everything you needed, from food and clothing to extra security around the forest house. Lucien visited frequently, bringing small gifts for Kaia—soft blankets, delicate wooden toys, and once, a tiny music box that played a soothing tune. The gestures were kind, but they couldn’t erase the ache in your chest.

This morning, as the first light filtered through the tall windows of the room Kaia was staying in, you sat on the edge of her bed, gently stroking her hair. She was asleep, her breathing shallow but steady. Azriel stood by the window, his back to you, his wings tucked in tight as he stared out at the forest beyond. The tension in his frame was palpable, and you knew he was battling his own demons in silence.

“She looks better,” you said softly, breaking the silence. Your voice sounded foreign to your own ears—hoarse and quiet, as though it had forgotten how to speak.

Azriel didn’t turn to you, but his wings twitched slightly. “Not enough,” he muttered, his voice low and rough.

You didn’t have the energy to argue, though the words stung. Instead, you turned back to Kaia, your hand lingering on her small shoulder as you whispered, “She’s strong, Az. Stronger than we think.”

At that, he turned, his gaze locking on yours. There was something haunted in his eyes, something that mirrored the ache you felt in your own chest. “She shouldn’t have had to be strong,” he said, his voice breaking. “She’s just a baby.”

Your throat tightened, and for a moment, you couldn’t speak. Instead, you reached out, taking his hand and pulling him to sit beside you on the bed.

The room was quiet, save for the soft rustle of the wind against the tall windows and the rhythmic sound of Kaia’s shallow breathing. You and Azriel sat side by side on the edge of the bed, your fingers absentmindedly stroking Kaia’s tiny hand as she slept. The silence between you had stretched thin, heavy with tension, and you knew it was only a matter of time before something cracked.

“Az,” you began softly, your voice hesitant. He didn’t look at you, his focus fixed on Kaia’s frail form. “You should go back to work.”

The words hung in the air like a bomb. For a moment, there was nothing but silence. Then Azriel’s head snapped toward you, his hazel eyes sharp and blazing with disbelief.

“What?” he said, his voice low and dangerous.

You met his gaze, your heart pounding but your resolve firm. “You’ve been here for two weeks, Az. I know you’re worried about her, but Kaia is safe now. The healers are doing everything they can, and I’m here with her. You have responsibilities—things that need your attention.”

His wings flared slightly, the shadows around him stirring like a storm ready to unleash. “Responsibilities?” he repeated, his tone incredulous. “What are you even saying right now?”

“I’m saying you can’t just abandon everything else,” you said, keeping your voice steady despite the tremble in your chest. “The Night Court still needs you. Rhys needs you. We’ll be fine.”

Azriel shot up from the bed, his tall frame towering over you as he paced to the window. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, and when he turned back to you, his expression was a mixture of anger and disbelief.

“‘We’ll be fine?’” he echoed, his voice rising slightly. “Do you even hear yourself? Our daughter nearly died! She’s lying there, barely able to move, her wings—” His voice broke, and he shook his head, his hands trembling. “And you’re telling me to leave her? To leave you?”

You stood, anger bubbling up despite the guilt gnawing at your heart. “I’m not telling you to abandon her, Azriel! I’m telling you to trust that she’s safe now. I’m telling you to trust me.”

“Trust you?” he snapped, his voice bitter. “How can you say that when you’re the one telling me to leave? What kind of mother—what kind of mate—says something like that?”

The words hit you like a slap, and your breath caught in your throat. “Don’t you dare,” you said, your voice shaking with anger. “Don’t you dare try to make me feel like I don’t care about her. I love her just as much as you do, Azriel, but I’m trying to be realistic. We can’t both sit here and hover over her forever. She needs us to be strong—for her, for each other.”

Azriel’s wings flared fully now, his shadows lashing out in frustration. “Strong?” he hissed. “You call this strong? You’re cold-hearted, that’s what you are. Telling me to go back to work while our daughter is lying there, recovering from the worst trauma of her life. How could you even think of sending me away? Do you not care about what I’m feeling? Do you not care about her?”

Your heart shattered at his words, tears springing to your eyes. “How dare you,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “How dare you accuse me of not caring. Everything I’ve done—everything I’ve said—has been for her. For us.”

“Then act like it!” he shouted, his voice cracking. “Act like you actually give a damn about what’s happening here instead of trying to shove me back into work like none of this matters!”

Tears spilled down your cheeks, and you clenched your fists, your chest heaving as you struggled to find the words. “You’re not the only one who’s hurting, Azriel,” you said, your voice trembling. “You’re not the only one who’s scared, who feels guilty, who wakes up every night wondering what you could’ve done differently. But you don’t get to stand there and call me heartless. You don’t get to throw that at me.”

The room was silent, the weight of your words hanging between you. Azriel stared at you, his expression shifting from anger to something softer, something broken. But you couldn’t bear to look at him any longer. You turned back to Kaia, sitting on the edge of her bed and gripping her tiny hand as though it were the only thing tethering you to this world.

Azriel remained by the window, his wings drooping slightly as the shadows around him stilled.

You stayed seated at the edge of Kaia’s bed, your hand gripping hers so tightly you worried you might hurt her, but you couldn’t let go. The silence in the room felt unbearable, the tension coiling tighter with every breath. Azriel stood by the window, his back to you, his wings sagging slightly as though the weight of everything had finally settled onto his shoulders.

“I’ve hit it,” you whispered, your voice trembling but loud enough to cut through the heavy air.

Azriel’s head turned slightly, but he didn’t look at you fully, his shadows curling around his feet as if trying to comfort him.

“I never thought I’d feel this way,” you continued, your voice cracking as tears burned your throat. “I never thought I’d hit rock bottom like this. That I’d feel so—so empty. So... hollow.”

Azriel turned then, his hazel eyes meeting yours, the anger from before replaced by something softer, something achingly vulnerable. “Don’t say that,” he said, his voice hoarse, barely above a whisper. “Don’t do this.”

You let out a bitter laugh, tears streaming down your cheeks as you shook your head. “Do what, Azriel? Speak the truth? Admit that I’ve lost everything I thought I had? I don’t even recognize myself anymore. I don’t even recognize us anymore.”

His wings flared slightly, his shadows stirring as he stepped closer. “We’re still us,” he said, his voice desperate, like he was trying to convince himself as much as you. “We’ve been through worse—we can get through this.”

You shook your head, letting out a shaky breath. “It doesn’t feel that way,” you said softly. “Do you know what it feels like, Azriel? To look at your mate and feel like they’re just... ordinary? Just another person in the room? Not the one you’re supposed to lean on, to trust with everything, to feel whole with.”

His breath hitched, and you saw the pain flash across his face, the way his wings drooped even further. “You don’t mean that,” he said, his voice breaking. “You can’t mean that.”

You let out a choked sob, burying your face in your hands. “I don’t know what I mean anymore,” you admitted, your voice muffled. “I don’t know anything anymore. All I know is that Kaia is lying there, barely holding on, and I feel like I’ve failed her. I feel like I’ve failed myself. And now... now I feel like I’ve failed us too.”

Azriel dropped to his knees in front of you, his hands trembling as he reached out to cup your face, forcing you to look at him. His hazel eyes shimmered with unshed tears, his voice thick with emotion as he said, “You haven’t failed, Y/N. You’re still here. You’re still fighting—for her, for me, for us. You haven’t failed.”

You shook your head, the tears streaming down your cheeks relentless. “It doesn’t feel like it,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “It doesn’t feel like I’m fighting anymore. It just feels like I’m surviving.”

Azriel closed his eyes, his forehead pressing against yours as his wings curled around the two of you, creating a cocoon of warmth and shadow. “Then let me fight for you,” he said, his voice raw. “Let me fight for us. I’ll do whatever it takes, Y/N. Whatever it takes to fix this. To fix us.”

You sat there, your fingers trembling as they rested on Kaia's blanket, your voice shaky as you looked at Azriel. His wings drooped behind him, his hazel eyes fixed on you with so much guilt and pain that it was hard to meet his gaze. But you spoke anyway, your voice quieter than you intended.

"When I was little," you began, your voice barely above a whisper, "my mother used to sew dresses for Rhys’s future wife. She’d work tirelessly, stitching and cutting, always saying that his mate deserved nothing but the best."

Azriel’s brow furrowed, and he shifted closer, his shadows coiling tighter around his frame, but he stayed silent, letting you continue. "I used to sit beside her, watching her hands work, so delicate, so sure," you said, your throat tightening with the weight of the memory. "And one day, I asked her, ‘Are you going to make dresses for my future mate?’ I was just a child, so naive, but I was so curious."

Azriel swallowed hard, his lips parting as if he wanted to say something, but the words seemed caught in his throat.

"She laughed," you said, tears welling in your eyes as you stared at the floor. "She laughed and said, ‘Oh, sweetheart, your future love of your life is already wearing my clothes.’"

The room fell into silence, heavy and suffocating, and you felt the tears streaming down your cheeks. You finally looked at Azriel, meeting his stunned gaze.

"She thought it was you," you whispered, your voice breaking. "She thought it would always be you. And for so long, I thought so too. But now... now I’m not so sure. Now I feel like she was wrong."

Azriel flinched, as if your words had physically struck him. His wings curled inward slightly, and his hands clenched at his sides.

"Don’t say that," he said, his voice hoarse, raw with desperation. "Please, Y/N. Don’t say that."

Your shoulders shook as you let out a bitter laugh, the tears falling freely. "I don’t want to feel this way, Azriel. I don’t. But look at us. Look at what we’ve become. I don’t even know who I am anymore, and I don’t know who you are either."

He reached for you then, his hands trembling as they cupped your face, forcing you to look at him. His hazel eyes were glassy, his voice breaking as he said, "I’m still me, Y/N. I’m still yours. Please, just... tell me how to fix this."

You shook your head, your voice barely audible as you whispered, "I don’t know if you can."

Azriel’s grip on you tightened, his shadows flickering wildly around him. "I won’t accept that," he said, his voice fierce despite the tears threatening to spill from his eyes. "I won’t accept losing you. Not you, not Kaia. I’ll do whatever it takes, Y/N. Whatever it takes to make you believe in us again."

You pulled away from Azriel’s trembling hands, stepping back as your heart clenched painfully in your chest. His wings twitched, his shadows writhing around him as if mirroring his turmoil.

"Y/N," he said, his voice low and desperate, but you shook your head, tears blurring your vision.

"I can’t do this right now," you whispered, your voice breaking as you turned toward the door. "I need space, Azriel. I need to breathe."

He stepped toward you, panic etched into every line of his face. "Don’t walk away from me," he pleaded. "Not like this. Please, Y/N, we can—"

But you didn’t let him finish. You took one last look at him, his expression shattered, his wings slightly drooping, before you winnowed away without another word.

"Y/N!" he shouted after you, his voice filled with anguish, but by the time the sound of his plea echoed through the room, you were already gone.

-----

The River House was quieter than usual when you winnowed into the foyer, the cool stillness only broken by the faint sound of papers rustling in the nearby study. Rhys and Cassian were walking out, deep in conversation, when they spotted you standing there.

"Y/N?" Cassian asked, surprise etched on his face. "What are you doing here? We were just about to—"

His words faltered as he saw your tear-streaked face, your shoulders trembling as you hugged yourself tightly. Rhys stepped forward, his face paling.

"What happened?" Rhys demanded, his voice low and urgent. "Is it Kaia? Is she—?"

"No!" you cut him off quickly, shaking your head vehemently. "She's... she's fine." Your voice cracked, and a fresh wave of tears spilled over as you tried to steady your breathing.

Cassian let out a sharp exhale, relief flashing in his eyes, but the worry didn’t leave his expression. He stepped closer, his brow furrowed. "Then what is it? Why are you here? Did something happen at the Autumn Court?"

You tried to answer, tried to form the words, but the weight of everything—the past weeks, Azriel’s words, your own breaking heart—came crashing down. A choked sob escaped your throat as you covered your face with your hands.

Rhys closed the distance between you, his hands gently gripping your shoulders. "Y/N, talk to me," he urged softly. "What’s going on?"

But all you could do was cry, the anguish too overwhelming to explain. Rhys glanced over his shoulder at Cassian, whose jaw was tight as he watched you crumble. "Let’s get her to the sitting room," Rhys said quietly.

Cassian nodded, stepping aside as Rhys guided you gently toward the room, his concern written in every line of his face. Neither of them pushed you to speak again, giving you the time to collect yourself as they exchanged uneasy glances, silently wondering what had happened to leave you in such a state.

In the sitting room, Rhys guided you to the couch, his touch steady and gentle as you sank down, curling into yourself. Cassian sat on the edge of the coffee table in front of you, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, his face a mask of worry.

"Y/N," Rhys began softly, sitting beside you. "Please tell us what happened. If it’s not Kaia, then... what’s wrong?"

Your voice broke as you tried to speak. "I—I can’t do it anymore," you whispered, staring down at your trembling hands. "I can’t stay there with him. I can’t pretend like everything is fine."

Rhys stiffened slightly. "With Azriel?" he asked carefully, his tone measured, though concern laced his words.

Cassian sat up straighter, his brows knitting together. "Did he—"

"He didn’t hurt me," you interrupted, shaking your head. "Not physically. But his words..." You trailed off, another sob escaping your lips as the weight of Azriel’s accusations hit you again. "He said I was heartless. Cold. That I didn’t care about Kaia, about him."

Rhys’ eyes darkened, his posture stiffening. "What?"

Cassian looked furious, his hands clenching into fists as he struggled to keep his composure. "Azriel said that? To you?"

You nodded, tears streaming down your face as you buried your head in your hands. "I told him he should go back to work, to get some air, and he just... he lost it. He called me heartless for even suggesting it."

Rhys rubbed a hand over his face, exhaling slowly, his violet eyes filled with a mixture of anger and helplessness. "He’s been on edge for weeks," he murmured, more to himself than to you.

"That’s no excuse," Cassian snapped, his voice low but seething. "He has no right to talk to her like that, especially after everything she’s been through."

You sniffled, looking up at them through blurry eyes. "It’s more than that," you admitted, your voice trembling. "I... I told him I felt like I’d hit rock bottom, like I wasn’t even his mate anymore. And he didn’t..."

Cassian cursed under his breath, standing abruptly and pacing the room. Rhys sat in silence for a moment, his jaw tight as he tried to piece together his thoughts.

"Y/N," Rhys said gently, his hand resting on your knee, "you’re not alone in this. We’re going to figure it out. Azriel is... he’s struggling, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you. He’s just—"

"He’s not the male I fell in love with," you interrupted, your voice cracking. "And I don’t know if he ever will be again."

The room fell into a heavy silence, your words lingering like a dark cloud. Cassian finally stopped pacing, his expression softening as he looked at you. "You’re exhausted," he said quietly. "You’ve been through too much. Maybe staying here for a while... away from him... is what you need."

Rhys nodded, though his face was tight with emotion. "You’re welcome here for as long as you need, Y/N. And when you’re ready to face Azriel, we’ll be here for that too."

You nodded weakly, wiping at your tear-streaked face. "Thank you," you whispered, though the ache in your chest remained, a reminder of the fracture that now lay between you and your mate.

Cassian leaned back against the fireplace, his arms crossed over his chest as he glanced between you and Rhys. His hazel eyes softened as they settled on you, still curled up on the couch, your eyes red and swollen. Letting out a deep breath, he broke the tense silence.

"Rhys," Cassian began, his tone firm but not unkind, "I’ll take Nyx to see Kaia."

Rhys blinked, his brows furrowing slightly. "Cass—"

"No arguments," Cassian cut him off, holding up a hand. "You need to stay here with Y/N. She needs you more than Azriel needs another body standing around in the Autumn Court." He glanced at you again, his expression softening further. "You’ve both been running on fumes, but Rhys... you can’t just leave her right now."

Rhys ran a hand through his hair, his violet eyes conflicted as he looked at you. "Are you sure?" he asked quietly, glancing back at Cassian.

"Positive," Cassian replied firmly. "I’ve already been back and forth. Nyx will be happy to see Kaia, and I’ll make sure everything is handled. You stay here. Focus on your sister."

You looked up, your voice weak but filled with gratitude. "Cassian..."

He waved you off, his lips quirking into a small, reassuring smile. "Don’t even start. You know I’d do anything for Kaia—and for you. Az and I may want to strangle each other half the time, but he’s still my brother. We’ll keep this together."

Rhys hesitated a moment longer before nodding, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "Alright," he finally said. "Take Nyx. And... thank you, Cass."

Cassian clapped Rhys on the shoulder, giving him a reassuring nod before stepping closer to you. He crouched down, resting a hand on your knee. "You focus on yourself, alright? Kaia is safe, and I’ll make sure she knows how much her mama and dada love her."

Tears welled in your eyes again as you nodded, your voice breaking as you whispered, "Thank you, Cassie."

He gave you a warm, lopsided grin before straightening. "Get some rest," he said firmly, looking between you and Rhys. "Both of you."

As he left the room, you and Rhys sat in silence, the weight of everything hanging heavily in the air. But for the first time in weeks, there was a faint glimmer of hope.

You shifted on the couch, pulling the blanket tighter around your shoulders as Cassian’s footsteps faded from the room. Turning to Rhys, you wiped at your tear-streaked face, your voice hoarse as you asked, "Where’s Feyre?"

Rhys looked over at you, the question catching him slightly off guard. He leaned back against the armrest of his chair, his violet eyes flickering with something you couldn’t quite place. "She’s upstairs with Nyx," he replied softly. "She’s been keeping him distracted... keeping herself distracted."

You nodded, the mention of Feyre grounding you slightly. "I—I’d like to see her," you murmured, your voice wavering but determined. "I just need... I need to talk to her."

Rhys tilted his head, studying you for a moment. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but he hesitated. Instead, he simply nodded. "Of course," he said gently, rising to his feet. "I’ll let her know you’re here."

Before he could leave the room, you grabbed his wrist, your grip weak but desperate. "Rhys," you said, your voice trembling. "Thank you... for staying."

His gaze softened, and he placed a hand over yours. "Always, sister," he said quietly. "You’re not alone in this."

He gave your hand a reassuring squeeze before heading toward the staircase, leaving you alone with the quiet crackle of the fire and the faint sound of the city beyond the windows. You tried to steel yourself, but the weight of everything pressed heavily on your chest.

Moments later, soft footsteps approached, and Feyre appeared in the doorway, her expression a mixture of worry and relief as she saw you. She crossed the room quickly, sitting beside you on the couch and wrapping you in a tight embrace.

"You’re here," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

Feyre held you tightly, her warmth and steady presence grounding you as sobs racked your body. She didn’t say anything at first, letting you cry against her shoulder, her hand gently stroking your hair. It wasn’t until your breathing began to slow that she finally spoke.

"I was about to come see you," she said softly, her voice thick with emotion. "But... I’m glad you’re here."

You pulled back slightly, wiping at your swollen eyes. "I couldn’t stay in Autumn anymore," you admitted, your voice breaking. "I feel like I’m suffocating, Feyre. Azriel... he’s so angry and distant, and I—" Your voice faltered, tears spilling over again.

Feyre cupped your face, forcing you to meet her gaze. "You’ve been through hell," she said firmly. "Both of you have. It’s not fair for either of you to carry this weight alone."

You nodded weakly, but the tears wouldn’t stop. "I told him to go back to work," you choked out, your voice trembling. "I thought... I thought it might help him focus on something other than the guilt, but he... he called me heartless, Feyre. He said I was cold."

Feyre’s jaw tightened, and you could see the fury flash in her eyes, though she kept her tone even. "Azriel is lashing out because he’s hurting," she said softly. "But that doesn’t make it okay. You’re hurting, too."

"I feel like I’ve lost him," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "After everything we’ve been through... I feel like he doesn’t even see me anymore. Like I’m just... there."

Feyre’s arms wrapped around you again, pulling you close. "That’s not true," she said firmly. "Azriel loves you more than anything. He’s just drowning in his own pain right now, and he doesn’t know how to reach out. But you two will find your way back to each other. I know it."

The conviction in her voice made your chest ache, but you weren’t sure if you believed her. You stayed like that for a while, Feyre holding you as the fire crackled softly beside you.

Eventually, Rhys entered the room, his presence calm but heavy. "I sent Cassian off with Nyx now," he said quietly, glancing between the two of you. "They’ll be at the Autumn Court by nightfall."

You nodded, your hands clutching the blanket tightly around you. Rhys’s gaze softened as he looked at you. "You should rest," he said gently. "You’ve been running on empty for weeks now."

Feyre squeezed your hand. "I’ll stay with you," she offered, her tone leaving no room for argument.

You let out a shaky breath, leaning into her side. "Thank you," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Rhys lingered for a moment before giving a small nod and stepping back, leaving you and Feyre in the quiet comfort of each other’s presence.

-----

Cassian landed heavily outside the Autumn Court’s forest house, Nyx held tightly against his chest as he adjusted his grip on the boy. The moment his boots hit the ground, he could already sense Azriel inside.

Kaia was here. Healing. Recovering. And Azriel hadn’t left her side.

But Cassian hadn’t come for Azriel. Not really.

The guards at the door let them through immediately, and Cassian pushed inside, the warmth of the fire doing little to thaw the ice settling in his veins. Nyx wiggled in his arms, eager to be let down, but Cassian held him close, rubbing a hand along his back to keep him calm.

It was Azriel who came into view first. He looked rough—exhausted, shoulders tense, his eyes shadowed even more than usual. The moment his gaze locked onto Cassian, the Spymaster straightened, as if preparing for whatever storm Cassian was bringing with him.

Cassian had half a mind to rip into him right then and there.

For what he said to you.

For letting you leave like that.

For making you feel like you were alone in this.

But Nyx stirred in his arms about being to old to be held, and Cassian swallowed the anger, pushing past Azriel without a word.

Lucien was standing just outside the bedroom where Kaia was resting. He gave Cassian a nod before stepping aside, letting him through.

Cassian exhaled slowly before opening the door, stepping into the dimly lit room.

Kaia was curled up beneath thick blankets, a healer sitting nearby, quietly monitoring her condition. Her tiny wings were wrapped in soft bandages, her face turned toward the pillows.

"Kaia," Nyx whispered.

The little girl stirred slightly, blinking up at them with sleepy eyes. Her lips wobbled, and for a moment, Cassian thought she might cry.

But then Nyx wiggled out of his grip, stumbling toward the bed, and Kaia’s little fingers reached for him immediately.

Nyx climbed up beside her carefully, curling into her side, one of his hands resting against her bandaged wing as if he could protect her from whatever had hurt her.

Cassian exhaled, his chest tight. He turned, stepping back toward the door where Azriel still stood, watching from the shadows.

Cassian met his brother’s gaze, the anger from earlier flaring up once again.

Azriel could feel it. He knew exactly how pissed Cassian was at him.

And he didn’t even try to defend himself.

Cassian clenched his jaw before looking back at the bed.

Kaia was safe. That was what mattered.

But Azriel had a hell of a lot to answer for.

Azriel stood motionless in the doorway, shadows coiling at his feet as he watched Nyx curl around Kaia like she was the most precious thing in the world. His daughter—his baby—was alive. That should have been enough to ease some of the storm raging inside of him.

It wasn’t.

Not when he could feel Cassian’s burning stare from across the room. Not when he could still hear your voice in his head, raw and broken, telling him you’d finally hit rock bottom.

His fingers twitched at his sides, his jaw locked so tightly it ached. He hadn’t slept in days. Hadn’t thought about anything except keeping Kaia safe.

But you had left.

And now Cassian was here, standing in his home, barely holding himself back.

Azriel braced himself for the inevitable as Cassian finally turned away from the bed, stepping toward him. His brother’s wings flared slightly, his chest rising and falling with the effort of holding back whatever was brewing inside him.

“Outside,” Cassian said, his voice a low growl.

Azriel just stared at him.

“I said outside.”

A muscle feathered in Azriel’s jaw, but he didn’t argue. Without a word, he turned and walked past Cassian, pushing the door open and stepping out into the cool, damp air of the Autumn woods.

Cassian followed, the door clicking shut behind them.

Azriel barely had a second before Cassian grabbed him by the collar of his leathers and shoved him back against the wooden exterior of the house.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Cassian seethed.

Azriel didn’t fight back. He just stared, his hazel eyes cold, unreadable.

Cassian shoved him again. “She came back to Velaris in tears, Az. She left here broken. And you let her.”

“She told me to go,” Azriel said flatly. “So I let her do the same.”

Cassian let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “You’re a fucking idiot.”

Azriel’s wings twitched. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what? Tell you the truth? Tell you that you pushed your own mate away when she was barely holding on?”

Azriel clenched his jaw. He wanted to tell Cassian that it wasn’t that simple. That you had told him to go back to work like Kaia would just magically be fine without him. That you, who had fought for her just as fiercely as he had, were now acting like you could just—just move on.

But deep down, he knew that wasn’t what you meant.

And it hadn’t been what you needed to hear.

Cassian’s grip loosened slightly, but his expression remained furious. “She’s grieving, Az. And instead of holding her through it, you made her feel like she was the only one hurting.”

Azriel exhaled slowly through his nose. His shadows twisted around his boots, restless.

“She still loves you,” Cassian added, his voice quieter now. “But you need to fix this before she starts believing otherwise.”

Azriel swallowed, his throat tight. He had never doubted your love for him—not even for a second.

Cassian’s grip on Azriel’s collar tightened, his knuckles going white. His breath was hot with rage, his chest heaving as he stared Azriel down.

“You still don’t get it, do you?” Cassian hissed. His wings flared, his entire body vibrating with barely restrained fury.

Azriel remained silent, his expression unreadable, but his shadows coiled tighter around him, reacting to the anger radiating off his brother.

Cassian let out a bitter, humourless laugh. “You think this is just about you? About your pride? Your pain?” His voice rose, his rage spilling over. “You have no idea what she’s feeling right now. No fucking idea.”

Azriel’s jaw clenched, his hazel eyes flashing dangerously. “I lost her too.”

Cassian shoved him hard, slamming him back against the wooden wall. “Then why the fuck are you acting like you didn’t?!” he bellowed.

Azriel’s wings flared, his own anger finally sparking to life, but Cassian didn’t give him a chance to speak.

“She sat in her room for two fucking weeks, Az. Two weeks, holding onto that teddy like it was the only thing keeping her together, crying herself to sleep, and you weren’t there!” Cassian’s voice cracked, but he pushed through it. “You chose not to be there.”

Azriel’s breath was heavy, uneven.

Cassian shook his head, disgusted. “She begged me not to tell you how bad it was. Because she still—still wanted to protect you. And you—you stood here, let her walk away, and fucking watched as she shattered.”

Azriel’s hands curled into fists at his sides. His shadows were writhing now, slithering across his boots, up his arms, reacting to the storm inside him.

“I’ve seen her broken before,” Cassian growled, voice low and raw. “But never like this. Not even after she lost her wings.”

Azriel’s entire body locked up. A deep, old pain flickered behind his eyes, but Cassian wasn’t done.

“She needed you. And you made her feel like she had no one.”

Azriel’s chest rose and fell, fast and uneven. His shadows had gone completely still.

Cassian released him with a sharp shove, stepping back. His voice was thick with fury and disappointment. “You need to fix this, Az.”

Azriel swallowed, his throat tight, his hands still clenched into fists.

Cassian exhaled sharply, shaking his head. Then, with one last glare, he turned and walked back inside, leaving Azriel alone in the cold, with nothing but his shadows and the weight of his mistakes.

Cassian ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply as he stepped back into the dimly lit room where Kaia and Nyx were. His anger still simmered beneath his skin, but he forced himself to push it down, to focus on what mattered—on them.

The soft glow of candlelight flickered against the walls, casting long shadows over the room. Kaia lay curled up on the plush bed, wrapped in thick blankets, her tiny form barely visible beneath them. Her wings—still bandaged, still healing—rested limply against the mattress.

Nyx sat beside her, his small hand gently stroking her hair as he whispered something Cassian couldn’t hear. His expression was heartbreakingly solemn, far too serious for a child his age.

Cassian sighed and walked over, his heavy boots barely making a sound on the wooden floor. Nyx looked up as he approached, his eyes wide with concern. “Uncle Cass?” he asked quietly. “Is everything okay?”

Cassian hesitated. No. Nothing is okay. But he couldn’t say that. Not to Nyx.

So instead, he forced a small, tired smile. “Yeah, kid. Just had to talk to your uncle Az.” His voice was rough, thick with lingering frustration.

Nyx studied him for a moment before nodding. He turned his attention back to Kaia, his fingers still brushing through her dark curls. “She was whimpering in her sleep,” he murmured. “I think she’s hurting.”

Cassian’s heart clenched. He carefully lowered himself onto the edge of the bed, his large hand resting near Kaia’s tiny fingers. Her breathing was soft, but uneven. Even in sleep, she looked fragile.

“Hey, sunshine,” Cassian whispered, leaning in slightly. “Uncle Cassie is here.”

Kaia stirred at his voice, her little brow furrowing. She let out a quiet whimper before shifting, her tiny fingers reaching blindly in her sleep. Without thinking, Cassian slid his hand into hers.

Her fingers curled weakly around his.

Cassian swallowed against the lump in his throat.

Nyx looked up at him again, his voice barely above a whisper. “Is Auntie Y/N coming soon?”

Cassian’s chest ached at the question. He knew Nyx had been missing his aunt, and Rhys had been trying to keep him distracted, but it wasn’t the same.

“She’ll come soon,” Cassian promised, though he wasn’t sure if that was true. He had no idea what was happening back at the River House. No idea if Azriel had finally pulled his head out of his ass and gone after his mate.

Kaia stirred again, her grip on his fingers tightening. Cassian instinctively reached out with his other hand, brushing her hair back gently.

“Sleep, sweetheart,” he murmured. “You’re safe.”

She let out a small sigh, shifting a little closer to Nyx, her breathing evening out once more.

Cassian glanced at Nyx, whose eyes were still on Kaia, filled with the same fierce protectiveness his father had.

“She’s gonna be okay, right?” Nyx asked, voice small.

Cassian hesitated for only a second before nodding. “Yeah, kid. She’s tough.”

Like her mother.

Like her father—if Azriel ever got his shit together.

Nyx nodded solemnly before snuggling closer to Kaia, his own little hand resting over hers.

Cassian let out a quiet breath, leaning back slightly, but he didn’t let go of Kaia’s hand. Not yet.

Because as much as he wanted to believe his own words, he wasn’t sure any of them would ever be okay again.

Eris strode into the room with his usual effortless grace, though there was an edge to his movements—a sharpness that hadn’t dulled since the night he had carried Kaia, bleeding and limp, through the forests of the Autumn Court. His amber eyes flickered over the space, first landing on Nyx curled beside Kaia, then shifting to Cassian, who was still seated on the edge of the bed, Kaia’s tiny hand wrapped around his own.

Cassian barely acknowledged him, his jaw clenched tight, his attention still on the sleeping girl.

Eris exhaled sharply, crossing his arms as he glanced around again. “Where are her parents?” His tone was even, but there was something pointed in it, something layered beneath the words.

Cassian lifted his gaze then, his expression unreadable. “Y/N’s at the River House,” he said gruffly. “Azriel—” He let out a humorless huff. “—he’s probably still brooding somewhere. Who the hell knows.”

Eris scoffed. “Typical.” He took a few slow steps into the room, his sharp eyes sweeping over Kaia once more. “I expected at least one of them to be here.”

Cassian’s grip tightened around Kaia’s little fingers, but he kept his voice steady. “Y/N just got back last night. She needed time.”

Eris hummed, but his gaze didn’t leave Kaia. “And Azriel?”

Cassian’s nostrils flared. He knew exactly what Eris was doing—pushing, needling, waiting to see if his words would strike a nerve, Nesta told him when she got back from Day that you and Eris used to be a thing so if this was the point Eris was trying to prove...

“He’ll show up,” Cassian muttered, though even he wasn’t sure if that was true.

Eris arched a brow. “Will he?”

Cassian shot him a warning look.

Eris merely lifted his hands in mock surrender. “I just find it interesting,” he said, voice almost casual. “That the moment his daughter is found—alive, though barely—he suddenly disappears.”

Cassian’s fists clenched, but before he could snap back, Nyx spoke.

“Uncle Az is coming,” he said quietly, his small voice firm despite the exhaustion lining it.

Cassian and Eris both looked at him, finding the young boy staring at Kaia, his little hand still resting protectively over hers.

Nyx looked up then, his violet eyes eerily serious. “He’ll come,” he repeated.

Eris let out a slow exhale before turning back to Cassian. “He better.” His voice was lower now, almost thoughtful. “Because if he doesn’t, I don’t think Y/N will ever forgive him.”

Cassian didn’t respond. He didn’t need to.

Because deep down, they both knew Eris was right.

Eris lingered by the door for a moment before stepping fully into the room, his sharp amber gaze locked onto Kaia’s small form. His usual mask of indifference was thinner today, barely concealing the tension in his shoulders, the flicker of something dangerously close to concern in his expression.

He exhaled through his nose, crossing his arms as he tilted his head slightly. “How is she?” His voice was quieter than before, the usual sharpness dulled.

Cassian shifted in his spot, still holding Kaia’s tiny fingers in his much larger hand. He hadn’t let go since he’d arrived, and it didn’t look like he planned to anytime soon. His hazel eyes, weary and shadowed, flickered up to Eris before he glanced back down at the sleeping girl.

“She’s alive,” he said gruffly, his voice thick. “But she’s weak.”

Eris took another step closer, his keen gaze raking over her small frame. Her face was pale, exhaustion lining every delicate feature. Even in sleep, there was a tightness around her eyes, a subconscious flinch every time she shifted too much. The bandages along her back, where the healer had worked tirelessly to repair the deep wounds at the base of her wings, were fresh—evidence that her injuries were still healing.

Eris’s jaw tightened. He had seen the blood, had held her as it soaked into his clothes. The sight of her now, fragile and unmoving, made something in his chest twist uncomfortably.

“And the wings?” he asked after a moment.

Cassian’s fingers curled slightly around Kaia’s hand, his other clenching into a fist on his thigh. His voice was low when he answered. “We don’t know yet.”

Eris didn’t move, didn’t react outright, but Cassian saw the way his fingers flexed at his sides, the way his expression turned even graver.

Silence stretched between them before Eris finally spoke again. “And Y/N?”

Cassian let out a long, tired breath, rubbing a hand over his face. “Not great.” He didn’t elaborate, but Eris didn’t need him to.

He already knew.

-----

The River House was quiet. Too quiet.

You stood by the window in the sitting room, arms wrapped tightly around yourself as you stared out at the Sidra. The water was dark beneath the early evening sky, its surface rippling with the wind that had begun to pick up. Normally, you found solace in this view, in the steady, unchanging flow of the river. But today, it felt hollow.

The house was nearly empty—Rhys was somewhere, likely still pouring over paperwork, and Feyre had yet to return from wherever she had gone. Only the occasional crackle of the fireplace and the distant sound of someone moving upstairs broke the silence.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of your sleeves. It had been hours since you winnowed away from Autumn, from Azriel. Hours since you’d stormed out, leaving him standing there. You had thought coming home would bring some kind of peace, that being here—away from everything—might help you breathe again.

But all you felt was emptiness.

Your eyes flickered to the small pile of Kaia’s things in the corner of the room. A few of her favourite books, a stuffed animal she’d left behind last time she was here. A blanket she used to curl up with on the couch. The sight of them made your throat close up.

She should be here. She should be running around, laughing, filling the house with her little voice. Instead, she was in Autumn, healing. And you weren’t there.

A lump formed in your throat, and you clenched your jaw, forcing down the sob threatening to rise.

You barely heard the footsteps approaching until a familiar presence settled nearby. Rhys didn’t say anything at first, just watched you, his violet eyes filled with something unreadable.

After a long moment, he finally spoke, voice quiet. “Y/N…”

You shook your head, not trusting yourself to speak.

But Rhys wasn’t fooled. He stepped closer, his expression softening. “I know you don’t want to talk,” he said, “but I need you to.”

You swallowed hard, still staring out the window. “There’s nothing to say.”

Rhys exhaled. “That’s a lie.”

Silence.

Then, barely above a whisper, you said, “I don’t know what to do.”

It was the first honest thing you had admitted in days. Maybe weeks.

Rhys hesitated before moving forward, wrapping his arms around you. The moment his warmth enveloped you, the dam broke. A choked sob escaped before you could stop it, and you clung to him, your body shaking as you buried your face in his chest.

His arms tightened around you. “I know,” he murmured, pressing a hand to the back of your head. “I know.”

And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself fall apart.

Your sobs wracked your body, the kind that stole the breath from your lungs, the kind that left you gasping. Rhys held you tightly, his hands steady against your back, but it did nothing to stop the storm raging inside of you.

“Why do I always fuck up?” you choked out against his chest, your voice barely audible, yet filled with a raw, gut-wrenching pain. “Why is it always me?”

Rhys flinched at your words, but he didn’t loosen his hold on you. If anything, he only held you tighter, as if he could somehow keep you from unravelling completely.

Your hands curled into the fabric of his tunic, clutching onto him like he was the only thing keeping you upright. “I should have known,” you whispered brokenly. “I should have done something—”

“Stop,” Rhys cut in, his voice firm but not unkind. “Y/N, you didn’t fail.”

You let out a bitter laugh against his chest. “Then why does it feel like I did?”

Rhys pulled back slightly, just enough to cup the sides of your face, forcing you to look at him. His violet eyes searched yours, filled with something raw, something unbreakable. “Because you love too much,” he said softly. “Because you love so fiercely that when something happens to the people you care about, you take it all onto yourself.”

Your vision blurred with tears. “But I was supposed to protect her.” Your voice cracked. “She’s my daughter, Rhys. And I wasn’t there.”

Rhys’ thumb brushed over your cheek, wiping away a stray tear. “And yet, she is still here. Still fighting.” His voice dropped to something even softer. “Because she has a mother who would burn the world down for her.”

A fresh wave of tears welled in your eyes, and your lip trembled. “I just…” You shook your head, your voice breaking entirely. “I don’t know how to fix this.”

Rhys sighed, pressing his forehead to yours. “You don’t have to fix it alone.” His voice was steady, grounding. “We will get through this. You and Azriel will get through this.”

You closed your eyes, letting his words settle, letting yourself breathe. But even as you clung to your brother, the weight in your chest remained, heavy and unyielding. Because deep down, you weren’t sure if you believed him.

You pulled away from Rhys, your hands slipping from his tunic as you took a shaky step back. The warmth of his embrace lingered, but it did nothing to soothe the hollow ache spreading through your chest.

He watched you carefully, his violet eyes scanning your face, waiting, bracing. He had seen you angry before, devastated before. But this… this was something else entirely.

Your throat was raw from crying, but your voice came out steady—too steady. “I don’t think there’s anything left to fix.”

Rhys blinked, his brows furrowing as if he hadn’t heard you right. “Y/N—”

“I mean it,” you cut in, shaking your head. “Azriel and I… We’re not the same anymore. And I don’t know if we ever will be.”

Rhys’ jaw tensed, but he didn’t say anything, letting you continue.

“I’ve spent years believing in us. In our bond. No matter how bad things got, I always thought we’d make it through.” Your voice wavered, your fingers curling into fists at your sides. “But now? Now I don’t even know who we are.”

Rhys exhaled slowly, his shoulders stiff. “You’re grieving, Y/N. Both of you are. You’ve been through hell, and—”

“I know what I’m saying,” you interrupted, your eyes burning with fresh tears. “I know how I feel.”

Rhys’ expression darkened slightly. “So, what? You’re just giving up?”

You let out a bitter laugh, void of humour. “I’m not giving up. I’m realizing that maybe, just maybe, some things aren’t meant to be saved.”

Silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating.

Rhys stared at you for a long moment before running a hand down his face, exhaling sharply. “Does Azriel know you feel this way?”

You swallowed, looking away. “I don’t think he cares.”

Rhys’ expression hardened. “That’s not true.”

You scoffed. “Isn’t it? He looks at me like I’m a stranger. Like I’m the enemy.” Your voice broke, but you pushed through. “And I can’t keep fighting for something he doesn’t want to fight for.”

Rhys sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Y/N, you and Azriel have spent centuries building a life together. You’ve survived wars, loss, everything. Don’t let this be what breaks you.”

You shook your head, your vision blurring. “I think we were already broken.”

Rhys reached for you then, his hands settling on your arms, grounding you. “Just… don’t make any decisions right now,” he murmured. “Not while everything still hurts.”

Your lips parted, but no words came out. Because deep down, you weren’t sure if this pain would ever go away.

Sobs tore from your throat, raw and unrelenting, the weight of everything crashing down all at once. Rhys lowered you both to the floor, his arms wrapping around you, anchoring you even as you shattered.

“I—” You tried to speak, but the words were swallowed by another choked sob. Your chest ached, your entire body trembling as you buried your face against Rhys’ shoulder. “I don’t know what to do anymore, Rhys. I—” Another sob ripped through you. “I don’t know how to fix this.”

His grip tightened, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other rubbing soothing circles against your back. “You don’t have to figure it all out right now,” he murmured, voice thick with emotion. “Just breathe, Y/N. Just breathe.”

But you couldn’t.

Every breath came out shaky, uneven, the grief clawing at your throat like it was trying to consume you whole. The weight of the past weeks—losing Kaia, the helplessness, the distance between you and Azriel—pressed down on you, suffocating.

Tears soaked through Rhys’ shirt, but he didn’t seem to care. He just held you, rocking you slightly, his own breathing uneven as if your pain was his, too.

Your fingers clutched at him, desperate for something, anything to keep you from falling apart completely. “I feel so empty, Rhys.” The admission came out in a broken whisper. “Like there’s nothing left of me.”

His arms tightened around you. “You’re still here. You’re still you.”

You let out a gasping sob, shaking your head. “I don’t feel like me.”

Rhys swallowed hard, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Then let me hold onto you until you do.”

And so he did.

Minutes passed—maybe hours—as you sobbed into your brother’s arms, the storm inside you refusing to settle. And still, Rhys held you, unwavering, refusing to let you drown.

-----

Azriel sat in the chair by Kaia’s bedside, his elbows braced on his knees, hands clasped together so tightly his knuckles had turned white. He hadn’t moved in hours. Not since Cassian had stormed in, not since Nyx had curled up beside Kaia on the bed, keeping her company while she rested.

He barely even blinked.

The quiet of the room was suffocating. The only sounds were the soft breaths of the children and the distant crackle of a fire from the sitting room. But even that warmth couldn’t reach him.

Not when the only warmth he had ever known had left.

His shadows curled restlessly around him, mirroring the storm inside him. He knew where you were. Could feel the bond, muted and distant but still there. Still holding. But he didn’t know if you would come back. Didn’t know if he deserved for you to.

A sharp knock at the door made him tense, but he didn’t look up. Didn’t move.

“Az.”

Cassian.

Azriel exhaled slowly, forcing himself to unclench his jaw. “What.” His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.

Cassian sighed, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. He crossed the room in a few long strides, dragging a chair closer before sinking into it with a heavy thud. He didn’t speak right away, just sat there, watching Azriel with an expression Az couldn’t decipher.

Finally, Cassian leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. “She’s at the River House.”

Azriel didn’t react, didn’t let the flicker of relief show on his face. But Cassian knew him too well.

“She’s a mess, Az,” Cassian continued, voice softer now. “Rhys had to carry her to bed. She hasn’t slept. She’s barely eaten. And—” He exhaled sharply. “She thinks it’s over.”

Azriel’s head snapped up at that. His eyes, rimmed with exhaustion, locked onto Cassian’s. “What?”

Cassian hesitated, but then, with brutal honesty, said, “She told Rhys she doesn’t think there’s anything left to fix.”

Azriel’s breath left him in a sharp exhale, his wings twitching, his body going rigid.

Cassian’s gaze softened, but his tone was firm. “You need to go to her, Az.”

Azriel shook his head, looking away. “She told me to go. To leave.”

“And you actually listened?” Cassian scoffed, shaking his head. “Since when do you give up that easily?”

Azriel’s fingers dug into his knees. “She said she’s hit rock bottom.” His voice cracked, and he hated himself for it. “She said she never thought she could look at me and feel nothing.”

Cassian’s expression darkened, but he didn’t look surprised. “Then prove her wrong.”

Azriel’s jaw clenched. “She doesn’t want me there.”

Cassian huffed. “Maybe not right now. But she needs you, Az. And you need her.”

Silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. Azriel’s eyes drifted back to Kaia, still fast asleep, her small frame curled up beneath the blankets. Her little hands clutched the stuffed dragon Nyx had given her.

His daughter. His mate. His entire world was slipping through his fingers.

And he was just sitting here, letting it happen.

Cassian stood, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “You’re one of the most stubborn bastards I’ve ever met,” he said. “Use that. Go fight for her.”

Azriel didn’t move as Cassian left the room, the door clicking shut behind him.

He just sat there, staring at his daughter, his mind spinning.

And then, finally, he stood.

Azriel winnowed straight into the River House, his boots landing silently on the polished wooden floors of the foyer. The moment he arrived, his shadows recoiled, sensing the heavy weight of sorrow clinging to the air. It was quieter than usual. No laughter, no chatter. Just the distant crackle of a fire somewhere deeper inside the house.

His heart pounded as he took a step forward, his wings tucking tightly against his back. The dim candlelight flickered against the dark walls, casting long shadows that danced with his own. He could feel you. Somewhere in this house, you were here. Broken. Hurting.

And he had caused it.

A figure moved in the doorway ahead, and Rhys appeared, leaning against the threshold of the sitting room, arms crossed over his chest. His violet eyes raked over Azriel, assessing, exhausted.

“You finally grew a pair,” Rhys muttered, pushing off the doorframe.

Azriel ignored the jab. His throat felt tight as he asked, “Where is she?”

Rhys exhaled through his nose, studying him for a moment before jerking his chin toward the staircase. “Upstairs. Her room.”

His room. Theirs.

Azriel swallowed hard, nodding once before moving past Rhys. But before he could reach the stairs, his brother’s voice stopped him.

“She hasn’t slept in days,” Rhys said quietly. “And she won’t talk about it, but I know she thinks this is the end.”

Azriel’s hands curled into fists.

Rhys hesitated, then added, “Fix it.”

Azriel didn’t respond, just started up the stairs, each step heavier than the last. The house was eerily silent, and with each door he passed, the weight in his chest grew.

When he finally reached their room, he hesitated.

The door was slightly ajar, candlelight spilling into the hallway. He could hear your breathing—uneven, strained.

Guilt clawed at him.

Slowly, he pushed the door open.

And there you were.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, knees drawn to your chest, one of Kaia’s stuffed animals clutched in your arms. Your eyes were red-rimmed, face streaked with dried tears. You didn’t even look up when he entered, your gaze locked onto some invisible point on the floor.

Azriel felt like the air had been stolen from his lungs.

He had seen you strong. He had seen you furious. He had seen you in pain.

But this—this hollow, shattered version of you—he had never seen before.

And it terrified him.

He closed the door behind him, the soft click making you flinch.

His voice was hoarse when he finally spoke. “Y/N.”

Your fingers curled tighter around the stuffed animal. Still, you didn’t look at him.

Azriel took a slow step forward, his heart hammering in his chest. He didn’t know what to say, what to do, to fix this. He had always known how to mend broken things. Swords. Strategies. Wounds.

But this?

This was you. His mate. His love. And he had broken you.

So he did the only thing he could think of.

He crossed the room in three steps, sinking onto his knees in front of you, his hands trembling as they reached for yours. You tensed at his touch, but you didn’t pull away.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his forehead resting against the back of your hands. “I don’t know how to fix this, but I need you to tell me how.”

For a long moment, you didn’t respond.

And then, in a voice so quiet he almost missed it, you said, “I don’t think you can.”

Azriel felt like he had been gutted.

Your words hung between you, heavier than anything he had ever carried. His wings drooped slightly, his fingers tightening around yours as if he could somehow anchor you to him, to this bond that now felt so fragile, so breakable.

“I don’t accept that,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “I won’t accept that.”

You let out a hollow, humourless laugh, finally looking at him. Your eyes were dull, lifeless. “Then you’re a fool.”

Azriel flinched.

“I have nothing left, Azriel,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “Nothing. I lost my mother. I lost my sister. I lost my wings. And now—” You sucked in a sharp breath, shaking your head. “I almost lost our daughter. And you—” Your hands slipped from his grasp as you pulled away from him, wrapping your arms around yourself. “You weren’t there. You shut me out. You let me break alone.”

Azriel’s throat felt raw, his shadows writhing around him in distress. “I didn’t know how to fix it,” he admitted. “How to make it better.”

“I didn’t need you to fix it!” Your voice was suddenly sharp, filled with something closer to anger now. “I needed you to be here! To sit with me in the fucking wreckage instead of running off like that would solve anything!”

Azriel’s jaw clenched, his wings flexing slightly. “I thought—” He exhaled roughly, rubbing a hand over his face. “I thought if I just kept searching, if I just kept moving, then I wouldn’t have to face it.” His hands dropped into his lap, and he met your gaze, raw and open. “I was terrified, Y/N. I have never been more afraid in my entire life.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line, your eyes shining with fresh tears.

“I failed you,” Azriel said, barely above a whisper. “I failed our daughter. And I don’t know how to come back from that.”

Silence settled between you, thick and suffocating.

And then, you whispered, “I don’t know if we can.”

Azriel’s stomach twisted violently, panic clawing up his throat.

No.

He refused to believe that.

“Please,” he said, his voice breaking. “Please don’t say that.”

You looked away, your fingers gripping Kaia’s stuffed animal like it was the only thing keeping you together.

Azriel reached for you again, his hands cradling your face, forcing you to look at him. “I love you,” he murmured, desperate, his thumbs brushing over your damp cheeks. “I love you more than anything, and I will do whatever it takes to fix this. To fix us.”

Your lips parted slightly, and for a second—just a second—he thought you might believe him.

But then your eyes filled with more tears, and you slowly pulled away.

“I don’t know if love is enough this time, Azriel.”

And those words shattered him completely.

Azriel stood frozen, your words echoing in his head like a death knell.

He had faced wars, endured centuries of pain, lived through the worst kind of suffering, but nothing—nothing—had ever felt like this. Like his very soul was being torn from him.

You turned away from him, your back shaking with barely restrained sobs. You didn’t want to fight anymore. You didn’t even have the energy to be angry. You were just…done.

Azriel took a step forward, but something in your posture made him hesitate. He had pushed you too far. He had let you break apart alone, and now, when he finally wanted to piece things back together, you weren’t sure if there was anything left to mend.

He swallowed, his voice rough. “Y/N…”

But you shook your head. “I can’t right now, Azriel.”

His wings drooped further, his hands curling into fists at his sides. He wanted to argue, to plead, to tell you that he would spend the rest of his life making this right. But you looked so exhausted, so broken, and he knew that pushing any further would only widen the distance between you.

So he stepped back.

“Okay,” he murmured, though it felt like the hardest thing he had ever said.

He turned toward the door, hesitating only for a second, hoping—praying—that you would call him back. That you would tell him to stay.

But you didn’t.

And so Azriel left, feeling more lost than he ever had before.

Azriel barely made it down the hall before he heard Rhysand’s footsteps behind him.

“You bastard,” Rhys bit out, his voice low but sharp.

Azriel exhaled slowly, trying to steady himself before turning. He didn’t get the chance. Rhys was already there, grabbing him by the front of his leathers, shoving him back against the nearest wall.

“I told you to fix it,” Rhys snarled. “Not to make it worse.”

Azriel didn’t resist, didn’t push back. He let Rhys hold him there, let him release the fury Azriel knew he deserved. He felt like a ghost of himself, hollow and lost, his own shadows recoiling from him.

“She doesn’t want to fix it,” Azriel muttered, voice rough. “She—” His throat closed up. He swallowed hard, forcing the words out. “She doesn’t think there’s anything left to fix.”

Rhys’ grip tightened, his violet eyes burning with anger and something deeper—something almost desperate. “Then make her believe there is.”

Azriel clenched his jaw, looking away. “I don’t know how.”

Rhys let out a harsh breath and released him, stepping back. He ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in every line of his body. “Az,” he said, quieter this time. “She’s drowning. And you—her mate, her husband—just walked away.”

Azriel squeezed his eyes shut.

“You fought for her once,” Rhys said. “Fought like hell for her. Are you really going to let it end like this?”

Azriel’s hands curled into fists at his sides. He had spent two weeks searching relentlessly for Kaia, had given everything he had left to finding their daughter. But somehow, in the process, he had lost you.

And now, standing here, feeling like the biggest failure in existence, he realized—he couldn’t let that happen.

He opened his eyes, meeting Rhysand’s gaze.

“I won’t,” Azriel said, voice filled with quiet, unyielding determination. “I won’t let it end like this.”

Rhysand held his gaze for a long moment, searching, assessing. Then he gave a sharp nod, stepping back fully.

“Good,” he said. But there was no relief in his voice. Only expectation. “Then fix it.”

Azriel inhaled deeply, steadying himself. His feet moved before his mind had fully caught up, carrying him down the familiar hall toward your shared room. The door was closed, and for a moment, he hesitated. He had no idea what he would find on the other side. No idea if you would even listen to him.

But he had to try.

Slowly, he pushed the door open.

The sight of you knocked the breath from his lungs.

You sat on the edge of the bed, your back to him, shoulders hunched. Your hands clutched one of Kaia’s teddies, holding it against your chest like a lifeline. Even from across the room, he could hear the quiet, broken sniffles.

Azriel swallowed hard, his heart clenching painfully.

He stepped inside, closing the door softly behind him. You didn’t react, didn’t even lift your head.

He took another step. And then another. Until he was standing just behind you.

“I know I’ve hurt you,” he said, voice quiet but steady. “I know I’ve made everything worse. And I know I don’t deserve it, but—please. Look at me.”

Silence.

For a moment, he thought you wouldn’t.

But then, slowly, you turned.

And when your eyes finally met his, filled with so much pain, so much anger, so much exhaustion—Azriel felt like he might break apart entirely.

Azriel didn’t move, barely breathed as he took you in. The dark circles under your eyes, the redness in them from days—weeks—of crying. The way your lips trembled, like you wanted to say something, scream something, but didn’t have the strength to.

And then, in a voice so hoarse and tired it nearly destroyed him, you whispered, “Why are you here, Azriel?”

He opened his mouth, but for once in his life, he didn’t know what to say.

To apologize? To beg? To tell you he loved you, even if right now, you weren’t sure you could believe it?

“I—” he tried, but the words caught in his throat.

Your eyes flashed with something sharp, something broken.

“You left me,” you said, your voice shaking. “You let me sit in that room alone for weeks while our daughter fought for her life. You let me feel like I had to hold everything together while you buried yourself in your own grief.”

Azriel flinched. He wanted to argue, to say that he had been searching, that he had been doing everything he could to bring Kaia home, to keep himself from completely shattering.

But you weren’t wrong.

And he knew—knew—that the worst thing he could do right now was try to defend himself.

So he didn’t.

“I know,” he admitted instead, voice barely above a whisper. “I know, and I’m so damn sorry. I thought—I thought I was doing the right thing, keeping busy, trying to fix it. But I wasn’t fixing anything. I was just running.”

You let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “And now you decide to come back?”

Azriel’s throat tightened. “I should have come back sooner.”

Your jaw clenched, and when you looked away, Azriel felt something in his chest cave in.

“But I’m here now,” he continued, voice raw. “And I’ll stay. If you’ll let me.”

Silence stretched between you.

Then, your voice so quiet it was nearly swallowed by the space between you, you asked, “What if I don’t know if I want you to?”

Azriel swallowed hard. He had never felt fear like this. Not in war, not in battle. This—this uncertainty, this possibility of losing you—it was worse than anything.

But he nodded. Because this wasn’t about him.

“I’ll wait,” he said, meaning every word. “As long as it takes.”

Your throat was tight, raw from the sobs that had wracked through you before Azriel arrived. You had told yourself—sworn to yourself—that you wouldn’t ask. That you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing you still cared, that you still needed to hear it from him.

But the words slipped past your lips anyway, fragile and desperate.

“How is she?”

Azriel exhaled sharply, his wings shifting behind him. He looked exhausted—more than exhausted. He looked hollow. Like whatever had been keeping him upright was barely holding on.

“She’s…” He hesitated, as if he wasn’t sure how to answer. “She’s getting better.”

Your hands curled into fists at your sides. “That’s not an answer, Azriel.”

His jaw tightened, but when he spoke again, his voice was gentler. “The healer says she’s improving, but it’s slow. She’s in pain. Her wings…” He broke off, shaking his head. “She won’t fly for a long time, if ever.”

The air left your lungs like you’d been struck.

If ever.

Your sweet, beautiful daughter—grounded.

A quiet, strangled sound left you, and Azriel took a step toward you, instinctively reaching out. You flinched back.

He froze.

You didn’t mean to do it. You knew he wasn’t the enemy, that he wasn’t the one who had hurt her. But the space between you felt like a canyon, one neither of you knew how to cross anymore.

“She asked for you,” he said softly. “Every minute.”

Tears welled in your eyes, burning hot as they slipped down your cheeks.

“I should have been there,” you whispered.

Azriel’s face twisted, like he wanted to argue but knew he had no right.

“She’ll be okay,” he said, though he didn’t sound entirely sure. “She’s strong, just like you.”

Your voice broke as you whispered, “I don’t feel strong.”

Azriel’s hands curled into fists at his sides. Like it physically pained him to hear you say that.

“She needs you,” he said after a moment. “And I—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “Come back with me.”

You looked away.

You didn’t know if you could.

The sob burst out of you before you could stop it—raw and jagged, ripped straight from your chest. Your hands trembled too much to grip it properly. The weight of everything, of Kaia’s pain, of Azriel’s voice, of the unbearable hollow ache inside you—it was too much.

A gasp tore from your throat, and then another, and suddenly you couldn’t stop. Your shoulders shook violently as the sobs wracked through you, your breath coming in uneven, desperate gasps. Your hands covered your face, as if that could somehow hold you together, but the moment you closed your eyes, all you could see was Kaia.

Your baby, broken.

You bent forward, pressing your forehead against your hands, trying to breathe, trying to think past the agony that had settled deep in your ribs. But all you could do was sob harder, the sound echoing through the room.

Azriel was in front of you in an instant, kneeling, his hands hovering, unsure if he was allowed to touch you. “YN,” he whispered, his voice tight, pained.

You shook your head frantically, curling in on yourself, your hands fisting into your shirt as if you could claw the grief out of your chest. Your breath hitched, too fast, too shallow, and for a terrifying moment, you thought you might not be able to breathe at all.

Azriel’s hands finally found your shoulders, grounding, steady. “I’ve got you,” he murmured. “Breathe with me, love. Just breathe.”

But you couldn’t. You were drowning, lost in the unbearable weight of your daughter’s suffering, of everything that had been shattered between you and the only person who was supposed to understand.

“I c-can’t,” you gasped between sobs, shaking your head, your vision swimming. “Azriel, I can’t—I can’t—”

His hands tightened slightly, warm and firm, as he moved closer. “Yes, you can,” he whispered, his forehead pressing against yours now, his breath steady despite the anguish in his voice. “You’re not alone.”

But you had never felt more alone in your entire life.

Azriel didn’t hesitate this time. The second he saw you breaking apart, crumbling under the weight of everything, he pulled you against him, his arms wrapping around you tightly. His wings curled around you both, shielding you from the world, as if that alone could keep you safe from the pain tearing through you.

You didn’t resist. You didn’t have the strength to. The second his warmth surrounded you, you collapsed against his chest, sobbing so hard that your entire body shook with each ragged breath.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, his voice raw, his lips pressing against the crown of your head. “I’ve got you, love.”

His hands moved slowly, one stroking up and down your back, the other cradling the back of your head, holding you as if you might shatter completely if he let go. His touch was gentle, reverent—so achingly familiar that it only made you sob harder.

“I know,” he whispered, rocking you slightly, his voice barely more than a breath. “I know, YN. Just let it out.”

You clung to him, your fingers curling into his tunic as you buried your face in his chest. His scent surrounded you—night-chilled mist and cedar and something distinctly Azriel—and it only made the ache in your heart worse.

“I c-can’t do this,” you gasped between sobs. “I can’t—Azriel, I can’t.”

“Yes, you can,” he said firmly, his hand sliding into your hair, his fingers threading through it in slow, soothing strokes. “You’re the strongest person I know, YN. You have always been strong.”

You shook your head against him, your body still trembling. “Not anymore.”

His grip on you tightened, his wings pressing closer, wrapping you in warmth. “That’s not true,” he said quietly. “You are still you. Even if it feels like you’re falling apart, you’re still here. You’re still fighting.”

Your sobs slowed just slightly, your breathing still uneven, but no longer the desperate gasps of before. His fingers traced slow, steady circles against your back, grounding you, anchoring you to him.

“I need her back,” you whispered brokenly, your voice barely audible.

Azriel swallowed hard, his chin resting atop your head. “I know,” he murmured. “We’ll get her back, love. I swear it.”

Your hands fisted tighter in his tunic, as if holding onto him was the only thing keeping you from completely unravelling. His steady heartbeat thudded against your cheek, a quiet rhythm that, for the first time in days, gave you something to hold on to.

And even though the pain was still there, even though the ache in your chest felt like it might never fade, you let yourself sink into his warmth, into the arms of the only person who had ever truly understood you.

You sniffled, your breath still uneven as you rested against Azriel’s chest. His warmth, his steady presence, was the only thing keeping you from completely falling apart. But it wasn’t enough—not yet. Not when your heart still ached with a desperation so deep it felt like it might consume you.

“I need to see her,” you whispered, your voice hoarse from crying.

Azriel tensed slightly beneath you, his arms tightening around you as if he was afraid you’d slip through his fingers. “YN…”

“No,” you said, shaking your head, pulling back just enough to look up at him. Your face was still streaked with tears, your eyes swollen and red, but there was no hesitation in your voice. “I need to see my daughter, Azriel. I need to hold her.”

His jaw clenched, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. “She’s still healing,” he said carefully. “She’s fragile, YN. Moving her could—”

“I’m not asking to take her away from there,” you cut in sharply. “I just want to be with her. I just—I need to see her.”

Azriel exhaled slowly, searching your face as if trying to gauge whether you could handle it. Whether he could handle it. But you knew him—you knew that he wanted the same thing. That despite everything, he was still terrified of seeing her like that, of feeling helpless when all he wanted was to fix it.

But he wouldn’t tell you no. He couldn’t.

“I’ll take you,” he said finally, his voice soft but firm. “I’ll take you to her.”

You let out a shaky breath, nodding as your fingers gripped his tunic once more.

Azriel pressed a kiss to your forehead, lingering for a moment before he whispered, “Hold on to me.”

And as he winnowed you away, your heart pounded in your chest, equal parts fear and hope battling within you. Because in just a few moments, you would see her again. And you didn’t know if you could bear it.

-----

Cassian sat in the chair beside Kaia’s small bed, his arms crossed over his broad chest, his jaw tight with barely contained fury. The dim glow of the faelights cast long shadows across the room, flickering softly against the delicate features of the sleeping child beside him. Nyx sat on the edge of the mattress, tiny fingers gently brushing over Kaia’s hand, his little brows furrowed in concern.

“She’s so small,” Nyx whispered, barely loud enough for Cassian to hear.

Cassian’s throat tightened. He knew. He knew all too well. Kaia looked impossibly fragile, her wings carefully bandaged, her skin still pale from blood loss. Even in sleep, she winced slightly, the pain still present even through the healer’s efforts. It made something sharp twist in his chest.

He reached over, smoothing a hand over Nyx’s dark hair. “She’s strong,” he murmured. “Like her mother. Like her father.”

Nyx nodded solemnly, but his eyes didn’t leave Kaia. “When will she wake up?”

Cassian sighed, his fingers curling into a fist in his lap. “Soon, bud. The healers said she needs rest.”

Nyx was quiet for a long moment before he said, “Mama would sing to me when I was sick.”

Cassian’s chest ached. He knew that, too. Feyre had done the same for him when he’d been recovering after the war. He swallowed hard, glancing at Kaia before looking back at Nyx. “Do you want to sing to her?”

Nyx hesitated, then gave a small nod. His voice was quiet, soft, a child’s lullaby barely above a whisper. Cassian closed his eyes for a moment, listening, letting the melody settle over him like a blanket.

Then he heard the distinct shift of air behind him—the subtle sound of winnowing. His eyes snapped open, and he turned just in time to see Azriel and YN step into the doorway.

And the second YN saw her daughter, Cassian saw the breath leave her lungs.

YN didn’t move at first. She just stood there, frozen in the doorway, her eyes locked onto the tiny form of her daughter lying in the bed. Azriel was beside her, his hand hovering near the small of her back, as if ready to steady her if she collapsed.

Cassian watched as her expression crumbled. She made a sound—half a sob, half a breathless whisper—and then she was moving.

“Kaia,” YN choked out, her voice breaking as she rushed forward.

Nyx quickly moved aside as YN fell to her knees beside the bed, her shaking hands reaching out but stopping just short of touching her daughter, as if she were afraid that any contact might shatter her.

Cassian saw the tears spill freely down her face as she finally—finally—placed a hand over Kaia’s tiny fingers, her touch impossibly gentle.

“She’s okay,” Cassian murmured, his voice softer now. “She’s healing.”

YN let out a shaky breath, her other hand coming up to brush a few strands of hair away from Kaia’s face. “My baby,” she whispered.

Azriel still hadn’t moved. He was standing a few steps away, his shadows curling around his shoulders as he stared at Kaia, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. His face was unreadable, but Cassian could see the tension in his jaw, the storm in his hazel eyes.

Kaia stirred slightly at her mother’s touch, her little brows furrowing, and YN let out a quiet sob, pressing a trembling kiss to her daughter’s forehead.

Cassian stood, giving Azriel a look before motioning to Nyx. “Come on, bud. Let’s give them a moment.”

Nyx hesitated but nodded, casting one last glance at Kaia before taking Cassian’s hand. They stepped toward the door, and Cassian briefly clapped a hand on Azriel’s shoulder as he passed, grounding him. Azriel didn’t react, just kept staring at his daughter.

As Cassian and Nyx left the room, he heard YN whispering Kaia’s name over and over, like she was trying to convince herself that she was really here. That she was safe.

Kaia stirred beneath YN’s trembling hands, a soft whimper escaping her lips as her little body shifted against the blankets. Her brows furrowed as if sensing the weight of exhaustion and pain still lingering in her small frame.

YN sucked in a sharp breath, her fingers tightening around Kaia’s hand. “Kaia?” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

Azriel stepped closer, his breath caught in his throat as he watched their daughter’s lashes flutter. It was the first real movement she had made since they’d arrived.

Kaia’s tiny fingers twitched beneath YN’s, and then, sluggishly, her eyes cracked open.

“Mama…” The word was faint, barely more than a breath, but it shattered something deep inside YN.

She let out a sob of relief, brushing her fingers gently over Kaia’s warm, flushed cheek. “I’m here, baby. I’m right here.”

Kaia blinked sluggishly, her little lips parting as if trying to form more words. Her gaze, unfocused and glassy, shifted slightly, searching.

Then, in a broken, hoarse voice, she whimpered, “Dada?”

Azriel made a sound—one that was almost a strangled breath. He dropped to his knees beside the bed, his shaking hands hesitating just above Kaia’s tiny body.

“I’m here, sweet girl,” he rasped, his voice barely holding together. “I’m right here.”

Kaia’s small fingers curled slightly, as if reaching for him, and that was all it took. Azriel’s hands gently enveloped her tiny one, his shadows retreating for the first time in weeks as he pressed a trembling kiss to her palm.

YN let out a watery laugh between her sobs, smoothing Kaia’s tangled curls. “You’re so strong, my love. So strong.”

Kaia blinked up at them both, her little body weak, but the warmth of her parents surrounding her seemed to settle her.

Then, in the softest, sleepiest voice, she whispered, “Home?”

YN bit back another sob, leaning down to kiss her daughter’s forehead. “Soon, sweetheart,” she promised. “Soon, we’ll go home.”

Kaia’s lashes fluttered as she drifted back into sleep, her breathing deep and even.

Azriel exhaled shakily, his forehead pressing against YN’s as they clung to each other, holding onto the one thing that mattered most.

One more part left...

#acotar #acotar x reader #azriel acotar #azriel x reader #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x oc #azriel fanfic #azriel spymaster #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #azriel imagine #acotar fanfiction #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #az

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jacquitries · 5 months ago

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In This Life and The Next | J.P.

You were Harry Potter’s best friend, but loss drove you to steal a Time-Turner which accidentally trapped you in the past — before Harry, before the war.

You swore to keep your distance, but James Potter makes that impossible. The past wasn’t meant to hold you, and falling for him was never part of the plan. And yet you did anyway.

(Due to popular demand, I have made a part 2 as well haha. You may read it here.)

𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

The weight of the past clings to you like a ghost. You were the hidden fourth member of the so-called Golden Trio, an irony that never ceased to amuse you. A Slytherin among Gryffindors, careful with your image, wary of the ever-watchful eyes of your housemates. Most never associated you with them—not in the day-to-day sense—but when the battles came, you were there.

Until it all fell apart.

Fifth year was meant to be another battle fought in the shadows, Another war where your role remained unseen, unnoticed.

But the fight at the Ministry of Magic exposed you. Your parents saw the truth. Saw where your loyalty truly lay as you stood beside Harry, wand raised, defying everything they had tried to make you be.

And then Sirius was gone.

Harry was shattered. You had already lost Cedric the year before, now you had lost Sirius too; and the war had only just begun.

You should have been smarter. You should have been careful.

But in the deafening quiet of loss, desperation clawed at your throat. And so, the Time-Turner was yours.

Or it had been. Before Filch’s mangy cat caught a whiff of your presence, Before the old squib’s voice rang out like a death sentence, Before you turned too quickly, and the fragile magic of time cracked beneath your fingertips.

A light, too bright to comprehend. A force, too strong to fight. And then, silence.

When you wake, the air is wrong. It’s thinner, richer, Like Hogwarts itself has taken a breath it hasn’t in years. Your body knows before your mind does.

The halls stretch before you, Unchanged yet entirely foreign. Time has unraveled, and you with it.

Dumbledore. You need Dumbledore.

Your feet take off before you can even process, A silent incantation for speed, A wish against all logic that this is just a dream. A terrible, cruel trick of fate.

Then, four figures round the corner. Books clutched in their hands, laughter bright as the sun—

You don’t have time to stop. And neither do they.

Impact. A tumble of limbs, parchment scattering like autumn leaves, And suddenly, you are staring into a pair of hazel flecked with gold. Obscured behind glass, but still shining. Still burning.

He’s beneath you, startled and wide-eyed, chest rising, breath mingling with your own. For a moment, the world tilts. And then you remember where you are.

You shove yourself up, heart hammering, muttering a curt, "Sorry." A flick of your hand, a rush of raw magic. Every book, every page, lifts into the air, Falling back into their arms as if nothing had ever happened.

"How—?"

You don’t stay to hear the end of the question. Their voices chase after you, stunned, breathless.

"Wait!" "Come back!"

But you are already gone, racing towards an office where a wizard waits. The gargoyle shifts with a whispered password— Sherbet Lemon. And then—

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkle with quiet understanding, A knowing smile curving his lips as he watches you catch your breath.

"To whom," he says, voice like an old melody, "Do I owe the pleasure of meeting?"

𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

You sit across from Dumbledore, his piercing blue eyes studying you with the quiet patience of a man who has seen far too much. There’s no point in holding anything back. You’ve learned the hard way that the old wizard always knows more than he lets on. So you lay it all out—the Ministry, your parents, the Time-Turner, the light, the fall through time. Everything.

He listens without interruption, nodding in places, steepling his fingers as he considers your words. When you finish, he reaches for the remnants of your shattered Time-Turner. His expression turns grave as he turns it over in his palm.

“This,” he says, “is beyond repair, at least by conventional means.”

You swallow hard, gripping the arms of your chair. The weight of his words settles over you like a stone. You had held onto the hope, however slim, that fixing it would be a simple matter. That there would be some ancient magic, some forgotten spell, something that could set this all right. But Dumbledore’s voice leaves no room for false hope.

“Other Time-Turners exist, of course,” he continues, “but using them while already displaced in time could be… catastrophic. It is a risk we cannot take.”

You stare at him, your mind racing. “Then what am I supposed to do?”

Dumbledore smiles gently. “For now, you will remain here. You must be cautious. The future you know is still in flux. If we are to find a way to send you back without unraveling the very fabric of time, it will take patience and great care.”

You exhale, trying to keep the panic at bay. “And what am I supposed to do in the meantime?”

“You will be a student,” he says simply. “Blend in, keep your head down, and trust that I will do my utmost to find a way forward for you.”

He pauses, then adds, “You are, as it turns out, approximately twenty years early. Voldemort’s influence is growing, but war has not yet darkened these halls.”

The knowledge does little to comfort you. The storm is brewing. You’re stuck in the past, an era on the cusp of war. And the people you know—the people you love—are either mere children or not even born yet.

“To help you adjust, I will have the fifth-year Slytherin prefect assist you,” Dumbledore says, rising from his seat and moving toward his fireplace. He tosses a handful of powder into the flames, calling out, “Evan Rosier.”

You recognize the name instantly. A Slytherin. A future Death Eater. A name written in blood and war.

Moments later, a tall, dark-haired boy steps into the office. He carries himself with an easy confidence, his sharp eyes scanning you with curiosity before flicking toward Dumbledore.

“Ah, Professor,” Evan greets, his voice rich with charm. “How may I be of assistance?”

Dumbledore gestures toward you. “Miss Y/L/N is a transfer student joining us rather late in the year. I trust you’ll help her find her footing?”

Evan turns his full attention to you, flashing an effortless smile. “Well, well. A new face in Slytherin. Don’t worry, darling, you’re in good hands.”

You eye him warily, but there’s no hostility in his gaze, only amusement. You nod, allowing yourself a small, relieved smile. Whatever else he may become, right now, he’s your best chance at surviving this timeline.

The next morning, Evan proves to be as good as his word. He introduces you to his friends—pureblooded Slytherins with sharp smiles and sharper tongues. They are polite but distant, willing to accept your presence without prying into your past. A blessing.

You settle into the routine easily enough. Classes are familiar, though your mind often drifts. You don’t need to listen; you’ve already learned all of this. Instead, you lose yourself in thoughts of how to return to your own time.

You barely notice the group of Gryffindor boys across the room at first, though they certainly notice you. They whisper amongst themselves, occasionally glancing in your direction.

“She’s not in any of our classes,” one of them murmurs.

“Must be a transfer,” another says. “Or a Ministry kid.”

“Doesn’t look like she belongs with the snakes.”

The dark-haired one with glasses tilts his head, studying you as if trying to place if he has seen you before. The one beside him, lounging with an easy smirk, murmurs something you don’t catch, his expression amused. Another, quieter boy watches you with a thoughtful look, while the last fidgets in his seat.

It’s only when Professor Slughorn calls your name that you snap out of your daze.

“Miss Y/L/N, perhaps you’d like to share with the class how one might enhance a Draught of Peace?”

The answer comes to you instantly, your voice steady as you list the ingredients and the precise modifications required to strengthen the potion’s effects. The class falls silent. Even Slughorn looks impressed.

“Well done, well done!” he exclaims. “Such advanced knowledge! You must have had an excellent education before coming here.”

You nod absently, but your attention shifts to the boys, who are now watching you with more interest than before. The smirking one nudges his friend, saying something under his breath. You don’t care enough to wonder what.

Over the next few days, you begin to notice one of them more than the others. The black-haired one—the one with the smirk. Every time you pass them in the halls, he calls out to you.

It starts as playful comments, harmless teasing, but soon it shifts to outright attempts to get you to talk. You ignore him. You never try to learn his name.

Eventually, they corner you in the courtyard, cutting off your escape with easy grins and folded arms. You tense, but they don’t seem hostile—just insufferably persistent.

“So,” the smirking one drawls, tilting his head, “are you going to tell us your life story, or do we have to guess?”

“I prefer my privacy,” you say coolly.

The quiet one studies you with careful curiosity, while the smallest of them shifts nervously on his feet. The one with glasses leans against a pillar, watching you with barely concealed amusement.

“Fair enough,” he says. “At least tell us your name.”

You hesitate. There’s something familiar about two of them—the smirking one and the quiet one. A nagging feeling at the edge of your mind, something just out of reach.

“Only if you tell me yours first.”

The one with glasses grins. “James Potter.”

Your breath catches.

“Sirius Black,” the smirking one adds.

“Remus Lupin,” the quiet one says with a polite nod.

“Peter Pettigrew,” the last one murmurs.

The names hit you like a stunning spell.

James Potter. Sirius Black. Remus Lupin. Peter Pettigrew.

The Marauders.

Something clicks into place. You stare at them, your mind racing. You were supposed to keep your head down. Lay low. Follow Dumbledore’s instructions.

But looking at them now, knowing what’s to come—the war, the betrayals, the deaths—an idea takes root.

Maybe you can change things.

Maybe they don’t have to suffer the way they were meant to.

Maybe you don’t have to let history repeat itself.

You step forward, closing the distance between you, and this time, when you look at them, you allow yourself to truly see them. The boys they are. The men they will become.

And then, you smile—your brightest, most dazzling smile, the one that catches them off guard. The one that makes Sirius falter, James’ confidence flicker, Remus’ breath hitch, and Peter’s ears burn red.

“My name is Y/N,” you say, offering your hand to Sirius but letting your gaze sweep over all of them. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

For a moment, they’re stunned into silence. Then, Sirius recovers first, a slow, intrigued smirk curling on his lips as he takes your hand.

“Oh,” he murmurs, voice softer than before, “this is going to be fun.”

𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

The Marauders welcomed you into their world with open arms, though not without reason. Your talent in spellcraft and potions—your effortless way of turning theory into something tangible—left them in awe. Sirius, ever the audacious flirt, found your sharp tongue amusing; Remus, the quiet intellectual, respected your mind; Peter admired you from the sidelines. But James... James was something else entirely.

Among them, it was James you understood best. Perhaps it was the echo of a friendship once sacred in another life, or perhaps it was something far more complicated. There was an unspoken rhythm between you, a seamless give and take that made you forget, if only for a moment, that he was meant for someone else. That he had chosen a different ending to his story.

There were moments—fragments of time suspended between heartbeats—where you could swear he felt something for you. The way his gaze lingered a second too long, the way his laughter softened when it was only for you. But you never let yourself believe in those fleeting instances. You knew better. You knew James Potter belonged to Lily Evans.

You watched as he continued his pursuit, his flirtation with her a daily ritual. And though Lily rejected him time and time again, James never faltered, never seemed wounded by the refusals. He laughed them off as if they were nothing more than a game. It was strange—how his persistence never wavered, how he seemed entirely unbothered by her dismissals.

𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

Evan Rosier was a puzzle in his own right. You had grown close despite the lines that should have kept you apart. He did not fit the mold of a Death Eater, at least not in the way you had always imagined. He questioned your loyalty to the Marauders but never pressed. He was observant, though—far too perceptive for your liking.

"You act as if he's untouchable," Evan mused one evening, his voice low. "As if you've already decided how this ends. But tell me—did he ever say you couldn't touch him? Or is it that you've never even tried?"

You scoffed, shaking your head, unwilling to engage in his mind games. "It doesn’t matter. He belongs to Lily."

"And yet, you watch him like you wish he didn’t."

You ignored him. But his words lodged themselves into the cracks of your resolve, and for weeks, they lingered.

Then came the morning everything changed.

James had asked Lily to Hogsmeade again, only to be met with the usual rejection. But this time, she laughed, saying, "The only way I’d say yes to you is if Y/N says yes to Sirius."

A joke. A meaningless quip. But Sirius, ever the performer, turned to you with a smirk and asked for a date to Hogsmeade.

And to the Great Hall’s utter shock, you said yes.

Sirius blinked, stunned, before breaking into a delighted grin. James choked on his water. You paid it no mind.

"Are you serious?" James asked, voice strained.

You smirked. "No, he is. But yes, I’m serious."

Sirius, unable to contain his excitement, immediately turned to Lily. "There you have it! A double date it is!"

James looked... lost.

His easy confidence, the unshakable bravado he always wore like armor, faltered. His grin didn’t quite reach his eyes, his fingers tightening ever so slightly around his goblet. For the first time, he seemed unsure. Caught between surprise and something else, something unreadable.

"You’re joking," he said, but there was no laughter in his voice.

You tilted your head. "Do I look like I’m joking?"

Sirius let out a bark of laughter, clapping James on the back. "Looks like Evans is finally giving you a chance, Prongs! And all it took was a little friendly motivation."

James barely reacted. His grip tightened around his goblet, knuckles going white. For a moment, he looked as though he wanted to say something, wanted to protest, but the words never came.

You took a sip of your pumpkin juice, pretending the way he stiffened didn’t make your chest feel unbearably tight.

𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

The day of the Hogsmeade trip arrived, and an unsettling feeling crept into your chest. To see James with Lily—it made you feel sick. You couldn’t do this. You weren’t meant to be part of this story, not like this.

So you asked Evan for a favor.

When the Marauders arrived at the courtyard, Lily was already there, nervously smoothing her robes. James had taken longer than usual to get ready that morning—Sirius had noticed. James had asked too many questions. Questions about you.

Evan approached them, hands in his pockets, looking wholly unbothered. "She’s not coming," he said simply. "Feeling under the weather. Told me to pass the message."

James went rigid. "What do you mean, not coming?"

Evan shrugged. "What I said."

And then, before anyone could react, James was gone, his feet carrying him toward the castle without a second thought.

Lily stared after him, stunned. Sirius exhaled slowly, exchanging a knowing glance with Remus. "Well," he muttered. "That explains that."

In the hospital wing, you lay in bed, feigning sleep, when the doors slammed open. James stormed in, eyes wild, chest rising and falling as if he had just run the entire way.

You blinked. "James?"

He let out a breath, as though only now allowing himself to breathe. "Are you okay?"

"It’s just a bug, James. Madame Pomfrey’s already on it." You studied him, confused. "What are you doing here?"

Before he could stop himself, the words tumbled out—raw, instinctive.

"Because you're more important."

Silence.

His own words seemed to catch up with him, his breath hitching as the weight of them settled between you. But then, as if steadying himself, he said it again. Quieter this time, but with even more certainty.

"You're more important."

The world stilled.

Neither of you moved, neither of you dared to break whatever fragile thing had just shifted between you. But then, without another word, James pulled up a chair and sat beside your bed, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. And just like that, the Hogsmeade trip was forgotten.

The words he had spoken still hung in the air, unanswered, undeniable. But neither of you spoke of them. Not yet.

And so, you spent the day together, in quiet understanding.

𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

The air between you and James had changed. It wasn’t obvious, not something others would immediately notice, but you felt it in the way his gaze lingered just a moment longer than before. In the way his teasing remarks had softened, uncertainty peeking through the cracks of his confidence. In the way your pulse stumbled whenever he brushed past you along the halls, warmth radiating from where his fingers barely touched your sleeve.

You never spoke of that night.

Never spoke of how his voice wavered when he said your name, or how the weight of his words still hung in the air between you, suspended in time, unresolved. But it was there. In every sidelong glance, in the way he hesitated before speaking, in the uncharacteristic silence that followed moments when he should have been boasting, laughing, filling the space with his usual bravado.

Instead, there was hesitation. A quiet uncertainty that made him different from the James Potter everyone knew.

And then one evening, as you lingered in the library, the candles burning low and the soft rustle of parchment filling the quiet, James leaned in, voice lower than usual, almost hesitant.

"Come with me tomorrow night. Just us."

His words were simple, but they carried weight. There was no teasing lilt, no playful grin—just James, asking, waiting.

And because he looked at you like that, like you were something precious, something worth waiting for, you found yourself saying yes.

The smile that broke across his face was unguarded, wide and bright, and for a moment, just a moment, you let yourself enjoy it.

You spent the next day preparing, carefully picking out what to wear, ensuring you looked your best without making it obvious you had tried. Before heading out, you ran into Evan, who gave you a knowing look the second he saw you.

"It's not what you think," you said quickly, adjusting your cloak as if that would somehow make your words sound more believable.

Evan only hummed, crossing his arms. "You need to stop bullshitting me. And yourself."

His words hit harder than you expected, giving you pause. But you shook it off, refusing to let them settle.

James was waiting for you.

And when you arrived at the Astronomy Tower, you found that he had set up a candlelit dinner, the soft glow casting golden light over the stone walls. He had put effort into this, into making this night something memorable. And it was.

You laughed more than you had in weeks. He made you forget, even if just for a little while. But James could always read you, and when your laughter quieted, when something flickered behind your eyes, he noticed.

"It’s nothing," you said, shaking your head.

James studied you, his expression softening. "That’s not true. I see it. And I want to understand because…"

A breath. A hesitation. Then, quieter, steadier:

"Because I’ve fallen in love with you. Irrevocably. Helplessly. In a way I never saw coming and can’t seem to stop."

His words stole the air from your lungs. You were stunned, frozen in place, but then—

Then he moved, slowly, hesitantly, closing the distance between you. His hand was warm when it brushed against yours, his gaze flickering to your lips, seeking permission. And you let him.

Until you couldn’t.

Until the memories crashed into you like a wave—memories of Harry, of the stories, of everything that had been written and everything that was meant to be.

You pushed him away.

James staggered back, eyes wide, hurt flashing across his face. "I—sorry, I didn't mean to—was that too fast?"

"No!" You rushed to say, your hands trembling. "It's not you, James. You’re perfect. It’s just… I can’t have you."

Confusion twisted his features, and he took a step closer. "Yes, you can. Because you already have my heart."

Tears burned at the edges of your vision. You shook your head. "James… I need to tell you something. The truth."

And so you did. You told him everything.

That you were from the future. That history had already been written, and that in it, he was meant to be with Lily Evans. That you were never supposed to be here, in this time, in his life.

He believed you. He believed you were from the future, but what he couldn’t believe was that he would ever choose Lily over you.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "I don’t care what’s supposed to happen. I don’t care what some other version of me chose. This me—the me standing in front of you—can’t imagine any future that doesn’t have you in it."

"You have to," you whispered. "Because we were never meant to be."

You turned to leave, but James caught your wrist, his grip desperate. "Please," he pleaded, voice breaking. "Don’t go."

"Let me go, James," you whispered. "Please."

And the moment he saw the tears in your eyes, he did.

𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

When you returned to your common room, Evan was waiting for you. He didn’t ask what happened. He just pulled you into his arms, and you let him, burying your face in his shoulder as the weight of the night crashed down on you.

Fifteen minutes passed before he finally spoke.

"Dumbledore asked for you."

Your breath hitched. You knew what that meant.

You freshened up, steeling yourself for what was to come, and went to Dumbledore’s office. He greeted you with kind eyes, telling you that the way back was ready—but that you had a few days to say your goodbyes if you wished.

But you hesitated.

"What if I stayed?" you asked, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Dumbledore studied you, thoughtful. "The laws of time travel suggest that what has happened before will happen again," he mused. "But in your case, I am not certain. Perhaps the previous timeline would cease to exist. But tell me—are you truly willing to leave the people you once knew for the ones you have now?"

And there it was. The question you had been avoiding.

Because if you stayed, Harry might never exist. And that was something you could never risk.

"What happens to everyone here when I leave?" you asked instead.

Dumbledore sighed. "I suspect they will forget you. As if you never existed."

Your heart clenched, but maybe… maybe that was for the best.

You swallowed. "Then let's get it over with."

You twisted the Time-Turner. The world spun, magic crackling in the air, and when it stilled, you were back in your rightful time—twenty years later, in Dumbledore’s office.

He stepped out, his gaze falling on you with quiet understanding.

"I take it my past self was of some help?" he asked.

You nodded. Your voice was barely above a whisper. "Do you remember me? From twenty years ago?"

Dumbledore's smile was sad. "I’m afraid I do not."

And with that, you knew.

James had forgotten you.

Sirius. Remus. Even Evan. None of them would remember.

But you steeled yourself. You had made your choice and you need to find out if he made it out alive. If all of them made it.

So you turned away and went to find Harry.

Because now, after everything, you needed to see him more than ever.

The Great Hall buzzed with idle chatter and the occasional clang of cutlery against plates. The ceiling mirrored the grey clouds above, a prelude to a storm. You walked through the long tables, your steps slow, measured, yet drawn forward by an unseen force. And then you saw them—Harry, Hermione, and Ron, their familiar forms hunched together in easy conversation over a half-finished meal.

Your lips parted before you could think. "Harry."

He looked up at the sound of your voice, eyebrows raised in a question he never got to ask. You closed the distance between you in a heartbeat, wrapping your arms around him before he could say a word. He stiffened for only a second before his arms came around you, warm and firm, holding you as if he knew, somehow, that you needed this more than words. It was the feeling of coming home after a long journey, of stepping inside to a crackling fireplace and a cup of hot cocoa waiting on the table. A safe haven in human form.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look at him. Really look at him.

And what you saw sent a tremor through your bones.

He had his mother’s eyes—there was no mistaking that. But the rest of him…

His jawline wasn’t his father’s. His nose was longer, sharper. His cheekbones more defined, the shadows cast upon them a different kind of familiar.

"Is that really you?"

He gave you a lopsided smile. "In the flesh."

But he could sense something in your expression. A flicker of unease, a question you hadn’t yet found the courage to voice. He glanced at Ron and Hermione before turning back to you. "Let’s take a walk."

You barely registered Hermione’s inquisitive gaze or Ron’s mouth opening in protest before Harry had already abandoned his half-eaten lunch. You followed him, feet moving on instinct, the weight in your chest growing heavier with each step. The corridors of Hogwarts stretched endlessly before you, silent save for the distant echoes of moving staircases and portraits whispering in the background.

For a while, you simply walked, letting the quiet settle like dust on old memories. Then, Harry spoke first.

"Are you okay?"

You exhaled. "It's been a long day."

Your eyes flickered to him again, studying him, mapping his features like an unsolved puzzle.

"Harry… is it truly you?"

He stopped walking, turning to face you fully. "Yes. Of course, it's me. What makes you thing otherwise?"

Your fingers lifted before you could think. You traced them over his face. His cheekbones, his jaw, the slope of his nose. He didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away. He knew you needed to do this. And so he let you.

"You look different," you murmured. "Except for your eyes. You still have—"

"My mother’s eyes," he finished for you, a knowing glint in his gaze. "Yeah, I know. Everyone in my family, including my own mum, never shuts up about it."

Your breath caught. "Your family? Your mom?"

He blinked at you as if you’d just asked if the sun still rose in the east. "Yeah. You just saw her last holiday break when you visited me after spending Christmas with your family."

The world tilted beneath your feet.

His mother was alive.

Your stomach twisted as memories crashed into you, clashing, overlapping, rewriting themselves in real time. It was like two versions of history were vying for dominance in your mind, forcing their way into the cracks of your consciousness.

"Your dad is…" The words left you unsteady, a whisper in the storm.

Harry’s response came easily, like it was common knowledge. "Snape."

Your breath hitched. Your hands trembled at your sides. He must have noticed because he chuckled slightly, shaking his head. "Ex-husband, actually. Mum was smart enough to leave him."

Your mind was a tempest now, an unrelenting tide pulling you under. And then, a name burst from your lips before you could stop it.

"What about James?"

Harry’s brows furrowed. "James? You mean my godfather, James? I see him from time to time at reunions, but he's busy being a big-shot Auror."

You didn’t know what to feel. Relief? Confusion? Grief for something that no longer existed—or had never existed at all?

Harry watched you, his expression shifting to something softer, more understanding. "We’re having a reunion this summer at Sirius’s place. If you’d like to come… I could ask my mum."

You hesitated. Did you want to see him? The James Potter you remembered wasn’t this world’s James Potter. He wouldn’t even remember you.

But you knew it would eat you alive not to go.

So you swallowed the lump in your throat, steadied yourself, and nodded.

"Yeah. I’d like that."

𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

The reunion was in full swing by the time you and Harry arrived, and almost immediately, the whispers began.

"Harry finally brought a date," someone chuckled.

"They look good together, don’t they?" another murmured.

You and Harry exchanged an amused glance. It had started the moment you walked in together—an assumption neither of you bothered to correct. Secure in your friendship, you merely laughed it off, neither confirming nor denying.

But beneath the surface, your mind was elsewhere.

Would he come?

Harry, perceptive as ever, noticed the way your fingers tightened around your drink, how your laughter was a little too light. The first time he had ever seen you nervous.

"Do you want me to ask?" he offered gently.

You hesitated but nodded.

Harry approached a group deep in conversation and, ever so casually, asked, "Is James coming tonight?"

They exchanged uncertain glances. "He’s working a big case," one said. "Not sure if he’ll make it."

Your stomach dropped, but you forced a smile when Harry returned. He didn’t say anything—he didn’t have to. His presence alone was comforting, the quiet support you needed.

The night went on, the hum of conversation, clinking of glasses, and bursts of laughter filling the space. But there was no sign of him.

"Why is it so important that you meet him?" Harry finally asked.

You opened your mouth to answer, but the words stuck in your throat. How could you possibly explain? You fumbled for something—anything—that made sense.

Then the commotion by the door stopped you cold.

A familiar voice carried over the crowd, casual, teasing, exasperated. "Alright, alright, I know I’m late. Give me a break, will you? I was—"

And then you saw him.

James Potter.

He was older now. A few grey strands peppered his dark hair, and a faint stubble lined his jaw. But it was still him.

Your James.

The room faded into a distant hum as you watched him greet old friends, his easy grin slipping into place like no time had passed at all. You overheard their teasing about his lateness, his quick-witted defense, but your world had narrowed to the man in front of you.

Harry nudged you forward. "Come on. Let’s get you introduced."

Your feet felt heavy, reluctant yet desperate. James and Harry shared a warm reunion, a firm handshake, a clap on the back.

"James, I’d like you to meet someone," Harry said, stepping aside. "This is Y/N."

Your heart pounded as James turned to you. His gaze settled on yours, searching, assessing. He was trying to place you, to sift through the emotions flickering in his eyes. You extended a hand awkwardly, suddenly feeling small.

"It’s nice to meet you," you said softly.

James took your hand, his grip firm, steady. He didn’t let go right away. Neither did you.

He was still watching you. You could see it—something was gnawing at him, something he couldn’t name.

In the background, Harry continued speaking, singing your praises. "Y/N’s the most talented witch at Hogwarts right now. Top of her class, brilliant at—"

But you weren’t listening. You couldn’t. Because James was still looking at you, trying to figure out why this meeting felt like something more. And you couldn’t bear it. You dropped your gaze, staring at where your hands were still clasped.

The moment was broken when Lily’s voice cut through the air.

"James! There you are!"

She breezed into the space between you, drawing his attention. The ease with which she called him, the familiarity, was enough to cement reality in your mind.

James didn’t remember you.

The truth hit you harder than expected.

You let go of his hand, stepping back as he was pulled away. Your vision blurred, the weight of memories clashing with the present.

Harry saw it all. Without hesitation, he was at your side, murmuring quiet reassurances, letting you lean into him just enough to ground yourself.

What you didn’t see was James, glancing back at you from across the room, brows furrowed, lips slightly parted.

Something about you lingered in his mind like a half-remembered dream.

𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

The night wound down, guests filtering out in slow waves.

You had resigned yourself to silence, lost in thought, when you felt someone approach.

James.

"Harry, can I steal her for a moment?" he asked.

Harry gave you a quick, questioning look. You swallowed thickly and nodded.

Once alone, James exhaled, shifting his weight. "Have we met before?"

Your heart lurched. "Why do you ask?"

"I don’t know," he admitted. "It’s just—" He ran a hand through his hair. "You feel familiar."

A sad laugh escaped you as you turned toward the window. The moonlight caught your profile, casting shadows over your features.

James stiffened.

His breath hitched, his eyes darkened with realization. He didn’t understand it fully—not yet. But he knew.

It wasn’t just unknowing familiarity.

It was yearning.

For something—or someone—he hasn't met. Or perhaps forgotten?

He took a step back.

He shouldn’t be feeling this.

A shaky exhale, then a quick excuse. "I—I should go. I’m needed elsewhere."

Before you could say anything, he turned on his heel and left, leaving you standing in the dim light, aching with the weight of a history he no longer remembered.

𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

The party had ended, leaving behind only echoes of laughter and the remnants of shared memories. You followed Harry back to his home, where Lily welcomed you with a warm smile. The night air was cool, and exhaustion clung to you as you settled into the makeshift sleeping arrangement—Harry sprawled on the floor, and you curled up on his bed.

Then, a sudden, frantic banging at the door shattered the silence.

Harry bolted upright, his glasses askew as he looked toward the source of the noise. You were already reaching for your wand, but Lily was quicker. She had already made her way to the door, her expression sharp with concern.

"James?" Lily's voice held both surprise and unease as she took in his disheveled state. His eyes were bloodshot, his breaths uneven, like he had been running or crying—maybe both.

"Where is Y/N? Is she here? Now?" James demanded, his voice raw with urgency.

Lily hesitated, glancing over her shoulder. That was when James saw you, standing halfway down the stairs, your grip tightening around the banister.

Without a word, you motioned toward the door. "Let's talk outside."

Lily and Harry exchanged glances before Harry whispered, "Are you sure?"

You nodded, stepping past them and out into the quiet night. The door clicked shut behind you, leaving you alone with James.

He was restless, shifting from foot to foot, his hands clenching into fists and then releasing, like he didn’t know what to do with them. You had never seen him like this—not James Potter, who had always carried himself with unwavering confidence.

Then, he spoke.

"I remember. I remember everything."

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you thought your heart had stopped.

He took a step closer. "You look exactly the same as the last time I saw you."

You let out a hollow laugh. "That's because, for me, it hasn't even been a few weeks."

His jaw tightened. "You left without saying goodbye. You left me in the worst possible way."

You swallowed thickly. "That night... Dumbledore found a way to send me back."

“Did you have to leave right then?” His voice was hoarse, a man grasping at something already slipping through his fingers.

You hesitated. “…No.”

He closed his eyes, as if bracing himself.

“I could’ve stayed longer, but—I thought I had to leave before I let myself… feel things I shouldn’t.”

Silence stretched between you. Then, softer, he said, “I never recovered from losing you.”

You blinked up at him.

Then, James exhaled, his voice quieter but no less intense. "Ever since that night, it felt like something was missing. And I never recovered from it. So I buried myself in my studies and work, trying to forget. But now I know why nothing ever felt right."

You blinked rapidly, trying to suppress the wave of emotions crashing over you.

"The me in that timeline," he continued, "would never have chosen anyone else. And even when I did forget about you... I still didn’t choose anyone else."

His words cut deep, leaving you breathless.

He took a step forward. “Tell me the truth. You and Harry—is it something serious?”

You shook your head. “No. We’re just… good friends.”

Relief flickered in his features, and suddenly, he was unwavering. “Then I won’t let you go again.”

You turned away. “James, we can’t. The age gap—”

“I don’t care.”

“You have an entire life here—”

“You are my life.”

The conviction in his voice undid you. Your resolve crumbled as you finally met his eyes. He stepped closer, hesitated, then cupped your face gently.

“No matter what timeline,” he murmured, “the James standing in front of you will always choose you.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you whispered, "And this Y/N would always choose you, too."

Then you kissed. Soft at first, hesitant, as though testing the waters of something that had been building for years. But then it deepened—urgent, desperate, two lost souls colliding at last.

𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

Summer had arrived, bringing with it long days spent with James—wandering through familiar streets, exploring new places, and simply existing together in a way you never thought possible.

Then, one afternoon, while strolling through Diagon Alley, you bumped into Evan Rosier.

He was with his family, looking every bit the composed pureblood he was known to be. James tensed slightly beside you, his Auror instincts kicking in. It was clear he had no desire to associate with Evan, but he knew how much the man had meant to you in another lifetime. So, against his better judgment, he stepped forward first.

"James Potter," he introduced himself, tone even.

Evan gave him a slow, unimpressed once-over. "Ah. The Auror." His lips curled slightly. "Never thought I'd see the day."

James smirked. "Yeah, well, life’s full of surprises."

Then Evan turned to you, eyes narrowing slightly. There was something almost searching in his gaze, a flicker of familiarity that had no place being there. He studied you for a beat too long, as if trying to place a memory that didn’t exist.

"And you are?"

You met his gaze, unfazed. "Y/N."

His expression didn’t shift, but something in his stance did—curiosity tempered by something deeper, something he couldn’t quite name. He hummed, as if testing the weight of your name on his tongue, then let out a soft scoff. "Thought you had better taste."

James scoffed. "Charming as ever, Rosier."

Evan barely acknowledged him, still watching you with that unreadable glint in his eyes. Then, after a moment, he smirked. "Should’ve figured you'd be the type to steal from a crib."

James blinked. "Sorry—what?"

You rolled your eyes. "He's calling you a cradlerobber, James."

James made a noise of offense, looking at you. "Oh, come on, that’s—okay, you know what, I walked into that one."

Evan looked mildly amused at the exchange, but there was something else now—a quiet intrigue, like an unsolved puzzle. He glanced at the bookshop behind him, then back at you. "Tell me, Y/N—since you clearly have some sense—what do you make of the modern takes on alchemical theory? Half these so-called scholars claim they’re making breakthroughs when all they’re really doing is rewording old work."

You raised a brow. "Depends. Are we talking about research in controlled magical reactions, or are you about to go on a rant about how no one's lived up to Paracelsus?"

That actually made him pause. And then, to your surprise, he chuckled. It was quiet, almost reluctant, but genuine. "Alright. Fine. You have my attention."

His wife groaned. "Oh, Merlin, please don't encourage him—he won't shut up about it for hours."

You grinned. "I wouldn’t mind hearing him out over tea."

Evan studied you once more, that flicker of something unspoken still lingering in his expression. He didn’t understand why he was drawn to the conversation, why you felt oddly familiar—but he didn’t question it either. Instead, he simply nodded, the closest thing to approval you’d probably ever get.

"Tea, then."

Addresses were exchanged, and as you and James continued down the street, you found yourself smiling.

Fate, it seemed, had a way of weaving people back into your life—not as they once were, but as they were meant to be.

#james potter x reader #james potter imagine #james potter fanfiction #james potter #harry potter imagine #harry potter fanfiction

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jinmindeulle · 4 months ago

Text

a toast to forever | hong joshua

“And most of all, I want to thank my baby sister, y/n. I don’t know where I would be without you. You are the engine of all my achievements. I miss you everyday but I also know that there’s someone by your side who I can trust your safety and your happiness to, and that makes me happy too. I love you”

When your sister looked at you from her table and raised the glass of champagne with watery eyes, you couldn’t help but let the tears flow. Your beloved Mariah, the woman who you have looked up to your whole life, who had been with you every step of the way, and whom you had missed so dearly when you decided to move to a whole new country was finally getting married to the love of her life — and had made you cry the whole ceremony.

Thankfully, your loved Joshua had been holding your hand and kissing your temple when he sensed you needed the gesture. You had been extra sensitive for the last couple of months before the big day, so he knew he had to be attentive, just a little more than usual.

“And to my dear brother-in-law, please make it official. If she doesn’t marry you there will be more than one upset person, starting by me. Cheers!”

If that wasn’t your sister, you would have crawled your way out of the venue to let the cringe embrace you on your own — but Joshua was used to the teasing, and he actually loved when Mariah made such comments. More specifically, he loved seeing you a blushing mess.

The guests clapped, cheered and whistled, and that’s when Joshua knew that he really had to get down on one knee soon. He was waiting for the right time to come, but as he held you close while slow dancing, he realised that he didn’t need to wait any longer. You were young, but he was sure you were Mrs. Right.

“Would you like an autumn wedding?” he whispered, and you had to lift your head from his shoulder to make sure you heard him correctly.

“What?”

“Or maybe spring? I’m pretty sure there are nice venues surrounded by cute flowers and trees.”

“Shua” you blinked, looking him in the eye. When he gave you that soft smile of his, your eyes teared up for what felt the nth time that night “Don’t mess with me”

“Why would I?” he pouted, letting go of your waist to cup your cheeks “I love you, babe. My feelings for you have done nothing but intensify over the five years we’ve been together. I want to take this to the next level, but only if you want it too”

“Baby” you whine, your heart swelling with love and regard for the man in front of you, for whom you had left your family behind, and for whom you would have done that a million times if he asked. “You are all I need. I’ve never been more sure about anything else" you nod, closing your eyes when he presses a kiss to your forehead.

“So… will you be my wife, y/n?”

“I will be your wife, Joshua.”

¸.·✩·.¸¸.·¯⍣✩ seventeen masterlist ✩⍣¯·.¸¸.·✩·.¸

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missarchive · 6 months ago

Text

american jesus³ ☆

spencer reid

part one part two part three part four

summary; The delicate veil of secrecy is torn, unraveling a truth neither were prepared to face.

A fleeting mistake reveals their intertwined worlds, forcing them to confront the forbidden desire that binds them. Love and restraint wage a quiet war, their connection teetering on the edge of discovery, threatening to unravel everything they’ve built.

cw; angst, spencer yells at the reader, age gap, sugar daddy/baby dynamics, big big feelings = big big argument, lots and lots of yearning, student/teacher relationship (ezra and aria who?) no smut in this part (i know, disappointing), you'll have to wait for part 4 ;)

an; as always, thank you for taking the time to read my work, i hope you all enjoy. please consider leaving feedback in the form of a comment or an ask if you did enjoy, i always love hearing from you <3

“Can’t believe how lucky I am,” Spencer murmurs, his voice low and steady, almost like he’s thinking out loud. He’s not saying anything groundbreaking, just a simple truth, but you can feel the sincerity in every word.

You’re lying next to him, the warmth of his body pressing gently against yours, the world outside his apartment fading away. There’s no rush, no urgency. It’s just you and Spencer, the quiet hum of the city muted by the walls of the apartment. His fingers trace lazy patterns on your arm, the touch both soothing and reassuring, like a silent promise.

You turn your head slightly to look at him, catching his gaze, and his eyes soften when they meet yours. “Lucky?” you ask, a small smile playing on your lips. “Why’s that?”

He shrugs, his expression relaxed, but there’s something in his eyes that you can’t quite place—something that makes your chest tighten in a good way. “I don’t know. You’re... everything. You just get me, you know? You always know when I’m overthinking or when I need a minute, and you’re there without making a big deal out of it.”

You chuckle softly, rolling onto your side to face him more fully. “You make it sound like I’m some kind of mind reader.”

“I don’t know how you do it,” he continues, his hand resting lightly on your hip now, fingers gently tracing along your skin. “You’re so... intuitive. So much more than I ever expected.”

You’re not sure why, but something about the way he says it makes you feel like you’re the only person in the world he could say that to. It feels real—genuine, even. “You’re not so bad yourself,” you say, your voice quieter now, the smile still lingering on your lips.

Spencer laughs softly, his fingers brushing over your hair. “I don’t know about that,” he says, though the affection in his voice is undeniable. “But I’m definitely glad you’re here. Glad it’s... us.”

“Me too,” you whisper back, settling a little closer to him, resting your head against his chest. It’s easy, this thing between you. Comfortable in a way that doesn’t need to be overanalysed or explained. You both know where you stand, and that’s enough.

He presses a gentle kiss to the top of your head, his voice barely above a whisper. “I really like being with you. More than I can say.”

You close your eyes, letting the simple words wash over you, content in the quiet of the moment. The world outside can wait. Here, with him, everything feels just right.

So as you crossed the campus the next morning, your bag tucked tightly against your side like a fragile secret, you couldn’t help but think of him. The air was crisp, carrying the faint tang of autumn, and the hum of the campus buzzed around you. Laughter echoed from a nearby bench, the scrape of skateboard wheels over concrete punctuating the morning stillness. It was a world in motion, but for you, each step felt heavier, each breath tighter.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, jolting you from your spiralling thoughts. A welcome distraction. You stepped into the shadow of a quiet corner in the quad, your back leaning against the cool brick of a building as you pulled it out. The message preview glowed softly on the screen, taunting you with its simplicity. Just a few words, but enough to make your stomach twist. You hesitated, the pad of your thumb hovering over the notification, before swiping it open.

@ thefourthdoctor; Big day today, right? How's it going so far?

You smiled to yourself. He had a way of grounding you, even when the chaos of life seemed overwhelming. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard as you typed back quickly.

@ laceandliterature; Surviving so far. One more class. Supposedly the professor is a genius or something.

@ thefourthdoctor; Genius professors are overrated. Bet you'll end up teaching them something.

You let out a soft laugh, earning a curious glance from the student beside you. You put your phone away as the chatter in the room began to quiet. The door at the front of the classroom opened, and a tall, slightly disheveled man stepped in.

"Good afternoon," he began, his voice smooth and steady, carrying just enough authority to quiet the murmur of the room. "My name is Dr. Spencer Reid, and I’ll be your professor for this semester."

A cold shiver ran through you, the words hitting you like a punch to the gut. For a moment, your brain refused to process them, to connect the dots. It was like a veil had dropped over the classroom, the world outside of him fading into a muffled blur. He was your Spencer—your secret, your late-night confidant, the person who had slowly crept into your thoughts, into your heart.

And now, as you looked up, there he was. Dr. Spencer Reid. The very thought of it made you freeze.

The world around you seemed to tilt, gravity losing its hold, as if the earth had somehow shifted beneath your feet. The air in the room thickened, and your pulse hammered in your ears. You could feel every eye in the room, but all you could focus on was him—on the way his gaze flickered over the crowd, on the moment he paused as if feeling your presence before his eyes locked onto yours.

It couldn’t be. This couldn’t be happening.

Recognition flashed in his eyes, swift and sharp like a lightning strike, followed by something darker—something that mirrored the panic rising in your chest. His steps faltered, a momentary loss of composure. For an agonizing second, he looked like he might trip over his own feet, his hand reaching instinctively to grip the edge of the podium, as though it were the only thing keeping him from falling apart. His lips parted, as if he meant to speak, but the words didn’t come.

The room around you blurred, every sound drowned out by the rushing roar of your heart, by the sudden weight of the truth crashing down on you. Dr. Spencer Reid, the man you had been talking to for weeks, the one you had come to trust with pieces of yourself you’d never shared with anyone, was standing in front of you—your professor. The line between you had just dissolved into nothing, and the implications hit you all at once.

His expression was unreadable, but his eyes were filled with something raw and unsettled—confusion, maybe even disbelief, a look that mirrored the one you felt inside. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think. You were so close to something, to something more, to a feeling you’d been fighting to define, but now… now it all felt tainted. The connection you had with him was something that had blossomed in the quiet, the secrecy, and now it felt so exposed, so fragile, hanging on the edge of something you couldn’t control.

You watched him struggle to regain his composure. His face was flushed, his brow furrowed with tension, but there was something else beneath it—something deep, something that had been there all along, though you hadn’t dared to name it. The reality of the situation hit you with crushing force: the late-night conversations, the casual affection, the way he made you feel seen and heard… It had all been real. But so was this.

He opened his mouth again, but it wasn’t to speak to you—not directly. He cleared his throat, pulling himself together with shaky breath, and in that instant, you knew that everything had changed. He was no longer the man you had been texting, the one who had shared things with you that felt impossible to tell anyone else. No. Now, he was your professor, the person whose authority you were supposed to respect, the person who had the power to affect your future in ways you hadn’t even considered.

You tried to steady your racing thoughts, but the reality of what was happening, what had just happened, pressed down on you. This wasn’t just an awkward surprise. This was a violation of all the boundaries you thought you could keep between your personal life and the rest of the world. You felt your chest tighten as the dread crept in.

You had been so close. So close to something real, something that had started to feel like it could actually be more than just a fleeting connection. But now? Now, you were staring into the abyss of what could only be a mess. His eyes kept flicking to you, but he didn’t speak directly to you again. Instead, he turned his attention back to the class, clearing his throat one more time before continuing, his voice more composed but still carrying an undercurrent of something strained.

"...I’ll be teaching cognitive development this semester," he said, his tone firm but not quite steady. "It’s a challenging course, but I’m confident you’ll all be able to keep up."

His words felt hollow, detached, as though he were going through the motions, but every syllable felt like an echo of everything you could no longer ignore.

You stayed rooted in your seat, a cold heaviness settling over you, your heart racing, your mind reeling. The world had just shifted, and you weren’t sure how to catch your breath.

"Uh," he stammered, his voice betraying a crack of unsteadiness. "As I said, I’m Dr. Reid. I, uh, specialise in behavioural psychology and philosophy. If you need anything, my office hours are listed in the syllabus, which you should have received by email."

He spoke too quickly, the words tumbling out like they might shield him from the reality of the moment. His hands gripped the podium tightly, and though his eyes swept over the room, you could tell he was avoiding looking directly at you. His composure was a fragile thing, threatening to crumble with every second that passed.

Your stomach churned as the implications of this impossible situation sank in. The air in the room felt stifling now, too warm, too heavy. You were hyperaware of him—of the way he stood just a little too rigidly, the faint flush creeping up his neck, the way his voice had wavered when he said anything.

This was the man who had been your confidant, the one who made you feel seen in a way no one else had. And now, he was standing in front of you, holding a position of authority that made every shared moment, every word exchanged, a dangerous secret.

He risked another fleeting glance in your direction, his expression unreadable. The air between you felt charged, like the space before a storm, filled with things left unsaid and too many emotions packed into too little time.

Your mind raced, a tangled mess of shock, dread, and something heartbreakingly close to longing. How could this possibly work? Could it even work at all?

Spencer turned back to his papers, his shoulders tight as he forced himself to continue. But the damage was done. The moment had shattered the fragile wall between your two worlds, and now you were left to navigate the wreckage.

And now, he was standing here, just feet away, your professor.

You could still feel his eyes on you, even when he wasn’t looking directly your way. You knew he felt it too—the electricity, the undeniable tension.

As the class dragged on, each word Spencer spoke felt like it was coming from miles away. You couldn’t focus, couldn’t absorb anything except the overwhelming weight of the truth. Dr. Spencer Reid. The realization kept replaying in your mind like a broken record, the echo of it rattling your thoughts until everything else faded into white noise. You tried to look at him objectively, tried to see the professor in front of you, but all you saw was the man who had become your secret, your late-night refuge. The man who, just hours ago, you had felt yourself slipping closer to, only to have the ground ripped out from under you.

When the lecture finally ended, the final bell a dull thud in your chest, you stayed in your seat for a beat too long, uncertain. The others filed out, chattering and laughing, their voices lost to you as if you were underwater. You debated, internally torn between confronting him—demanding answers—or simply running the other way and never looking back.

But before you could decide, before you could move, you caught his eye. Just for a second. It was brief, fleeting, but in that shared glance, you saw it—the acknowledgment, the silent recognition that you were both trapped in the same web of confusion and unspoken desire. His gaze held something more: a question, a plea, a silent call for understanding. You weren’t sure which one it was, but you felt it.

Neither of you said a word, but the air between you grew thick with it, with everything you weren’t saying. It hung there, heavy and suffocating, the invisible barrier that now separated you. You wanted to speak, to ask him what this meant, to demand the answers that both of you seemed too afraid to say aloud. But you didn’t. And neither did he.

This was going to complicate everything.

The days after that first class passed in a blur. The initial shock had dulled, but it had left behind an uneasy tension, a strange sort of tightness in the air between you and Spencer. Something had shifted between you both, but neither of you knew how to handle it, how to navigate the mess of emotions and risks.

In lectures, Spencer kept his gaze trained firmly ahead, rarely letting it wander to your corner of the room. When he did glance in your direction, it was quick, as if he feared even that brief moment of connection might undo him. The smooth flow of his lecture, once so natural, now had a stutter to it when you raised your hand, your voice, anything. The usual rhythm was broken, disrupted by the constant awareness of each other. Every word you spoke seemed to have the weight of a thousand unspoken things behind it, like every sentence was a landmine that could blow everything apart.

Outside of class, things were no easier. The messages between you and Spencer, once frequent and filled with ease, had become painfully measured. You had both learned to carefully choose your words, as if a wrong one could expose everything—the feelings you were hiding, the longing you couldn’t keep at bay, the dangers that now clung to every thought and touch. Every interaction felt like it was wrapped in a shroud of what ifs—what if someone found out? What if this all fell apart? What if it was too late?

But despite the careful distance, despite the impossible situation you found yourselves in, you couldn’t stay away. There was something magnetic between you, a pull that neither of you could resist. Each encounter, each brief exchange, only made it worse, only made you want him more.

And yet, you couldn’t have him. Not like this. Not with the risk of everything unraveling in an instant. But every part of you screamed that you couldn’t walk away, that you couldn’t let go of the thing that had begun to feel so real. And every part of him seemed to feel the same way.

There’s something almost sacred in the way he moves, the way he speaks, each word falling from his lips like it’s meant only for you, like you’re the only one who can truly hear it. You can't help but trace every line of his face, from the sharp curve of his jaw to the faint scrunch of his brow when he's lost in thought. His every gesture seems like poetry, something you could study for hours, even days.

You idolise him in a way that feels almost holy, a quiet reverence in the way you let your gaze linger on him, not just as your professor, but as someone untouchable. Every time his eyes sweep the room, you hold your breath, hoping, praying that maybe this time, they’ll land on you—just you. But they never do.

And still, you can’t stop. He’s your obsession, your quiet prayer whispered to the stars. You don’t just listen to him; you drink in every syllable, every inflection of his voice, as if his words are the only truth worth knowing. And in those moments, the world falls away, leaving only you and him—alone, even if you’re not.

It started in whispers, in moments so small they were almost imperceptible. A lingering glance after class that held for just a second too long. The way his fingers brushed yours when he handed back a graded paper, the touch fleeting but electric. You told yourself these gestures didn’t matter, that they were coincidences or figments of your imagination. But you knew better. You felt it in your chest, in the way your breath caught each time his eyes met yours and lingered.

Then one evening, as you packed up your notebook and pens after a lecture, his voice stopped you mid-motion.

“Y/N,” he said softly, careful not to draw the attention of the few students still milling about. “Can I speak to you for a moment?”

You froze, your heart skipping, then nodding as you tried to keep your face neutral. His eyes darted around the room, scanning for onlookers, before he gestured toward the hallway.

The atmosphere in Spencer’s office was tense, a quiet unease pressing down on both of you. The faint hum of the overhead light mixed with the distant sounds of the campus outside, but neither did much to distract from the gravity of the conversation.

Spencer sat behind his desk, his fingers lightly drumming against the edge as he stared at the scattered papers in front of him. His gaze was unfocused, the weight of what he needed to say pulling at his normally composed demeanor. You leaned against the closed door, arms crossed, your posture guarded.

“This isn’t just risky,” he said after a long silence, his voice steady but low. He glanced up at you, his eyes serious. “If anyone finds out, it could ruin both of us.”

You straightened, arms dropping to your sides. “I know the risks, Spencer. But walking away isn’t an option for me, and I don’t think it is for you either.”

He leaned back in his chair, letting out a quiet sigh. “It’s not. But that means we have to be careful—really careful. We need rules. Boundaries. Something to protect us.”

You stepped closer to his desk, pulling a chair to sit across from him. “Okay,” you said, keeping your voice even. “Let’s figure it out. What’s non-negotiable?”

He hesitated, his fingers lacing together as he thought. “First, no public displays of affection. Not even subtle things. On campus, we have to act like nothing’s going on. No lingering looks, no casual touches—nothing.”

“Agreed,” you said, though the thought of keeping that distance stung. “We can’t give anyone a reason to suspect us.”

“And no communication about us through email or official channels,” he added. “If we need to talk, it has to be in person or through something secure.”

You nodded. “There are private apps we could use, encrypted ones. Only for emergencies, though. No casual texting.”

The practicality of it all settled over you both, the careful parameters of what you could and couldn’t do drawing a stark line around the relationship.

Spencer looked at you, his expression softer now, though no less serious. “If at any point this feels like too much—if it starts to put pressure on your life or your future—you have to tell me. I don’t want you to feel trapped in this.”

You met his gaze, holding it firmly. “That goes both ways. If you start to feel like this is putting your career in jeopardy, you need to tell me.”

He nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Deal.”

The conversation felt clinical, like drawing up a contract, but it was necessary. The risks weren’t hypothetical—they were real, and you both knew what was at stake.

“Do you think this will work?” you asked after a pause, your voice quieter now.

Spencer didn’t answer right away. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk as he looked at you. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I know I’m willing to try. For you.”

His honesty grounded you, cutting through the uncertainty. “Then we’ll make it work,” you said simply.

You found ways to navigate the tightrope of your relationship, though every step felt like it could be the one that sent you both tumbling into ruin.

You started meeting in places where no one would recognise you. A quiet café on the outskirts of town. A secluded bench in the park. The conversations were tentative at first, but the connection between you refused to fade.

One night, as the rain pattered softly against the windows of his apartment, you found yourself curled up on his couch, your head resting on his shoulder.

“You know this is insane, right,” he muttered, though his arm tightened around you.

“Probably,” you admitted, tilting your head to look up at him. “But doesn’t it feel worth it?”

His gaze lingered on yours, conflicted but warm. “It does,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your forehead. “And that’s what scares me.”

The line between you and Spencer was razor-thin, a fragile, trembling thread neither of you dared to define. It felt like standing on the edge of a precipice, the dizzying height both thrilling and terrifying. You both knew the fall was inevitable, yet neither of you could step away. Instead, you lingered there, savouring the tension in those fleeting moments before gravity claimed you.

One late afternoon, as the sun dipped low and painted the campus in gold and shadow, you found yourself outside his office door. The brass plaque bearing his name gleamed faintly, a stark reminder of the boundaries you were about to cross. Your pulse quickened as you raised a hand and knocked softly, the sound barely louder than your breath.

“Come in,” he called, his voice muffled, distracted.

You slipped inside, closing the door behind you with a quiet click. Spencer sat hunched over his desk, papers sprawled across its surface like a chaotic map of his thoughts. His tie hung loose around his neck, and his hair fell untamed over his forehead, catching the fading light.

When he looked up and saw you, the tired lines of his face softened. His lips curved into the faintest hint of a smile, one that chased away some of the tension in his shoulders. “You’re here,” he said, his voice warmer now, but still tinged with a nervous edge. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“I couldn’t stay away,” you admitted, stepping closer. “I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

He stood slowly, his movements hesitant as though torn between his delight at seeing you and the weight of the risks that lingered between you. “I’ve been thinking about you too,” he confessed, his hand moving to the back of his neck. “But this... it’s complicated.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” you replied, your voice steady but gentle.

He shook his head with a quiet laugh, though it lacked humor. “You make it sound so simple.” His gaze dropped to the floor before returning to you, his expression earnest. “I’m glad you’re here—I always am—but... we have to be careful.”

“I know,” you said, your tone softer now. “But I needed to see you.”

He exhaled, taking a step toward you, the space between you narrowing. “This is dangerous,” he said, though the warmth in his eyes betrayed the firmness of his words. “For both of us. You understand that, right?”

“Yes,” you replied, your gaze locking with his. “I understand. But that doesn’t change how I feel.”

The honesty of your words hung in the air, heavier than the silence that followed. Spencer’s breath hitched, and he hesitated for a moment before closing the remaining distance between you.

His hands came to rest gently on your waist, his touch light but steady, as if testing the limits of how close he could let himself be. “You make it impossible to think straight,” he murmured, a faint, self-deprecating smile on his lips.

“Then don’t think,” you whispered, your hand rising to cup his face. Your thumb brushed against the stubble along his jaw, the touch grounding. “Just let yourself feel, Spencer.”

His resolve faltered, and after a brief, wavering pause, he gave in. His lips met yours in a kiss that was both tender and urgent, as though trying to convey everything he couldn’t say aloud.

When you pulled back, your breaths mingled in the space between you, your foreheads resting together. His hands tightened slightly on your waist, reluctant to let you go.

“This is reckless,” he murmured, though his tone lacked any real conviction.

“Then tell me to leave,” you said softly, challenging him with your eyes. “If you really believe this is a mistake, say it, and I will.”

Spencer’s silence stretched, his gaze searching yours for an answer he couldn’t bring himself to speak. Then, instead of pushing you away, he leaned in, capturing your lips in another kiss—slower this time, more deliberate.

In that moment, the rest of the world faded away. It didn’t matter that this was risky or complicated. All that mattered was the way his arms felt around you, and the way he whispered your name like it was the only thing tethering him to the ground.

But even as you clung to him, the weight of reality loomed just beyond the door. You both knew the balance wouldn’t hold forever. Every stolen moment brought you closer to the edge, but neither of you was ready to let go. Not yet.

The weeks that followed were nothing short of surreal, a delicate haze of stolen moments and whispered confessions that felt like they existed outside of time. For a brief, golden sliver of your lives, the rest of the world melted away. The tension and danger that had once defined your relationship softened, and in its place grew something that felt achingly close to normal—a fleeting illusion of safety in a house of cards.

During the day, Spencer was every bit the professor. His lectures were sharp, his insights unmatched, and his demeanour coolly professional. He kept his distance, his gaze skimming over you with the same neutrality he granted every student. But in the evenings, when the classroom emptied and the cloak of twilight fell over the city, those carefully maintained facades slipped away.

You found solace in the quiet intimacy of those stolen hours, the shared secret between you and Spencer feeling like a delicate, shimmering bubble that shielded you from the outside world—if only for a little while. His apartment, modest and unassuming, became your sanctuary. Under the cover of darkness, you would arrive, greeted by the soft, golden glow of a desk lamp that bathed the room in warmth. The light cast long, flickering shadows across the walls, giving the space an almost dreamlike quality.

He’d sit at his desk, his slender fingers skimming over pages of handwritten notes or flipping through the well-worn pages of a book. Papers were scattered in controlled chaos before him, but his focus would inevitably drift to you. Meanwhile, you lounged on his worn, olive-green couch, the fabric soft from years of use, a book resting in your hands. The faint scent of old paper mingled with the subtle aroma of his cologne, wrapping around you like a comforting blanket.

One evening, the air felt particularly still, broken only by the soft scratch of his pen against paper and the occasional rustle of pages as you turned them. The tension between you wasn’t heavy—it was something quieter, more tender, like the gentle pull of a tide.

“I’m starting to think you’re only here to distract me,” he teased, his voice breaking the silence. His eyes flicked up from his notes, catching yours across the room. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, his expression a perfect blend of amusement and affection.

You looked up from your book, tilting your head with a playful grin. “Maybe I am,” you replied, your tone light but laced with an unmistakable warmth. “But you don’t seem to mind.”

He leaned back in his chair, the smirk softening into something more vulnerable, more honest. “I don’t,” he admitted, his voice quieter now, carrying a sincerity that made your chest tighten. His gaze lingered on you, filled with a kind of unspoken gratitude, as though you were the one thing anchoring him amidst the chaos of his thoughts.

The moment stretched between you, delicate and unbroken, like the fragile stillness before a storm. In that space, with only the golden lamplight and the quiet hum of shared presence, the world outside faded away.

Some nights, you’d find yourselves in his small, modest kitchen, an intimate space that seemed to wrap around you like a cocoon. The countertops were cluttered with mismatched utensils and a few carefully chosen cookbooks, their spines cracked from frequent use. The narrow layout forced you close, your movements effortlessly weaving around each other, as though this was a dance you’d been perfecting for years.

You’d stand at the counter, chopping vegetables with a focus that was occasionally interrupted by his amused glances. Meanwhile, he’d hover over the stove, stirring something fragrant and humming softly under his breath. The warm, savoury scent of simmering herbs and spices filled the air, mingling with the faint crackle of oil in the pan.

“Reid, you’re a genius, not a chef,” you teased, pausing to nudge him gently with your elbow. The touch was casual, yet the closeness sent a subtle thrill through you.

Without missing a beat, he glanced at you from the corner of his eye, his lips curving into a playful smirk. “I think genius qualifies me for multitasking,” he retorted, his tone light and laced with dry humor.

The way he spoke, so earnest yet teasing, made you laugh—an easy, carefree sound that filled the small space. His smile widened at the sound, the fondness in his expression unmistakable. He turned back to the stove, stirring the pot with careful precision, as though the act of cooking together was as much about the process as the meal itself.

Occasionally, his arm would brush against yours, the fleeting contact as natural as it was electric. He’d reach over you to grab a spice jar, murmuring an absent “Excuse me,” though his hand would linger just a moment too long against yours.

He told you stories about the BAU, his voice animated as he recounted Morgan’s relentless pranks or Garcia’s exuberance. You’d laugh until tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, your sides aching from the joy of it.

“This feels too good to be true,” you murmured one night, leaning against the counter as you watched him stir a pot of pasta.

“It does,” he replied, glancing at you with a small, almost shy smile that made your chest tighten. “But I don’t want to think about that right now. I just want to enjoy this.”

And you did. You savoured the moments as though they might slip through your fingers at any moment. But beneath the surface, there was always a quiet awareness—a faint, unspoken dread. You both knew this fragile peace couldn’t last forever. The bubble you lived in was too perfect, too delicate, and the outside world was never far away.

The nights were the best, the moments you cherished most. Wrapped in his arms, the world outside ceased to exist. Time itself seemed to slow down, fading into the background as everything else fell away. The warmth of his skin against yours was enough to make the chaos of the day disappear. He’d trace lazy patterns across your back or along your arms, the soft rhythm of his touch sending a sense of peace through you, grounding you in the present moment. His voice would hum softly, a low murmur that carried the oddest mix of comfort and distraction. He’d recite obscure facts with the same earnestness he applied to everything else, his words a strange lullaby that somehow felt both educational and intimate.

“Did you know that octopuses have three hearts?” he said one evening, his body pressed close to yours, limbs tangled together like the quietest dance. His voice was warm, the amusement in it making your pulse quicken slightly.

You laughed softly, feeling the slight vibration of his chest against your cheek. You buried your face against his skin, closing your eyes for a moment to soak in the sense of peace that only seemed to exist here, with him. “And here I thought you didn’t have one at all,” you teased, a playful smirk pulling at your lips.

His fingers brushed against your cheek, a soft, almost reverent touch that stilled your teasing. His expression shifted, becoming something quieter, something that caught you off guard. The warmth of his breath against your skin softened, and for a moment, everything else seemed to fade.

“I do,” he whispered, the words a soft confession, barely audible but filled with weight. “And it’s yours.”

The words hung in the air, more potent than anything he had said before. The way he said them, so sure, so vulnerable, made your heart skip a beat. You wanted to respond, but the truth was—there was nothing to say. The vulnerability in his voice, the sincerity in his touch, said everything you needed to know.

The bubble burst on an otherwise ordinary evening. You’d fallen into an easy rhythm with Spencer, your shared secret giving you a sense of intimacy that felt almost unbreakable. But the thing about bubbles is that they’re fragile, no matter how much you want them to last.

It started with a message.

Spencer had been quiet all day, his usual goodnight text conspicuously absent the night before. When you finally worked up the courage to check your phone, there it was.

@ thefourthdoctor; We need to talk. Can you come over?

Your heart sank as you read the words. “We need to talk” was never a good sign.

The walk to his apartment felt longer than usual, your mind racing with all the possibilities of what he might say. By the time you arrived, your hands were trembling as you knocked on the door.

He opened it quickly, stepping aside to let you in without a word. His expression was tense, his usually warm eyes clouded with something you couldn’t quite place.

“What’s going on?” you asked, your voice barely steady.

He closed the door, running a hand through his hair. “Something happened,” he said, his tone clipped.

The weight of his words settled heavily in your chest. “What do you mean? Did someone—”

“Someone knows,” he interrupted, his voice sharp. “Or at least, someone suspects.”

You blinked, your stomach twisting. “How? Who?”

“I don’t know who,” he said, pacing the small living room. “But today, a coworker asked me why I’ve been acting distracted. He didn’t say anything outright, but I could tell he’s suspicious. And if he’s suspicious, it’s only a matter of time before someone else starts asking questions.”

You felt the blood drain from your face. “What did you say to him?”

“I brushed it off,” he said, his voice strained. “But this isn’t just about the team. If the school finds out…” He trailed off, his hands clenched into fists.

The silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating.

“So, what are you saying?” you finally asked, your voice trembling.

He stopped pacing, his eyes locking onto yours. “I’m saying we need to stop this. Whatever this is, it’s not worth the risk.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. “Not worth the risk?” you repeated, your voice rising. “Is that all this is to you? A risk?”

“That’s not what I meant,” he said quickly, but the damage was done.

“Then what did you mean, Spencer?” you demanded, your voice cracking. “Because it sounds a lot like you’re saying I’m not worth it.”

His jaw tightened, and he looked away, his silence louder than any words he could have said.

“Unbelievable,” you said, shaking your head. “I thought—” Your voice broke, and you had to swallow hard before continuing. “I thought this meant something to you.”

“It does,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “You mean something to me. But this—us—it’s reckless. It’s dangerous. And if we keep going, we’re both going to get hurt.”

“So, what? You’re just giving up?” you asked, tears stinging your eyes. “You’re walking away because it’s easier than fighting for me?”

“I’m trying to protect you!” he snapped, his voice louder than you’d ever heard it.

“Protect me from what?” you shot back. “From caring about you? From wanting to be with you?”

“From yourself!” he yelled, his words cutting through the air like a knife. “You don’t think things through! You’re impulsive and immature, and you don’t understand the consequences of your actions!”

The room went still, his words hanging heavy between you.

For a moment, all you could do was stare at him, your chest heaving as the weight of his words crushed you. “Is that what you really think of me?” you whispered, your voice trembling.

His face softened for a split second, regret flashing in his eyes, but it wasn’t enough.

“Maybe we should’ve never started this,” he said quietly, the words like a final blow.

You felt something inside you shatter. Without another word, you turned and walked to the door, your movements mechanical as you grabbed your coat.

"I'll write you a check, Spencer," you spat, your voice trembling with anger and hurt. "You can have every cent back, every single dollar you ever gave me. I don’t want it anymore—I don’t want any of it. Not the money, not the memories, not you.”

“Wait,” he called, his voice desperate now. But you didn’t stop.

As the door closed behind you, the tears you’d been holding back finally spilled over, the sound of your footsteps echoing in the hallway as you walked away.

This time, you didn’t look back.

Spencer stood frozen in the middle of his living room, staring at the door you had just slammed shut. The silence in the apartment was deafening, broken only by the faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen.

He felt hollow, like the argument had carved out a piece of him and taken it with you when you left. His chest ached, and his hands hung uselessly at his sides, still trembling from the heat of the fight.

Anger flickered in him—not at you, but at himself. The words he’d thrown at you echoed in his mind, sharp and bitter. Impulsive. Immature. Reckless. He had said them to push you away, to make you understand the gravity of the situation. But now they tasted like poison, regret seeping into every corner of his mind.

What have I done?

Spencer ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands in frustration. He sank onto the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. His mind replayed the look on your face when he had yelled at you—the way your eyes had glistened with unshed tears, the tremble in your voice when you asked if that was what he really thought of you.

He didn’t mean it. Not any of it.

The truth was, you weren’t reckless. You weren’t immature. You were brave in a way he couldn’t comprehend, willing to take risks for what you wanted, for what you believed in. And Spencer admired you for it, even if he couldn’t admit it aloud.

But admiration wasn’t enough to protect you.

That was what haunted him the most. He had been terrified—not of you, but of what your relationship meant, of the potential fallout, the consequences that could ruin both your lives. He thought pushing you away was the right thing to do, the only thing to do. But now, sitting alone in the empty apartment, all he felt was loss.

Spencer’s throat tightened as he leaned back against the couch, staring at the ceiling. He wanted to call you, to apologize, to take it all back. But the rational part of him held him back. You were right to leave, he thought bitterly. I’m no good for you.

Still, the thought of never seeing you again, never hearing your laugh or feeling the warmth of your touch, was unbearable.

The apartment felt colder, emptier, without you in it. Spencer closed his eyes, his heart heavy with the weight of everything he had said and everything he hadn’t.

And for the first time in a long while, he felt utterly, devastatingly alone.

You got me red, white, and blue

Pledging my allegiance to you

Tell me you believe in me too

next part

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