#i had to break my head for ideas for this chapter

[bueckersstuff]

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x OC

Genre: competition for dominance, long overdue desire, uconn royalties, angst, enemies to lovers, mad in love but denial paige, happy ending yayy

Authors Note: Hi guys, so this is a one - shot but I think it's too long to be called that. I wrote this in one sitting afraid I'll lose the plot if I chose to post it in chapters. Enjoy!

Present Day

The bass pulsed through the walls of The Tavern, a heartbeat that thrummed beneath the floorboards. Paige had barely stepped inside when she spotted her friend, Taylor, waving her over from a booth packed with soccer players.

"Finally, you made it! Where’s your teammates?" Taylor greeted, tipping her beer toward Paige. "C’mon, meet my squad."

Paige approached, her six-foot frame moving effortlessly through the crowd. She had barely scanned the faces when she spotted her.

Xena.

Legs crossed, draped over the couch like she owned the place, a sly smile playing on her lips as she leaned toward a wide-eyed brunette, some fan hanging onto her every word. Xena’s fingers twirled a loose strand of the girl's hair, her voice low and smooth.

Something twisted in Paige’s chest. Annoyance? Interest? She wasn’t sure, but it was enough to make her jaw clench.

“Xen, stop corrupting the fans,” Taylor joked, nudging the girl playfully. "Paige, meet the legend herself—Xena. Team’s best striker."

Xena’s head lifted slowly, her dark gaze locking onto Paige’s. A slow, knowing smile curled her lips, like she’d been expecting this moment.

"Paige." Xena’s voice was honeyed, edged with something unspoken.

Paige’s brows lifted slightly. "You know me?"

Xena hummed, sipping her drink. "Who doesn’t know the pride of UConn basketball?" Her tone was casual, but there was something beneath it. Something pointed.

Paige smirked, tilting her head. "And yet, I don’t know you." She lied.

A flicker. Barely there, but Paige caught it—the briefest shadow of something in Xena’s eyes before she covered it up with a laugh. "Guess I’m not that memorable."

The air between them thickened. The team chatted around them, but the moment belonged to just them—silent, taut. Then, as if breaking a spell, Xena turned back to her fan, dismissing Paige with an easy flick of her attention.

Paige exhaled sharply, tearing her gaze away. What the hell was that?

The night bled on, filled with cheap liquor, stolen glances, and conversations Paige wasn’t listening to. Xena had disappeared at some point, but Paige hadn’t missed the way she’d moved through the club—fluid, confident, untouchable.

When Paige finally spotted her again, she was slipping through the back door, a hand running through her hair, her head tilting back as she inhaled the cold night air. Paige’s fingers twitched against her glass. Go.

She didn’t think—just acted.

The moment she stepped outside, the door swinging shut behind her, Xena was already turning back toward the entrance.

They collided.

Hands—Xena’s at Paige’s waist, steadying. Paige’s at Xena’s back, pressing. The contact was electric, an unspoken challenge sparking between them.

Xena’s breath hitched first.

“Following me, UConn?” Xena’s voice was soft but taunting, her fingers tightening just a fraction at Paige’s hip.

Paige scoffed, but she didn’t step away. "I don’t chase."

Xena’s lips parted slightly, just for a second, before she smirked. "Good. Because you’d never catch me."

Paige’s grip on her back flexed, just enough to let Xena feel the strength beneath her fingertips. "That so?"

Xena’s thumb traced over the hem of Paige’s shirt, barely noticeable. Barely innocent. "Mm," she murmured, eyes flickering between Paige’s lips and her gaze. "You don’t strike me as the kind to play fair."

Paige swallowed, her mind clouding with heat, confusion, and something deeply dangerous. "Depends on the game."

Xena exhaled a soft laugh, shaking her head. "You have no idea what you just walked into."

Paige tilted her head, eyes darkening. "Then show me."

For a moment, it felt like something was going to break.

Then—Xena stepped back.

Not a retreat. A warning.

"Careful what you wish for, UConn."

Then she was gone, slipping past Paige, leaving behind only the ghost of her touch and a storm in Paige’s chest.

Paige stood there, fists clenching and unclenching, lips tingling with words she didn’t say.

This wasn’t over. Not even close.

1 Year Ago, The Tavern

The music was different that night—slower, sultrier, drowning in red neon haze. Paige wasn’t supposed to be there. It was offseason, and she had workouts early, but something about the buzz in her veins had made her reckless.

She had been waiting for her drink at the bar when she felt it—someone moving close, just close enough to set her nerves on fire.

"Didn’t take you for the type to party on a Tuesday," a voice murmured at her ear, smooth, familiar.

Paige turned her head slightly, enough to catch dark eyes, a teasing smirk, and the scent of something warm and intoxicating. She knew this girl—Xena. Some soccer player, quick on her feet and sharper with her words.

"Didn’t take you for the type to be watching me," Paige shot back.

Xena chuckled, resting a casual elbow on the bar beside her. "Hard not to when you walk in like you own the place."

Paige smirked. "I usually do."

The bartender slid Paige’s drink across the bar, and before she could reach for it, Xena was there, fingers brushing against hers as she stole the glass.

Paige raised a brow. "That mine?"

Xena took a slow sip, tongue flicking out to taste the rim before handing it back. "Now it is."

Heat coiled low in Paige’s stomach, something dangerous curling in her chest. She took the glass back, mirroring Xena’s movement, deliberately placing her lips where hers had just been. Xena watched, eyes dark and full of something unspoken.

That night had blurred after that. A challenge in the way they danced—Xena pressing close, Paige pulling back, both of them waiting for the other to break. And then outside, against the alley wall, lips hovering but never touching, breaths tangled between them.

Paige had wanted it. Fuck, she had wanted it.

But Xena had just smirked, fingers ghosting over the pulse at Paige’s throat.

"Not tonight, UConn."

And then she had walked away. No explanation. No promise of later. Just gone.

Paige had stood there, burning, furious, confused.

She had told herself she forgot about it. But now, standing outside The Tavern with Xena’s voice still lingering in her ears, she knew that was a lie.

Paige pushed off the wall, exhaling hard.

Careful what you wish for, UConn.

She turned and walked back inside, shoulders rolling with tension. The night went on, drinks passed between hands, conversations shallow and meaningless. But Paige felt it—the weight of Xena’s presence still lingering, even though she was nowhere in sight.

When she finally left, she told herself it meant nothing.

The week that followed, Paige drowned herself in the familiar rhythm of morning workouts and late-night shooting drills. She let Nika and the rest of her teammates pull her into study sessions and casual nights out.

But every now and then, when she wasn’t paying attention, she found herself looking. Searching.

Xena didn’t show.

On the other side of campus, Xena pretended she didn’t care.

She went about her days the same way—practices, classes, the occasional night out with her teammates. But in the quiet moments, she found herself gripping her phone too tightly, resisting the urge to check if Paige had posted something, if their paths would cross again.

She told herself it was nothing. That Paige was nothing.

But she had always been a bad liar.

Three Years Ago

Xena had always been protective of her little brother, Leo. He was only twelve at the time, still in that reckless stage where he thought he was invincible. Their family had come to visit UConn that weekend, walking through campus while their parents gushed over her scholarship and upcoming freshman season.

Xena had been distracted, half-listening, her cleats slung over her shoulder, when it happened.

Leo had been messing around, running ahead, pretending the sidewalk was a balance beam. Then, in a split second, he tripped.

Straight into the street.

Xena’s heart shot to her throat, her feet frozen. She tried to scream, to lunge forward, but before she could move, someone else did.

A tall girl in a UConn basketball hoodie—blonde ponytail swinging, reflexes sharp as a blade—had stepped off the curb without hesitation. One second, Leo was in danger. The next, he was yanked back by the scruff of his hoodie, landing hard against the girl’s chest as a car sped past, missing him by inches.

Leo gasped, his hands fisting in the stranger’s sweatshirt.

"Hey, you good?" her voice had been firm, steady, like she’d done this a hundred times.

Leo nodded frantically, eyes wide as saucers.

Xena’s parents rushed forward, thanking the girl, fussing over Leo, but Xena… she just stood there.

She should’ve spoken. Should’ve said something, anything.

But she didn’t.

She just watched as the girl gave Leo a reassuring pat on the back, smiled faintly, then walked away before Xena could even catch her name.

Later that night, when her parents kept talking about how grateful they were, how it was a miracle, Xena found herself searching online. UConn women’s basketball—blonde, tall, fast reflexes.

That’s when she found her.

Paige.

From that day forward, she kept tabs. Not obsessively, not in a way she’d admit, but enough. Enough to see the articles, the highlight reels, the moments where Paige Bueckers owned the court like she was born for it.

Enough to wonder what it would’ve been like to say thank you.

The first time she saw Paige in person again was at The Tavern.

She hadn’t expected it. Hadn’t planned it. But the moment she spotted her at the bar, standing under the red glow of neon lights, it was like something in her tilted.

She hadn’t even thought.

She moved toward her, pulse thrumming, intentions clear. Say thank you. Make it quick.

But when Paige turned, locking eyes with her, everything shifted.

Up close, she was more. More intense, more magnetic, more everything.

Xena’s throat went dry. Fuck.

"Didn’t take you for the type to party on a Tuesday," she murmured instead.

It wasn’t what she had meant to say. But it was what came out.

Paige arched a brow, unimpressed. "Didn’t take you for the type to be watching me."

Xena almost laughed, almost said, I’ve been watching you for three years.

Instead, she leaned closer, let herself feel the heat rolling off Paige’s skin. "Hard not to when you walk in like you own the place."

Paige smirked. "I usually do."

Xena wanted to say something smart. Witty. Playful.

But all she could think about was that day—Paige’s hand gripping Leo’s hoodie, pulling him to safety. How effortless it had been for her to save him.

The words tangled in her throat.

Before she could stop herself, she reached for Paige’s drink, fingers brushing hers as she lifted it to her lips.

"That mine?" Paige asked, voice edged with challenge.

Xena held her gaze, lips parting just slightly as she took a slow sip. Fuck, she tastes good. "Now it is."

Something dark flickered in Paige’s eyes, something hot and unfamiliar. Xena should’ve backed off, should’ve turned the conversation back to what she had meant to say.

But instead, the moment spiraled—dancing, touches that lingered too long, breathless almost-kisses.

Xena had gotten so close, felt the warmth of Paige’s body pressing against hers, so fucking close.

She wanted it. God, she wanted it.

But her throat tightened with something that felt too much like guilt. This hadn’t started as a game.

So she did the only thing she knew how to do when things got too real.

She pulled back.

"Not tonight, UConn." And she walked away.

Paige had stared after her, something raw in her expression, and Xena had clenched her fists, forcing herself not to turn back.

Later that night, she had stared at her ceiling, cursing herself. Why didn’t you just say thank you?

Present Day

The stadium was packed. Paige thrived under the pressure, under the roar of the crowd, the weight of expectation. She moved like she always did—smooth, lethal, untouchable.

Until she saw them.

A cluster of soccer players just a few rows back from the court. And at the center of them—Xena, sprawled out like she had all the time in the world, watching her.

Paige nearly faltered mid-dribble.

Kk noticed. "You good?"

"Fine," Paige muttered, setting her jaw.

The game resumed, but Xena wasn’t done.

Every time Paige glanced up, there was something new—a mocking little wave, a slow, exaggerated clap when she scored, a smirk around the straw of her drink.

When the final buzzer rang, Paige had barely stepped off the court when she heard it.

"Nice work, UConn."

She turned, her pulse still thrumming from the game, sweat cooling against her skin.

Xena was waiting just outside the tunnel, leaning against the wall like she had all the time in the world.

Paige rolled her eyes, yanking at the towel around her neck. "What, here to recruit me for your fan club?"

Xena grinned. "You’d look good in our colors."

Paige scoffed. "Don’t need the distraction."

Xena’s gaze flickered over her, slow and deliberate. "Funny, ‘cause you looked pretty distracted back there."

Paige took a step closer, ignoring the way her skin tingled with every inch that closed between them. "If you think you got in my head, you’re delusional."

Xena tilted her head, smug and infuriating. "That so?"

Paige’s fingers twitched. She wanted—fuck, she didn’t even know what she wanted. To shut Xena up? To wipe that smirk off her face? Or to do something else entirely?

Xena must have seen it. Because she leaned in, voice dropping just enough to make Paige’s breath hitch.

"Tell me, UConn," she murmured, lips almost brushing her ear. "Are you mad ‘cause I was watching… or ‘cause I know you liked it that I’m here?"

Paige’s stomach dropped.

She opened her mouth, but Xena was already stepping back, a satisfied little smirk on her lips.

"See you around," she said, like it was inevitable.

And maybe it was.

The moment Xena stepped into the basketball arena, she knew she was playing with fire. But that was the point, wasn’t it?

If she couldn’t have Paige’s attention one way, she’d get it another.

So she leaned back, smirking, making sure Paige saw her. The little waves, the slow claps—it was all intentional.

And it worked.

Paige’s movements were sharp but just a little off. The thought sent a thrill through Xena’s chest.

And when the game was over, when Paige finally stormed toward the tunnel, Xena was already waiting.

"Nice work, UConn."

Paige barely slowed, wiping sweat from her face. "What, here to recruit me for your fan club?"

Xena grinned. "You’d look good in our colors."

Paige scoffed, but Xena saw the way her shoulders tensed. "Don’t need the distraction."

Xena tilted her head, drinking in the sight of her—messy hair, flushed skin, sharp edges softened just slightly by exhaustion. She wanted to touch her.

Instead, she let her words do the damage. "Funny, ‘cause you looked pretty distracted back there."

Paige’s jaw tightened.

Xena stepped closer, lowering her voice. "Tell me, UConn. Are you mad ‘cause I was watching… or ‘cause I know you liked it that I’m here?"

She felt it, the shift in Paige’s breathing. The way she sucked in a sharp inhale, her composure cracking for just a second. Xena had expected a sharp retort, a push back. Instead, Paige just stared at her, something unreadable in her expression.

For the first time, Xena felt uneasy.

Then Paige scoffed, rolling her eyes, and the moment passed.

"See you around," Xena teased, flashing her signature smirk before turning to walk away.

But as she disappeared into the crowd, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she had just fucked up.

Because for the first time, Paige actually looked lost.

And Xena doesn’t know what to do with that.

So she walked away, again.

Days after, she tried to push it from her mind. The way Paige had held her gaze like she wanted to rip her apart and pull her closer all at once. The way Xena had almost expected her to chase after her in the tunnel, to demand an answer, to call her out for whatever the hell was happening between them.

But Paige hadn’t chased her.

She had just watched.

And that was somehow worse.

Xena wasn’t expecting to see her again so soon.

The week had been normal, or as normal as things could be. Soccer practice, classes, casual flirting with girls she didn’t care about. She had almost convinced herself that the tension at the game had been nothing. That Paige wasn’t actually affecting her.

But then—fate, or maybe just bad luck.

Xena was heading out of the student center, earbuds in, mind half-focused on her phone when—

A solid, unmoving force. A warm body against hers. Hands catching her waist.

Paige Bueckers.

The realization hit Xena half a second after impact, but by then, her hands had already found purchase on Paige’s hoodie, gripping the fabric out of instinct.

Paige had caught her. Held her steady.

For a beat, neither of them moved.

Xena’s breath stalled in her chest, the proximity too much, too sudden. The smell of Paige—something clean, something faintly like sweat and mint—wrapped around her like a noose.

Then Paige’s hands flexed against her waist, just a little, before she let go.

Xena forced herself to step back, straightening, masking the split-second of unbalance with a smirk. "You should watch where you’re going, Bueckers."

Paige raised a brow. "Funny. I was thinking the same thing."

Her voice was calm, unreadable, but there was something in the way she looked at Xena—something new. The frustration from the tunnel? Gone. Replaced by something smoother, more deliberate.

Xena tilted her head, studying her. "So, what, you just happen to run into me? You following me now?"

Paige exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking her head. "Not everything’s about you, Xena Blackwood."

That shouldn’t have affected Xena. It shouldn’t have sent a sharp thrill through her spine.

But the way Paige said it—so effortlessly dismissive, so unbothered. Fucking hell.

Xena wasn’t used to that.

She stepped closer, testing the space between them. "You sure? You seemed pretty locked in on me back at the game."

Paige’s smirk didn’t falter. She just hummed, tilting her head slightly. "Did I?"

Xena opened her mouth, ready to push, ready to find the crack in Paige’s armor.

But Paige? Paige moved first.

Not away. Not back. But forward.

The shift was so subtle, so precise that Xena almost didn’t register it until she felt the whisper of Paige’s breath near her jaw.

She stilled.

And Paige fucking knew it.

"You talk a lot," Paige murmured, her voice so low Xena barely caught it. "Always trying to get under my skin. Wonder why that is."

Xena swallowed. "Maybe I just like seeing you flustered."

Paige huffed a quiet laugh, one that vibrated in Xena’s chest. Then, just as quickly as she had closed the space, she pulled back.

And that—that control, that command of the moment—left Xena pissed.

She should have been the one leading this push-and-pull. She should have had Paige stumbling, not the other way around.

But Paige just patted Xena’s shoulder, fucking patted her, before stepping around her like this was nothing more than a casual run-in.

"See you around," Paige said over her shoulder, voice laced with quiet amusement.

Xena turned, watching her go, jaw clenched.

Paige had played the game differently this time. And for the first time in a long time, Xena wasn’t sure if she was winning.

Paige almost didn’t go.

She had excuses lined up, perfectly reasonable ones. Practice had been brutal. She had an assignment due. She didn’t care about soccer.

But then Nika had grabbed her wrist and dragged her out of the dorm before she could finish a sentence.

"Come on, twin," Nika had grinned. "You need to touch grass. Literally."

So now she was here, sitting in the stands with half the basketball team, watching UConn’s women’s soccer squad take the field.

And then she saw her.

Xena.

The sight of her sent a sharp jolt through Paige’s stomach—unexpected, unwelcome.

She wasn’t even doing anything special. Just standing there, one hand on her hip, eyes locked ahead, but fuck. She looked different out here.

Paige was used to seeing her in dimly lit clubs, draped over some girl with a smirk that dared you to want her.

But here, under the bright stadium lights, hair tied back, uniform clinging to her body, expression sharp with focus—this was a different Xena.

Paige leaned forward, elbows on her knees, watching as the game started.

She hadn’t realized how physical soccer was.

Basketball was fast-paced, sure, but this? This was relentless. A nonstop fight for possession, bodies colliding, elbows flying. The stamina alone was insane.

And Xena?

She was fucking electric.

Paige tracked her movements without meaning to. The way she cut through defenders like they weren’t even there. The way she anticipated plays before they happened. The sheer force of her presence.

This is what she looks like when she’s serious.

Paige had seen glimpses of it before—the sharpness in Xena’s eyes when she was taunting her, the edge in her voice when she was trying to get under her skin.

But now, this version of Xena wasn’t playing games.

And Paige felt it.

She hated that she felt it.

Hated that it made something tighten in her chest.

She hated it even more when things started to go wrong.

It started small.

A late tackle here, an extra shove there. The other team was losing, and frustration was creeping into their movements.

Xena was still controlling the game, but Paige could see the shift—the rising tension, the way the opposing players were getting reckless.

And then it happened.

A loose ball. A collision.

Xena went down hard.

Paige barely had time to register it before a second impact came—a knee to the ribs, a cleat clipping against her thigh. The whistle blew, but it was too late, and the damage was done.

Xena didn’t get up.

She rolled onto her side, a sharp, pained gasp slipping from her lips, one hand clutching her ribs.

And then Paige saw the blood.

Her brain barely kept up with her body.

One second, she was sitting in the stands, and the next, she was moving.

Nika shouted after her, but Paige didn’t stop.

She was on the field before she could think twice, shoving past staff, past trainers, past everyone, until she was right there—right in front of Xena.

Xena was trying to push herself up, but she barely made it an inch before her body gave up.

"Fuck," she hissed, dropping her head back onto the grass. "That hurt."

Paige stared, frozen.

Xena’s lip was split. A bruise was already forming along her cheekbone. Blood smeared down the side of her thigh where the cleat had caught her.

She looked wrecked.

And for some reason, Paige couldn’t fucking breathe.

"Goddamn it, Xena," she managed, voice tight.

Xena blinked up at her, dazed. Then—because of course she fucking would—she smirked.

"Didn’t know you cared, Bueckers."

Paige’s jaw clenched. "Shut up."

She dropped to her knees beside her, hands hovering uselessly. What the fuck was she supposed to do?

Xena winced as she shifted, sucking in a sharp breath. "I’m fine."

"You’re bleeding," Paige snapped.

Xena’s smirk didn’t fade. If anything, it deepened, eyes flickering over Paige’s face like she was committing every second of this to memory.

"You’re mad," she murmured.

Paige exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "No, I’m—" She stopped, grinding her teeth. "Fuck, Xena, yeah. Yeah, I’m mad."

Xena hummed, head tilting slightly. "Why?"

Paige opened her mouth, then shut it.

Because she didn’t know.

Because this was supposed to be Xena’s thing—getting under her skin, making her feel off-balance.

But now Paige was the one sitting here, angry and scared over someone she had sworn she wasn’t supposed to care about.

The medical team finally pushed through, kneeling beside her.

Paige started to move back, but -

A hand wrapped around her wrist.

She looked down.

Xena’s grip was weak but intentional.

"Paige," she murmured.

And for the first time, there was no teasing in her voice. No smirk. No walls.

Just her.

Paige swallowed hard. "Yeah?"

Xena’s fingers tightened slightly.

Then, so quietly Paige almost didn’t catch it—

"You came."

Paige felt those words.

A lump rose in her throat, and she wanted to look away, wanted to not feel the way Xena’s voice had softened just for her.

But she couldn’t.

So she just curled her fingers around Xena’s hand—just for a second, just long enough to anchor them both.

Then she let go.

Xena’s eyes tracked her as the medics lifted her onto a stretcher, the connection breaking as they started moving.

Paige sat there, in the middle of the field, hands curling into fists.

She had no idea what the fuck had just happened.

But she knew one thing.

She wasn’t walking away from this the same.

The moment Paige stepped off the field, the questions started.

First, from her teammates. Nika was the loudest, of course. "What the fuck was that, Paige? Since when do you care about soccer?"

Paige ignored her, pushing past them, heading straight home.

Then came the media.

She saw her name already trending on Twitter before she even left the stadium. “Paige Bueckers rushes onto the soccer field—concern or controversy?”

Clips were circulating. People were asking why she —a basketball player, someone who had no business in that game—had reacted like that.

And Paige didn’t have an answer. Because she didn’t know either.

Paige couldn’t sleep. She had tried. She had laid in bed, stared at the ceiling, turned her phone on Do Not Disturb.

But every time she closed her eyes, she saw Xena.

On the ground. Bleeding.

The look in her eyes when she had reached for Paige’s wrist. You came.

Paige exhaled sharply, rolling onto her side, clenching her jaw. Why the fuck did it bother her this much? Why did she feel like she had taken a hit just watching Xena go down?

Frustrated, she grabbed her phone, unlocking it without thinking.

Her fingers hovered over Instagram.

She had never searched Xena before. Not once. But now?

Now she was pulling up her profile before she could talk herself out of it.

And fuck, she hated how easy it was to find her. Hated how her username popped up immediately like Paige had been meant to do this.

Her page was a mix of game clips, candid locker room moments, and too many fucking thirst traps.

Paige scrolled mindlessly, stopping on a video from last season.

The caption was simple: “One of my best games.”

Paige clicked it.

The clip played.

Xena—fucking hell, Xena was dominant.

Paige had watched her play earlier, had seen how good she was, but watching it now—raw, unfiltered, no distractions—was different.

She was fast. Calculated. Ruthless.

Paige clenched her jaw.

She had known Xena was good. But this? This was something else.

And that made the anger creep in again.

Because this was the girl who had been knocked to the ground tonight. This was the girl who had been targeted.

Paige scrolled back up to the top of Xena’s page, biting the inside of her cheek.

Then she saw it.

A recent post. A photo dump.

Most of it was random—locker room pictures, city views—but the last slide caught her attention.

A spread of food. A simple caption: “My favorites.”

Paige stared at it.

An idea started forming before she could stop it.

She sat up, rubbing a hand over her face. What the fuck are you doing, Paige?

She didn’t know.

She didn’t want to know.

But somehow, she was already grabbing her jacket, slipping on sneakers, and heading for the door.

Paige didn’t ask where Xena was.

Not directly.

Instead, she messaged someone she knew from the soccer team, throwing in a casual, “Hey, is Xena okay?”

The response came back fast.

“She’s fine. Got stitched up. Why?”

Paige hesitated. Then—

"Just wondering. Heard she got hit bad."

The reply came almost immediately.

"You could just ask her yourself, you know."

Paige ignored that.

Instead, she sent a quick, “Where is she staying?”

There was a pause. Then—

"…Why?"

Paige clenched her jaw. Then, before she could overthink it, she typed,

"Coach asked me to check in."

A lie. A stupid, unnecessary lie.

But it worked.

A minute later, she had an address. And before she could think, before she could stop herself—Paige was already on her way.

The apartment door looked normal. Paige had no idea what she had expected. She stood there for a second, bag in hand, shifting her weight.

Then she knocked.

A few seconds passed.

Then—

The door opened, and there she was.

Xena.

Freshly stitched, bandaged, but still looking at Paige like she was the biggest surprise of the night.

Paige stared.

Xena arched a brow. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

Paige clenched her jaw, lifting the bag. "Brought food."

Xena’s eyes flickered to it, then back to Paige.

For a beat, she said nothing.

Then—slow, taunting, amused—she leaned against the doorframe.

"You stalked my Instagram, didn’t you?"

Paige hated how hot her face felt.

"Shut up," she muttered, shoving the bag into Xena’s hands.

Xena took it, still watching her, still smirking.

Then she opened the bag.

Paige saw the exact moment she recognized the food.

The smirk faded. And for the first time tonight, Xena looked at her softly.

Paige’s stomach twisted.

She hated it. Hated it because she didn’t know why she had done this. Didn’t know why Xena’s face, battered and bruised, made her want to do something, anything to fix it.

Xena studied her for a second longer.

Then she sighed, stepping back, opening the door wider.

"You coming in or what?"

Paige hesitated.

Then—before she could change her mind—she stepped inside.

The first thing Paige noticed about Xena’s room was the smell. It was clean. Not in a clinical way, but fresh—like vanilla and something warm she couldn’t place.

The second thing she noticed?

It was small. Smaller than she expected, considering how big Xena’s presence always felt.

And the third thing? Xena was struggling.

She had the bag of food clutched in one hand while the other pressed against her ribs as she limped toward her bed.

Paige rolled her eyes, stepping forward before she could stop herself. "Jesus, just sit down."

Xena let out a breathy chuckle, plopping onto the mattress with an exaggerated wince. "Damn, Bueckers. Didn’t know you were so bossy."

Paige ignored the way that sent heat down her spine.

"Didn’t know you were so bad at getting your ass kicked," she shot back.

Xena smirked up at her, eyes sharp despite the bruises forming along her jaw. "It's soccer. Shit happens. "

Paige crossed her arms. "Who was the one who tackled you?"

Xena waved a hand, tearing open the takeout container. "Some frustrated defender. It happens."

Paige frowned. "Yeah, well, it shouldn’t happen."

Xena arched a brow. "What, you gonna fight them for me, Bueckers?"

Paige scowled. "Maybe."

The smirk on Xena's lips deepened, and Paige immediately regretted saying anything.

Xena balanced the food container on her lap, shifting slightly—only to wince when the movement pulled at her ribs.

Paige sighed, stepping forward without thinking.

"Here, idiot." She grabbed the container before Xena could drop it, sitting down at the edge of the bed and placing it on the nightstand instead.

Xena blinked at her.

Paige blinked back.

And suddenly, the space between them felt very small. Too small.

Paige’s pulse hammered against her ribs, but she kept her face neutral.

Xena, on the other hand? She knew.

Paige could see it in her eyes—the slow realization, the way her lips curled up like she was about to say something dangerous.

Paige needed to change the subject. Fast.

"So, when can you play again?"

Xena leaned back on her elbows, smirk still intact. "Couple weeks. Maybe less if I can sneak past the trainers."

Paige rolled her eyes. "Yeah, ‘cause that’s a smart idea."

Xena shrugged. "Gotta do what I gotta do."

Paige narrowed her eyes. "You’re an idiot."

"And yet," Xena mused, gaze dropping—slowly, deliberately—to Paige’s mouth. "You’re here."

Paige swallowed.

Her brain short-circuited for a full three seconds before she forced herself to look away.

Bad idea.

Her eyes landed on Xena’s thigh—bruised, but still strong, still—fuck.

She shot to her feet, clearing her throat. "I should go."

Xena tilted her head, amused. "Already?"

"Yeah," Paige muttered, suddenly needing distance. "You need to rest."

Xena didn’t look convinced. "You sure you don’t wanna stay?"

The words were innocent enough, but the look in her eyes?

Not so much.

Paige clenched her jaw.

She wanted to. God, did she want to.

But Xena was injured, and Paige was too wired, too restless, too fucking tempted.

She needed to leave before she does something stupid.

So instead, she dug her phone out of her pocket and handed it to Xena. "Here."

She raised a brow. "What’s this for?"

"Your number," Paige said flatly. "In case you need anything."

She hummed, taking the phone. "So thoughtful, Bueckers."

Paige ignored her and waited as she typed, fingers moving lazily across the screen. After a moment, she handed the phone back.

Paige glanced at the contact name.

Xena - Hot Soccer Star

Paige huffed, shoving her phone into her pocket. "Really?"

Xena grinned. "Accurate, though."

Paige rolled her eyes and made her way to the door, pausing with her hand on the handle. For a second, she considered saying something else—something normal, like rest up or see you later.

But she didn’t trust her mouth not to betray her. So she just nodded and walked out.

Paige barely made it back to her dorm before her phone vibrated. She pulled it out, expecting Nika or one of her teammates.

But instead—

Xena - Hot Soccer Star: Appreciate the food, Bueckers. Didn't know you had a soft side.

Paige stared at the screen, thumb hovering over the keyboard.

For a moment, she considered ignoring it.

But then—

Paige: Don’t get used to it.

A beat passed.

Then—

Xena - Hot Soccer Star: No promises.

Paige groaned, flopping onto her bed.

This was a bad idea. A really bad idea. So why the fuck did she already want to see her again?

Paige hadn’t seen Xena in two weeks. Not on campus. Not at the gym. Nowhere. But the texts? Those hadn’t stopped.

Xena - Hot Soccer Star: Do you always take care of your enemies like this? Or am I special?

Paige: Enemies? You flatter yourself.

Xena - Hot Soccer Star: I tend to have that effect on people.

Paige: Delusional.

Xena - Hot Soccer Star: Are you thinking about me right now?

Paige: No.

Xena - Hot Soccer Star: Liar.

Paige had stared at her screen way too long after that one.

Xena - Hot Soccer Star: Send me a pic.

Paige: Of what?

Xena - Hot Soccer Star: Of you. What else?

Paige had scoffed, rolling her eyes. Not happening. But the heat crawling up her neck had been undeniable.

Paige: Why do you even have my number?

Xena - Hot Soccer Star: You gave it to me.

Paige: Biggest mistake of my life.

Xena - Hot Soccer Star: But you’re still texting me.

Paige had shut her phone off after that one.

Two Weeks Later

Paige was leaving class, one hand adjusting the strap of her bag, the other pulling out her phone.

And then—

It started ringing. She frowned at the screen.

Xena.

She hesitated, then swiped to answer. "What—"

"Look right."

Paige froze. Her head turned instinctively.

And there she was.

Leaning against the wall, phone in one hand, a smug fucking smirk playing on her lips.

Paige’s breath hitched.

Because Xena wasn’t just here—she's fine now.

No limping. No injuries. Just standing there, grinning like she hadn’t just made Paige’s heart nearly combust.

"You’re—" Paige started, words failing. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

Xena pushed off the wall, pocketing her phone. "Came to see you, obviously."

Paige narrowed her eyes. "Why?"

Xena stepped closer. "Because I owe you dinner."

Paige blinked. "What?"

"For last week." Xena shrugged. "Consider it a thank-you."

Paige crossed her arms. "You don’t owe me anything."

Xena tilted her head, eyes flickering down Paige’s body slowly, deliberately. "Let me take you out, Bueckers."

Paige swallowed. "You’re impossible."

Xena grinned. "And you like it."

Paige hated how true that was.

Xena drove them to some lowkey spot just outside campus—a hole-in-the-wall diner with neon lights and a too-good smell wafting through the air.

Paige raised a brow. "This is where you’re taking me?"

Xena smirked. "What, you too fancy for greasy food?"

Paige rolled her eyes. "I just didn’t take you for the type."

"And what type am I?" Xena challenged, opening the door for her.

Paige stepped inside, glancing at her. "Annoying."

Xena chuckled. "You say that like it’s a bad thing."

They sat in a booth, menus in hand. Xena didn’t even look at hers. "You should get the cheeseburger."

Paige raised a brow. "And why’s that?"

"Because it’s the best thing here," she said simply. "And you look like someone who needs to be impressed."

Paige rolled her eyes. "Cocky."

"Accurate."

"Fine." Paige sighed, closing the menu. "But if it’s shit, I’m never listening to you again."

Xena grinned. "Deal."

Food came fast. Conversation flowed faster.

Somewhere between bites of what was, unfortunately, the best cheeseburger Paige had ever had, and Xena's teasing remarks about how she should "listen to her more," something shifted.

It wasn’t just banter anymore. It was easy.

It was Xena asking about her upcoming game and actually listening when Paige answered.

It was Paige asking about Xena's s recovery, about how she really felt after the injury.

It was Xena admitting, after a beat of hesitation, "It fucked me up, Bueckers."

And Paige, without thinking, reaching across the table, thumb brushing over Xena’s wrist. "You’ll be back."

Xena holding her gaze, softer than ever. "You think so?"

Paige nodding. "I know so."

And then—

The moment broke.

Xena smirked, pulling her hand back. "Careful, Bueckers. You’re starting to sound like you care."

Paige rolled her eyes, heat creeping up her neck. "Shut up and eat your food."

The drive back in the car was quiet. Not awkward. Just charged.

Xena drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, throwing her a glance. "Did you have fun?"

Paige sighed dramatically. "Shockingly, yes."

She grinned. "Knew it."

They pulled up outside Paige’s dorm.

Paige unbuckled, hesitating. "Guess I’ll see you around."

Xena smirked. "You will."

Paige went to open the door. But then—

"Wait."

She turned back. "What—"

Xena leaned over, voice dropping. "What if I don’t wanna wait another two weeks?"

Paige’s breath hitched.

Xena’s gaze flickered to her lips—brief, intentional, dangerous.

Paige’s pulse spiked. "Then don’t."

Xena exhaled sharply, fingers tapping against the wheel. "Fuck, Bueckers."

Paige smirked. "Goodnight, Xena."

And with that, she stepped out, closing the door behind her.

Her phone buzzed before she even reached the door.

Xena - Hot Soccer Star: Goodnight, Paige.

It had been a week.

A whole week since that night at the diner. Since the teasing, the eye contact, and the electricity humming between them.

A whole week since Paige had last heard from Xena.

At first, she ignored the nagging feeling in her chest. Maybe Xena was busy. Maybe practice was brutal. Maybe—

But then, nothing. No texts. No calls.

Paige had tried.

Paige: Yo, ghosting me already?

Paige: Xena?

Paige: Seriously, what’s up?

Paige: Fine. Fuck this.

She wasn’t one to chase. And she sure as hell wasn’t about to start now. But then she saw her.

Paige was walking past towards the athlete's center when her breath hitched.

There, standing against the glass windows, was Xena.

And she wasn’t alone.

Some girl stood close—too close—smiling up at her.

Paige watched as the girl reached out, fingers trailing along Xena’s wrist before moving up to touch her cheek.

Xena just stood there, smiling softly, nodding at whatever the girl was saying.

Something inside Paige snapped.

Before she could stop herself, she walked inside, straight past them.

"Paige—"

Xena’s voice cut through the air, sharp, urgent. But Paige didn’t stop.

Didn’t look.

Didn’t care.

Not when her chest was burning. Not when her throat felt tight. Not when she knew damn well that she had no right to feel like this but couldn’t help it.

She stormed into their locker room, hands bracing against the cool metal, taking deep breaths.

Get it together.

She wasn’t yours.

Xena could do whatever the fuck she wanted.

Paige clenched her fists, swallowing hard.

So why the hell did it feel like she’d just been punched in the gut?

Her teammates noticed. Nika nudged her as they laced up. "You good, dude?"

Paige forced a smirk. "Always."

Azzi shot her a look. "You’ve been weird all practice."

"I’m fine," Paige snapped, harsher than she meant to.

Her teammates shared glances but didn’t push.

After practice, as they packed up, Nika tossed an arm over Paige’s shoulder. "We’re hitting the Tavern tonight. You in?"

Paige barely hesitated. "Fuck yeah."

She wasn’t about to sit in her dorm thinking about Xena.

She needed a distraction.

And if that distraction came in the form of loud music and shots of tequila, so be it.

The Tavern

The energy hit her the moment they stepped inside.

Music thrummed through the air, bodies swaying, laughter echoing across the dimly lit space.

Paige let herself relax, let the atmosphere dull the sharp edges of her thoughts—until she saw her.

Xena was sitting in a booth, with her teammates.

A drink in hand, eyes distant, lost in thought.

No girl.

No soft smiles.

Just her.

Paige’s stomach twisted.

She wanted to go to her.

She wanted to demand an explanation, to yell at her, to—

No.

She reminded herself of what she saw earlier. Instead, she headed for the bar. She had barely ordered when—

"Déjà vu, huh?"

Paige stiffened.

That voice. Low. Amused. Fucking dangerous.

She turned her head.

Xena had slid onto the stool beside her, close enough that Paige could feel the heat radiating off her.

Paige narrowed her eyes ahead. "What do you want?"

Xena answers softly. "To talk."

Paige didn’t turn. "Not in the mood."

Xena tilted her head, studying her. "You sure? Because I think you’re always in the mood to fight with me."

Paige finally looked at her, and fuck, there was fire in her eyes. Not that she can help it at this point. "You think this is a game?"

Xena sighed, leaning in. "No. But I think you miss me."

Paige’s jaw clenched. "You disappeared."

Xena sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Paige—"

"Don’t fucking Paige me!" she snapped, turning in her seat. "You disappear for a week. No texts, no calls. And then I see you, all smiles, letting some girl fucking touch you I —" and Paige stopped herself, exhaling hard. "It doesn’t fucking matter."

Paige was willing herself to cool the fuck down because people are already staring.

"Can you let me explain?" Xena was trying to hold her arm but Paige kept swatting it away.

"Fuck off, Xena." Paige was hurt, though she had no right. But still, she thought they are on the same page. She felt betrayed.

Xena stilled, maybe she felt herself on the verge of also losing it. She stand beside Paige, who's still sitting.

"Come outside. Let's talk." Xena wasn't about to make them a spectacle in front of their schoolmates.

"Oh, so now you want to talk?" Paige bit back hard. She wasn't about to lose to this godforsaken woman who's making her absolutely mad.

Xena sighed deeply, and loudly before looking at her eyes again. The lights passed through it, and although it was just a moment, Paige clearly saw the look on Xena's eyes.

Red-rimmed, troubled, hurt, lost, almost pleading eyes.

So before she says something stupid again, she stands up, grabbed Xena by the hand towards the back of the pub.

"Now what? I'm giving you two minutes to talk and then I'm done here." Paige deadpanned.

Xena hesitated, jaw clenching. "I lost my phone."

Paige frowned. "What?"

"Someone took it at the gym. Or I misplaced it. I don’t fucking know." Xena looked away, exhaling sharply. "And between training, school, and therapy, I just—I didn’t have time to explain."

Xena continues, eyes glassy, frustrated. "And then I see you today, and you just walk past me like I meant nothing."

Paige was about to crumble, but the thing that ticked her off still lingers. "You were happily smiling with some girl — "

"She’s my fucking therapist."

Paige stopped.

Her heart pounded. "What?"

Xena exhaled sharply, running her hands through her hair. "She’s my therapist. She was checking in on me, okay? My stitches, my wrist, my fucking cheekbones. She was happy my bruises are gone, that I’m good now."

Paige swallowed hard.

Her throat burned. Her anger cracked, giving way to new emotions.

Guilt.

Shame.

Fucking everything at once.

Paige exhaled, voice softer now. "I’m sorry."

Xena scoffed. "Yeah? Didn’t fucking seem like it when you were out here losing your shit on me."

Paige clenched her jaw. "I thought—" She cut herself off, hands balling into fists. "Fuck, Xena."

Xena looked at her, deeply, daring her to do much worse. "You're so hot when you're jealous, did you know that?"

And suddenly, there wasn’t any space between them anymore.

Paige surged forward.

Their lips crashed together, months of tension exploding between them.

Xena groaned, fingers tangling in Paige’s hoodie, pulling her in harder.

Paige pushed her against the wall, deepening the kiss, teeth scraping, hands gripping hips—fuck, fuck, fuck.

It was all heat, all fire, all fucking want.

People started filtering out of the bar, their voices pulling them apart, but Xena wasn’t done.

She grabbed Paige’s wrist, pulling her toward the parking lot.

"Come with me."

Paige didn’t hesitate.

They reached Xena’s car, and the moment the doors shut—

They were on each other again.

Xena straddled Paige in the passenger’s seat, hands in her hair, kissing her senseless.

Paige groaned into her mouth, nails digging into Xena’s thighs. "Fuck, you drive me insane."

Xena panted, lips swollen. "Right back at you."

Paige’s hands wandered, Xena’s breath hitched—

But then—

A voice outside.

They both froze.

Laughter.

People walking past.

Paige swallowed hard, forehead resting against Xena’s. "We should stop."

Xena exhaled sharply, hands still gripping her waist. "Yeah."

Neither of them moved.

Xena smirked. "You’re not letting me go."

Paige chuckled, eyes dark. "Not a chance."

"Come back with me," Xena offered, voice low, edged with something undeniable.

Paige stared at her.

This wasn’t a question. It was a challenge. A dare.

Her body screamed yes.

Her mind? Dangerous. Stupid.

Xena smirked, reading her hesitation. "Scared?"

Paige’s jaw ticked. "Drive."

Xena’s grin was pure fucking sin.

The second the door shut behind them, it was over.

Paige shoved Xena against it, her mouth crashing onto hers, hands tangling in her hoodie, hungry.

Xena groaned, pulling her in, her grip rough, her touch possessive.

The air was thick, charged, fucking unbearable.

Paige barely registered the room, only that the back of her legs hit the bed, and then they were falling into it.

Xena pinned her down, lips trailing down her neck, teeth grazing, teasing.

Paige sucked in a sharp breath, gripping Xena’s waist, pulling her closer, needing more, needing everything—

A pause.

Xena hovered above her, breathless, eyes scanning Paige’s face.

A silent question.

Paige swallowed, heartbeat hammering against her ribs.

Then she reached up, fingers curling into Xena’s shirt, pulling her back down.

"Shut up and keep going."

Xena’s grin was the last thing Paige saw before she stopped thinking entirely.

Paige had spent too much time fighting this.

Fighting Xena.

Fighting herself.

But there were only so many nights she could lie awake, replaying every look, every touch, every fucking feeling that Xena made her feel.

So, standing outside the athlete dorms, hands stuffed in her hoodie pocket, heart pounding like a goddamn drum, Paige inhaled deeply and knocked.

It only took three seconds for the door to swing open.

Xena stood there in sweats and a cropped UConn soccer tee, hair damp like she’d just showered, eyes widening at the sight of her.

"Paige?"

No teasing. No smirking. Just genuine surprise.

Paige swallowed. "Can I come in?"

Xena hesitated for a second before stepping aside. "Yeah, of course."

Paige walked in, pacing once before stopping, turning to face her. "Okay, look."

Xena crossed her arms, leaning against the door. "Should I be worried?"

Paige exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "No. I mean—fuck, I don’t know." She ran a hand through her hair, huffing. "This is—"

"Spit it out, P," Xena said softly.

Paige locked eyes with her. "Be mine."

Xena’s breath hitched.

Silence hung between them—thick, heavy, waiting to crack.

"Paige—"

"No, listen," Paige interrupted, stepping closer, voice firm now. "I don’t want anyone else. I don’t want the games, or the push and pull. I don’t want to spend another fucking second pretending like I don’t think about you all the time. I just want you."

Xena just stared at her, like she wasn’t sure if this was real.

"So be mine," Paige repeated, softer this time.

Xena let out a small, breathless laugh, running a hand through her hair. "You make it sound so easy."

Paige tilted her head. "Isn’t it?"

Xena looked at her, searching, feeling.

And then she was closing the distance, grabbing Paige’s hoodie, pulling her in until their lips met, slow and deep, nothing like before—

This wasn’t fire or recklessness or anger.

This was certainty.

This was everything Paige had been waiting for.

Xena pulled back just enough to whisper, "Yeah. Okay. I’m yours."

Paige grinned, feeling light, victorious, complete.

"Damn right you are."

The world didn't change overnight.

But they did. And maybe that was enough.

The days passed, filled with stolen kisses in hallways, late-night talks in Xena’s dorm, meeting both their families. Imagine Paige's surprise when she finally learns about Leo, and how Xena has been plotting about her. Damn, the butterflies on Paige's stomach were indescribable.

Paige sat front row at Xena’s next game, arms crossed, locked in.

When Xena scored, she ran past the stands, pointing at Paige with a cocky smirk.

Paige only shook her head, smirking right back.

Xena came to every basketball game she could, watching Paige dominate.

One night after a win, Paige found Xena waiting by the locker room doors, arms crossed.

"You were a little off in the third quarter," Xena teased.

Paige rolled her eyes. "Shut up."

Xena leaned in, lips brushing her ear. "Come over tonight?"

Paige smirked. "You don’t even have to ask."

They weren’t perfect.

They bickered. They teased. They pushed each other’s buttons.

But they also made each other better.

Stronger. Happier.

And maybe they didn’t have it all figured out yet—

But Paige knew one thing for sure.

Whatever this was?

She wasn’t letting go.

Not now.

Not ever.

[heretical-cogitations]

Help! My serf smells like the armoury and it's making me have heretical thoughts. Part 2

Word count: ~870

Part 1

A/N - I was really struggling trying to write this to work for any space marine but don't think I have the skill. Wanted to give writing in 2nd person a go as well. So it morphed into :

Titus x reader

Probs ooc but fuck it we ball.

Already have ideas for a final part....

As the door closed behind him you were left in shock, what just happened. 

Smoothing out your robe; you pick up the piece of armour you had neglected when you were distracted by your Lords ...presence.

Cleaning the filthy ceramite your mind is filled with thoughts of him; worried you had upset him but despite your concern you recall to how he looked in that tiny, flimsy loin cloth, you were certain you could easily rip it off with you tee— BY THE EMPEROR STOP.

Covering your face with your hands, guilt and shame set deep into every atom of your being.

How could you be so disrespectful, he had treated you so well, been so kind and in no uncertain terms made your life considerably better than it would've been otherwise.

You scold yourself again, annoyed at yourself for objectifying one of the emperor’s chosen, especially one so chivalrous and caring.

You looked at the spotless armour you had haphazardly lugged towards a corner of the room, proud of how the ceramite was now gleaming despite arguing with yourself the entire time, it now taking up as little of the communal space as it could.

The only piece missing is his helm currently placed near your feet, it had suffered quite a lot in this last deployment and needed more than a good scrub to get it back to its true glory. So, you have graciously taken it upon yourself to polish and repaint his helm.

You definitely weren’t going to use this as a peace offering to your lord or as a distraction from your inappropriate day dreaming.

Your gaze lands on the gauntlets, the sheer size making you blush, you need to get out of this room. Picking up his helm you scurry out, hoping the walk to his chamber would clear your mind or if that didn't the helm maintenance would. 

He couldn’t be in there any longer, it was too much, he needed to get to the bottom of this now. Titus, newly appointed captain of the 2nd company, was mortified at his lack of self-control; he is a mighty astartes and yet one smell has him splitting at the seams.

His mind wanders has he walks heavy footed through the ship’s corridors, before he finds himself at the armoury, making his way in, it’s quiet. The rooms usual smell almost completely absent, something usually so strong barely present now. He decides to search around to investigate what might produce such a smell, hoping to find why it made him react the way it did. His search is cut short as he hears the distinct armoured footfall of the chapter master.

“Titus.”  

Titus turns to face him saluting, “Chapter master.”  Calgar smiles and raises a brow “At ease lad, you look concerned is something bothering you?”  Titus breaks eye contact with his superior shifting on his feet appearing almost meek in front of him. “Well… I am concerned about my behaviour towards my serf earlier, it is hard to explain I apologise, but I felt overwhelming urges to touch them in less than appropriate ways.” He hangs his head low expecting to be reprimanded for acting in such a debased way, but such rebuke never comes instead Calgar stifles a laugh. His gauntlet clapped Titus on the shoulder knocking him forward with the force. “I'm sorry Titus, I shouldn't laugh, this issue is quite common amongst our battle brothers. As we astartes age we can rekindle some of our, let's say, baseline urges. Though you are on the younger side for this to occur.”  Calgar’s chuckle tapers out, smile still lingering on his face.

“I was looking for what I suspected to be the catalyst but have had no luck.” Huffing as he speaks, almost sulking. “What did you expect to find in the armoury, Titus?” Calgar said still smirking, almost as if he knew the answer. “The smell, that caused all of this” Titus admits.

“Ah, so you are unaware of the predicament here in the armoury…” Calgar leans closer to him, voice dropping to a whisper no baseline could hear. “What you smell when you don your battle plate is baseline arousal, Titus. Of those who know, we each have our own interpretation as to why armouring serfs react in the way they do when dressing us, but one thing we all agree is that this is kept close to our chest and only shared on a need-to-know basis.” Calgar leans back smiling again teasing Titus. “And this seems to be one of those situations”. Calgar turns towards the door “I hope will keep this secret as well as the rest of us.” He says chuckling as he walks out of the room. Titus is left blushed red and gaping at the grey-haired space marine as he takes his leave.

Once the shock of the revelation settled, he couldn't contain the smile that split his features, his little serf finds him attractive.

His little serf returns his feelings.

No matter how much he tries to temper it he cannot control his giddiness. The other implications of the situation flying far above his head in this moment.

He must return to them now.

[betweenstorms]

Chapter 3/2 of Skin Of Thunder To Be Known (previous chapter) (next chapter) (masterlist) Simon 'Ghost' Riley x fem!Reader

“In the stillness of your gaze, I hear my name whispered back to me, not as a question, but as a truth. To be loved by you is to be undone, to be remade from the fragments of who I thought I was.”

Simon Riley wasn’t a man who fell, right?

Well, definitely not in the way poets wrote about or dreamers sighed over. Falling, for him, was a dangerous thing, a loss of total control. It was a kind of surrender for people who could afford the vulnerability of gravity. But that’s the funny thing about this type of gravity, isn’t it? That you don’t always see it coming.

You don’t always notice the pull until you’re halfway to the ground.

It wasn’t immediate.

No, his fall was quieter than that. He threw himself into the abyss when he’d let those words slip from his mouth, that compliment about your bloody perfume he hadn’t planned but somehow couldn’t regret. After that, the truth started to creep in, slowly and undeniably. He hadn’t realized it yet, but the moment his words had found you on that particularly crisp morning in the smoking area, the foundations of his resolve began to crack.

And not just his, but yours too.

God, how could he had known that a simple compliment, innocent on the surface, could spark something he couldn’t anticipate, couldn’t calculate, couldn’t dodge. The way you looked at him then, your smile unfurling like the first light of dawn breaking over a stormy sea, caught him off guard.

He didn’t realize it at the moment, but he had set something in motion.

Something unstoppable.

After that, you were everywhere.

The change was subtle at first, a quiet shift in the way you behaved around him. Your shyness still lingered, soft and endearing, but you carried yourself with more ease around him, as though the first ice of winter had finally broken. He spotted you in the offices, your head bent over some report, your fingers skimming across the keyboard with focused precision. You greeted him warmly whenever you crossed paths, your eyes meeting his with a sincerity that felt almost foreign. He caught glimpses of you in the corridors, your smile so bright it made the harsh fluorescents seem dim by comparison. In the canteen, you always waved at him, unashamed and unguarded. In the briefing room, you caught his gaze now and then, a silent acknowledgment shared between the two of you, unspoken but understood.

It was maddening.

It was intoxicating.

You wore your heart on your sleeve like a piece of delicate jewelry, a crystallized part of your soul, shimmering and vulnerable, and it terrified him. Not because it was fragile, but because it made him want to reach out, to hold it in his hands and keep it.

To keep you.

Ghost had faced countless horrors, endured agony that would break lesser men. He had been hung from his ribs by fucking hooks, his burnt body a canvas of searing pain, clawed his way out of a grave with nothing but a rotting jaw and the desperate remnants of his will to live. But none of it compared to this—to the ache that now consumed him, a longing that bled through him like a wound he had no desire to heal.

It was unlike anything he had ever felt, a hunger so raw it bordered on obsession. He knew so little of you, your life, your story, but it didn’t matter. He was possessed by the need to unravel you, to map out every hidden thought, every curve of your mind, to press your name into the marrow of his bones until it became part of him. The idea of not having you, not knowing you, clawed at him more violently than the dirt he had once shoveled in that cold, silent tomb.

And yet, he would have done it all over again.

He would have ripped out his own jaw if it meant he could see the light in your eyes just once more, your smile that had burned through the shadows of his existence and shown him what it meant to want. To truly want. If being without you was to be buried alive, then he would endure the suffocating press of death, the rot of despair, he would dig his own grave and tear through the earth itself, if it meant feeling the weight of your gaze on him again.

You were madness, yes, but you were also salvation.

However, Ghost wasn’t sure where the line between the two began or ended. And he knew this was a proper problem when Soap pulled him aside after a mission briefing, his annoying grin sharp and all too knowing.

Ghost had never been more grateful for the military’s dogshit technology like he was one day, when it had brought you there, to him. And it allowed him—no, gifted him—the chance to look at you, to drink you in without consequence, to let his gaze settle over you like a veil of a young bride. And you felt it. The weight of his stare, heavy as a hungry hand against your hot skin, pulling at you, demanding your attention. You tried to focus on the projector, on the mess of cables and the way Price muttered under his breath, but it was useless. Ghost was watching you, covering you with his gaze—

—as if he could claim you with just his eyes.

And that was your undoing.

Your hands fumbled, nearly tripping over a cable, heat crawling up your neck, burning you from the inside out. The whole team was watching now, curiosity sparking in their eyes, but the worst part?

Ghost didn’t look away.

He held you there, tethered in the storm of his stare, making you a blushing, stuttering mess in front of everyone as you tried to respond to Price’s casual questions.

And perhaps, if you weren’t so flustered, if your pulse wasn’t hammering against your ribs, you would have noticed it—the slight tilt of his head, the faintest twitch at the corner of his mask. The ghost of amusement dancing in his dark, unreadable eyes.

And of course Soap picked up on it.

The Scotsman had always been a bloody thorn in his side, poking and prodding where others wouldn’t dare, but this time, his words struck closer to home than Ghost would have liked.

“The hell was that? Looked like you wanted to eat the poor lass alive.”

Ghost barely reacted at first, his muscles taut with feigned indifference as he turned slightly, a deliberate thing, meant to steady the coil of tension twisting through his ribs. He knew Soap well enough to understand that ignoring him was pointless. The cheeky bastard had a nose for weakness, and unfortunately, Ghost had just bared his throat without meaning to.

“You’ve got it bad, Lt. Never seen you like this before. You’re bloody obsessed.”

“Don’t start, Johnny.”

But Soap wasn’t one to let up, not when he smelled blood in the water.

“C’mon, you’re practically waggin’ your tail every time she’s in the room.”

The silence was damning.

And worse, it wasn’t the accusation that bothered him. It was the fact that he couldn’t deny it. No, Ghost didn’t need to hear it out loud to know that you had become a problem. A proper fucking problem. In that bloody briefing room, something had snapped inside him, something raw and primal and utterly unforgiving.

He had always been good at hiding. But now he wanted to be seen. He wanted every bastard in that room to know, to understand, without a single word spoken, that you belonged to him.

That the way you blushed, the way your breath hitched, the way your hands trembled slightly as you fumbled with the projector—

—that was his doing.

There was no hiding this. Not anymore.

And the worst part?

He didn’t want to deny it.

Ghost couldn’t escape the weight of it, the filth of guilt staining every thought he had of you. He’d sworn to himself in the beginning, when he first noticed the effect you had on him, that he would never seek you out, wouldn’t let you of all people occupy the spaces in his mind reserved for survival, for strategy, for the cold detachment that kept him steady. Yet here he was, breaking his own unspoken vows, his feet tracing the paths that led to you without him even realizing.

But if he really thought about it, why should he deny you?

Why should he deny himself? You weren’t a real liability unless he let you be one, and Ghost wasn’t the type to let anything slip from his grasp. Obsession was too delicate a word for what he felt, still he knew better than to go further. But he couldn’t stop the way his pitiful thoughts twisted into knots at night, replaying the moments you shared, however small.

He must stop himself from giving in.

Yes, he wouldn’t let it get to that point.

He could look, but it would never be more than that. He wouldn’t touch you, wouldn’t give in, wouldn’t let it come to skin against skin. He would never reach for you. Because he knew, deep down, in the cold, unyielding depths of his pitiful soul, that if he ever crossed that line, he would be lost entirely. And Ghost, for all his shadows, couldn’t afford to let Simon fall.

So he only looked.

Looking was safe. Looking didn’t mean surrendering. Looking didn’t mean unraveling. This way, he could keep his distance, maintain the fragile boundaries he’d constructed between himself and the thing he wanted most. But God, even that felt like too much some days.

Especially now.

It was a particularly bitter morning.

The autumn wind was howling outside the office like a living thing, rattling the windows and seeping through every tiny crack in the building. The heater in the office hummed softly, barely cutting through the chill, and the faint smell of stale coffee lingered in the air, mingling with the scent of paper and metal.

You were explaining something about the military’s new, updated computer system, your voice soft but steady, your fingers moving deftly across the keyboard as you demonstrated the most efficient way to navigate the reports. Ghost barely registered your words, too focused on the way your lips moved, the faint crinkle at the corners of your eyes when you glanced up at him to make sure he was paying attention.

He wasn’t. Not to the system, anyway.

No, Ghost was focused entirely on you.

You had said it yourself once, hadn’t you? That you’d help with whatever he needed.

And now, what he needed was this—your presence, your voice, your smile. Because he knew this system as he knew the back of his hand, as a high-ranking officer he had been filling out military paperwork since you were still learning the difference between convex and concave. But he had asked for your help anyway, a poor excuse to have you here, sitting beside him, close enough that he could feel the warmth of you.

Ghost wasn’t supposed to enjoy something like this, not in the conventional sense anyway. He endured, tolerated, got through his days without too much of a fuss. But watching the way your cheeks bloomed like a rose, the way your breath hitched when his voice dipped too low, too deliberate. It was a strange kind of satisfaction, one he didn’t fully understand, but it was there, and it was relentless. And the way your eyes darted to his, wide and uncertain, like you were trying to figure him out but didn’t dare look too long?

That was something else entirely.

“...so if you flag the report here by clicking this, it’ll automatically forward it to the reviewing officer. Saves a bit of time, yeah? It’s streamlined, apparently. Pretty cool, huh?”

Ghost didn’t respond.

His eyes stayed fixed on your face, his expression unreadable beneath the balaclava. He wasn’t even pretending to look at the screen, wasn’t giving you the courtesy of pretending to care about whatever it was you were showing him. His gaze dragged lower, tracing the delicate line of your jaw, the gentle curve of your throat.

He should’ve said something.

Should’ve nodded, grunted in vague acknowledgment, anything to make it seem like he was actually listening. But he wasn’t. Not to the software update or the new efficiency protocols. No, all he could do was stare, barely blinking, barely breathing, as you explained something he already knew inside and out.

And you noticed.

You hesitated, your voice faltering as your fingers hovered awkwardly above the keyboard. “Uhm… do you… do you need me to repeat that, sir?” you asked, your gaze flicking to his, hesitant and unsure, like you were afraid of what you might find there.

“No need.”

It was a lie, and you both knew it.

Your tongue darted out nervously, wetting your bottom lip—a habit, nothing more, but it was enough to catch his attention. The smallest shifts in his posture were audible in the still room, the faint creak of the chair beneath him, the subtle rustle of fabric as he leaned back.

“I don’t—I mean, I don’t want to waste your time,” you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper as your nails fidgeted with the edge of the desk. The words tumbled out ungracefully, more an attempt to fill the silence than anything else. “I just thought—well, you asked me to show you this, so maybe…”

Ghost’s chair creaked again, louder this time, as he shifted his weight. His tone followed, dry and razor-sharp, slicing clean through your nerves.

“Reckon you just talk too much.”

The bluntness of his words made you flinch.

Your lips parted in surprise, but no sound came out, your eyes wide as they met his dark gaze. His expression was unreadable beneath the balaclava, however, the faint tilt of his head made the comment feel intentional. Calculated.

“I—what?” you stammered, heat rushing to your face, flustered and unsure if he was serious or just taking the piss. Judging by his tone, it could’ve gone either way. “I’m just trying to help,” you mumbled, your voice quieter now, but you managed to hold his gaze for a moment before your nerves betrayed you, and you looked down at your hands. “It’s not like you’re giving me much to work with, sir.”

Ghost nearly scoffed.

His eyes lingered on you, studying the flush creeping up your neck, the way you avoided his gaze like it might burn you. The audacity, the way you shot back at him, all shy and fidgeting but still refusing to fold—it stirred something in him, something darkly amused. You were nervous, that much was obvious, the way you flinched and your voice wavered, but there was a stubbornness beneath the surface.

A quiet defiance he hadn’t expected.

And it intrigued him.

“That so?”

Ghost let the words hang in the air, his tone deliberately even, his voice a rumble that seemed to fill the entire room. He watched as you shifted awkwardly in your seat, clearly unsure but refusing to let it show entirely. Bloody hell, that stubborn streak of yours, buried under layers of shyness, was fascinating to him. You had spunk—clumsy, self-conscious, but still there.

You nodded, glancing at the screen before stealing a quick look at him. “Well, yeah. I mean… you’re not exactly receptive.”

“Receptive?” he repeated, deadpan.

“Yes, I mean,” you began, clearly starting to panic, “it’s just… you don’t really seem like the, uhm… tech-savvy type, you know?”

You immediately winced, clearly regretting your choice of words the moment they left your mouth, and Ghost could feel the faintest flicker of a smirk pulling at the corners of his lips beneath the balaclava.

“Sounds like you’re callin’ me old.”

Your eyes widened in horror. “Oh no, I didn’t mean it like that!” you blurted out, waving your hands in front of his face defensively. “I just meant that—you know, maybe it’s just… uhm, a generational thing, I thought that—”

“So you are callin’ me old.”

“I—no! I mean, not old-old,” you stammered, your cheeks practically blazing as you blinked up at him, clearly mortified.. “Just… experienced?”

He raised an eyebrow at that, the gesture subtle but enough to make you squirm. Your face morphed into a defeated grimace.

“You’re twisting my words.”

“Am I?” His tone was so dry it could’ve sucked the moisture out of the room.

“Come on, you know I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant that you’ve probably been doing paperwork since… I don’t know, before I was even in high school. But, uhm, that doesn’t mean you’re old. It’s not like I know what you look like, which is—I mean, you don’t look a day older than... forty?”

That stopped him for a second, the faintest twitch of his head indicating surprise.

Fucking hell, you’d said it so awkwardly, so earnestly, that for a moment he wondered if you even knew how much worse you were making it for yourself. And then, as if realizing what you’d just implied, you froze. Completely froze.

For a heartbeat, the room seemed to still.

Your eyes darted toward him like a deer caught in headlights, your hands hovering midair as though they could somehow physically reel your words back into your mouth. Ghost didn’t move, didn’t even blink, the only sound in the room was the faint hum of the heater and the distant creak of the old building under the weight of the wind.

And then, he hummed.

“Forty?”

Your hands flew to your face as if that would shield you from the sheer intensity of his gaze. “No, no, no!” you stammered, the words tumbling over each other in your haste to backtrack. “It was just an example! I mean, I don’t actually know how old you are. You could be… uhm, thirty-five?” You groaned again, pressing your palms against your mouth, making your words come out as muffled nonsense. “Oh no. I’m just making this worse, aren’t I?”

Ghost’s gaze pinned you in place.

You were coming apart, unraveling thread by thread beneath the weight of his silence. Your words stumbled out in a tangled mess, tumbling over themselves like stones in a landslide, each one burying you deeper, crushing your resolve with every awkward attempt to claw your way out. And still, he stared—calm, unreadable, letting you twist in the trap you’d set for yourself, as though he had all the time in the world to watch you fall.

Your hands flew to your face, fingers spread wide like a fractured shield, barely hiding the mortified flush that crept up your neck. Through the gaps, your eyes peeked out, wide and uncertain, catching his for the briefest, agonizing moment before retreating again.  

“Oh my God,” you mumbled, your voice muffled and small, the apology trembling behind the barrier of your palms. “I’m so sorry.” The words fell between you like fragile glass, splintering under the weight of your embarrassment.

Ghost should’ve let it go.

Should’ve brushed it off, muttered something noncommittal, and moved on.

But he didn’t.

“Could’ve gone with thirty,” he muttered, his voice carrying the faintest edge of amusement, though his tone remained as flat as ever. “Would’ve been kinder.”

That did it.

You let out a startled chuckle, a sound so sudden and bright it pierced through him, straight to the bone. It hit him like a gut punch, robbing him of breath and leaving him staggered in a way that battles and blood never had. Your shoulders shook with the effort to hold it back, your cheeks blazing, the color rising in waves that only made you more mesmerizing.

It wasn’t just the sound, though it was lovely in its own right, like the first notes of a melody meant only for him. No, it was the way it transformed you. It stripped away your defenses, your shyness, your awkwardness, your nervous little fidgets, and left you radiant, glowing with a beauty that wasn’t just physical but visceral.

You burned him, yet he couldn’t look away.

“I wasn’t trying to—” You broke off, laughter spilling out again, your fingers pressed against your mouth as though holding back a dam would keep the flood at bay. “Bloody hell, I wasn’t trying to insult you! I’m not laughing at you, I swear, I’m just—God, I’m such an idiot.”

“Not denyin’ that.”

You shook your head, the last echoes of your nervous giggles fading like a wave retreating from the shore, scratching your elbow with your signature, restless energy. “Brilliant. Just bloody brilliant. I’ve completely humiliated myself in front of a senior officer. Might as well hand in my resignation now, huh?”

“That an offer?” he asked, his tone deceptively casual.

“You’d really let me quit over this?”

“Wouldn’t stop you.”

Your laugh came softer this time, tinged with something awkward and vulnerable, and Ghost wasn’t prepared for the way it filled the quiet office like the sea spilling into a hollow cave, echoing and easing every jagged edge.

You snorted softly, letting your hands fall from your face, though your gaze stayed fixed somewhere beyond him—

—anywhere but in the weight of his eyes.

The silence stretched between you, lingering like the last traces of a storm. Ghost remained still, his dark eyes fixed on you, tracing the way your laughter melted into an embarrassed smile, soft and uncertain, as you looked up at him from under your eyelashes.

Moments like this were rare for him—precious, fleeting things he hardly allowed himself to linger on. But now, he let himself take in the way you unraveled and stitched yourself back together, the warmth of your presence brushing against the cold edges of his own. It wasn’t just the sight of you, it was the quiet intimacy of it, the fragile beauty of something unspoken yet heavy in the air. You were too close, and yet, he couldn’t bring himself to turn away.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

The heater hummed softly, filling the quiet with its rhythmic drone, and Ghost found himself acutely aware of how close you were. It wasn’t just the physical distance, though that was enough to make his skin itch with an unfamiliar warmth, it was the way you seemed to fill the room, your presence a tangible thing that pressed against him, demanding his attention even when he tried to resist.

“So…” you began hesitantly, breaking the silence. “How old are you, really?”

Your question slipped past his defenses like a blade between ribs.

“Why d’you wanna know?”

Your cheeks flushed again, but you managed a nervous smile.

“Just curious. You know, for… context.”

“Cheeky sod,” he whispered, the words low and rough, softened by the tired sigh that escaped him like the weight of the moment had pressed it free.

“Well?” you prompted, your eyes bright with a mix of curiosity and caution. “Are you going to tell me, or is it classified?”

He exhaled sharply, a sound caught somewhere between a groan and a ghost of a laugh. “I’m old enough to know better and leave it at that.”

You frowned, leaning back slightly in mock exasperation. “That’s not an answer.”

“Didn’t say I’d give you one,” he shot back, the faintest trace of amusement lacing his words.

You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you. “Fine. Keep your secrets, then. But for the record, I don’t think you’re old, Lieutenant. Just… distinguished.”

“That’s what you muppets callin’ it these days?”

You nodded earnestly, though the grin tugging at your lips gave you away. “Oh, absolutely. Distinguished. Rugged. Mysterious.”

Ghost hummed softly, his gaze tethered to your face, caught in a spell he hadn’t meant to fall under.

You hypnotized him—the curve of your smile, the flicker of light in your eyes, the way you seemed to hold too much within you, too much for one person, it made him want to reach out. You should surrender yourself to him. Give him your darkest thoughts, your quiet fears, your sharp edges and angelic smiles. You should have given him everything, because he would take it. Every fractured piece, every hidden depth, he would take it all and keep it.

Simon Riley wasn’t a man who fell, no.

But in that moment, he wished for the words of a poet, some fragile string of syllables that could hold the weight of what you made him feel.

“That your way of butterin’ me up, sweetheart?”

You laughed again, so much softer this time, the sound unfurling around him like the tender warmth of sunlight breaking through the shadow of a long, unyielding night.

And then you looked at him, just as you had in the smoking area, with that quiet, unspoken longing, the gaze of a woman who wished to be seen, to be wanted. It was the look of a woman who carried her longing delicately, like a flower pressed between pages. And it struck him because Simon Riley had never been the kind of man to accept such invitations. He didn’t have the hands for it, didn’t have the heart for it. But you, with your quiet yearning and your light wrapped in shadows, made him wonder if perhaps, just this once, he could.

“You wish, sir.”

And God help him, he really did.

“I am what I am, torn between the fierce hunger of the beast and the innocence of the lamb. And still, I stand before you, searching for the love that could fill the spaces between these two selves.” Skin of Thunder Chapters

[s4svnn]

Out of bounds . JJK

↳ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬; his love subjected you to the true extent of deception, a merciless lie wrapped in the illusion of paradise, until the truth tore it apart - he was always out of bounds.

↳ Jungkook x reader

↳ 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬: ongoing

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Chapter Thirty Nine

Monday:

Sitting in one of the back booths of the café, I stretched out my legs beneath the table, enjoying the small reprieve my break offered. The soft hum of conversations blended with the gentle whir of the coffee machines, creating a familiar background noise that I had grown used to over time. My caramel frappuccino sat in front of me, half-melted but still sweet and comforting as I absentmindedly swirled my straw through the icy liquid.

My eyes flicked over my phone screen, scrolling through the latest news without much thought—until something caught my attention, making me pause.

"Jungkook Jeon: Three Consecutive F1 Races Missed—Is His Dedication to the Sport in Question?"

I frowned slightly, my finger hesitating before tapping on the article. As my eyes skimmed through the text, the weight of the words slowly settled over me. The media had begun speculating about his absence, questioning whether he still had a future in Formula 1. Some reporters suggested that his sponsors were getting restless, while others debated if his team was intentionally keeping information under wraps. Regardless of the reasoning, one thing was clear—he had been noticeably absent from the last three races, and people were starting to wonder why.

I stared at my phone, my mind struggling to make sense of the information. Three races?

That wasn’t a coincidence. Jungkook never missed races, not unless there was a damn good reason. A part of me couldn’t help but wonder… did he really skip all of those because of me?

But almost as soon as the thought entered my mind, I shook it away. No. That’s not the Jungkook I know. He wouldn’t jeopardize his career over something like this. He probably has his own reasons.

I forced myself to push the idea aside, exhaling softly before switching to my messages. I replied to a text from my mom, letting her know I was doing fine, and then sent a quick response to Kayla, who had been spamming me with updates about some drama she had overheard at work.

So focused on my phone, I barely registered the subtle shift in the air around me, nor did I notice the presence of someone sliding into the booth directly across from me. It wasn’t until I heard a quiet throat-clearing that I finally looked up—only for my breath to momentarily hitch in surprise.

Jungkook.

But not the Jungkook I was used to.

The man sitting across from me looked… different. Gone was the usual all-black designer attire, the leather jackets and fitted shirts that screamed wealth and confidence. Instead, he was dressed in a simple beige hoodie, slightly oversized, paired with casual blue jeans. But the real shock was his hair. Normally, it was styled back with gel, sleek and polished, exposing the sharp angles of his face and the undercut beneath. But now, it was down, soft waves framing his features, giving him an almost boyish look. The change was subtle, yet completely disorienting.

For a long moment, I just stared at him, my mind struggling to reconcile this version of him with the one I had grown accustomed to. He looked… weirdly innocent.

Jungkook gave me a hesitant smile before letting out a small, shy "Hey."

I blinked, still processing the sight of him sitting here, looking nothing like the arrogant, untouchable racer I had come to resent.

When I didn’t immediately respond, he rubbed the back of his neck and let out a soft chuckle. "It’s weird, isn’t it? Seeing me like this?"

I tilted my head slightly, crossing my arms as I studied him. "Good to know you’re self-aware."

That made him laugh—a real laugh, not the usual amused scoff or smug chuckle he often used. It was warm, genuine, and something about it sent a strange sensation through my chest.

"I thought I’d step out of the ‘F1 racer Jungkook’ persona and back into just… me for a bit," he admitted, his fingers toying with the rings on his hands.

"Uh-huh," I said, unimpressed. "Now, what do you want?"

At my bluntness, he hesitated for a brief second before inhaling deeply, clearly gathering his thoughts. He shifted slightly in his seat, his fingers continuing to fidget with the silver bands on his hand—a nervous habit I had never seen from him before.

"Damian told me you’d give me a chance to make it up to you," he said finally, his voice steady despite the uncertainty flickering in his eyes. "So… I’m going to try my best. And, um…" He exhaled, finally meeting my gaze. "Thank you for hearing me out."

My eyebrows lifted slightly. Jungkook just said thank you?

I leaned back against the booth, regarding him carefully. "You have one week," I reminded him. "I’m not giving you any more than that, so make it count."

A small, determined smile tugged at his lips. "I will. I swear."

I sighed, glancing down at my phone to check the time. "Do you want anything to drink?"

Jungkook shook his head. "Actually, there’s somewhere I wanted to take you—if you’re up for it."

Before I could even consider my answer, a voice chimed in from behind me.

"She’s free. We got her shift covered."

I turned in my seat just in time to see Cyrus, Leah, and Serena standing a few feet away, their expressions smug and knowing.

"What—guys, no," I protested immediately, shaking my head. "I have work, I—"

"AJ," Leah cut in, lowering her voice to a whisper as she leaned in slightly, "do not leave the hot F1 racer waiting."

"Seriously," Serena added, smirking. "Go before we change our minds."

Before I could argue, all three of them stepped forward and, without warning, pushed me out of the booth—directly into Jungkook. I let out a startled oof as I stumbled into him, my hands instinctively reaching out to steady myself. Jungkook reacted quickly, his hands coming up to grip my waist, holding me firmly in place. 

For a brief moment, neither of us moved.

I was suddenly, painfully aware of how close we were. The warmth of his hands through the fabric of my shirt, the steady rise and fall of his chest just inches from mine, the way his dark eyes flickered with something unreadable as he looked down at me. Behind me, my so-called friends were watching with delighted grins, waving me off like I was being shipped off to a rom-com moment I did not sign up for. Realizing Jungkook was still holding onto me, I cleared my throat and quickly stepped back, putting space between us.

"Lead the way," I mumbled, my voice coming out slightly more flustered than I would have liked.

Jungkook’s lips twitched slightly, as if he was fighting back a smirk, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he turned, leading the way toward the exit.

The crisp evening air brushed against my skin as Jungkook led the way through the parking lot, his hands stuffed into the front pocket of his beige hoodie. His pace was unhurried, casual, like he had all the time in the world, while I trailed slightly behind, my mind still trying to process how exactly I ended up here. I hadn’t planned on spending time with Jungkook—certainly not outside of work—and yet, here I was, following him without protest.

Parked effortlessly under the streetlights was a sleek, black Bugatti Chiron, its polished exterior gleaming under the glow. Even though I knew he had money, I still couldn’t help but blink at the sheer extravagance of it. This car wasn’t just expensive—it was a statement, a declaration of status and power. Of course, he’d drive something like this.

Without a word, Jungkook stepped ahead and pulled open the passenger-side door, holding it open for me. I hesitated for a brief moment before finally sliding into the seat, sinking into the plush leather interior. The inside of the car was pristine, the faint scent of expensive cologne lingering in the air, mixing with the subtle scent of new leather.

I barely had a second to settle before Jungkook leaned in slightly, reaching across me to adjust the seatbelt where it rested against my shoulder. His hand brushed against my arm—just for a second—but it was enough to send an involuntary shiver through me.

"You good?" he asked, his voice low and smooth.

I nodded, trying to ignore the way my heart stuttered. "Yeah."

He studied me for a second longer, as if making sure I wasn’t lying, before stepping back and shutting the door. A moment later, he slid into the driver’s seat, and with a press of a button, the engine roared to life, filling the air with a deep, thunderous growl. I glanced at him as he shifted gears, his fingers effortlessly gripping the wheel, his expression unreadable. Even dressed down in a hoodie and jeans, there was still something so composed about him—so effortlessly put together.

The car eased onto the road, gliding smoothly through the city streets. The only sounds were the distant hum of traffic and the soft melody playing from the speakers—low, slow, and melodic, completely different from the aggressive bass-heavy music I’d expected him to play.

For a while, neither of us spoke. The silence wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, but it wasn’t easy either. It felt charged, like there were a hundred unspoken words sitting between us, waiting for one of us to break.

I shifted slightly in my seat, letting my gaze flicker down to his hands as they moved over the steering wheel—steady, controlled, and veined in a way that was hard to ignore. The silver rings on his fingers caught the light every time he shifted gears, the sight oddly mesmerizing.

I quickly looked away, staring out the window as the city lights blurred past us.

The drive stretched on in silence, the soft hum of music playing in the background as the city lights faded behind us. I watched as the buildings thinned out, replaced by open roads and scattered streetlights. The air grew cooler, the scent of saltwater slowly creeping into the car, mixing with Jungkook’s cologne.

After a few more minutes, he finally pulled the car to a smooth stop. I frowned, glancing out the window. My eyes widened slightly as I took in the view before me—a long stretch of sand, the waves rolling gently under the moonlight.

A beach. I turned to him, my brows furrowed in confusion. "You brought me to a beach?"

Jungkook nodded, his hands resting on the steering wheel as he glanced at me. "Yeah, uh… I thought the best way to go about this was by explaining a bit about me and my life before—well, everything."

I studied him for a moment, my curiosity piqued. "Okay… but is this place abandoned or something? How is it just us here?"

He let out a nervous chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. "It’s not abandoned…I rented it out for a bit."

I blinked.

"You what?"

Jungkook ignored my outburst, smoothly unbuckling his seatbelt and stepping out of the car like he hadn’t just casually admitted to renting out an entire beach. I let out a sharp exhale, kissing my teeth in disbelief before hurriedly following.

The second I stepped out, the cool ocean breeze kissed my skin, the sound of the waves crashing against the shore filling the air. The whole place felt… untouched. Peaceful. And it really was just us—the parking lot was empty, the usual sounds of laughter and chatter that came with public beaches were nowhere to be heard.

I trailed after him as he started walking down the wooden path leading toward the sand, my arms crossed over my chest. "Did you really have to rent out an entire beach?" I asked, shaking my head at the absurdity of it all.

Jungkook glanced over at me, his expression unusually serious. "Yeah. You’ll see why in a bit."

Something in his tone made me pause. He wasn’t joking, wasn’t just being dramatic or showing off. Whatever he was about to tell me—whatever this was—it actually meant something to him. I pressed my lips together before nodding, my heart beating just a little faster than before as I contemplated what it could be.

When we finally reached the sand, Jungkook hesitated for a second before bending down, slipping off his sneakers and socks. Without a word, he stepped forward, letting the tide lap at his feet. He stared out at the ocean, hands still in his pockets, shoulders tense.

I watched him for a moment before sighing and doing the same, shoving off my shoes and stepping forward. The water was cold against my skin, but refreshing. "So," I started, wrapping my arms around myself, "are you going to explain why we’re here, or are we just going to stare at the waves all night?"

Jungkook let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "You’re impatient."

I shrugged. "I just don’t like being kept in the dark."

He was silent for a second before exhaling, tilting his head up to the sky. "I used to come here a lot when I was younger," he finally admitted. "Before racing, before the cameras, before everything got so… complicated. This place was kind of my escape."

I frowned slightly, turning to fully face him. "Wait— you used to live here and what do you mean escape, escape from what?"

Jungkook hesitated, his jaw tightening before he finally met my gaze. "Yeah I only moved to Canada after I was recruited as a racer, and as for what I was escaping from, I was escaping from my dad. The pressure. And everything people expected me to be."

I stared at him, my lips parting slightly. Jungkook never talked about his family—at least not in any way that gave actual insight into his life. He was always the mystery, the untouchable golden boy with a million-dollar smile and an even more expensive lifestyle. But now, standing here under the moonlight, barefoot in the sand, he looked… human.

I swallowed, choosing my words carefully. "I never really thought about what it must’ve been like for you growing up," I admitted. "People only ever see the fame and success. They don’t think about what comes before all of that."

Jungkook let out a dry laugh, kicking at the sand with his toes. "Yeah. They see the cars, the trophies, the interviews. No one ever asks about what it took to get there." His voice was quieter now, almost lost to the sound of the waves. "My dad—he wasn’t the kind of guy to accept failure. If I wasn’t winning, I wasn’t enough. And for a long time, I let that define me."

I felt something twist in my chest at his words. I knew what it was like to feel like you were never enough, to have someone else’s expectations weigh on you so heavily that it felt impossible to breathe. But I never thought Jungkook—the Jungkook—could feel that way too.

I took a deep breath. "And now? Do you still feel like that?"

Jungkook was quiet for a long moment before he finally spoke. "I don’t know." He turned to look at me, his dark eyes searching mine. "Maybe that’s why I’m here."

I frowned. "What do you mean?"

He hesitated again, and for the first time, I saw something in his expression that I didn’t expect—fear. "I missed those races for a reason Aylah," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "And it wasn’t just because of you."

I blinked. "Then why?"

Jungkook ran a hand through his messy hair, exhaling sharply. "Because for the first time in my life, I don’t know if I want to race anymore."

His words hit me like a truck. I stared at him, my brain struggling to process what he just said. "You don’t—" I cut myself off, shaking my head in disbelief. "I thought you loved racing. It’s literally your life."

"Yeah," he said, voice laced with something unreadable. "Maybe that’s the problem."

I didn’t know what to say to that. The Jungkook I knew—the one the world knew—was built for this. He was fast, confident, unstoppable. The idea of him not wanting it anymore didn’t make sense. But looking at him now, the exhaustion in his eyes, the vulnerability in his expression… maybe it did.

"Why are you telling me this?" I finally asked.

Jungkook let out a breath, his gaze locked onto mine. "Because I don’t think there’s anyone else who would understand."

I could feel the weight of Jungkook’s presence beside me, like he was carrying something heavy, something I couldn’t fully grasp but could feel in the way he held himself. His eyes were distant, looking out at the water, but I could tell he was caught in his thoughts—caught in memories.

"I know about how things were with your mum," he said quietly, his voice steady but heavy, like the words were coated in something hard to shake off. "How she never supported your dream and made you feel like it wasn’t possible."

I froze, my breath catching in my throat. "How do you…?" I began, but he cut me off with an unexpected tenderness.

"You used to talk about her in your sleep," he said softly. "I heard you sometimes. And I could feel how much it hurt."

I blinked, stunned by the vulnerability in his voice. How could he possibly understand the depths of those whispered memories that I’d buried deep inside? I wanted to say something, but I couldn’t find the words.

His gaze shifted toward the water again, his eyes clouded with something I couldn’t read. "I know how much you wanted her approval," he continued, his voice barely above a whisper, as if afraid the sea would swallow his words. "And I get it. I know what it’s like to have someone you love not believe in you."

My chest tightened, but I didn’t know if it was because of his words or because they made me feel understood in a way I wasn’t prepared for. I swallowed hard, trying to find my voice. "How do you—?"

He turned his head slightly, his eyes darkened by a deep, hidden pain. "My dad," he said, his words slow and heavy, as if each one took everything from him. "My dad never supported me. All he ever wanted was for me to follow his path and become the son he could brag about, the son that was actually worth something. But my mum, God she was…so different."

I could hear the reverence in his voice when he spoke of her. The raw love that was still there, even after all this time. "What do you mean, 'was'?" I asked quietly, my heart aching as I fought the knot in my throat.

His eyes seemed to shutter, but the pain was still there, raw and bleeding. "She died when I was twelve," he whispered, as if the admission itself was a burden. "She couldn’t take it anymore. She couldn’t live with him, with the way he controlled everything. So she ended her life right here… on this beach." His voice cracked with emotion, and for the first time, I saw him as more than just the confident, arrogant racer. I saw him as a boy who had lost everything.

I was stunned, paralyzed by the weight of his words. "Jungkook…" I whispered, unsure of what to say, unsure of how to offer comfort for something so devastating. But he wasn’t finished.

He inhaled shakily, his shoulders trembling slightly as he fought back the tide of memories. "She drowned herself in the water here," he continued, voice thick with emotion. "And for years, I couldn’t come back. Every time I looked at this place, it felt like my past was strangling me, reminding me that no matter where I went, no matter what I did, I couldn’t outrun it."

I felt my heart crack at his words. I wanted to reach out to him, to tell him that it wasn’t his fault, but I was frozen. My chest ached for him. The ocean felt cold beneath my feet as I realized how long he had carried that pain. Alone.

"But now… I think I’ve finally found the strength to come back here, to face it," he said, his voice softer now, but filled with determination. "I’m ready to take my life back and make my own choices without letting my past control me. To finally move on… without it feeling like I’m trapped in my own mind."

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, neither of us spoke. I stood there, silent, trying to absorb the weight of everything he’d just shared. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know how to help him, but I knew one thing for sure—Jungkook wasn’t the person I had thought he was. He was more. So much more.

"I’m so sorry, Jungkook," I whispered, my voice barely audible, but I meant every word. "I’m sorry for everything you’ve had to go through."

He shook his head, his lips trembling into a faint smile. "Don’t be," he said, his voice raw but steady. He paused, turning to me with a look that held a vulnerability I had never seen in him before. "I want to learn how to live without letting everything that’s happened define me. I want to make the choices I want. Not just for me, but for you too. I want to be better for you."

His words hit me hard, a realization sweeping over me. He was trying, really trying to change. He wasn’t just asking for forgiveness—he was asking for a chance to rebuild himself. To start fresh. Not just for his sake, but for us.

"I…" My voice faltered as I swallowed, unsure of how to process everything.

Jungkook exhaled shakily, his jaw tightening as if he were forcing himself to stay in control. His eyes flickered with something deep, something raw, as he turned to me. "I'm sorry," he said, voice hoarse. "For everything I put you through. Every fucking thing I allowed to happen because of that bitch."

His words were filled with venom, but not towards me—towards himself.

I stiffened, my breath catching in my throat at the sheer emotion in his tone. "Jung—"

But he wasn’t done. His dark eyes locked onto mine, pleading, desperate. "I let you go that day because I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought if I pushed you away, you wouldn’t have to deal with the same hell she put me through. I thought I was setting you free."

A cold chill ran down my spine. My heartbeat stuttered as a horrible realization began to settle in my chest.

What the hell was he talking about?

My voice came out sharper than I intended. "What do you mean?" I demanded, stepping closer. "What did she do?"

His lips parted slightly, his entire body going rigid as if he was battling with himself. His throat bobbed, his breathing uneven. He looked at me like he wanted to say something—like he wanted to finally tell me everything.

But then he dropped his gaze.

"I’ll tell you another time," he whispered, barely loud enough to hear over the waves. His voice was laced with something heavy—regret, sorrow, fear. "But for now, I just need you to know how fucking sorry I am." His fists clenched at his sides, his entire frame tense. "I shouldn’t have let her put you through that shit. Not when I know what it feels like. Not when I know how much it can destroy a person."

His words hit me like a freight train.

"Jungkook…" I breathed, my voice breaking.

He shook his head, his jaw clenched as if he was barely holding himself together. "You don’t get it," he said, his voice cracking. "I knew what was happening. I saw it, I fucking felt it, and I still did nothing. I should’ve stopped it. I should’ve fought harder. I should’ve—"

"Look it’s not entirely your fault," I interrupted, stepping closer. "You didn’t have control over everything—"

"But I should have!" His voice was loud, filled with frustration—frustration with himself. His hands raked through his hair, tugging slightly as if trying to ground himself. "I should’ve done something. I should’ve stopped her before any of this happened. But I didn’t. I was too afraid."

I stared at him, feeling my chest tighten at the sheer anguish in his expression.

"I was afraid of losing everything," he admitted, voice barely above a whisper now. "Afraid of what she’d do, afraid of being the person my dad hated." He exhaled sharply, his fists trembling at his sides. "But now… I finally feel like I can change that. That I can take back control. And I promise you—I will."

There was something in his voice, something fierce and unwavering. He wasn’t just saying this to comfort me. He meant it.

I swallowed hard, my lips parting slightly, but no words came out.

Jungkook turned fully to face me then, his eyes locking onto mine with a depth that made my heart ache. "I promise," he continued, his voice softer now, "that I will make these next few days worth it. That I will show you just how much I love you."

The world around me seemed to stop.

I felt my breath hitch, my heart pounding so hard it was deafening. "Y-you…" My voice trembled. "You love me?"

Jungkook let out a nervous chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck as his eyes darted away before meeting mine again. "Yeah," he admitted, his voice shy but sure. "I have for a while." He exhaled, his lips twitching into the smallest, most uncertain smile I’d ever seen on him. "So please… just let me try my best to make it up to you."

My entire body stilled.

This was Jungkook. The same Jungkook who had driven me insane, who had hurt me, who had made me feel like I was nothing. The same Jungkook who, despite all of that, had always felt like home.

And he loved me.

A part of me wanted to push him away, to guard myself from the possibility of being broken all over again. But another part—a quieter, more fragile part—wanted to believe him.

I hesitated, then slowly gave him a small nod.

Jungkook exhaled in relief, his shoulders relaxing slightly, as if some of the weight he’d been carrying had lifted.

We didn’t say anything after that. Instead, we both turned to face the ocean again, letting the sound of the waves consume us. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable—it was full of unspoken words, of understanding, of a past that had nearly destroyed us both but hadn’t.

The wind blew strands of my hair into my face, but I didn’t bother fixing it. I was too lost in thought, too consumed by the weight of everything that had just happened.

Jungkook loved me.

And somehow, despite everything…I didn’t know whether to run from it or run to it.

Tuesday:

The soft buzzing of my phone dragged me out of sleep, the vibration humming against my nightstand. Groggily, I reached out, my fingers fumbling for the device as I blinked away the haze of sleep. As I turned my phone over, my brows furrowed slightly at the name lighting up my screen.

Jungkook: Morning, I know it’s early, but I have something planned if you’re up for it.

I stared at the message for a moment, still half-asleep and trying to process the fact that Jungkook was actually texting me. That yesterday had actually happened. That he had confided in me about his childhood and admitted he was in love with me.

A part of me had expected him to back out of this whole “making it up to me” thing. That maybe, after last night, he’d realize that this wasn’t worth it. That I wasn’t worth it. But here he was, first thing in the morning, still trying. I hesitated for a moment before finally typing back.

Me: Morning. What exactly do you have planned?

His response was almost instant.

Jungkook: That’s for me to know and for you to find out. Just be ready in an hour. I’ll pick you up.

I rolled my eyes but felt a small, involuntary smile tug at my lips.

Me: Fine. But if this is some elaborate scheme to throw me into a lake or something, just know Kayla will hunt you down.

Jungkook: Noted. See you soon.

With a sigh, I tossed my phone onto the bed and stretched, running a hand through my tangled hair. I swallowed, pushing the thoughts aside. I had agreed to give him a chance and maybe just maybe he deserved it. 

I stood outside Kayla’s house, arms crossed over my chest, waiting for Jungkook to show up. The morning air was crisp, the kind that carried the lingering chill of the night before but promised warmth as the sun climbed higher. I had dressed casually—light-washed jeans, a cropped white t-shirt, and my favorite sneakers—choosing comfort over style since I had no idea what he had planned.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out to see a simple text from him.

Jungkook: I’m here.

Right on cue, the deep hum of an engine broke the quiet street, and I turned to see a sleek black Audi R8 pulling up. My brows lifted slightly. No flashy Bugatti today? The window rolled down, revealing Jungkook in the driver’s seat. His dark hair was down and fluffy again, falling naturally over his forehead, but today he was back in his usual style—black fitted t-shirt, grey sweatpants, and silver rings on his fingers.

He rested his arm on the window frame, scanning me with those sharp eyes before a small smirk tugged at his lips. “Hey,” he said smoothly. “You look nice.”

I raised a brow. “If this is your way of buttering me up, it’s not going to work.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “It was worth a try. Now, get in.”

I hesitated, studying him for a moment before sighing and walking around to the passenger side. The second I slipped into the seat and shut the door, his cologne hit me—a mix of warm spice and something undeniably Jungkook.

As he pulled onto the road, I glanced at him. “So, are you actually going to tell me where we’re going, or am I just supposed to blindly trust you?”

Jungkook smirked, fingers tapping idly against the steering wheel. “Trust is a strong word.”

I scoffed. “Exactly my point.”

He let out a soft laugh but didn’t answer my question. Instead, he reached for the volume dial, turning up the music playing softly through the speakers.

The ride was quiet after that, the only sound filling the car being the music and the faint hum of the engine. Every now and then, I found myself sneaking glances at him—at the way his hand gripped the steering wheel, veins prominent as his fingers flexed and moved, at how his jaw tensed slightly whenever he focused on the road.

It felt… different. Like we were two people simply going on a drive. No history weighing us down. No past mistakes lingering between us. After nearly an hour of driving, the scenery around us began to shift. I frowned slightly, recognizing some of the winding roads.

"Wait a second," I murmured, sitting up straighter as I glanced out the window. "Are we going to—?"

Jungkook just smiled but didn’t say anything.

Fifteen minutes later, he pulled onto a long stretch of road, leading to what looked like an old racetrack. It wasn’t grand or modern—no massive stands, no flashing billboards. It was smaller, more intimate, surrounded by trees, with faded tire marks scarring the asphalt.

The kind of place that held more history than most people would ever know.

Jungkook parked near the entrance, cutting the engine. He didn’t say anything right away, just stared out at the track with a look in his eyes I couldn’t quite place.

Finally, he exhaled. “This is the first track I ever visited.”

I turned to him in surprise. “Seriously?”

He nodded, gripping the steering wheel loosely. “Yeah. My mom used to bring me here when I was little.”

I blinked. “Your mom?”

He leaned back, running a hand through his hair as he looked at the track. “Most people assume my dad was the one who got me into racing. But it was my mom. She was the one who taught me about cars, who told me stories about racers and how they dedicated their lives to the sport. She used to sneak me out here when my dad wasn’t home, just so I could watch the local drivers practice.”

I stared at him, my heart twisting in my chest. “I had no idea.”

He let out a soft chuckle, but it was hollow. “To be fair no one does.”

I glanced out at the track, imagining a younger Jungkook standing here, wide-eyed and excited as his mom explained the mechanics of the cars speeding by. It was a side of him I’d never seen before—one that made him feel more human, more real.

“Why did you bring me here?” I asked quietly.

Jungkook turned to me, his gaze softer than I’d ever seen it. “Because… this place was basically home to me and my mum.” He exhaled slowly. “So I wanted to share that with you.”

I swallowed, my throat tightening. He wasn’t just trying to win me over or put on a show. He was letting me in.

A breeze swept through the open track, rustling my hair as I stepped out of the car. The air smelled of asphalt and nostalgia, like years of burnt rubber and faded dreams still clung to the ground. Jungkook stood a few steps ahead, hands shoved into the pockets of his grey sweatpants, his gaze fixed on the empty track in front of us.

I wasn’t sure what to say, or even if I should say anything. There was something fragile about the way he was looking at this place, as if the moment I opened my mouth, I’d shatter whatever memory was playing in his mind.

“You know… I still remember the first time she brought me here,” he said, his voice carrying the weight of something deeply buried. “I was six. Too young to even understand what Formula 1 was, but old enough to know that I loved the way the cars sounded.”

I tilted my head, watching as his lips curled into a soft, almost wistful smile.

“She used to lift me onto her shoulders so I could see over the fence,” he continued. “I remember gripping onto her hair and just… staring in awe at the drivers as they zoomed past.” He let out a breathy chuckle. “She used to say that cars had souls, that if you listened closely enough, you could hear them speak to you.”

I found myself smiling at the thought. “She sounds amazing.”

“She was.” His smile faltered slightly, but he didn’t let the sadness fully take over.

I shifted on my feet, suddenly understanding why he had brought me here. This wasn’t just any racetrack. This was where his love for racing started. Where, for at least a little while, his life had belonged to him and not to the expectations that had been forced onto him.

I took a slow breath, stepping up beside him. “What was she like?”

Jungkook turned to me, surprise flickering across his face before it softened into something warmer. “She was stubborn. Like, really stubborn.” He chuckled. “But she was also the kindest person I’ve ever met. She had this way of making everyone feel like they mattered. Like they were worth something.”

His expression darkened slightly, a shadow passing over his features. “That’s why I never understood why she stayed with my dad for so long. She deserved better.”

I hesitated before asking, “Did she ever try to leave?”

He nodded slowly. “She did. A couple of times. But every time she tried, he found a way to pull her back in.” His jaw clenched. “He had this… way of making her feel like she couldn’t survive without him. And I think, in the end, she started to believe it.”

I could hear the anger in his voice, the frustration of a child who had watched his mother suffer but had been powerless to stop it.

Before I could say anything, he suddenly turned to me, eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that sent a chill down my spine.

“That’s actually another reason why I let you go,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

I froze.

“What?”

Jungkook exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “That day…when I let you walk away from me—I did it because I thought I was protecting you.” He let out a hollow laugh. “I told myself that if I let you go, you wouldn’t end up like her. You wouldn’t end up trapped in something you couldn’t escape from.”

My throat tightened as I took in his words.

“But I was wrong,” he admitted, his voice breaking slightly. “All I did was hurt you. And that’s the last thing I ever wanted to do.”

I didn’t realize my hands were shaking until I clenched them into fists.

His eyes burned with something raw, something vulnerable. “I know I don’t deserve another chance. I know I fucked up in ways I can’t even begin to fix. But for what it’s worth, I swear to you—I never wanted to be the reason you were in pain.”

I felt my chest tighten, emotions clashing inside of me—anger, hurt, confusion, but most of all, an ache I didn’t know what to do with. Silence fell between us again, thick and heavy.

Then, after a long pause, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of car keys.

I frowned. “What are you doing?”

His lips curled into a small smirk. “I figured since we’re here, I might as well teach you how to drive on a track.”

I blinked. “You what?”

Jungkook held out the keys, the amusement in his eyes making it clear that he wasn’t joking. “You told me once that you always wanted to try racing, but you never got the chance.” He shrugged. “So, I’m giving you that chance.”

I stared at the keys in his hand, my heart pounding.

This man was a walking contradiction. One moment, he was breaking my heart with confessions I wasn’t sure how to process. The next, he was standing there, challenging me to take a risk, to do something I had only ever dreamed of.

I exhaled sharply, snatching the keys from his hand. “Fine. But if I crash, you’re paying for damages.”

Jungkook laughed, the sound lighter than before. “Deal.”

Jungkook led me towards the pit area, where a sleek black car was waiting. The polished surface gleamed under the bright overhead lights, its presence almost intimidating. I trailed behind him, the keys he had just handed me feeling oddly heavy in my grip.

“You sure about this?” I asked, eyeing the car warily.

Jungkook turned to me with a smirk. “You scared?”

I scoffed, rolling my eyes. “No. Just… cautious.”

He chuckled, leaning against the hood of the car. “Good. Caution keeps you alive. But hesitation?” He tapped his fingers against the metal. “That’s what stops people from ever getting started.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “You sound like some motivational speaker.”

Jungkook laughed, pushing himself off the hood. “Maybe, but I’m serious. Trust yourself, you know cars better than anyone I’ve ever met, so driving one should come naturally.”

I chewed on my bottom lip, knowing he wasn’t wrong. I had spent my whole life obsessed with cars—sketching designs, studying mechanics, dreaming of building something groundbreaking. But actually being behind the wheel of a race car? That was something else entirely.

Still, the challenge was too tempting to ignore.

With a deep breath, I walked around to the driver’s side and slid into the seat. The interior was all leather and high-tech controls, the kind of craftsmanship I’d only ever seen up close a handful of times.

Jungkook leaned down, resting his arms on the open window. “Comfortable?”

I glanced up at him, fingers grazing over the steering wheel. “As I’ll ever be.”

He grinned before stepping back. “Alright. Start it up.”

I took a steadying breath and turned the key. The engine roared to life, vibrating beneath me like a living thing. A rush of excitement shot through me, my fingers tightening instinctively around the wheel.

“Okay,” Jungkook said, his tone shifting into something more serious. “The track is all yours. No pressure, no expectations. Just go at your own pace.”

I exhaled slowly, shifting the car into gear. “Got it.”

The first few moments were cautious. I eased the car forward, letting myself get a feel for how it handled. The power beneath my hands was unlike anything I had ever experienced—smooth yet commanding, ready to surge forward at the slightest command.

As I hit the first turn, something clicked.

I wasn’t just driving. I was feeling the car, the way it moved, the way it responded to my touch. The caution I had held onto melted away, replaced with something I hadn’t expected—freedom.

Jungkook was right. I had spent years studying cars, memorizing every detail of their designs, their builds, their potential. But now, for the first time, I wasn’t just observing. I was experiencing it.

The speed. The control.

I pressed the accelerator, and the car surged forward, hugging the curves of the track as if it were an extension of me. The wind rushed past, my heart pounding in sync with the rhythm of the engine.

I was flying.

By the time I completed a full lap, my adrenaline was sky-high. I pulled back into the pit area, my hands shaking slightly as I shifted into neutral and shut off the engine.

Jungkook was waiting, arms crossed, a proud smirk on his lips. “Not bad for a first-timer.”

I let out a breathless laugh, my body still buzzing from the high. “Holy shit.”

He chuckled. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

I nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah. It really does.”

Jungkook tapped the roof of the car. “Told you.”

I climbed out, my legs slightly unsteady beneath me. Jungkook was watching me closely, his expression softer now. “You belonged out there,” he said, almost to himself. “I could see it.”

Something about the way he said it made my chest tighten.

I looked down, trying to ignore the warmth creeping up my neck. “Well, don’t get used to it. This was just a one-time thing.”

Jungkook tilted his head, amusement dancing in his eyes. “You sure about that?”

I hesitated.

Was I?

Before I could answer, he suddenly grabbed my wrist and pulled me toward the stands. “Come on.”

“Jungkook—where are we going now?”

He didn’t answer, just led me up the steps until we reached one of the higher rows. From here, we had a perfect view of the entire track.

Jungkook sat down first, motioning for me to do the same. I hesitated before lowering myself beside him, the warmth of his body radiating next to mine.

For a while, we just sat there in silence, watching the track stretch out beneath the night sky.

Then, his voice broke the stillness.

“My mom used to bring me up here after a race.” His gaze was distant, lost in memory. “We’d sit together and just watch the cars go by. She’d always tell me that one day, I’d be down there—one of them.” He let out a breathy chuckle. “And she was right.”

I watched him carefully, the soft glow of the floodlights casting shadows across his face. “She’d be proud of you.”

His throat bobbed, but he didn’t look at me. “I’d hope so.”

I reached out, hesitating for only a second before gently placing my hand over his. His fingers twitched beneath mine, but he didn’t pull away.

“I know so,” I murmured.

Jungkook turned his palm upward, his fingers hesitantly lacing through mine. He held me there, grounding me, as if the moment would slip away if he let go.

“I haven’t brought anyone here before,” he admitted, his voice quiet but steady.

I glanced at him, surprised. “Not even your team? Or…Jade?”

He shook his head. “No. This place isn’t just a track to me. It’s…more than that. It was where I felt closest to my mom and where I learned to dream.” He exhaled softly. “I never wanted to taint it with anything else.”

His words settled in my chest, heavier than I expected.

“Then why bring me here?” I asked carefully.

Jungkook turned his head fully, facing me now. His dark eyes were steady, holding something I wasn’t sure I was ready to face.

“Because you remind me of her.”

A lump formed in my throat.

I should have looked away, should have let go of his hand before things went too far. But I didn’t. Because despite everything—despite the past, despite the walls I had built between us—his words made something deep inside me crack.

I wanted to fight it. But at the same time, I wanted to believe him.

“I—”

Before I could say anything, Jungkook suddenly stood, pulling me up with him. “There’s one last thing I want to show you.”

I let him lead me down the stairs and back toward the pit area. The air was crisp against my skin, but Jungkook’s hand in mine was warm, steady.

When we reached the track, I saw another car waiting. But this time, it wasn’t a sleek racing machine. It was an older model, worn but well taken care of. Jungkook walked up to it, running his fingers along the hood with something close to reverence.

“This was my mom’s car,” he said softly.

I blinked in surprise. “Wait, this?”

He nodded. “Yeah. She used to drive me around in this all the time. It’s the first car I ever learned to work on.” He let out a small chuckle. “Probably the reason I fell in love with cars in the first place.”

I stepped closer, running my hand along the smooth surface. It wasn’t flashy like the cars Jungkook usually drove. But there was something about it—something sentimental, something real.

“She really taught you everything, didn’t she?” I murmured.

Jungkook smiled, but there was a sadness in it. “Yeah. Everything that mattered.”

I looked up at him, my heart aching for the boy he used to be. The boy who lost his mother too soon. The boy who had to grow up under a father who never truly saw him.

I reached out, placing a hand on his arm. “Thank you for bringing me here,” I said sincerely.

His gaze softened. “Thank you for coming.”

For a moment, we just stood there, the weight of unspoken words hanging between us.

Then, Jungkook cleared his throat, stepping back. “Alright, enough of the heavy stuff. You up for another drive?”

I raised an eyebrow. “You want me to drive this?”

He grinned. “It’s a piece of history. It deserves to be driven.”

I hesitated, then smirked. “Fine. I’ll do it in honour of your mum.”

“She’d love that.” he said, a distant smile playing on his lips.

[toto-the-cactus]

A fun question for the girl dad Primarchs. How do they feel about finding out that their daughter has a space marine lover from another Chapter. (Like mother, like daughter. They saw a big man in armor and decided they wanted to climb that like a tree.)

Guess what anon? You got me writing shit.

Hope you like this family drama and especial mention to @jaghatai-khock who let me use his sweet blorbo Callahan to be inserted in this shit show.

-°-

It was no secret that Lion El’jonson held a certain amount of irritation about anything that had to do with the Space Wolves Legion. Whether it was their own behavior or their beliefs that clashed with those of the Dark Angels Legion, it was a matter thrown out in the air for anyone to guess.

That’s why Eireen simply knew that the instant her father got wind of her meeting secretly with one the astartes that belonged to her uncle’s legion, hell will be brought upon her and, in consequence, making her already ermetic and busy schedule become even more unbearable.

Besides… it wasn’t like she was doing anything wrong!

It was a nice and friendly… meet up with someone that she had become quite close after a few conjoined campaigns that her father had with uncle Russ.

Cadoc had been a bit abrasive and loud the first time she met him, staying just respectful enough to not be considered rude or out of line. Her entourage of serfs had been scandalized when he had simply come up to her and asked for a sparring match to test her fighting skills out of genuine curiosity.

“This is probably one of the few chances I’ll get to spar with the trueborn of a Primarch. I’m really excited about it!” he had told her that day and, for a reason that still escapes her understanding, Eireen had felt her face burn at his words.

The redhead astartes had flashed a sharp smile back then, a challenge in that expression to try and get a reaction out of her and for the first time in her life… she felt like someone actually treated her as the warrior that she had been raised to be and not just some maiden to be protected.

Now? It became almost a ritual for them both to try some nice training session before deciding to take a nice break hidden behind the lush bushes of her mother’s garden. After some Dark Angels had ruined the flowers of the Lady of Caliban by walking alongside Eireen one morning, it had been nailed over everyone’s head that anyone wearing ceramite armor was forbidden to get close to the garden.

It was quite the convenience that the garden wasn’t so terribly far from the sparring arena.

Eireen had even memorized the schedule of it to make sure that no astartes of her father would see them both training.

For as much as the young lady felt like she wasn’t doing something criminal of any kind, even her mother had suggested to keep her little friendship hidden from her father until she knew how to tell him that her first ever friend (and crush) was a Space Wolf astartes.

“He can be a bit… overbearing sometimes, my dear. Especially if he thinks that this will be the perfect excuse for Leman to rush in and take you away from him” the look on her mother’s face said enough that even she found that logic a bit extreme and farfetched, but her next words almost made her scoff in disbelief. “He cares for you dearly and the idea of you going away scares him”

Eireen honestly felt like she was in her right to be skeptical about her father’s priorities when regarding her future.

All her life she had been reminded of the responsibilities she’ll have to carry on in the Imperium as the child of a Primarch. A weight that had been sitting over her neck ever since she could understand words.

But Cadoc was the one fresh gush of wind that she didn’t know she needed.

She could complain about her father and his astartes without looking like some traitor in the making. Instead of judgmental stares, the redhead marine would point out her mistakes in posture and correct them without belittling her worth.

‘I don’t want this to end’, she thought with a mix of joy and resignation.

“Hey!” he called her, finally pulling her out of her spiraling thoughts once a stalemate was met between the two when both battle axe and long sword didn’t yield a bit. “There was something I wanted to ask you but it also involves the Primarch and Legion Mother of the Dark Angels”

Oh no. That was going to be complicated.

“O-oh… Well… that’s going to…”

“EIREEN!”

Oh no no no no!

“Lion! By the damned throne, stop this nonsense!” and just right behind her father, there was her mother running with all her might to try and catch up with the Primarch.

“I’m not speaking with you, woman!”

Eireen admitted with some shyness that she had clumsily scrambled in panic to get back up from where she and Cadoc rested after their spar, a heavy weight dropping like a rock on her stomach at the scowl merring her father's face when looking over her friend.

The fact that the red-haired Space Wolf just smiled at her father after bowing his head in respect to the Primarch didn’t help at all.

“Eireen, you were supposed to be attending your diplomatic and history lessons” said the demigod in a strange mix of awkwardness and anger. It was easy to see how it took a lot of effort from him to not scoff when his eyes landed once again on her companion and friend. “Not lazing around here at your mother’s garden”

‘With him’ was the unsaid part of that sentence. Years of learned discipline were the only thing preventing the young girl from letting a very unladylike growl at how her father regarded the one single friend she had ever made.

“I… I had a few minutes free before my lessons, father” she defended, barely able to keep her stutter in check before her father scolded her for it. “I thought… I thought it wouldn’t be a bad idea to train my abilities with the long sword”

Lion opened his mouth ready to berate her for it (that was pretty obvious), but her mother interrupted just in time to save her from the awkwardness that was starting to build up between the few presents. It was a miracle that no Dark Angel had followed her parents here, but considering how stern the Lady of Caliban was when regarding her garden, Eireen counted her blessings by choosing this place as their hiding spot.

Small mercies.

“That’s very responsible of you, my love” it was amazing how easily her mother knew how to play with her father’s own methods and words against him. “Don’t you think, Lion? You always say that Eireen needs to practice her swordsmanship technique on the offensive. Even one of the astartes of your brother’s Legion is helping her!”

More than hearing, both ladies felt the rumble of a growl that begged to be free from the Primarch’s throat, who clearly didn’t find amusing being called out in his own hypocrisy.

“Enough of this disrespect! Eireen, go to your brother” said Lion after he managed to get a grip over his temper. “Callahan will make sure that you assist your lessons… without distractions”

Now it was the turn of the young lady to feel her face blush in embarrassment at the idea of being treated like she was still a toddler; one that needed to hold her brother’s hand all the time to find her way around everywhere they went.

“Actually! This is an excellent chance, my Lord and Lady. There was something important that I need to discuss”

That got everyone’s attention.

“Cadoc… what are you-”

“I wish to start my courting towards the Primarch’s daughter: Eireen”

The poor young girl swore that if more blood rushed to her face, she'd end up fainting on the spot.

The reaction of both her parents were quite a poem of different emotions; ranging from enraged shock to amazed confusion from both her father and mother respectively.

For a long moment, no one dared to even breathe too loud.

Eireen found herself staring straight at Cadoc’s face to try to see if this was some tasteless attempt of teasing from him… but the only thing that she managed to discover was a warm and peaceful look on his hardened expression when he stared at her back.

Oh, Grandfather almighty! She felt her heart flip inside her ribcage.

This was bad. Horrible bad timing too. The girl already saw the groundbreaking refusal her father was about to throw at Cadoc’s courting proposal.

“ABSOLUTELY…!”

“FINALLY!! JUST SAY YES TO HIM, EIREEN!”

And now, the poor girl could only cover her face in crushing embarrassment at the scream her brother had thrown while waiting for her at the edge of their mother’s garden.

How long had he been hearing?!

-°-

Dis me each time yall feed me ideas

[seventeenlovesthree]

Digimon Adventure Reboot Sequel AU - Chapter 0: Weird

Summary: Despite his best efforts, Mimi, Sora and Koushirou have, indeed, noticed that Taichi has been acting rather off recently. Unwilling to accept his weirdness as the status quo, they meet up to discuss how to handle it...

Based on: [Prologue] [Concept] [Designs] [First Idea]

Word Count: 885

„No matter how you look at it – Taichi-san has been acting weird lately!”

Mimi’s voiced oozed with frustration, as she flopped back down on her personal chair in their “hideout” with emphasis. As Palmon blinked at her, she gracefully flipped her hair over her shoulder, grabbed the cup of lavender tea in front of her and took a small sip, letting her statement sit for a moment.

A moment Koushirou and Sora used to exchange a worried look. Mimi may have been the one to order them all to gather due to “an emergency!” – which, as it turned out, was “Taichi-san being weird” –, but if they were being honest… They had noticed it too.

“I think I’m aware of what you’re referring to”, Koushirou agreed after a while. “My personal verdict is that he hasn’t gotten a lot of sleep, since he’s been spacing out frequently. But whenever I try to address it towards him, he says everything is fine.”

“As he usually does, but I think it’s all deflection”, Sora added, leaning against the computer table while Koushirou went back to trying to fix the blue screen Mimi had caused by accidentally ripping out a cable during her heated rambles from earlier. “He’s just… Smiling it away and, I mean, that’s always been him, but…”

“It’s like he’s hiding something”, Koushirou concluded without looking up from the screen.

“I know, right?!” Mimi put down her tea cup with a clinking sound, causing Piyomon and Tentomon to make inquisitive noises as well.

“And really, it’s not just that, it also feels like he’s forgetting things or getting them mixed up”, elaborating, Sora fumbled at the hem of her college jacket. “Last time I asked him if he wanted to have an extra training session, he just looked at me like a deer in headlights and asked if I wasn’t already meeting with Yamato… Who’s in Shimane. I have no idea where that came from all of the sudden. It’s hard enough to get the group together these days and I didn’t understand why he was so confused about me not traveling to Shimane in the middle of a school week.”

It really had been a chore to “keep the whole gang together” these days. While Yamato and Takeru had always been living in Shimane and, outside of Summer and Winter breaks, only joined them on their digital adventures in the net through a port in their area – usually it were only Taichi, Koushirou, Sora and Mimi that ended up gathering physically at their meeting points, namely the club house Mimi’s grandfather had sponsored a few years ago. With Hikari going to a different middle school and Jyou thoroughly focusing on his management career, their group of eight really was somewhat decimated.

“Super weird…”, Mimi pouted and Koushirou actually lifted his gaze this time.

“Speaking of which, he was asking me if I had talked to Jyou-san about college entrance exams for medical school…”

“He did what?!”, Mimi screeched. “Where’s that coming from?! Jyou-senpai has been so determined to take an internship at our company, grandpa would be devastated if he had suddenly changed his mind – and I would know, Jyou-senpai hasn’t shut up about it, I can show you our texting history, it’s-“

“That’s what I mean by him getting things mixed up”, Sora tried to intervene, smiling at Mimi serenely, so she immediately calmed down a little. “Even though these things really come out of nowhere…”

“Well, maybe high school is getting to his head?”

“His grades seemed to be fine overall though, even if… He’s never been the most studious”, Koushirou thought out loud. “Perhaps we could ask Hikari-san about it?”

“It didn’t seem like they had problems at home either.” Once Sora had said these words, the room got quiet. An aura of worry and confusion that was only disrupted by Mimi sipping on her tea again – more nervously than before as well. They had all known Taichi for several years by now, he had always been their beacon of confidence, a leader to look up to in every situation, positive and unshakable, especially during their gate hopping shenanigans. Seeing him so scatterbrained really was a novelty for all of them.

“There’s another possibility…”, Koushirou eventually broke through the silence with a low voice, drawing all attention towards himself.

“And what would that be?”, Tentomon asked curiously, flying over his head.

“Well… There is at least a tiny chance it’s caused by a Digimon he encountered the last time we went into the network.”

“So what, you believe there is a virus in the net messing with his head? Like… Giving him a cold that made him forget things or something like that?”

Hearing how peculiar it sounded by Mimi’s skeptical tone, Koushirou wasn’t so confident in his theory anymore.

“We will have to test it first of course. By talking to him once more and scouting the network for irregularities.”

“Well then, what are we waiting for?” With that, Sora pushed herself onto her feet again. “You’ll keep investigating on the digital side of things, Koushirou-kun, and we’ll, once again, try to get something out of him in person.”

“Spoken like a true lioness, Sora-san!”, Mimi cheered happily and raised her fist encouragingly. “Let’s solve this mystery once and for all!”

[inky-writing]

Carlisle Cullen x Reader

Warnings: my bad writing, MDNI, +18 only, NSFW, love, CARLISLE is hot, anyway, THIRST

Word count: 4, 436

<<< Previous chapter

Book II, Chapter 7: A Night In Port Angeles

The cafeteria was loud with the usual chatter of students eager for the weekend, but at the table where Y/N sat with her friends, the conversation had taken an interesting turn.

Mike, with his usual enthusiasm, leaned toward Bella, his grin wide. “So, Bella, I was thinking… maybe we could go see a movie tonight?”

Bella stiffened, eyes darting to Y/N, who barely looked up from her notebook. The tension in the air was almost palpable.

Angela raised an eyebrow, clearly picking up on the awkwardness.

Mike quickly backpedaled. “I mean—only if you want to! We could, you know, all go together.”

Bella let out a quiet breath of relief before giving an eager nod. “Yeah! A group thing sounds fun.”

Eric laughed. “Wow, smooth, Newton.”

“I think it’s a great idea,” Angela chimed in. “We haven’t done anything fun as a group in a while.”

“You in, Y/N?” Jessica turned to her.

Y/N shook her head, offering a small smile. “Can’t. I already have plans.”

As the conversation shifted to what movie to see, Y/N returned her attention to her notebook, though she hadn’t actually been working on anything in the last few minutes.

It had been exactly two weeks since she’d discovered the truth about soulmates in her grimoire. Two weeks since she had confirmed Carlisle was back in town. Two weeks of secret meetings, stolen conversations, and desperate attempts to untangle the web of lies Esme had woven around the Cullens.

She still wasn’t sure what scared her more, Carlisle’s unwavering belief that she was his mate, or the fact that she felt it too.

Carlisle’s pov

Carlisle sat in the dimly lit study of the temporary home he had rented in Port Angeles, his fingers absentmindedly running over the old text in front of him. The words blurred together, but his mind was elsewhere.

Two weeks.

Fourteen days since Y/N discovered he had returned to Forks. Fourteen days of secrecy, of quiet meetings with Y/N, of trying to unravel a mystery that seemed impossible.

He now knew, without a doubt, that Esme had been lying to him.

The fog that had clouded his mind for years had begun to lift the moment he distanced himself from her. It was subtle at first, just flickers of clarity. But every moment he spent away from her, every meeting with Y/N, made it clearer.

Esme had done something to him.

Something unnatural.

But how?

Vampires didn’t have abilities like that. At least, none that he had ever encountered.

Y/N, for all her own growing power, had been just as perplexed. They had spent hours talking, exchanging theories, poring over texts she had access to, and retracing the past century of his life for any clues.

But still, nothing.

A part of him wanted to believe it was just his own mind breaking free of a long-held illusion. That maybe, just maybe, he had been mistaken about Esme all these years.

But another part of him, the part that could still hear Esme’s voice in the back of his mind, whispering reassurances and promises, knew it was far more than that.

He closed the book and leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling.

Y/N had asked him once—What does this mean for you?

At the time, he hadn’t been able to answer.

But now?

Now, he knew.

It meant his entire existence had been a lie.

Later that day - Y/N’s pov

The air was crisp that night, the scent of saltwater drifting in from the bay as Y/N parked her Jeep outside Carlisle’s rental in Port Angeles. The house itself was small, nothing extravagant, but fitting for a man like him. A warm glow flickered through the windows, a contrast to the cool evening outside.

She had been here a few times before, but never this late. Never with her heart pounding this hard in her chest.

Taking a breath, she stepped up to the door and knocked lightly.

It opened almost immediately, as if he had been waiting for her.

Carlisle stood there in the dim light, wearing a black tshirt, exposing strong forearms lined with veins. His hands, God, his hands, were the kind that looked like they could ruin her.

“Come in,” he said, voice deep, stepping aside to let her in.

Y/N hesitated for just a second before walking past him, the scent of something delicious hitting her instantly.

“You cooked?” she asked, surprised.

He gave a soft chuckle, closing the door behind her. “I had a feeling you wouldn’t have eaten. You’ve been running yourself ragged lately.”

Her stomach betrayed her with a low growl, and she winced.

Carlisle smirked, leading her to the dining table where a plate was already set. The meal was simple, grilled chicken, roasted vegetables, and warm bread.

She slid into the chair, watching as he poured her a glass of water. His movements were effortless, precise, like everything he did.

“You didn’t have to do this,” she murmured, feeling oddly shy under his gaze.

“I wanted to.” He sat across from her, leaning forward slightly, forearms resting on the table, and she had to stop herself from staring at the way the fabric of his tshirt stretched over his muscles.

She picked up her fork, trying to focus on the food instead of the way her skin felt hot under his attention.

Silence stretched between them for a moment, comfortable, but thick with something unspoken.

Carlisle’s eyes studied her. “You’ve been working too hard.”

She swallowed, setting her fork down. “So have you.”

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “True. But at least I don’t forget to eat.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight the blush rising to her cheeks.

Carlisle leaned back slightly, stretching his arms behind his head for a moment, and Y/N had to look away before she embarrassed herself. How was it even possible for a man to look so effortlessly attractive doing something so simple?

“You’re blushing,” he teased, voice lower now.

Her head snapped up. “No, I’m not.”

His smirk deepened. “You are.”

She scowled, picking up her glass and taking a slow sip. This is dangerous, she thought.

Because for the past two weeks, something had been shifting between them. It wasn’t just the late-night conversations, the stolen glances, or the way she found herself thinking about him more than she should.

It was the way he looked at her.

Like she was something worth looking at.

She cleared her throat, trying to shake the thought away. “Did you find anything new?”

His expression sobered, the teasing glint in his eyes fading just slightly. “Not yet. But I know Esme is manipulating more than just my thoughts. She’s… controlling on a deeper level.”

Y/N nodded, grateful for the shift in conversation, though her pulse was still racing. “She doesn’t manipulate fate. Just minds.”

Carlisle exhaled, running a hand through his hair—a rare sign of frustration. “Then the question is… how long has she been doing this? And why?”

Y/N frowned, fingers absentmindedly tracing the rim of her glass. “You said it started before you even met me, right?”

He nodded. “Yes. But it’s worse now.”

She met his gaze, her voice softer now. “Because of me?”

His jaw clenched for a fraction of a second before he answered. “Because of us.”

The words hung between them, heavy and unspoken.

Y/N’s breath hitched, but she forced herself to stay composed.

She wasn’t naïve. She knew what she felt for him.

And, despite everything, despite the way it terrified her, she knew he felt it too.

He just couldn’t say it.

By the time they finished dinner, the wind had turned violent, howling against the windows of Carlisle’s rental like a wounded animal. The rain started minutes later, heavy and relentless, drumming against the roof with an unforgiving rhythm.

Y/N glanced at the window, her stomach twisting slightly. The drive back to Forks would be hell in this storm.

Carlisle must have noticed the way she tensed because he leaned forward. “You shouldn’t drive in this.” His voice was calm, but there was something in his eyes, concern.

“I’ll be fine,” she said automatically, but even as the words left her mouth, a sharp gust of wind rattled the glass, making her wince.

Carlisle arched a brow, unimpressed. “That’s not convincing.”

She sighed, rubbing her temples. He’s right. It was stupid to drive back in this kind of weather, especially at night.

Still, she hesitated. Staying the night at his place? Alone?

Dangerous.

Carlisle leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his broad chest. His tshirt clung to his torso, the fabric stretching just enough to remind her of the solid muscle beneath.

She swallowed.

“I have a room,” he added, as if sensing her hesitation. “You’ll be safe here.”

Y/N bit her lip. The wind howled again, shaking the entire house.

Shit.

With a sigh, she pulled her phone from her pocket. “Fine. Let me call Charlie.”

Carlisle didn’t say anything, just watched her with those sharp golden eyes as she dialed.

It only rang once before Charlie picked up. “Hey, kid. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” She glanced at the window, listening to the wind roar. “I, uh… got stuck in Port Angeles. The storm’s too bad to drive back, so I just got a hotel room for the night.”

Charlie sighed. “Yeah, I just heard the warning on the radio. Good call, kid. Just be safe, alright?”

“I will,” she promised. “I’ll drive back in the morning.”

They exchanged quick goodnights before she hung up. When she turned back to Carlisle, he was watching her with something unreadable in his expression.

“You didn’t tell him you were here,” he noted.

She shrugged. “He’d ask too many questions.”

He didn’t press the matter. Instead, he stood, stretching slightly before gathering their plates.

Y/N’s eyes flickered down on instinct.

Oh, hell.

The hem of his sweater lifted just enough to reveal a sliver of his stomach, taut muscle and a sharp V-line disappearing beneath his jeans.

Heat flooded her face.

She snapped her gaze away so fast she nearly gave herself whiplash.

“I’ll find something for you to sleep in,” he said. “In the meantime, if you want to shower, the bathroom is just down the hall.”

She exhaled slowly, nodding. “Yeah. That… sounds good.”

The shower was exactly what she needed.

The warm water eased some of the tension from her shoulders, and she took her time washing the day away. But her mind refused to stay quiet.

Instead, it drifted back to him.

Carlisle.

The way he looked tonight, the way he always looked, really. But tonight, in that damn tshirt, with his veined hands gripping the pan while cooking, with the way his muscles flexed ever so slightly when he moved…

She groaned, pressing her forehead against the cool tile.

Get a grip, Y/N.

It wasn’t fair. He wasn’t just some guy. He was Carlisle Cullen. And no matter what they felt, no matter what he claimed about mates and Esme and manipulation, he was still married.

…Wasn’t he?

She squeezed her eyes shut, exhaling slowly. It was all too much. The storm outside, the storm inside her.

But even as she tried to shake the thoughts away, the image of him lingered behind her eyes. The sharp cut of his jaw. The way his amber eyes darkened when he looked at her. The stretch of his body when he leaned back at dinner.

Her stomach tightened.

She needed to finish this shower before she lost her damn mind.

She exhaled as she stepped out of the bathroom, steam billowing around her like a soft mist. The air outside the warm cocoon of the shower was cooler, making goosebumps rise on her damp skin.

Carlisle had left clothes for her just outside the door, a large, soft white t-shirt that smelled like him, and a pair of sweatpants that would no doubt be too big for her. She pulled them on, her skin still warm from the water, and the fabric felt almost too comfortable.

The t-shirt swallowed her frame, the neckline slipping slightly off one shoulder. She didn't hate it. In fact, she liked the way it felt, as if he had wrapped her in something his. She shook the thought away and ran a hand through her damp hair before padding barefoot back into the living room.

Carlisle was lounging on the L-shaped couch, one arm draped casually over the backrest as he flicked through channels on the TV remote. 

And God help her, she was thirsty.

Her eyes betrayed her instantly, trailing down his torso, lingering on the way the soft fabric of his shirt stretched over his chest. Then lower, over the faint ridges of his abs beneath the fabric, down to his strong thighs, which were definitely taking up more than their fair share of space on the couch.

And those damn sweatpants.

She swallowed.

“Find something to watch?” she asked, hoping her voice sounded casual.

He glanced up at her and gave her a small, almost lazy smile. “Not yet. Any preferences?”

She shook her head and made her way to the couch, sitting beside him. She tried, really tried, not to notice the way his muscles shifted as he moved, the way his veined hands gripped the remote, the way he smelled like cedar and something inherently Carlisle.

But failing miserably.

He must have noticed the way she kept fidgeting because he finally set the remote down and turned slightly to face her. “How’s your medical school application process going?”

Right. Med school. A safe topic.

She exhaled, tucking her legs beneath her. “It’s… a lot. I’ve sent in my applications to a few places, but I’m still waiting to hear back.”

He nodded, eyes warm and attentive. “You’ll get in. You’re brilliant.”

She bit her lip, warmth spreading in her chest at the certainty in his voice. “Thanks.”

He tilted his head slightly, studying her. “What do you want from it?”

She blinked. “From med school?”

“From your future,” he clarified.

She hesitated, fidgeting slightly. “I guess… I just want to help people. To matter.”

His gaze softened. “You already do.”

Something in his voice sent a shiver down her spine. A part of her wanted to reach for him.

No.

She shouldn’t.

But it was getting harder to resist.

She was still warm from the shower, but she felt hotter now. Was it just her, or had he shifted closer?

Her heartbeat picked up.

And then she caught him looking.

At her.

More specifically, at her chest.

Her nipples were peaked beneath the fabric of his t-shirt. The realization made her stomach tighten, heat pooling low.

Carlisle’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, his golden eyes darkening just a fraction.

And suddenly, they weren’t talking anymore.

Somewhere between words and silence, the space between them disappeared.

She wasn’t sure who moved first, if it was him leaning in, or her shifting closer, but before she could think about it, his hand was brushing against her jaw, tilting her chin up.

A breath.

A moment.

Then his lips were on hers.

It started slow, testing, almost hesitant, but as soon as she sighed against his mouth, as soon as she parted her lips just enough for him to deepen the kiss, all hesitation disappeared.

Carlisle groaned softly, shifting until he was angled toward her, his large hands framing her face as he kissed her with more intensity.

Y/N melted into him, fingers gripping the soft fabric of his shirt, feeling the solid muscle beneath. He was strong, she could feel it in the way he held her, the way his hands moved from her face down to her waist, pulling her closer, as if he needed her closer.

Her hands traveled up, slipping under the hem of his shirt, feeling his skin, the hard ridges of his stomach. He inhaled sharply at the contact, his grip tightening on her hips.

The kiss turned desperate.

She gasped when he pulled her onto his lap, straddling him. His fingers dug into her thighs, his breath ragged against her lips as he pulled back just enough to look at her.

Her chest heaved, lips swollen from the kiss.

Carlisle’s eyes roamed over her face before dropping lower, his hands skimmed up her sides, fingertips brushing beneath the fabric of her shirt.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, voice rough. “And I will.”

She didn’t.

Instead, she kissed him again, fingers tangling in his golden hair, pulling him impossibly closer.

He groaned against her lips, hands gripping her hips, guiding her to press against him.

She gasped at the feeling, heat pooling low in her stomach.

“Y/N…” His voice was strained, his forehead pressing against hers as if trying to regain control.

Her breathing was uneven, her body trembling slightly against him.

They were playing with fire.

And neither of them wanted to put it out.

Carlisle’s breath was hot against Y/N’s lips, his hands firm on her hips, holding her against him as though she might slip away. But she wasn’t going anywhere. She couldn’t—not when the feel of him, the taste of him, was setting her skin ablaze.

His hands skimmed beneath her shirt, fingers ghosting over her ribs before sliding up, his thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts. She gasped, her back arching into his touch, pressing her chest against his palms. He groaned, rolling his hips up instinctively.

The sound sent a shiver down her spine, and she felt him beneath her, hard and thick, pressing against her through his sweatpants. Heat pooled in her belly, a desperate ache settling between her thighs.

She wanted more.

Needed more.

Carlisle kissed down her jaw, his lips tracing a slow path to her neck. He paused, breathing her in, before sucking gently at the skin just below her ear. She whimpered, fingers tangling in his golden hair as he moved lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses along her throat.

His hands slid higher, pushing her shirt up over her head. She let him, raising her arms as he stripped it from her, tossing it aside.

He froze for a second, just looking at her, his golden eyes darkening as they roamed over her bare skin.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, almost reverently.

She shivered under his gaze, heart hammering in her chest. Then his hands were on her again, one sliding up her back, the other gripping her waist as he leaned forward, pressing his lips between her breasts. She gasped when his tongue flicked over her nipple, his mouth closing over it, sucking lightly.

She moaned, hips rocking against him, seeking friction.

Carlisle growled low in his throat, his hands tightening on her hips as he guided her movements, pressing her down against his arousal.

“Carlisle…” She barely recognized her own voice, breathless and needy.

He looked up at her, his pupils blown wide. “Tell me what you want, sweet girl.”

Her stomach clenched at the nickname, desire flooding her veins.

“I want you,” she admitted, voice trembling with need.

His jaw clenched, his restraint visibly slipping. “Are you sure?”

She nodded, cupping his face. “Yes. I need you.”

That was all it took.

In a blur of movement, she was on her back, Carlisle hovering over her, his weight pressing her into the couch. He kissed her deeply, hungrily, before trailing his lips down her body, worshiping every inch of her with his mouth.

He peeled the sweatpants from her legs, taking her underwear with them. His fingers traced up her thighs, spreading her open before him.

“Fuck,” he breathed, his voice wrecked.

He didn’t waste any time. His mouth was on her, tongue sliding between her folds, teasing her clit with slow, deliberate strokes. She cried out, fingers gripping his hair as he devoured her, his tongue circling, flicking, sucking.

She was so close, her body trembling, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

“Carlisle, I…”

“Let go,” he murmured against her, his voice like sin.

And she did.

Pleasure crashed over her in waves, her thighs shaking as she came against his mouth. He groaned, gripping her hips to hold her still as he licked her through it, savoring every drop of her pleasure.

When she finally caught her breath, he kissed his way back up her body, his lips finding hers once more. She could taste herself on his tongue, and the thought only made her want him more.

She reached for the hem of his shirt, pushing it up. He sat back just long enough to strip it off, revealing the hard planes of his chest, the defined muscles of his stomach. Her fingers traced over them, marveling at the perfection of him.

Then her hands dipped lower, slipping beneath the waistband of his sweatpants. She felt him—hot, heavy, and thick in her palm. He groaned, his head falling forward as she wrapped her fingers around him, stroking slowly.

“Y/N,” he growled, his breath ragged.

She bit her lip, meeting his gaze. “I want you inside me.”

His restraint snapped.

He kicked off his sweatpants and settled between her legs, lining himself up with her entrance. He paused, pressing a soft kiss to her lips.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmured.

She cupped his face. “You won’t.”

With one slow, careful thrust, he pushed into her, stretching her inch by inch. She gasped at the fullness, her nails digging into his shoulders.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his head dropping to the crook of her neck. “You feel… perfect.”

He gave her a moment to adjust before pulling back and thrusting forward again, setting a slow, deliberate pace.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. He groaned, his grip on her hips tightening as he picked up speed, each thrust hitting deeper, harder.

Their moans filled the room, mixing with the sound of skin against skin.

“Carlisle—”

“I know, love,” he panted, his thrusts becoming erratic. “Come for me.”

A few more thrusts, and she was falling apart again, her body tightening around him. He cursed, his hips slamming into hers as he chased his own release.

With a final groan, he pulled out, spilling on her stomach and breast as he whispered her name like a prayer.

For a long moment, neither of them moved, their bodies tangled, their breaths mingling.

Then Carlisle lifted his head, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead.

The soft golden glow of morning filtered through the bedroom curtains, casting warm streaks of light across the sheets. Y/N stirred, sighing as the soreness in her body reminded her of the night before. She was naked beneath the covers, the faint scent of Carlisle still lingering on her skin.

They had barely slept.

Every time she thought they were done, Carlisle had pulled her back in, whispering her name in that deep, velvety voice, his hands tracing the curves of her body like he was memorizing her. He had worshiped her, again and again, until she had collapsed against him, boneless and spent.

Now, she stretched lazily, rolling onto her back. The sheets were cool beside her. Carlisle was already up.

The distant sound of movement in the kitchen caught her attention. A small smile tugged at her lips as she reached for his shirt from last night, slipping it over her head before padding barefoot toward the source of the noise.

When she entered the kitchen, she found Carlisle standing at the counter, his broad back to her. He had changed into black sweatpants and a fitted long-sleeve Henley, the fabric hugging his muscular shoulders and arms in a way that made her mouth go dry.

He was flipping pancakes, his veiny hands effortlessly maneuvering the pan. A fresh pot of coffee steamed beside him, along with a plate of eggs and toast.

Her heart skipped at the sight.

"You’re cooking again?" she asked, her voice still husky from sleep.

Carlisle turned, his golden eyes lighting up at the sight of her in his shirt.

"You need to eat," he said simply, a small smile playing on his lips. "You barely did last night, and I kept you… occupied."

Heat rushed to her cheeks. "That’s one way to put it."

He smirked, setting a plate in front of her as she sat at the kitchen island. He leaned in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to her lips.

"Good morning," he murmured.

"Morning," she whispered, her stomach flipping.

They ate together, the air between them comfortable, though electric with everything that had happened the night before.

But soon, reality crept back in. She had to go home before Charlie started asking questions, and there was still so much left unresolved about Esme.

She kissed Carlisle one last time before heading out, the memory of his hands on her still burning beneath her skin.

By the time she got home, it was early afternoon, and she barely had time to process everything before Bella came bursting into the living room, looking frantic.

"Where have you been?" Bella demanded, eyes wide.

Y/N blinked. "I was…"

"It doesn’t matter," Bella cut her off. "You won’t believe what happened last night."

Charlie had just walked into the room, sighing. "She’s been like this all morning."

Y/N frowned. "What happened?"

Bella ran a hand through her hair. "The others didn’t show up—just Mike and Jacob. Then Mike got sick, and Jacob almost got into a fight with Mike for no reason. But that’s not even the weird part."

She took a breath. "Jacob had a fever… like, he was burning up. And then, after I got home, he called me saying he’s really sick now, but something feels wrong."

Y/N felt a chill run down her spine.

Charlie sighed. "Probably just the flu. Half the town’s sick right now."

Bella shook her head. "No, it’s not just that. He was acting weird. Saying things that didn’t make sense…"

Y/N exchanged a look with Charlie, then sighed. "You should let him rest, Bella. I’m sure he’ll be fine."

Bella bit her lip, looking unconvinced. But there was nothing more to be done.

Still, as Y/N headed upstairs to her room, a bad feeling settled in her stomach.

Something was changing.

And she wasn’t sure any of them were ready for it.

Next chapter >>>

Tag list: @inky-bonnie @irelanrose @i-cant-pick-an-aesthetic09 @wandererthemadhatter

[paigesbasketball]

Echos of The Fallen

Chapter 4: Calculated Risks Shadow the Hedgehog x reader Warnings: swearing

3:45 AM – Warehouse Hideout

The stolen G.U.N. assets lay sprawled across the table, stacks of high-value data drives, encrypted documents, and access credentials that were worth more than gold on the black market. Avia leaned back against the cool metal wall, arms crossed, eyes flickering across the team. They had pulled it off, but it had been too close. Shadow had nearly caught them.

Scar paced near the table, cracking her knuckles. “I still can’t believe we got out of there in one piece. You really had to go and flirt with him mid-fight, huh?”

Avia rolled her eyes. “It was a distraction. And it worked.”

Scar smirked. “Yeah, but now he’s going to remember you. Maybe even hunt you.”

Zero, still typing away at his laptop, barely glanced up. “We should assume he’s already started.”

Avia exhaled sharply. She knew that better than anyone. Shadow wasn’t one to let things slide. If anything, her stunt back at the bank would make him dig even deeper. But the important part was that he had no idea who she was.

Scar plopped onto the couch, tossing a data chip between her fingers. “The real question is—what now? We got their money, but G.U.N. isn’t just gonna take this lying down.”

Zero’s fingers didn’t stop moving. “They’re already sweeping the city. My feeds are picking up multiple strike teams mobilizing.” He finally looked up, eyes sharp. “And they’re not just looking for the stolen goods. They’re looking for us.”

Avia tensed. “Then we go dark for a while. Let the heat die down.”

Scar raised a brow. “And what about Prototype X-09?”

That was the real issue, the real reason they had made a move against G.U.N. The money was just a means to an end. The real prize was understanding what G.U.N. was hiding—what kind of weapon they were planning to unleash.

Avia tapped the table thoughtfully. “We intercepted their funds, which means delays. But we still don’t know what X-09 is.” She turned toward Zero. “How much were you able to pull before we had to bail?”

Zero plugged in one of the stolen drives, his screen filling with lines of code and heavily encrypted files. “Not much. G.U.N. really doesn’t want people knowing about this project.” He narrowed his eyes, fingers gliding over the keys. “But… there’s something. I can break through it, but it’ll take time.”

Scar sighed, leaning her head back. “Great. More waiting.”

Avia wasn’t convinced they had that luxury. Shadow wouldn’t stop, not until he figured out who they were. She had seen the look in his eyes before they escaped—the calculation, the intensity. He knew she wasn’t just another mercenary.

And that was a problem.

4:15 AM – G.U.N. Headquarters

Shadow stood before the monitor in the war room, arms crossed, crimson eyes locked onto the surveillance footage from the bank. The fight replayed in slow motion—every movement, every detail, every split-second decision. His opponent was skilled. Too skilled.

Rouge sat on the edge of the table, arms folded. “You keep watching that, and you’re gonna burn a hole through the screen.”

Shadow didn’t answer, his focus unwavering. The way she moved… precise, calculated. She had known how to disable Omega. Had known exactly how to bait him into a vulnerable position. And then there was her escape. Efficient. No hesitation. It all pointed to training—elite training.

But who was she?

Rouge smirked. “Still thinking about your little mystery girl?”

Shadow turned to her, unamused. “She’s not ‘mine.’”

Rouge waved a hand. “Relax, I’m just saying—it’s obvious she’s not some common thief. She knew what she was doing.”

Shadow’s eyes flickered back to the screen. “She’s ex-G.U.N. or something close to it.”

Rouge tilted her head. “You really think so?”

Shadow nodded. “She was too precise. Knew how to counter Omega. Knew how I would react.” He exhaled. “This wasn’t her first time going up against our tactics.”

Omega’s mechanical voice rumbled from across the room. “RECOMMEND IMMEDIATE TERMINATION OF ALL SUSPICIOUS INDIVIDUALS.”

Rouge rolled her eyes. “Real subtle, Omega.”

Shadow rewound the footage to the moment she had spoken to him, her words still lingering in his mind. You gonna kiss me or something, handsome?

It had been a taunt. A distraction. But in that moment, her expression had been unreadable—playful, but measured. She had calculated her next move before he had even reacted. That level of control wasn’t common.

Rouge noticed his silence and smirked. “She really got under your skin, didn’t she?”

Shadow ignored her, his fingers tightening into a fist. “We find her. And when we do, I’ll make sure she tells me everything.”

3:55 AM – Rooftop Overlook

The city stretched out below Avia, neon lights flickering in the distance as the early morning air bit at her skin. The team was still back at the hideout, resting, but she needed space to think.

Shadow was going to come for them. That much was certain. But as long as he didn’t know her identity, they had the upper hand. For now.

She pulled out a small, old photograph from her pocket. The edges were worn, the image slightly faded—a glimpse of a past life. One she had walked away from long ago.

G.U.N. thought they could bury their secrets. That they could erase the past. But Avia wasn’t done yet.

She clenched the photo in her fist before tucking it away. Shadow would chase her, but he was missing the most important piece of the puzzle.

He didn’t know who she was.

And as long as she kept it that way, she still had the advantage.

6:30 AM – Warehouse Hideout

The sun had barely risen, casting an orange glow over the hideout as I stepped into the main room. The rest of the team was scattered around, still groggy from sleep. Viper sat at the table, sipping coffee with a lazy expression. Zero leaned against the wall, arms crossed, and Nova was fiddling with a small vial of something that probably shouldn’t be spilled.

I clapped my hands together. “Alright, guys, I have our next move.”

A few tired eyes turned toward me, some more interested than others. Zero raised an eyebrow. “I thought you wanted us to stay hidden until shit calmed down?”

“Well, change of plans,” I said, smirking.

I let the tension build for a moment before finally saying, “Our next mission is to kidnap Shadow the Hedgehog.” I smiled, hoping for agreement.

A beat of silence. Then—

“WHAT?!”

Scar walked in, stretching her arms above her head as she let out a yawn. “Good morning, people.”

Without missing a beat, Zero smirked and said, “Scar, Avia wants us to kidnap Shadow.” he says snickering while eating a piece of bacon.

Scar froze mid-step, eyes going wide. Then, without hesitation, she spun back around and started walking toward her room. “Good night, everyone.”

I blinked in confusion and sassily said, “Where are you going?”

Scar’s voice called from inside her room. “Back to sleep! I’m not gonna help you kidnap a man to get dick—there are other ways for this!”

Rolling my eyes, I marched over and dragged her back out.

Scar groaned, rubbing her eyes. “I blame Nova. Did you sniff one of her weird potions again and start hallucinating?”

Nova blinked. “Um… no? I wasn’t making any illusion potions this time… I think.”

Viper groaned and rubbed her temples. “Maybe we should stop letting her go up to the roof. The smoke fumes from the chimney's are making her crazy.”

Zero, suddenly burst into laughter. “There is no way you are this down bad for a man, or maybe its just him who caught your eye” he says wiggling his eyebrows.

I rolled my eyes. “Listen, he may have information that can help us.”

Viper leaned over and whispered to Scar, barely holding in a snicker, “Yeah, like his phone number.”

The two of them erupted into laughter.

I shot them an annoyed glare. “Guys, just huddle up.”

[911coded]

Chapter 8: Take Me Back To The Start

After Sam led Tommy away to sign the massive NDA (Buck pitied his poor, beautiful hands), Dave grabbed Buck’s wrist and began pulling him along.

”I want to show you something,” he insisted.

“I’ve already seen the gate, what more is there to see when every hallway looks exactly the same?” Buck grumbled.

With another turn down another identical hallway, Buck was now well and truly lost, “It’s down here,” Dave said.

Buck was starting to get suspicious, though. In fact, “Wait. Haven’t we…,” Dave had opened a door before he could finish his sentence, swung Buck around, and shoved him through the doorway. Buck stumbled forward and the door slammed shut, audibly locking behind him.

“You too, huh?” Tommy asked behind him.

Buck whirled around in shock to find Tommy sitting at a small table in the center of the room, “Tommy?! W-What is going on?” he asked.

“They told me to wait. The door didn’t lock until just now, so your guess is as good as mine,” Tommy shrugged and tried to look relaxed but Buck knew him well enough to tell that he was concerned about what was going on too.

At this point, Buck lost his temper, he was absolutely done with all of his friends, “Assholes! First, it’s Eddie and Hen playing keep-away with my phone when you’re bubbling me and now Dave and probably Lorne and Sam have decided to lock us in a room together? To do what?! Why am I not allowed to make my own decisions?!” Buck pounded a fist on the locked door, “Dave! You dick, let us out of here!!” When there was, of course, no response, Buck flopped down in an uncomfortable chair with a huff and decided to wait them out, temper simmering, waiting for a target.

“Buck…” Tommy muttered.

Buck jumped to his feet again and moved as far away as he could in the small room, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, “No! Fuck you! You don’t get to call me that!” he shouted in frustration.

“It’s your name,” Tommy pointed out.

“Not when you say it. Hearing the nickname I’ve used to hide from my past coming out of your mouth feels like getting stabbed in the gut every time!” Buck clutched a fist and hugged his waist, “You called me Buck on your way out the door and I lost the ability to breath. I just froze, it hurt so bad. Haven’t you hurt me enough?! Hurt us both enough?!”

Tommy looked shocked at his outburst, “I wasn’t trying to hurt you, I just….”

“What does it matter what you were trying to do when that’s what happened? I said something stupid again, I was too much, and then you bailed, just like everyone else. That’s what happened,” Buck sighed and sat back down, looking and sounding exhausted. “I gave you time ‘cause that’s what I thought you wanted,” Buck muttered. Now Tommy is the one feeling like he was being stabbed in the gut.

“You’ve had time to miss me, to miss us. I was trying to give that to you, to give us the time to think about what we really wanted. Since that night, all I’ve wanted was an adult conversation, not whatever this is,” Buck added, gesturing around the room. He huffed and crossed his arms, turning away to stare at the wall.

The room was silent, Tommy tried to think of what to say but anything he could come up with seemed inadequate and he was afraid nothing could fix this. But Tommy’s nerves were getting to him, and there wasn’t enough floor space to pace, so talking about anything that came to mind it was, “I had a conversation today. With a spaceship.”

Buck perked up and tilted his head in question, “With a spaceship? How does that work?” he leaned forward in his chair, his narrowed gaze intense.

“I have no idea. It knew about us. Both of us….I haven’t had time to freak out about that yet.” Tommy’s voice cracked, and Buck looked at Tommy, really looked at him. The calm facade was starting to break down. Buck took in a sharp breath. “I was also beamed up to another spaceship a-a couple of hours ago? Is that right? It hasn’t even been a day since I found out aliens are real and wormhole travel has been happening for years and I-I’m just…” Tommy faltered, unable to continue. He buried his head in his hands and gripped his hair. 

Buck stood up and rushed over, leaning down and wrapping his arms around Tommy’s head and shoulders, “Shit. Come here. I’m so sorry.” Tommy stiffened in surprise for a moment, then melted into the embrace, burying his face in Buck’s stomach and clutching at the back of his shirt, “This is my fault. I panicked when I found out you left and I knew Dave was involved with shit but I just couldn’t-I couldn’t let you go without trying to follow and now I’ve dragged you in it with me. I’m so sorry, Tommy. Look, I’ll-I’ll talk to them. You haven’t signed anything yet and maybe if I commit to longer they’ll be happy just taking me. You can go back home to LA and the LAFD and pick back up your life. And I’ll leave you alone, I promise. You can be friends with Chim again without me there, being too much, and I’ll go to Atlantis and boss around Dave’s baby minions like he wants and I’ll be fine. I will. I’ll find a new hobby to keep myself from…well I’ll occupy myself somehow and you can just go back to your life and be happy again and mmmph!” Tommy had shoved to his feet, eyes wide and panicked, interrupting Buck with a broad hand over his mouth and an arm around his waist. 

Tommy tilted his head to make eye contact with Buck, “Evan, no, that’s not what I want! Look at me, please. Do you want to go to Atlantis?” Buck’s eyes flicked away, his hands clenched into fists at his side. But, Tommy cradled his face and Buck focused on Tommy as his eyes began to sting with tears, “Evan. Do you want to go to Atlantis with me and learn how to fly ships with our minds?” Tommy took his hand off Buck’s mouth and watched his face, trying to read what he was thinking.

Buck licked his lips, chasing the taste of Tommy’s skin, “With you?” The tears fell and Tommy wiped them away.

“With me,” Tommy replied softly. He looked directly into Evan’s eyes and prayed that what he was seeing in those beautiful, blue eyes was hope.

Buck took a trembling breath, “Honestly, I’d follow you anywhere, if you’d let me. But, yes, I do want to go to Atlantis. I want to do this. I want to help them. I think it could be really good for me.”

Tommy looked at the excitement and hope sparking to life in Buck’s eyes and bobbed his head in a nod, “Yeah, for me too. Let’s go to Atlantis.”

“And we’ll talk? About us?” Buck asked hopefully.

Tommy pulls him into his arms and holds tight, “We’ll talk. I’m not angry with you about what your emails dragged me into. It’s just-it’s been a really long week and we still have more to learn. I’m overwhelmed and struggling to take it all in. And, it’s going to be ok. WE will be ok. I know we need to talk and I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you that night. I’m sorry I just walked out. I-I regretted it right away but….I wasn’t sure that I even deserved to take it back. I still think you could do better than me and the garbage I’ve been dragging around, but I’ve been informed that I’m not allowed to make decisions about what you need and deserve,” he said with a slight smirk.

“Wow. How did that happen?” Buck asked playfully with a soft chuckle.

“An old pilot with similar issues gave me a talking to and, well….when the ship talked to me in Antarctica, they asked if WE would come home. And in that moment, most of my fear just fell away. I just felt….I couldn’t imagine going without you so I knew I was going to have to talk to you, to tell you all the things I avoided talking about before, and to see if we could work out how to move forward,” Tommy said.

There was a muffled thump at the door and Buck could hear Sam ask someone why the door wouldn’t open. They separated and attempted to appear as if they hadn’t been having an emotional moment in a locked room. They had themselves mostly back to normal when an airman shoved the door open with his shoulder and turned to hold it open for Sam with a nod, “Ma’am, is there anything else I can help you with?”

“Thank you Sargeant, that will be all. Please notify Stilinski about the difficulty with the door on this room,” Sam instructed.

“Right away, ma’am,” with a salute, which Sam returned, the airman left them alone.

“Any questions before we get Mr. Kinard started on his NDA, gentlemen?”

“I just need a list of supplies I’ll need to bring with me. My bags are packed for Antarctica, I have no idea what I’ll need for a whole other galaxy,” Tommy explained.

Another man entered the room and placed a folder on the table, “Recommended reading for the Pegasus Galaxy, ma’am. Dr. Jackson put it together for new recruits, it includes a suggested packing list,” he stated, nodded at Buck and Tommy, then left again without another word.

“How-” Buck started.

“That’s Walter, he does that. The man refuses to retire. I think he’s afraid if he leaves, the place will fall apart,” Sam explained with a shrug.

“I’ll get you two a couple of tablets loaded with history of the SGC and after action reports of notable missions to add to your homework. Tomorrow, we can get started on medical and physical assessments,” Sam said with a grin.

After an eternity of signing his name to a truly terrifying document, Tommy and Buck were released from the mountain to find a hotel room, Lorne offered to set them up in visitor rooms, but with a glance at Buck, Tommy knew they needed a little more privacy tonight. 

Evan was quiet on the walk to the base vehicle they were issued and opened the passenger door without discussion. “What are you thinking about?” Tommy asked. 

“I started wondering about the gene, whether it was a mistake or an accident, but I don’t think it can be, so that brings up a whole list of questions that I don’t know how to find the answers to,” Buck replied absently.

Tommy frowned, “I don’t understand. How or why would the gene be a mistake or accident?”

The GPS interrupted Buck’s answer as it announced their arrival at their destination.

Buck followed Tommy into the elevator and then down the hall where Tommy stopped to slide a keycard in a door. Tommy led an oblivious Buck into the room with a hand on his arm and Buck plopped down to sit on one of the beds.

“Evan. Evan, could you explain what you mean?”

“I never told you about Daniel, my brother,” Buck said hesitantly.

“I didn’t know you had a brother,” Tommy whispered.

“I didn’t either until just a few years ago,” Buck took a deep breath to steady his nerves. “My brother Daniel had juvenile leukemia and no one in the family was a match to donate bone marrow. They decided to make one. Me. I was designed to be a match but it didn’t work and Daniel died anyway. I’m wondering now whether the gene that makes alien tech talk to me is there because Daniel had it or if it was an accident in the process. I try not to think about being created in a lab but the idea just hit me when we were walking out and wouldn’t let go. Then I realized that I never told you about him. We didn’t talk about the hard things, I guess.”

“I’m sorry that you lost your brother, but how did you not know about him until a few years ago?” Tommy asked.

“When he died, our parents essentially shut down. They moved us to another town where no one knew them or what they had done and refused to speak about Daniel again. They got rid of all of his things, swore a ten year old Maddie to secrecy, and checked out of their lives. Maddie and I raised ourselves. We were our only family and each other’s only source of affection and love. Maddie didn’t tell me about Daniel at all until she was pregnant with Jee and invited our parents to LA for a visit and even then, it was an accident. I saw a picture of a little boy who looked like me but couldn’t have been me so the whole thing came out,” Buck sighed, exhausted. “I’ll have to ask when we get our physicals if they want to check it out. The thing is, I avoided talking about my parents because Maddie still wants us all to have a relationship with each other. They try but I can’t help but think that they try because Maddie expects them to, not because they want to. I spent my entire childhood trying to get them to love me only to find out as an adult that whether they want to or not, they blame the infant me for not being able to save Daniel. So. That’s my tragic backstory, the source of most of my worst habits and biggest insecurities. Tada!!” Buck attempts a grin and manages a lopsided smile with jazz hands instead, “Your turn before I cry and this gets a million times worse.” Buck gestures at Tommy to pass on the pain dumping.

Tommy huffs a laugh at Buck’s attempt to lighten the mood, “I’m not sure where to start. You know about my father, there isn’t a specific story there….anger issues, homophobia. A man who should have never been a parent at all. I’ve got a handle on most of that, but he isn’t why I ran.”

“Could you tell me what I said to….trigger you, I guess? I know I got ahead of myself with the moving in thing but looking back, you kind of shut down at some point while I was talking?” Buck tentatively asked.

Tommy nodded and tried to feel out the words as he said them, “First, I want to say that I honestly don’t think that you being bisexual had anything to do with it, despite what it sounded like when I started throwing words at you about you figuring yourself out. I heard you ask me to move in with you and then it felt like I blacked out and was already outside trying to get home before I fell apart. I know I hurt you and I can never say sorry enough. I regret it every day.” Tommy fidgeted, restless with twitching fingers, “Okay. Um. Years ago, after Abby, when I was first out, I met Jason. He was kind and funny, and he treated me like a partner, like I was worth more than what I could do for him,” he started slowly. “I learned how I want to be loved in a romantic relationship, and for that alone, I can’t regret meeting him even if it ended badly. It was really good while it lasted. Jason had a best friend, Ryan, who he had known since college. Ryan was dating Lisa, had been for several years when I met them, and we often went on double dates together. It was fun, we all got along and when Jason and I had been dating for about a year, the two of us started talking about moving in together.”

“Oh,” Buck breathed.

“Yeah. I didn’t-I didn’t see it coming. We had been floating around the idea of marriage, just to see if we were on the same page and looking for an apartment when Lisa and Ryan had a messy breakup. Public, in front of all their friends, messy. I didn’t think anything of it when Jason talked about how hard Lisa was taking the split. Hindsight,” he shrugged. “A few weeks later, Jason ended things abruptly, with reasons that didn’t make any sense and I was left floundering. Now, Lisa is coming around to comfort me and I’m reeling and devastated, a complete mess of a person for weeks. Turns out, Jason had been carrying a torch for Lisa since he met her when Ryan introduced his new girlfriend all those years ago,” Tommy continues.

“They break up and Jason sees an opportunity to go for it,” Buck added.

“Yep. He never mentioned that he was bisexual. Not that it mattered, Lisa or Luke, he still dumped me while we were in the middle of making a commitment to each other. I was barely out the door before he was telling all his friends that he was in love with Lisa. I kind of went off the deep end a bit,” Tommy confessed.

“What did you do?” Buck asked.

“I fucked Ryan, his best friend,” Bucks snorts a laugh and grins in Tommy’s direction as he continues. “I ran into him at a bar, we were both feeling sorry for ourselves and drinking too much. I kissed him then took him back to my place and fucked him silly. The next morning, he thanked me and left, I never saw him again,” Tommy paused, shaking his head. “I made an appointment with a therapist two days later. I honestly thought I had worked through all of it in therapy, but you mentioned moving in and you’re right, I shut down. And then instead of talking, I ran. My mind was running circles around itself. I was sure that there was no way you could want me. I felt like you saw the version of me that I project to the world, not the me that I am, the mess that I am,” Tommy explained. 

“Tommy, I see you. Of course, I see you. I knew you were a mess. It takes one to know one. The Tommy that you project, that calm, cool Tommy? He can be fun and he’s certainly sexy and competent, but he wouldn’t indulge me when I want to dress up and hold a funeral for a 200-hundred-year-old corpse. He wouldn’t make me feel so safe that I could be my entire bratty self without fear of being too much. My Tommy is bitchy and sarcastic. He tells terrible jokes, likes monster truck rallies, never passes up a slice of cake, and cries at movies. That’s the Tommy I want, that’s the one…the one I fell in love with.”

Tags ❤️💕: @eliotwaughdeservesbetter @anangrylittlehobbit @grimmsdead @fiyaerrigan

[infamous-if]

Infamous is 2 years old!

So sorry this was late! Funnily enough, I was deep in the Infamous trenches that I didn't remember until now! Ha! Two years is a long time. I didn't think this would turn into anything when I posted the intro post.

Infamous was born from my desire to read a band IF after a weekend binging band-related stuff. You can imagine I was gutted that there was a hole of music/band related stories in this community. The (amazing!) band stories were either demo-less or dead. Once that happened a seed of an idea was planted in my head. One I couldn't shake off :,) and thus Infamous was born.

500k words, three chapters (lol) and nearly 10k of you later (woah) and here we are! I love Infamous with all my heart and I'm happy to see that it's touched some of you, no matter how big or small. The art, the fanfic, the questions and funny musings in my inbox; they give me a lot of energy and motivation. I'd probably have given up on this a long time ago if not for how kind and supportive this community is to me. You guys do not have to welcome me the way you do every day. Or be so gracious and patient with my ramblings and stupid ridiculous jokes and Savina teasing but you are. I am very lucky. Thank you.

I wish I had something prepared but as we know I am not a very organized person. Instead, as a way to celebrate, I've uploaded an extended Chapter 4 snippet. For those on Patreon who have already read it, I did extend this one—not by a lot but still. It's something new.

There will be typos, errors (if there are game-breaking errors, lmk!), skipped scenes, some paragraphs/convos not fleshed out, and empty choices because I am lazy and fill those out near the end. (I usually write a big picture skeleton first and then map out the scenes in deeper detail). Plus, I don't want to spoil too much haha

I hope you enjoy it. And thanks for loving Infamous! More to come!!!

Amy <3

[odoraful]

𝐌𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓'𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐓𝐄

the boys react to you being really sleepy around them 💤

content: zayne, xavier, rafayel x gn reader; established relationship; comfort a/n: this was from an anon who requested a sleepy m/c! i'm sorry it took a bit, but to the lovely anon i hope i did your idea justice! shoutout to all my constantly sleepy folks out there as well

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ZAYNE ⟡

It was only midday when you and Zayne boarded the train from Snowcrest back to Linkon, but your head was already lolling to the side. The homey, wintery town had an atmosphere that was too relaxing. Especially during those late afternoons after you and Zayne had gone cafe hopping, you wanted nothing more than to bask in the sun and fall asleep. 

As you settled into your seat by the window, Zayne pushed his and your luggage in the above storage compartment. Seeing his partner’s head bob towards the glass window, Zayne smiled to himself.

“I've never seen a person so sleepy before,” Zayne remarked, taking his place in the seat beside you.  

“It’s not my fault,” you mumbled groggily, “it’s the town.”

You began to rub your eyes, attempting to bring some life back into them. 

“I didn’t realise a town could have sedative properties,” he said, dryly. 

“You don’t understand, it’s too cosy. I feel like all my defences are down.” 

Zayne was entertained at the way you spun that into a complaint. A renowned hunter who finally takes a well-needed break feels too comforted by their holiday getaway.

He rested a hand on his chin in mock thought. “Should we have added combat training in the itinerary to have you be more alert, then?”

You laughed, knowing that if that had actually happened you would have hated it. The relaxation you experienced on this trip was a genuine good thing for the both of you. You continued to rub your eyes, trying to remove the build-up from when you last slept. Your movements were halted as Zayne gently held your wrists in place. You looked over at him, curiously. 

“I may not be an ophthalmologist, but I know rubbing your eyes too hard can damage the lens.”

He leaned closer to examine them. They were slightly red from all the pressure you had put on them.

“Forcing yourself awake won’t do you any favours.”  He gently brushed a thumb over your eyelids. “You should sleep.”

He relaxed his shoulders, bumping them against yours in wordless invitation. You felt your protest fizzle away at the thought of resting on Zayne right this second. Some argument about how he would be bored without his number 1 conversation partner on the commute disappeared when you tilted your head and fell on his shoulder. 

“Don’t forget to wake me up when we get there…” Your voice trailed off as you nuzzled in place, trying to find a good spot to sleep. 

Zayne combed his fingers through your hair, tidying it up from your head wiggling. You were unresponsive to his touch. Your steady breathing signalled that you had already passed out. He stared fondly at your peaceful face. Inwardly, he admitted that the ride would be much less fun without your chatter, but he was more than content with just your presence alone. 

Succumbing to temptation, he lightly poked your cheek. He mused to himself about how you were somewhat correct—your defences were down, but it was to his benefit. He could finally do things like this without your teasing. 

XAVIER ⟡

Xavier moved his hand, ready to turn over to the next page of the book. He looked at you, expectantly.

“Have you finished this page?”

You hummed affirmatively, and he eagerly flipped to the next chapter. 

You and Xavier had begun the habit of reading in bed together in the evenings. The book of choice was Xavier's pick—an old-school mystery novel. Someone is found murdered in their private quarters on a train, and the detective must find the culprit before they strike again. The plot was thrilling, and you were enthralled from the beginning. However, between being weighted under plush quilts, propped up by fluffy pillows, and the body warmth of Xavier, you felt the words of the page slipping away from you. 

“Xavier, could you read aloud for me?”

His eyes turned wide like a surprised bunny. “Why the sudden request? Is everything okay?” He immediately covered your forehead with his hand, checking your temperature. 

Chuckling, you swatted his hand away. “I’m alright. I just want to hear your voice, please.” You looped your arm around him and Xavier softened. 

He couldn’t argue against your wishes. He cleared his throat and read the words out loud. Though Xavier didn’t have the most performative voice, he still tried to be a good storyteller—acting out the dialogue for each different character and steadying his pacing. The gentleness of his voice enveloped you. It quickly sounded less like an intense crime novel, and more like a children’s storybook. 

You closed your eyes, attempting to keep an attentive ear to what Xavier was saying. 

“Are you still with me?” he asked, sensing how you had relaxed against his side. 

“Yes, yes, I’m still listening.” Your eyes remained shut, words slightly slurring together. “Keep going. I think the case is”—a yawn you tried to stifle came out—“about to be cracked wide open.”

Xavier continued, taking note of your growing drowsiness. He read out loud this time in a more hushed voice, “‘The detective gathered everyone in the train’s shared compartment space. Pacing across the carpet, he had finally figured out the killer’s identity.’” 

There was a slight thud against the headboard.

Turning to the source of the sound, Xavier found you fast asleep. 

He shook his head, laughing quietly to himself. Even when the culprit is about to be revealed, you still decide to fall asleep.

To be honest, he was beginning to get sleepy himself, so perhaps it was perfect timing. The two of you were cutely similar in that regard. In fact, Xavier had done the exact same thing a few days ago. Chastising you about it would only backfire on himself.  

He carefully removed your arm loosely looped around his own and quietly stood up to tuck you in. Laying you in a more comfortable position, he readjusted the blanket to cover your body, admiring how you snuggled deeper into the sheets. He joined you in bed. The warm glow of the night light behind him on the bedside table faintly illuminated your serene expression. 

“Sweet dreams,” he whispered, before placing a light kiss on your forehead and switching off the light.

RAFAYEL ⟡

It was a hot day in Linkon, and Whitesand Beach was the perfect respite for the artist and his bodyguard. The sand gleamed silvery-white under the sun, with crystalline waves crashing against the shore. There were many others here who had also pitched beach canopies to provide a shield against the heat. You and Rafayel had tried your best to create a comfortable interior with your rented outdoor lounge chairs and mini portable fans. You were lying on one of the chairs, relishing in the fresh air (a definite contrast from the city) whilst you waited for Rafayel. 

He soon returned holding up two drinks, both decorated with little umbrellas and even small skewers with fruit. 

You took the glass from him in amused shock. “Raf, did you make a special request for more decorations?”

Rafayel took a sip of the drink before placing it down on the table. “Nope, the employee recognised me and wanted to add a bit more pizazz to the drinks.” He plopped in his seat and flashed a smile. “Don’t worry, I tipped them extra for their efforts.”

You sipped the cool drink and gazed out at the beach, mesmerised by the waves. It’s repetitive ebb and flow almost lulled you somehow. 

The day hasn't even started! How can you even think about sleeping?! You scolded yourself. You patted both your cheeks to snap out of this tiredness. 

You turned your attention to something else. A couple were playing volleyball nearby. You watched the ball be tossed back-and-forth, back-and-forth… your eyelids began to fall on their accord. 

Rafayel's voice pulled you from your drowsiness, and you realised he had been observing you this whole time. “Didn’t sleep well last night?” He cocked his head to the side in concern.

“I did, but”—you turned to your side to face him properly—“being out here just makes me feel sleepy, that’s all.”

Too adorable. He thought to himself, seeing the small pout on your face as you rubbed your eyes. 

“I can’t think of a better place to rest than next to the ocean. It’s nature’s own background noise,” he proclaimed. 

Though that sounded enticing, you still hesitated. Wouldn’t it make you a bad partner if you slept for most of the time you two were outside? Sensing your reluctance, Rafayel continued.

“And how are you going to be a good bodyguard for me if you’re not well rested? Didn’t they teach you that in Bodyguard 101?”

“‘Bodyguard 101’?” you repeated in disbelief at Rafayel’s ability to dramatise. “I must have skipped that introductory course in university.” 

“Well then, you can make up for the lost study with experience, starting right now.” His humorous tone waned, as he brought out his sketchpad. “Don’t worry about me, I was planning on doing some drawings anyway. I won’t leave your side.” The softness of his words reassured you. 

The mixture of crashing waves and light chatter from other beach goers had you sleeping almost immediately.

Rafayel had intended to do some drawings of the scenery, but he fixed his artistic eye on you, now finding a much better source of inspiration to fill his pages.

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[utterlyazriel]

let me keep you company

a/n: a wee break from the doom & gloom of wtssf! it's unedited so i want no flack for that thank u <3 enjoy <3 wc: 5.1k whoops synopsis: You're studying in Velaris and a certain Shadowsinger catches your eyes in more than one way. It takes a while to realise the shadow keeping you company means more than you expect.

For the record, you had never met a Shadowsinger before.

You'd never even seen one. Sure, you’d read about them briefly in your studies and almost every Fae in Prythian had heard about them in whispers and rumours.

Rumours that increased more so when a Shadowsinger rose to become a hand for the Highlord, his own personal spy. Then became the spymaster of the entire Night Court for the next Highlord.

But beyond gossip and unfinished chapters within the scripts of your libraries, the knowledge of Shadowsingers is far limited. They’re rare. For all you know, Shadowsinger’s are a ghost— moving as a shadow, disappearing in and out of the darkness of the world.

You had never met a Shadowsinger before—so it makes sense that you hadn't an ounce of a clue what to expect.

Staring at him now, 6 feet something of pure muscle, you're a bit embarrassed at your own surprise.

Because he's probably— no definitely— the most beautiful Fae you've ever laid eyes on. His hair is tousled and dark, his glorious tan skin that's mostly hidden beneath the black of his fighter leathers, and his amber eyes that laid on you for only one long moment. Breathtaking is the only adequate word for him.

All that beauty and he's a Shadowsinger.

And it's not like you thought he wouldn't be like, well, any other Fae. But also... you kinda did? Mother, you should've known Freya was tricking you when she said they were all just shadow-y corporeal forms.

But she's also not entirely wrong there. There are dozens of wispy shadows that hover around him in constant motion, dipping and flying around his shoulders and if you look close enough, you can see how he seems to ripple at the edges. Shadows blur the edge of his very being.

You wonder if he can disappear into them all together, if that was one of the abilities granted with them. Does he control them? He must, you think, if the title is Shadowsinger.

But looking at him now, his beautiful face turned to face the Highlord you should definitely be listening to, they flit about almost absentmindedly, as though they have a mind of their own.

One curls up by his ear and you watch it, fascinated, more and more questions springing up in your mind— what do they feel like on skin? Do they make any noise? Is that what they're doing now? Talking to—

A sharp elbow jabs into your side, making you jump.

Your head whips to the side, an instinctive scowl almost overtaking your face before you plaster it over with a smile, realising your mistake. Your mentor, Sergei, clears his throat and smiles awkwardly ahead at Rhysand. You blink and take another moment to realise you've been asked a question.

"I'm— I'm sorry, could you repeat that?" You try not to sound as mousy as you feel but the question comes out as a squeak anyway. He is the Highlord of the Night Court after all. You suddenly feel very foolish for being so easily distracted.

Thankfully, Rhysand regards you with an easy smile. He's leaned back in his chair, relaxed, and his violet eyes dance with humour as he flicks his gaze over to where you had just been staring.

"That's alright. Azriel is a piece of eye candy, I can't blame you for staring," He all but purrs, a hint of mirth pulling at his lips as he casts another glance at his Spymaster. You're taken aback by the casualness of his words.

Rhysand continues. "I was only saying that for the duration of your stay, you'll be hosted in one of my homes, the House of Wind. You aren't afraid of heights, are you?"

A smidge of fear pinches at your stomach because, honestly, you aren't overly keen on the idea. But you know better than to turn down the generosity of a Highlord.

You take another glance at the wings of his Spymaster and General and pray that it's not too high up.

"Not... much." You answer honestly.

There's a chuckle from the side of the room and your head swings around at the noise. It's not the Shadowsinger, though he looks as though he's politely trying not to smile, his chin ducked. It's the General, just as beautiful as his brother but in that more rugged way.

He flexes his wings out a bit, showing off their mighty wingspan. "We'll rid you of that fear in no time."

You try for a smile but it might be closer to a grimace.

"Fantastic." You say, not managing to put all your enthusiasm into the word like you hoped.

Another sharp jab of Sergei's elbow in your side. The Shadowsinger, Azriel, huffs a quiet laugh, his amber eyes flashing up to steal another look at you. You try your best not to fluster.

It's going to be a long two months.

—

As Sergei's apprentice, you're expected to shadow him through his allowed time within Velaris.

Which means if he goes to the library, you go to the library.

There's just one problem; the library is down in the city and your temporary home is up in the mountain. The quickest way down is with wings.

Rhysand— or just Rhys as he had told you to call him— had relayed the information that you could ask either Cassian or Azriel to escort you if you didn't wish to take the stairs.

Cassian, the General, had been the one to fly you down and back the first couple of times you had asked and you weren't in any particular hurry to relive the experience.

Cassian was nice and he was more than friendly but seemingly incapable of understanding any fear of heights. You weren't sure if that was just the only way to fly— swooping and dropping fast enough to make you shriek— but it certainly seemed to be Cassian's way.

Which leaves you with the option of either asking the Shadowsinger or taking the stairs.

You get down about two hundred steps before you start to regret your decision. But, also, how in the Cauldron were you supposed to ask him to take you? (Never mind that you had asked Cassian quite easily, albeit very nervously.)

Oh, hi Shadowsinger who I can't stop staring at for both your abilities and your handsome face—care to sweep me into your arms and carry me places?

As if, you snort to yourself.

You take the thousand stairs all the way to the bottom and trot towards the enormous library, pretending your thighs aren't aching with overuse or that you're out of breath. Thankfully, the library itself isn't too far from the House of Wind, carved into the same side of the mountain.

As expected, Sergei is less than pleased with your tardiness.

"Sorry," The word rushes out of you in a wheeze, probably too loud for the library, as you scuttle in the entrance. A few priestesses turn their heads to look at you and you cringe, raising your hands in apology. "Sorry, I'm sorry,"

You focus back on your mentor and try to catch your breath, all while you explain. "I took the stairs and it took—" You huff out a breath. "—way longer than I thought."

Sergei's face softens a bit at your explanation, his face taking on a pitiful smile. "Still not enjoying the flying?"

"You are?" You ask in response. The thought of Sergei, your old-Fae mentor, swept up in Cassian's arms as he dips and dives makes you chuckle just a bit.

Sergei shakes his head as if to change the topic of conversation, deciding you've wasted enough time already. He turns, beginning to head further into the library and you follow behind him closely, eager to brush over your early morning fumble. The cavernous structure within the mountain yawns out ahead of you and you get all of two moments to wonder just how deep down it goes, when—

"You did not ask for a ride this morning."

Azriel steps up beside you, seemingly from nowhere, his steps falling in time with yours with ease. You jump, startled, and your footsteps falter for a moment. You're relieved to say that you only make one embarrassing noise in your surprise.

"I— oh, it's— I mean, I just..." You trail off, feeling flustered. "...like to walk."

You chance a glance up at him. He's wearing that same polite expression from yesterday, as though he's trying not to laugh and you get too caught up in the swirlings of his shadows to remember to be properly embarrassed. Both of you walk in tandem behind Sergei, slowly descending into the lower levels of the library.

"If you insist," He says, his voice low. It sends something warm down your spine and you pray he doesn't notice how your body temperature is definitely climbing.

His amber eyes pin you with another look, his lips twitching into a small smile. "However, if Cassian is giving you trouble, I would be happy to provide a smoother ride."

You flounder for a moment. You don't want to get anyone in trouble.

"I— he's not giving me trouble," You stammer.

Azriel smiles a little wider as if he can tell how polite you're trying to be. He slows to a meander and you realise only after you walk past him, it's because Sergei has stopped himself, turning down one of the many aisles.

You skid yourself to a halt and turn back, praying your flaming face isn't as obvious as it feels. You're not entirely sure if Azriel is accompanying you today but you're sure that Sergei would've mentioned it if he was.

You dip your head in a strange, awkward bow motion. Then point to the aisle Sergei disappeared into.

"I'll be... going this way."

Azriel's smile grows, like you've told a joke, and he ducks his head. He peers up at you through his dark lashes and you wonder if anyone's ever told him how damn beautiful he is. Probably. You're probably the last in a long line of people. Mother, his eyes though.

"If you don't wish to make the hike the other way," He murmurs.

He extends one of his hands and you watch the dozen shadows swarm around it, one of them separating from the pack to dive to the ground. It shoots forward and spins around your ankle, almost happily. "Just let the shadow know. I would be happy to assist."

When you look back up, he’s already gone without a sound. You try not to look so surprised— you’ve seen someone winnow before but you’re almost certain that the way Azriel moved about silently was something else altogether.

“Y/n!” Sergei’s voice echoes down the shelves, reminding you that you’re still late. You throw a quick glance around to check but it's fruitless; you can’t see the Shadowsinger anywhere.

You turn and bustle down the aisle quickly, not wanting to keep Sergei any longer. It takes only a second to notice the sole, black shadow that dances along behind you.

Guess you have company.

—

Okay, so, the shadows are definitely their own little guys.

Mainly because you can’t imagine how Azriel would be controlling them when he’s nowhere in sight.

And this one shadow is being awfully helpful.

The first time you drop your quill, knocking it to the ground as you lean over one of the many intricately carved desks, trying to reach another book, you don’t even notice it fall to the ground.

In fact, you have no idea how many times it’s picked up your fallen quill that you’ve undoubtedly knocked over countless times— only that it had given you the fright of your life to have it hover before your face, gripped only by the wispy shadow Azriel left with you.

“Holy shit!” You gasp, your loud voice echoing in the quietness of the library.

Sergei's head whips up, his eyes narrowing at the intruding sound with evident disapproval. You quickly snatch the quill out of mid-air and sink down in your seat. Gods, the echoes in here were doing you no favours.

“Sorry,” You whisper. Your eyes dart down to the shadow that retreated to your side, flickering around your ankle more wildly. “Er, thanks.”

It feels a bit silly to give thanks to something you’re not sure can hear you. But you figure if it can pick up your quill, you're better off using your manners.

Sergei gives you a somewhat bewildered look and you try to appease him with an awkward smile. It works enough for him to continue his work but not without one more lingering glance of worry in your direction. Great. You're talking to shadows and your old-man mentor thinks you're a bit nuts.

The shadow continues its helpful endeavours, following you when you head down different aisles at Sergei's request. It dances across the shelves, dissolving occasionally just to puff back up somewhere else, pulling your attention this way and that. It's playful. Friendly.

You deduce by the end of the day that you know even less about Shadowsinger's than you had thought. The abilities and personality of just one shadow are uncanny; like a silent friend keeping you company. You imagine that Azriel rarely gets lonely with as many as he has. Maybe you'll ask him.

When Sergei and you wind back up the staircases and he dismisses you for the evening, heading into the city for his own further business, you stand at the mouth of the library and ponder if you'll be brave enough to summon the Shadowsinger.

The shadow is still with you, circling your wrist absently. You peer down at it and think of all those stairs. Somewhat nervously, you raise your hand and try to be as casual as possible about talking to a shadow on your hand.

"Hi." You start, trying not to feel foolish. "Um, well, I guess I'm done for the day. Could— could you, if he's not busy that is, uh, let Azriel know? I don't mind waiting if he is."

The shadow zips off barely before you can finish your sentence and your head swings to watch it go, disappearing somewhere to your left.

You can't help but be a little amazed at its speed—it must be an incredible networking system to have a thousand little spies running around for you. No wonder almost all Shadowsingers tend to end up in the same line of work, you think to yourself, still peering in the direction of the shadow when—

"Y/n."

Even though he's said your name soft and quiet, Azriel still manages to take you by surprise. You jump and turn, all in one motion.

"Mother!" Your hand holds over your chest, relief curling in at the sides as your fright ebbs away. "That was fast."

"You called," Azriel responds, as if it's the easiest thing in the world. He gives you an almost shy smile.

It makes you fluster a bit and you gesture to the exit awkwardly and wordlessly, if only so you don't have to come up with a response to his intense and endearing answer.

Together, you wander out from the library and creep towards the edge of Velaris. It's a beautiful city and more than deserving of its title, especially when viewed from the House of Wind. You turn and cast your eyes up the mountainside, your familiar nervous fear pitching up from your stomach.

Then you look at the warrior beside you, tall enough that he's got what feels like more than a head's height on you, with his wings reaching above even his own head. His jaw is sharp and his eyes are already on you as your gaze trails up his face. Fuck. He's really pretty.

Now you're nervous for an entirely different reason.

"We can still take the stairs if you wish," He says, his hand sweeping back to the path you had followed along this morning. His shadows move with his hands, a black vortex that whirls around and around. "I'd be more than happy to keep you company."

Mother, he's not helping you in the slightest, being so perfectly nice to you. You regard the stairs and think back to how many hours it took before your thighs stopped aching—and that was on the way down.

"No, we can- we can try flying again." You say, nodding to yourself as if it'll help quell your fear. It takes another moment to realise that means you'll be bundled up in his strong arms, held against his broad chest and you feel a little shiver run through your body at the thought.

Azriel notices it too, his eyebrows knitting together in concern. "You're sure?" He checks.

You nod, not meeting his eyes, trying to keep your nerve. Flying is already something you're not keen on. Flying whilst being swept up in the arms of a Shadowsinger who you think is the most beautiful Fae you've ever seen? You send a silent prayer to the Mother that you don't do something embarrassing, like puking down his front.

"Let me know if you're uncomfortable at any time," He says softly and then he bends his knees slightly, one of his scarred hands resting on your lower back as the other scoops beneath your knees. He lifts you as though you weigh nothing.

It's impossible not to flush as you get nestled against his firm chest, your hands panicking for a moment as you try to think of a normal place to put them. Around his neck? On his chest? Either of them feels far too intimate for a man you've known only a week.

"You don't have to but I would suggest holding on," Azriel comments with a smile, his chest vibrating with the words. You nod, agreeing with him, but don't make a move to do so, only holding your hands out in front of you to indicate you're not sure where to put them.

The shadows adorning his shoulders move on their own, their friendly presence easing your nerves as they slither down to circle around your wrists. There's a gentle tug and you let them move your hands til they're wrapped around Azriel's neck, moving you much closer in the process.

Gods, your faces are close together. Another couple of inches and you could probably press your lips to his perfect ones—a thought that makes you fluster all over again. Was he getting prettier every time you saw him? For not the first time, you thank the Mother that it was Rhys with the daemaeti gift and not Azriel.

"Ready?" He checks, which is sweet. Cassian had just shot up into the sky the first time, without any warning.

You grip your arms around his neck a little tighter and then nod. "Ready," You say, quieter than intended.

You catch just a moment of Azriel's demure smile, your heart swooping at the sight, before you're both launched into the sky with one flap of his wings.

The noise that escapes you is one you're less than proud of, a squawky sound noise of panic that you bury into Azriel's neck. You expect him to laugh like Cassian had, not meanly but playfully, but instead Azriel's arms just tighten around you. As if he was assuring you that he would not let you fall.

By the time you're up at the House of Wind, Azriel making a far more graceful descent than his brother, you're less freaked out and more ready to point some accusatory fingers in the face of the Night Court's General.

That bastard had been fucking with you! The flight with Azriel proved as much, considering how much calmer and smoother it had been. You couldn't help but say as much as you were placed down from Azriel's hold, glad to be back on solid ground.

"I have some words for Cassian, Mother above," You ramble, straightening out your rumpled clothes from the flight. "Did he think I was kidding when I said I was afraid?"

Azriel smiles at your fieriness, his shadows calmer than they were in flight, moving about lazily. His eyes take a fleeting glance at the house behind you before focusing intently back on you.

"Cassian can have a strange sense of humour at times. He means well." He says. Then he grins. "I should like to see you tell him off— not enough people do."

You hmph. "Maybe I will."

You suddenly realise the closeness between you and Azriel, close enough to feel the warmth of his body. His scent of cedar and mist swirls around you, tantalizing and alluring in a way you've never known before. You take a step back to contain yourself.

"I—uh, well, thank you very much." You say, as sweet as you can. "For the ride."

Your eyes catch on one of his dozen shadows and you smile, observing them for a moment. "And the shadow. It was excellent company."

Azriel brightens, an expression of surprise crossing his face before he schools it away. He smiles, brazen and breathtaking. When he speaks, he sounds a little disbelieving. "You like them?"

You nod quickly, noticing how one of his shadows has snuck off again and circulates your ankle speedily. You laugh at the ticklish feeling of it against your skin.

"They're incredible." You breathe, meaning every word. "I imagine you must've ge—"

"Apologies, y/n." A smooth voice cuts in, Rhys stepping up somewhere behind you and stealing both of your attention. He dressed in more casual clothes than you last saw, but not quite Azriel's fighting leathers. "Azriel here is needed for some brief business. Do you mind if I borrow him?"

The way he poses the question, as if Azriel is yours, does something wonky to your heart. You flounder for a moment, stepping back and waving your hand in the direction of the Shadowsinger.

"Of- of course, by all means." You trip over the words and hope you don't sound too eager to escape his company. That couldn't be more untrue.

You turn back to Azriel and fix him with a smile, hoping it's not as nervous as you feel. "I'll... see you around?"

Azriel steals a glance to the side where Rhys awaits before he nods with another reserved smile. Hold on, is that pink on his cheeks?

"Let me know if you need any more help getting to and from the library. I'd be happy to assist."

And then with a quick nod to you, he walks off to join Rhys, his wings tucked in tight, careful to not nudge you. You watch them go, unable to stop yourself from letting your eyes wander down. Damn, all that training did wonders. What was that saying? Hate to watch 'em go, love to watch them leave.

Ahead, Rhys abruptly laughs and peers back over his shoulder, letting you exactly how well you had shielded those thoughts. You flush and scurry into the house as if it'll save you from the embarrassment of what's just happened. You only hope he won't pass the message on to Azriel.

—

It continues like that for the rest of the week.

Azriel carries you down the height of the mountain and leaves you with a promise that if you need anything, you can tell the shadow and he'll come to find you.

The shadow keeps its usual playful company. Beyond retrieving your dropped quills, it helpfully turns the pages of books for you. When you're focused on what you're writing, it nudges back any loose strands of hair. Once it even brings you a flower from Mother knows where. One single Lily of the Valley, left resting on your desk.

It makes you wonder; are all Shadowsinger's shadows like this? You can't help but imagine these niceties are shaped by Azriel's own soft nature.

Today, whilst you study in the vast caverns of the library, you get an unexpected visitor.

As you take your time scanning through the books in one of the vast aisles, you realise the Fae coming down from the other end of the aisle is none other than the Highlady herself.

"Feyre!" You greet warmly. The two of you had met before when she had taken duties in your home court and if it weren't too bold, you'd say you consider yourself good friends. Feyre smiles, glowing like moonlight, as she realises who it is.

"Y/n," She says your name sweetly and her hug is just as such. She pulls away, ready to inquire about your studies when she spots the trailing shadow behind you.

"Making friends, I see," She comments. Her eyebrows raise almost teasingly as if she's made a certain insinuation. You take a moment to notice what she's referencing.

"It's nice," You say, a defensive lilt to your tone. You hold out your hand and the shadow jumps at the opportunity to skitter around it playfully. "It's like a little friend."

Feyre smiles at your words but chuckles a little. "Except Azriel is anything but little."

You pause at her words, glancing down at the shadow and back up at Feyre. "What do you mean? I thought— they're not- I mean, aren't they...?”

You trail off, unsure of how to word the question you're trying to ask. Feyre smiles, her gray eyes glittering with mirth as she realises what you're figuring out.

"They're all his. Azriel's. He controls them." She tilts her head a bit, watching the shadow that drifts about your hand and wrist. "True, they roam a bit on their own but... Not like this."

"Oh," You murmur, thinking back to that first day in the library.

The playful shadow that lead you back and forth, picking up your quill and turning your pages. It was him, all along.

Something immeasurably warm starts to glow in your chest, a thread that loops through your heart and sends the valves into overdrive. Its warmth grows, something molten hot beginning to bleed in your chest— and it feels wonderful. It feels right.

"Oh," You gasp as you figure it out.

Feyre grins, watching you piece together what the rest of the inner circle has clued together from the very first day. She stands to the side and gestures to the entrance of the library with a tilt of her head.

"Go on then," She urges you.

For a moment, you think back to Sergei who sent you hunting for a certain manuscript Cauldron knows how long ago but the thought is washed away in an instant. You can feel it now, the strong tug in your chest. The connection that binds you to another.

You stride past Feyre, giving a quick thanks! and all but run up the spiral staircases, heading for the entrance. The shadow pings along with you and as you near the top, you look down at it and say through huffed breaths, "You better go get him."

He's waiting by the time you get there.

Against the setting sun, for a moment there's only the silhouette of him— a warrior with tall wings, the edges of him rippling like a mirage. He might just be one; an oasis in your life, the answer that you've been searching for for centuries. You can't believe you didn't notice.

Your footsteps echo on the marble as you march right up to him and Azriel watches you closely the whole time, his amber eyes soft but his expression hinting at his nervousness. Gods, he's wonderful. You can't believe he gets to be yours and you get to be his.

"How long have you known?" You ask because it's the first thing on your mind. You're nearly panting from the exhilaration of your sudden exercise, from the dawning future that's blooming right in front of you. He's your mate. Gods, how could you have missed it?

Azriel smiles, that same tentative one that's been driving you crazy all week. His wings give a little shake behind him, a giveaway of his nerves.

"I... suspected from the beginning." He chooses his words carefully, wary of how you might respond.

You can't help your little gasp, feeling even more of a fool. You curse, ducking your head before you glare back up at him, no real heat in your gaze. You have the urge to give him a little shove, just for keeping you in the dark.

"And you didn't think to tell me?"

One of his shadows spins up unexpectedly, dancing across your shoulders and tickling your cheeks gently. You startle in surprise but something sweeter curls up in your chest at the tenderness of its touch.

"Believe me," Azriel says with a quiet chuckle, his amber eyes darting over your face intensely. "I've been trying."

You melt. Eyes locked with his, you move slowly, letting your arms drift up to drape around his neck like they've done every morning and evening since he began flying you around. You realise acutely that Cassian's behaviour, his shoddy flying, had likely been on purpose. You laugh a little, eyes creasing shut in pure euphoria.

Azriel's hands find your waist and you can feel the slight tremble in them.

"In my defense," You murmur, pushing up on your toes. You're close, so close, your lips hovering just an inch from a kiss—his shadows go wild around you both. It makes you grin. "I had never met a Shadowsinger before."

"Yeah?" Azriel breathes shakily. "Disappointed?"

He says it like a joke but you can hear the note of sincerity in his tone. His hidden worry that he isn't all you dreamed of. It's nearly laughable how wrong he is.

This close you can see his long lashes and every shade of brown in his eyes. You wonder if you'll ever get used to how beautiful he is. Part of you hopes you never do.

"Not in the slightest," You say, nearly a whisper.

Then his lips are on yours, pillowy soft skin against yours, and it feels like coming home. He kisses you, kisses you, kisses you til you're breathless and the glow in your chest could rival the sun in its warmth.

He kisses you and every atom in your body hums and fizzes and comes to life — and all you can do is hold him tight and kiss him back, just as fiercely.

Breaking the kiss to catch your breath, you pant and grin brazenly at Azriel, at your mate, happier than you've ever been. Faintly, you realise that you won't be heading home when the two months of your study are up after all.

Not when you have a man who looks at you so reverently, who kisses you like there's oxygen hidden in the plush of your lips, who holds you like there's nothing more precious in the world.

Not when you know that home is right here, in front of you.

[svnriseblvdd]

neighbour! clark kent x new girl! reader

SYNOPSIS: when your car breaks down right as you need to pick up a friend in metropolis, clark offers to give you a ride (not the type you want) and you step up your game.

everyone thank my writer's block, because if not for that, this would never have been as out there as it is. like if i'd released this half a week ago, it would not be anywhere near this level. i still had writer's block while grinding this out, so every question of where to go next was answered with 'make it HORNIER'. and you're welcome.

WARNINGS: mentions of road head, brief palming, accidental crotch grab, innuendo, clark is perpetually horny and shameful (who isn't?), he's still so down bad and needs loving desperately. (someone let this boy get RAILED (that's my job, really, but i promise i've got one more chapter idea before he FUCKS))

part one! part two! part three!

You sigh frustratedly as you lift the hood of your car to try to gauge the problem. Perhaps the problem was that the car was old as hell, just repainted and spruced up a little to give the illusion that it was simply vintage, not a second hand metal bag of parts. 

“Everything okay?” 

You look up to find Clark coming over. Whether it's good luck or not, you've broken down in front of the Kents house. No family nicer than the Kents exist. It's entirely possible. They're endlessly helpful. The problem, as always, is their gorgeous son. 

It's hot out, he's been sweating enough to give him a particular entrancing sheen over his skin. And now you're frustrated for two very different reasons. 

“No. Stupid car broke down,” you muttered, chest heaving in a sigh. 

Clark’s gaze wanders, against his will. All of a sudden, he’s looking at your chest, the way your breasts have been pushed up by a combination of that gorgeous tank top and probably the bra beneath it. And now he’s thinking about your underwear. You in your underwear and nothing else. You standing in your underwear in front of him, begging for his help once again. 

He closes his eyes firmly and looks away, mentally smiting himself. He can’t think about you like that. You’re his neighbour, his friend, and you’re in trouble. 

He clears his throat, speaking in the hopes that he can distract himself from the sight of your cleavage and bare legs. “Okay, well, why don't we push it up to the house? We can take a look at it, see if we can get it started again. If not, at least it's not out in the road in the way.” 

“Yeah, I guess. Thanks.” 

And so the two of you manage to push your crappy car up to the front of the house, where Mr Kent joins you to take a look at it with Clark. 

“Good news is, it's totally fixable. Bad news is, you'd need a mechanic to do it. We'll call them and they can tow it from here.” 

You sigh, looking at your watch. “Damn it. I'm supposed to pick up my friend from the station in Metropolis in a couple of hours.” 

“Well, I can take you in our car,” Clark suggests. 

“You'd do that?” You ask, and he nods, charming smile still there. You grin, throwing your arms around his neck in a hug as his arms slide around your waist. “Thank you, Clark, you're a lifesaver.” 

Clark can feel as the blush begins to set in. “Yeah, of course. We can get going as soon as you're ready to.” 

“I'm ready now, if that's okay?” 

“Yeah, absolutely.” 

It’s not until you’re in the passenger seat and on the road that either of you speak again. “So, who’s your friend?” 

“Just one of the girls from Central City. I told her she could visit once I was settled in. She’s fun, you’ll love her.” 

You play with your hair, and it sends a fresh whiff of your scent in Clark’s direction. He doesn’t know if it’s perfume or shampoo, but he knows he’s already addicted. You cross one leg over the other, and fold your arms. Clark glances over, a moment of weakness that he hates himself for. It’s like he wants to punish himself. Something in him that says that if he’s going to think like this, he can go unsatisfied and hurting. It’s not logical. In fact, he knows that looking is the one indulgence he’ll allow himself. A brief glance that he won’t let linger, thoughts he’ll bury as long as possible. 

“I’m sorry about your car,” he says, in an attempt to distract himself from your bare legs and accentuated cleavage. 

You smile a little. “Don’t worry about it. Thank you for helping.” 

“Yeah, don’t mention it.” 

“No, really, Clark, thank you,” you say, turning towards him and leaning over the console in the centre, hands resting on it and pushing your breasts up and together. “You’re always there whenever I need you. You’re so good, Clark.” He’s going to explode again. “Really. I can’t thank you enough.” 

Yet again, your attempts seem to have been either obliviously ignored or politely rejected, as Clark doesn’t respond to them. Granted, this was one of your more low-key comments, but he hasn’t even glanced at your tits, and they’re right there! 

So you decide to double down. Test to see if he’s just oblivious, awkward, or not interested. 

One of your hands lands on his thigh. He blinks, but doesn’t look at you. “You’re so helpful, Clark. Always happy to help when I need you. And I always need you. There has to be some way for me to repay you.” Your hand travels further up his thigh. In an ideal world, you’d be giving him road head right now, not halfway to it. 

Clark finally looks at you, his cheeks a little flushed, and as he turns his head, his gaze lands right on your chest. 

Immediately, though, a car horn sounds, and Clark’s eyes dart back onto the road in time to swerve back into his own lane. The road had been totally empty for a while now, it hadn’t even occurred to him that eventually they had to run into someone. 

He blinks heavily. “Sorry. I’m sorry.” 

You smile, eyes bright with mischief. “For the nearly dying? Or the other thing?” 

“Uh, both. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.” 

You giggle. “It’s okay, Clark. Really, you’re fine. More than fine.” 

Your hand is still on his upper thigh, a dangerous place. A bump in the road underneath the right front wheel jolts you, and your hand accidentally slips onto Clark’s crotch, applying pressure. His eyes go wide as saucers, a strangled noise barely escaping him before he gets a hold of his vocal cords. 

“Oh!” You gasp. “I’m sorry, Clark!” 

You pull your hand off, returning to your side of the car. That had slightly ruined your entire plan. It was a total accident. You hadn’t meant to straight up grab the guy. Just tease him a little. Shit. 

When you get out of the car at the Metropolis station to go find your friend, Clark takes the opportunity to do some breathing exercises, and uses the cover of his jacket to his advantage, palming at himself to relieve the ache a little for now. He bites the inside of his cheek to suppress the urge to make some sort of sound. He doesn’t know what it’ll be, and he’s alone in the car, but whatever it is, it’ll be embarrassing enough even if he’s the only one to hear it. So instead he just breathes a little irregularly, head tilted back a little against the headrest. 

He sees your friend with you as you approach the car again, and he tears his hand away from himself begrudgingly. Your friend has a grin on her face, eyes wide with excitement as you both talk with equal enthusiasm. 

You join her in the back this time, probably for the best, but you’re still on the opposite side of the car to him, so he sees you easily in the mirror, and all he needs to do is turn his head a little and let his peripheral vision do the rest. 

“Oh, you’re so right,” your friend says, and you shush her despite your giggling. 

taglist;

@blueeweeb

@ssnapsaurus

@artyandink

@i-got-a-bad-feeling-about-this

@milestellerismybf

@purple-1995

@writergiih

@elysianrosie

@glennussy

[peachsayshi]

cc x·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ thinking about...reader trying to break up with yandere gojo  

minors / ageless blogs / blank blogs - do not interact.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ tags: yandere; dub con; lovesick gojo & he’s obsessive/toxic about it; he’s mean but yummy, okay?; size kink (ish?); gojo showing off his strength; sex without protection

notes: I had this written as an idea right after I wrote my hc’s for the jjk men in their yandere version. twylm readers, please forgive me for not posting the next chapter. I am working on it but I am really struggling - I had the worst burn out after the last chapter, and have been having a hard time trying to get back into the story >.< 

wc: 1,228

gojo plays with the hem of your skirt - the flat expression on his face telling you that he’s listening but appears unbothered by your statement. you can see the annoyance in his eyes, the irritation that you would say something so ridiculous in the middle of a make out session. 

his hands find the back of your thighs and with one swift motion he pulls you over his long legs so you’re hovering above his lap. the imbalance forces you to clutch onto his shirt with frustration, and he mindlessly reaches to undo his belt before tugging your underwear aside with his long, slender digits. 

“toru, are you listening to me?” you whisper in a small voice. 

“you want to take a break?” he repeats calmly, but those last two words are laced with disgust, barely slipping through his clenched teeth, and he lowers you down just enough for him to press the tip of his swollen cock against your slit. 

“I need to slow things down...” you breathe, lashes fluttering at the sensation from the contact. 

your thighs naturally start to tense up when he holds you there, and the pads of his fingers dig roughly into your hip to keep you in place. you hiss against the harsh touch, gazing down to find your lover pouting at you like a disappointed child.

any stranger would consider this an adorable expression with the way his big eyes widen while his brows upturn sorrowfully. 

to you, however, it was an entirely different message. 

“are you unhappy?” he asks, his words weighed down by hurt. 

a warm sensation travels up your calves as you try to maintain the pose and you shake your head no while squeezing him gently with reassurance. satoru flickers his attention back to the point of contact. your pelvis feels tight from holding this awkward position, and the ache to have him inside you naturally makes the space between your legs pulse with need. 

satoru gojo has given you everything and more. there is no reason for you to be unhappy. 

he made sure of that. 

“okay,” he confirms with a sigh, one palm moving to grope the curve of your ass while the other stabilizes your leg as he draws you down his length. “do you not love me?” 

a hard lump forms in your throat. 

you’re careful never to actually say those words to him. 

satoru’s devotion consumes your entire your soul - you can’t help but feel like you would be making a deal with a devil if you decided to admit your true feelings. 

you managed to keep his peace of mind this far by reassuring him with deep, promising kisses and strong acknowledgements of his feelings. 

technically you aren’t lying, but the reality is that you’re afraid to love him...and of what your love does to him.

giving him another silent reply, you nod your head as your fear creeps up the back of your spine. the only relief you find is the stretch between your legs, and your lips part into a circle as satoru gives himself to you inch by glorious inch.

your skirt flaps over you both, concealing him buried inside you. he arches forward to kiss your jaw, his large hands finding your breasts and he massages them over your fitted tank. 

he delicately trails his fingers down your waist to latch onto your hips once more. “then why...” he murmurs into your neck, “do you want to take a break?” 

your hand finds the back of his head, a moan leaving your parted lips when you feel him lick a stripe up the column before lightly nipping at your earlobe. 

“it’s just...” you gasp, feeling flowers of heat bloom in all the places he’s touching you, “I just feel like we are getting ahead of o-ourselves..ah...” 

he rocks your hips back and forth, moving at such a languid pace that you can’t help but clench your thighs around his own. your fingers curl around the snowy threads of his white hair, tugging at it gently before pulling his face away so you can meet his eyes. 

he looks smug - but he always does because he knows that you’re just addicted to him as he is to you. 

“isn’t that what we want?” he questions, the corner of his mouth twitching into a lazy smile as he takes off your top and unfastens your bra, “we’re already so perfect...” 

“satoru,” you whine, “that’s not the point-” 

this time he ruts his pelvis upward, interrupting your thoughts as he hits you at the right spot that makes your eyes disappear into the back of your head. he leans against the chair, maintaining full eye contact with you as he casually lifts you up before dropping you back down on his cock. “just want to make you m’pretty wife, is all...fuck you like this every single night...” 

you bite your bottom lip, frustrated with how wet he’s making you with his words. your body subconsciously succumbs to his demands and you slowly start bouncing up and down over his length. 

“that’s right, angel,” satoru grunts with approval, his hungry hands grab your ass roughly, and you squeak when you feel a slight sting from behind as the sound of his palm slapping against your skin echoes around the room. “see? I’m making you feel s’fucking good, your pussy’s so wet f’me...just for me...” 

when his mouth finds yours, you know you’ve lost the battle. his scalding kisses leave your lips swollen but you still search for him out of desperation to feel the fire. he’s reminding you how hard it would be to let go of him, reiterating that there is no man in this world who could ever love you as much he does. you feel silly for bringing this up, questioning your own trepidations about him and wondering if this is simply you sabotaging what you already have. 

you are in a daze from the way he fucks you but he isn’t slowing down his movements and you feel like he might actually split you in two. he would never speak to you with angry words, but you can feel it in his movements.

“gonna c-cum, gonna cum, gonna cum...” 

it comes out of you like a warning, but it only makes satoru go deeper and before you know it your vision is white. your body feels everything all at once, and the coil that’s been tightening around your lower belly loosens from the intense orgasm. the pleasure is euphoric, sinfully so, and it drains you of all the energy you’ve preserved. your body goes limp in satoru’s arms, and he keeps them wrapped securely around your waist as he pumps his cum inside you.

he holds you in this embrace, allowing the seconds to pass. his breath fans your collar bone while he tries to catch himself. your eyes feel heavy when you blink them open, and you cup his face in your hands as you seek to cool yourself down with his azure eyes.

“I’m never going to let you go,” he confesses with a sweet kiss to the inside of your palm, before placing another on your cheek while he tightens his grip, “so stop trying to push me away.” 

[prythiansprincess]

agora hills.

pairing: lorenzo berkshire x reader.

song inspiration: agora hills by doja cat.

author's note: as always, this unhinged fic idea started in chlo and i's endless chats about these pesky men. enzo has a special place in my heart because he's so golden retriever sunshine (don't be fooled by that face though he's filthy).

Enzo Berkshire was your best friend. 

Despite what your friends seemed to think, the relationship between you two had always been strictly platonic. Perhaps it was easy to misinterpret your actions as romantic. After all, you and Enzo were very touchy and affectionate people. It was typical of you two to hold hands in the halls, cuddle in the common room, and even share the occasional cheek or forehead kiss, which you deemed completely normal. This type of behavior has been the standard since you were eleven years old. 

Still, you weren’t blind. You knew your best friend was attractive. Enzo had always been handsome in your eyes, but then fourth year rolled around and everyone else started to notice it too. To be fair, he had grown at least a foot over the summer and quidditch definitely helped him pack on lean muscle. Needless to say, girls flocked to him like a swarm of bees to honey, but he never really seemed interested in any of them. Not that you were paying attention. It was a natural thing to notice when you spent every waking moment with someone. 

The point of the matter was that you had absolutely no romantic feelings for Enzo whatsoever. Or so you thought. Until the bloody dream that flipped your friendship on its head. 

It was a normal day. You and Enzo were studying in your dorm like you usually did after class. Enzo was sprawled out on the rug scribbling away for his assignment on Ancient Runes. You were on your bed reading up on History of Magic. You knew you should be focusing since there would be a test tomorrow, but the chapter was boring and you were absolutely knackered from attending classes all day. 

Before you knew it, you were fully knocked out. A part of you was aware that you were dreaming, but the surreality of it blurred the lines of reality. 

In your dreams, you were still in your room studying with Enzo. Except your best friend was no longer hunched over his homework on your rug. Now Enzo was standing at the edge of your bed, blocking out the afternoon sun. You stared up in confusion as he took the book from your hands. 

“Enz? What are you doing?” 

Enzo stared intently at you, his soft hazel eyes flickering down to your lips. It was a little like being hit with a beam of sunshine. Your heart stuttered in your chest as he ran his thumb across your bottom lip. 

“I want to try something.”

You held your breath as Enzo leaned over. The bed dipped from his weight as you sat frozen in place. He rubbed soothing circles along your wrist, causing you to melt into his touch. It was a familiar sensation, one that always calmed you down but right at that moment, you felt anything but. The beat of your heart echoed so loudly that you were sure he could hear it. 

Enzo leaned in close, his face mere inches away from yours. He stroked your cheek gently. “I want to kiss you,” he murmured, the low whisper of his voice conjuring goosebumps along your arms. “Can I?”

You blinked, swallowing thickly. He was so close that you could smell the woodsy smell of his cologne, combined with a hint of fresh laundry and citrus. 

“Yes,” you responded breathily. 

Before you could think better of it, Enzo was kissing you. It was soft and sweet, his kisses gentle while he tested the waters. The quick little pecks soon evolved into deeper kisses as your body responded to his touch. Your hands moved outside of your own volition, fingers tangling in Enzo’s hair as you pulled him closer. He groaned and tilted your head back for a better angle, your bodies pressed close together and radiating heat underneath your clothes. 

Enzo scooted back on the headboard and pulled you into his lap without breaking the kiss. You gasped when his hands roamed underneath your skirt, gripping your thighs so that you were fully settled over his length. What started as a sweet innocent kiss escalated into a full on heated makeout session. Kissing till your lips were swollen. Moaning into each other’s mouths. Grasping at every inch of skin the two of you could reach. 

When you felt him grind his hardness against your backside, you gasped. Enzo took the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth, swirling and sucking until you were panting above him. 

“Y/N,” he grunted huskily. “I need you.”

The desperation in Enzo’s voice made you shudder. You didn’t even think twice before unbuckling his belt and tugging his boxers down. Enzo groaned as he stroked himself, pulling your panties to the side. You whimpered as he teased his tip at your entrance. 

“I want you so fucking bad.”

“I want you too, Enzo.”

Friendship be damned, Enzo gripped your hips and watched as you sank into him. His eyes rolled back when he felt your warmth and wetness hug around his cock. 

“Fuck,” he groaned, resting his head in the crook of your neck. “Gods, you feel so fucking good. Better than I imagined.”

You clenched at his words and he inhaled sharply before rolling your hips to set the pace. Once you established a steady rhythm, Enzo pinned you with his lust blown gaze and watched as you rode him. He lavished you with sloppy kisses, stopping every now and then to moan into your mouth while you continued rolling your hips against him. 

“That’s it, princess. Feels good, yeah? Keep rolling your hips just like that,” Enzo said, thrusting upwards to fuck into you. “Wanna feel you cum on my cock, pretty girl.”

The filthy words sent you over the edge. Just as Enzo hit that perfect spot, your eyes flew open. 

You were startled to find yourself back in your dorm, warm, sweaty, and alone in bed. You nearly fell off altogether when you found Enzo still sitting on the rug below you. While you were dreaming about doing filthy things with him, Enzo was completely oblivious and focused on studying. Like you should’ve been. 

Enzo perked up, concern written all over his face when he saw how flushed you were. He immediately rushed over to your side. Your cheeks were so red that he thinks you might be running a fever. Enzo pressed the back of his hand against your forehead and you bit down on your bottom lip to keep yourself from moaning. 

“You’re burning up, Y/N.” Enzo sounded genuinely worried. If only he knew the reason why you currently shared the same temperature as the common room fireplace. “Maybe I should walk you over to the infirmary?” 

“No!” Your voice echoed shrilly in your dorm, causing you to wince. “I’m fine. I just…I just need fresh air.”

“Oh good, I’ll come walk with you.”

“No,” you said rather harshly. Enzo frowned. “I, uh, I think I should go alone.”

Now Enzo was truly perturbed. He pouted at your refusal. Why didn’t you want him to come? You always walked around the Black Lake together. 

“Are you sure you’re alright, Y/N?” 

He squinted at you, hoping to catch your gaze. You completely avoided looking him in the eyes before scrambling out of bed. 

“I’m fine, really. I’ll see you later, Enz.”

You were out the door before Enzo even had a chance to respond. 

You were acting like a bloody idiot. 

After that unfortunate afternoon, you spent the next few days avoiding Enzo. The dream had completely flustered you. It was impossible to be in the same room as your best friend. You couldn’t even look Enzo in the eyes without thinking of him being inside of you.  

More than that, it was making you rethink your entire friendship. You adored Enzo. He had been a constant in your life since first year. The two of you were inseparable and he was pretty much the most important person in your life. You had never once thought about him in a sexual manner, but obviously you were attracted to him given the filthy thoughts that flooded your mind like a plague. 

You were praying to Merlin that this stupid little lapse of yours would pass and take all the hormone addled aftereffects with it. Perhaps it was just lack of physical affection that was causing you to think this way. After all, you had broken up with your last boyfriend months ago. There was the casual hookup every now and then, but those never really satisfied you in the way that you wanted. It certainly wasn’t anything like how Enzo had been in your dream. 

As you cataloged and compared your most recent stints, the intrusive thought slipped in without warning. There were no secrets between you and Enzo, so you knew that it had been awhile since he hooked up with anyone else too. Come to think of it, except for a couple flings here and there, Enzo has never really had a serious relationship. 

You never really thought much about it. It wasn’t like you were running headfirst into commitment either, but now you couldn’t help but wonder why Enzo had never had a girlfriend. Were relationships just not his cup of tea? If so, why the bloody hell not?

By the time you had unraveled that string, Pansy was snapping her fingers in front of your face. You shook your head and rejoined the present. Before your little spiral, you and Pansy had been discussing the homework for Charms. 

Your friend narrowed her eyes on you. “Alright, spill,” Pansy said. “There’s clearly something on your mind.”

You peered around the common room. For the most part, it was empty. Only a few of the other Slytherins lingered in your midst, but one could never be too careful in the viper’s nest. 

Once you were sure the coast was clear, you leaned closer to Pansy and spoke in a low voice. “Have you ever had a dream about one of the guys?”

Pansy leaned back on the velvet emerald couch with an expression of intrigue. “What kind of dream?”

“You know,” you urged, picking at the cushion in your lap. “The sexual kind.”

She shook her head, her glossy bob shimmering in the faint light. “No, I can’t say that I have.” 

“I have!” Theo said cheerfully as he plopped down between you. His presence startled you, but he looked utterly unperturbed as he butted into the conversation. “About both of you, actually.”

You wrinkled your nose and smacked him on the arm. “Gross, Theo.”

“I’m inclined to agree,” Pansy said with a look of disgust.

Theo was deeply offended by it all. “What? I’ll have you know that I was very loving and gentle,” you groaned and made a gagging sound. “I also had one about Reg and that one wasn’t as gentle, if you know what I mean.”

He grinned cheekily, which only made you lament further. Pansy shook her head in disbelief. “Really, Regulus? He’s the human equivalent of a grumpy black cat. All the first years are terrified of him.”

Theo shrugged. “What can I say? I’m into that. All that surliness and those curls, y’know…”

It was Pansy’s turn to smack him. “For Salazar’s fucking sake, shut it, Theodore. I want to know who Y/N had a dream about.”

“Was it Riddle?” Theo prompted.

“Which one?”

“Mattheo, obviously. Tom looks like he hasn’t had a woman’s touch in years.”

“That’s mean!” you cut in. “I’m telling Tom you said that.”

“Please don’t. I value my life, thank you very much.”

Pansy scoffed. “It’s not either one of the Riddles then.”

“Was it me?” asked Theo. 

“Gods, no.”

He rolled his eyes in response. “It can’t be Blaise because him and Pans are shagging on the daily.” Theo’s eyes widened. “Don’t tell me it’s Malfoy.” 

“Absolutely not.”

“But he’s close, right?” Pansy said, tapping her chin thoughtfully. You nodded weakly. She gasped. “Oh my god, Berkshire? Really?”

You buried your face in your hands. You were truly going to die of embarrassment. Pansy continued with her assessment. “Well, you two are practically attached at the hip, so it makes sense. Still, I truly didn’t expect it to be Enzo. He’s so sweet, I just can’t see him that way.”

The shit-eating grin on Theo’s face made you cringe. “Was it good? It had to be, right? Is that why you’ve been avoiding him all week?” 

“What? I haven’t been avoiding him.”

“Sure you have,” declared Theo. “Berkshire’s all broken up about it. Thinks he’s done something to upset you. The whole time you’ve been nursing filthy little fantasies about sweet baby boy Enzo. Oh, I can’t wait to tell the guys about this.”

Panic seized you and Theo yelped as you held his arm in a death grip. “You can’t say a fucking word, Theo. Do you hear me? It’s already humiliating enough to have a sex dream about my best friend. I will literally murder you if you tell any of the boys.”

Theo sighed. “Fine, I won’t tell. Now let go of me, woman.”

“What are you going to do?” asked Pansy. “You can’t keep avoiding Enzo forever.”

You sighed. You were completely and utterly at a loss. Pansy was right. Enzo was already starting to suspect something and you felt bad that he thought he’d done something to upset you when you were the one in the wrong. How could you possibly act normal after all of this?

“Maybe you should ask him if he’s ever thought about you that way,” Theo suggested. “That way the ball’s in his court.” 

You scoffed. “I’m supposed to just come up to him and casually ask, Hey Enz, have you ever had a sex dream about me that was so filthy that you couldn’t make eye contact for days after?” 

“I guarantee you the answer will be yes.”

As you chided Theo for being his usual ridiculous self, Pansy discretely nudged you. Enzo rounded the corner and waved at the three of you. Theo and Pansy shared a look before leaving you to your own devices. Bloody traitors. 

Enzo was unbothered by their sudden departure. “Hi, love. I haven’t seen you all week. You haven’t been avoiding me, have you?” 

His tone was light and playful, but it still made you nervous as all hell. “No, not at all,” you internally cringed at the forced cheeriness in your voice. “I’ve just been…busy. Yeah, that’s it. No other reason.”

For Salazar’s fucking sake. You were horrible at this. Lying to Enzo wasn’t something you were used to. 

Enzo nodded. “Okay, well we’re still on for movie night, right?” 

“Oh, yeah, about that—“

“It shouldn't be a problem,” he added thoughtfully, shooting you a cheeky grin. “Unless you’re actually avoiding me.”

Fuck. Your mind was screaming at you to say no. To make up some lame excuse. To do something other than gape at Enzo. 

Unfortunately, your brain decided to stop working as soon as those dimples of his made an appearance. Merlin’s bloody beard, you truly needed to get a grip. 

You forced yourself to smile back so he wouldn’t think anything was amiss. “”I was just going to ask what snacks you wanted.”

“Just you,” Enzo said, his grin growing wider. Did his voice suddenly sound deeper than it had a few seconds ago? No, it was likely just your delusion. “That’s all I need.”

Later that night, Enzo arrived with the projector and a handful of movie choices. You spent the entire afternoon pacing and working yourself into a fit. He was entirely unaware of the cloud of anxiety hanging over you as he loaded up your favorite movie. 

Your dorm had never felt as cramped as it did at this moment. Enzo plopped down on your bed. The scene of the crime. You climbed in on the other end and resigned yourself to sitting perfectly upright and rigid while he made himself comfortable. Enzo looked at you strangely. Usually, the two of you would be cuddling. 

“What are you doing all the way over there?” Enzo asked, spreading his arms out. “Come cuddle.”

You sighed internally. This felt like tempting fate, but what could you do? If you refused, Enzo would definitely know that something was up. As slow as a snail, you scooted closer to his side. He took one look at you and shook his head before hauling you over to him. Besides being manhandled, the position was quite familiar. You tucked against his side, head resting on his shoulder while he nuzzled his cheek against your hair. 

Enzo pressed play and you started to relax while the movie unfolded. The peace didn’t last for long. As the opening scene played, Enzo absentmindedly tugged at the hem of your shirt. Again, his affectionate nature wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. Yet you couldn’t help but hold your breath as he rubbed soothing circles against your hip. While the gesture usually comforted you, it had the opposite effect now. 

“You’re so tense, love,” Enzo murmured. His voice sounded so deep and delicious.

“It’s been a stressful week.”

“I bet.” 

You shuddered as he trailed his fingers over your spine, drawing patterns along your skin. Temptation wasn’t knocking at your door. It was kicking it down altogether. Enzo shifted, brushing his knuckles just below the hook of your bra. 

“This can’t be comfortable,” he said, hooking a finger around the band. “Maybe you’ll feel more relaxed with it off. Don’t you think so, sweetheart?” 

There was no time to analyze what the fuck was going on. All of your efforts were spent solely on fighting the urge to moan. Enzo toyed with the band, waiting for your answer. 

“Yeah,” you said breathily. “I think—I think you’re right.”

“Course I am. Let me take it off for you then, yeah?” 

“Okay.” 

Enzo unhooked your bra with a flick of his fingers. Almost like he had long mastered the art and this was merely just child’s play. He helped you shrug out of your bra and carelessly tossed it to the side. You sighed softly as Enzo switched to long, purposeful strokes. He started at your hips, then your stomach, gradually moving up until he was barely an inch away from the underside of your breasts. Your eyes fluttered close, completely lost to his touch. They opened again when Enzo nuzzled his nose against yours. 

“Hi,” he said with a smile. 

“Hi,” you whispered. “What are we doing, Enzo?” 

“Nothing that I haven’t thought about a million times over.”

“You’ve thought about me like this?” 

“I’m always thinking about you,” Enzo admitted. “Sometimes it’s just cuddling or holding hands. Just sweet stuff cause I love touching you like this, but other times…other times I dream about you like you dreamt about me.”

Your breath hitched. “You know about my dream?” 

“I heard you in the common room earlier.”

“I’m sorry,” you said. “I don’t know what came over me. That’s why I haven’t talked to you much this week. I didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.”

Enzo took your hand and slid it down the front of his gray sweatpants. You gasped when you felt how hard he was against your palm. “Do I feel uncomfortable to you, sweetheart?”

You shook your head, biting down on your lip. You didn’t trust yourself with words at the moment. Enzo nuzzled against you, littering soft little kisses in his wake. He pecked and nipped at your neck, your collarbone, your jaw. 

“You drive me fucking mad, you know that? I want you so badly I’d literally get on my knees and beg if you asked.”

The tension was too much for you to bear. You pulled him in by the front of his shirt and pressed your lips against his. Enzo groaned into your mouth. The hand underneath your shirt crawled up until he was cupping your tits, rubbing his thumb over your nipples. Enzo tried to keep the kisses soft. He intended to savor it, but every ounce of self control went out the window the second he heard you moan. 

Enzo flipped you over so that you were straddling his lap. He looked down and realized that you were wearing one of his old shirts and the sight of it made him even harder. The tiny shorts you were wearing was a pesky little barrier, but it didn’t stop him from grinding his hardness against your ass. He tugged at the hem of your shirt. 

“Take this off, right now. I need to feel you, pretty girl.”

He watched as you peeled off the shirt. Enzo did the same, tossing both articles of clothing over the side of your bed. He groaned at the skin to skin contact. Enzo smiled as he drank it all in. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful.”

“You’re not bad to look at either, Enz.”

Enzo chuckled. “Cheeky girl. Come on, then. Shorts off too.”

You took off your shorts as Enzo slipped out of his sweatpants and boxers. He kissed you again, sloppy, filthy, and downright obscene. There was plenty of panting and groping as the two of you explored each other’s bodies. Enzo practically purred into your ear as you rubbed over his shaft. He felt like velvet in your hands. When you flicked your thumb to spread the bead of precum over his tip, Enzo released an animalistic growl. 

“Oh fuck,” he whimpered. “Gods, I need to be inside of you right fucking now or I’ll die.”

There was no time to slide off your panties. Enzo merely yanked it to the side and guided you over him. He kept his eyes on you as you sank down slowly, taking him inch by inch. Enzo groaned, digging his fingers into your hips while you adjusted to his size.

“Goddamn, you’re so wet and so fucking tight.” 

You had no idea that such filthy words could sound like music in your ears. Enzo may have been sweet as sugar, but you knew that he wasn’t innocent. He was far too cheeky to be anything but downright dirty in bed. 

Enzo was also extremely responsive. He made sure to praise and worship like your body was an altar and he was the most pious believer. 

“Enz, gods,” you moaned as he flicked his tongue over your nipple. “You’re really good at that.” 

“Yeah?” He asked cheekily. “You think so?” 

You chuckled. It was such an Enzo comment. If you weren’t actively losing your mind, you might’ve rolled your eyes at him. Whatever fantasy your mind has conjured paled in comparison to reality. Sex with Enzo was easy. You knew him and you trusted him. It was like breathing air. 

Every moan and whimper only helped you grow more and more attuned with each other’s bodies. The sounds you made were a special language of its own, one that only you and Enzo understood.

“That’s it, princess. You’re taking me so well.” 

“Like that?” you asked, rolling your hips. 

Enzo groaned in response, which made you smirk in satisfaction. He chuckled and kissed you deeply. “Ride me harder, sweetheart. Fuck…yeah just like that.” 

He moaned into your mouth, meeting the roll of your hips with thrusts of his own. Enzo pressed his forehead against your, his long lashes kissing the tops of your cheekbones while he pressed you closer. The deep angle in which he drove into you had you clawing at his back. 

“Oh gods, oh fuck. I can feel you clenching around me, pretty girl. You’re gonna cum for me like a good girl, yeah?”

“I’m so close.” Enzo flipped you onto your back and fucked you into the mattress. The tension uncoiled in your core until you were panting, chasing after that sweet release. “Oh—oh gods, Enzo.”

The orgasm knocked the very breath from your lungs. It was a total out of body experience. Your back arched, your toes curled, and you screamed his name, but none of it registered past the pleasure of coming. As soon as Enzo felt you creaming him from base to tip, he came too. 

It was strangely beautiful to watch. Enzo was mesmerizing. With his sweat slicked skin and swollen lips, strands of his dark hair clinging onto his flushed cheeks. You’ve never seen such a pretty sight. 

The two of you stayed curled up into each other. Enzo slowly pulled out and placed a tender kiss on your temple. This time, there wasn’t a single hint of hesitation as you cuddled up against his side. He was warm and comfortable, lulling you into sleep as he tangled his long legs with yours. 

You didn’t know how long you drifted off. It only felt like a few seconds later when you found yourself on your stomach, blinking sleepily up at Enzo. He smiled, kissing along your spine as he pried your legs apart. You groaned into the pillow as he thrusted lazily from behind. 

It was dark as night outside when you were finally done. You couldn’t even remember how many times he made you cum. All you knew was that you were in complete bliss as you and Enzo sprawled out on your sheets. 

You looked up at Enzo. He looked down at you. The two of you burst into a nervous fit of giggles.

“Shit. Did we just—“

He nodded, curling a strand of your hair through his fingers. “Yeah, we definitely did. Two. Three. Four times? I honestly lost count.” 

You chuckled softly. There was a moment of silence as you collected yourself. Enzo lowered himself down so that you were facing each other. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” He asked, nudging your cheek with his nose. “Tell me what’s going on in that head of yours, pretty girl.” 

Despite your steamy activities, you had never felt more shy than when he brushed his lips across your knuckles. 

“I care about you, Enzo and I know you care about me too. Tonight was….fuck. Tonight was great. I just want to make sure this doesn’t change our friendship.”

“Of course it’s going to change things,” Enzo said matter-of-factly. “You think I can stay just friends with you after that?” 

You swallowed thickly. “I don’t want you to feel obligated. I know you don’t really date. I mean, half the school’s asked you out and you’ve turned them all down, so I’m not expecting to be the exception. It’s alright if you just want this to be casual.”

“I don’t. I’ve said no to everyone because I’ve been waiting for you. You are the exception, Y/N. It’s always been you.” 

“Really?” you whispered, biting back a smile. “You mean that?” 

Enzo nodded and kissed your fingertips. “Sweetheart, you’ve had me in the palm of your hands since we were eleven. Of course I mean it.” 

You didn’t try to hide your smile. You were absolutely beaming. “So you don’t want things to be casual?”

“There’s nothing casual about what I feel for you.” 

“Okay,” you said, processing his revelation. “I don’t want things to be casual either. It might be selfish, but I think I want you all to myself, Enzo.” 

He released a sigh of relief. “Oh thank fucking Merlin. I want you all to myself too, Y/N.”

[jungwnies]

F1 GRID | it was never meant to be (2/2)

୨ৎ : featuring : carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris, oscar piastri ୨ৎ : synopsis : your f1 boyfriend's publicist suggests he should date someone with more status in front of the camera, he agrees to it, but what happens to your relationship when his "fake relationship" with her blossoms into something more.

୨ৎ : genre : heartbreak, angst, sad themes ୨ৎ : tws : arguing, break-up, cheating ୨ৎ : word count : 3456

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ

୨ৎ part one (max verstappen, lewis hamilton, george hamilton, franco colapinto) ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : got this idea from my sister, she lowkey cooked.

ʚ・carlos sainz

the sound of the front door slamming shut echoed through the apartment, the soft click of the lock settling into place as carlos stood in the hallway, his hand still hovering over the doorknob. he had waited for this moment—waiting to say the right words, to fix everything—but the silence that met him only confirmed what he already knew.

he stepped inside, the familiar scent of your perfume and the slight clutter of your things tugging at his heart. the apartment felt empty now, devoid of your presence, and the weight of the last few weeks settled heavily on his shoulders.

he could still remember the last conversation you had, your words sharp, but your heart breaking beneath them. “you promised me it was just an act, carlos. you said you’d never let her get to you, that it was all for the public. but you chose her over me. you chose everything you built with her over what we had.”

and just like that, the distance between you two became something unbridgeable.

he let out a frustrated breath, running a hand through his hair as he paced around the living room. he had been so sure of himself when the decision was made. it seemed like the right thing to do at the time—to keep up the image, to follow the plan that everyone said would help his career. but now, standing in the quiet space you’d shared, it was clear how wrong he’d been.

his phone buzzed on the coffee table, the screen lighting up with your name. his heart skipped a beat, but he didn’t reach for it. he couldn’t. not now.

he knew it was too late to fix this.

the sound of the door opening behind him made him freeze. it was you—back to grab the last of your things, to finally close the chapter.

“carlos.” your voice was soft, but it carried a weight of finality.

he turned to face you, his heart sinking at the sight of your suitcase in hand, the look of exhaustion and pain etched into your face. “i didn’t want this to happen,” he said quietly, his throat tight with emotion. “i thought i could make it work, that i could juggle it all. but i messed up.”

you shook your head, a bitter smile on your lips. “it’s too late for apologies, carlos. you made your choice. and now, you have to live with it.”

“i know i messed up,” he admitted, taking a step forward, his voice pleading. “i didn’t think it would turn into this—into us being torn apart like this. i thought i could keep pretending, that it wouldn’t change what we had. but it did. and now…” his voice faltered, and for the first time, he didn’t have the words to make it right.

you stared at him for a long moment, your eyes filled with hurt, but also a resignation he couldn’t deny. “you think i didn’t know?” you asked, your voice steady despite the pain that lingered in it. “i knew, carlos. i knew it was coming. you’re in the spotlight. i wasn’t naïve enough to think it would last forever.”

“i never wanted to lose you,” he said desperately, taking another step forward, but you stepped back, shaking your head.

“but you did,” you whispered, your voice breaking as you looked down at your suitcase. “you lost me when you chose her. when you let it go too far. and now… now it’s too late to fix it.”

carlos reached out, but there was a chasm between you two now—one he knew he could never cross again. “please,” he begged, his voice cracking. “i was wrong. i never wanted to hurt you. i should’ve never let it go this far.”

but you had already made up your mind. “i thought i could handle it. i thought i could handle being second place to a pr stunt. but i can’t, carlos. not anymore.”

he stared at you, the weight of his actions finally hitting him. he had taken you for granted, assumed you’d always be there, that you would always wait for him to realize what he had. but now, he understood. it wasn’t about the mistakes—it was about the time he wasted. and it was too late.

you lifted the strap of your bag over your shoulder, standing tall despite the pain. “goodbye, carlos,” you said softly, turning toward the door. “i hope one day you realize what you lost.”

he stood there, frozen, as you walked out of the apartment, the door clicking shut behind you.

the silence that followed felt louder than any argument, any apology. and for the first time, carlos understood that some things, no matter how hard you try, couldn’t be fixed.

it was too late.

ʚ・charles leclerc

the dim light from the lamp by the window barely illuminated the room, casting long shadows on the walls. charles sat on the edge of the bed, his hands clasped tightly together, his head hung low. you had just come back from packing the last of your things. the suitcases were by the door, but you hadn’t left yet. not yet.

you could feel his eyes on you, even without looking. every step you took seemed to echo in the silence that stretched between you, the unspoken words heavy in the air. but you didn’t need to speak anymore. everything had already been said in the glances, the quiet moments, the way he had pulled away from you without ever saying the words.

“i’m sorry.” his voice cracked as he spoke, though he didn’t look up at you, his gaze fixed on the floor beneath him.

the words stung more than they should. it wasn’t the first time he had apologized. it wasn’t even the first time he had said he was sorry for “everything.” but this time, there was something different about it. it felt final, like a goodbye.

you wiped away the tear that slipped down your cheek, shaking your head. “sorry doesn’t change anything anymore, charles.”

his eyes lifted, and the pain you saw there made your heart ache even more. he opened his mouth to speak, but the words caught in his throat. instead, he stood up slowly, walking over to where you stood by the door, but not close enough to touch you.

“i never wanted to hurt you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “i never wanted any of this to happen. but somewhere along the way, i lost myself. i thought i could handle everything—being in the spotlight, being who i am—and still be the person you needed me to be. but i failed you.”

the rawness in his voice made your chest tighten, the truth settling in like a weight on your heart. “i waited, charles,” you whispered. “i waited for you to come back to me. i waited for you to choose us—choose me—but you kept choosing everything else. your career. the team. the world watching. you even chose her, and i wasn’t enough anymore.”

“i didn’t mean for it to be like this.” his words were desperate now, each one edged with regret. he reached for your hand, but you pulled away, the distance between you both widening as the hurt you both had kept buried started to pour out.

“i wanted you to choose me, charles,” you said, your voice cracking, tears streaming down your face now. “i wanted you to want me. but instead, i was just the person you left behind when things got hard. when the pressure was too much. when it wasn’t convenient for you. you never saw how much it hurt me to watch you fall away from me, little by little.”

he reached for you again, this time his fingers brushing the edge of your sleeve, but you stepped back, shaking your head. “you don’t get to do this,” you whispered, voice shaking. “you don’t get to apologize now. you don’t get to come back after you’ve already pulled away. because you’ve already made your choice, charles.”

“i never stopped loving you,” he said, his voice breaking as his emotions spilled over. his eyes were pleading, desperate, but it wasn’t enough. “i never stopped wanting you.”

“i know,” you said, choking on your own tears. “but love isn’t enough when you don’t show up. love isn’t enough when you choose everything else over the person who’s standing right in front of you, waiting for you to come back, love isn't enough when you've already betrayed me.”

the silence between you both was unbearable. the love you once shared felt like a ghost, haunting every word, every glance. charles stood in front of you, broken, as if everything he had done had led to this moment—the moment when he realized too late what he had lost.

“i’m so sorry,” he whispered again, his voice trembling. “i never meant to push you away.”

but you could feel it in his eyes—the regret, the realization that he hadn’t fought for you. not enough. he hadn’t fought for the one thing that mattered most. and now it was too late.

“i loved you, charles,” you said, your voice barely audible. “but love isn’t supposed to hurt like this. it’s not supposed to make you feel invisible, i'm not supposed to feel like second. and i can’t do it anymore.”

you could hear him take a sharp breath as if he was going to say something—anything—but the words never came. there was nothing left to say.

you turned, walking slowly toward the door, but before you could reach it, charles whispered one last time.

“please don’t go.”

the sound of his voice cracked something deep within you, but you couldn’t turn around. you couldn’t look at him again and see the man who had once promised to never let you go—because now, he was the one who had let you slip away.

you paused at the door, your hand resting on the knob. you wanted to turn around, to run into his arms and forget everything that had happened. but you knew better now.

“goodbye, charles,” you whispered, your voice steady despite the ache that threatened to swallow you whole.

and when you left, the apartment was silent.

charles stood there, the weight of his choices suffocating him, as he realized that some things, no matter how much you wish they could be fixed, couldn’t be undone. the love he had taken for granted had slipped through his fingers, and now it was gone.

and it was too late.

ʚ・lando norris

lando smiled at you when he saw you, but it was strained. forced, even. the usual warmth in his expression was missing.

“hey,” he said softly, sitting down across from you. his fingers drummed nervously on the edge of his cup, a habit you knew all too well.

“hey,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. “it’s been a while.”

“yeah,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “i’ve been…” he trailed off, clearly unsure how to explain everything that had been going on. how could he?

but you didn’t need him to say it. you already knew. the tabloids had made it all too clear—the constant photos of him with her, the whispers about their blossoming romance, the way his eyes had started to light up in a way that had never happened when he was with you.

you knew who “she” was. the girl they’d set him up with for publicity. the girl who was supposed to be just a temporary distraction, someone to help with the image. but somehow, in the chaos of it all, he had started to look at her the way he once looked at you.

you took a slow breath, trying to push the sting from your chest. “i saw the photos,” you said quietly. “i saw you with her.”

lando’s eyes flickered to yours, and he opened his mouth, then closed it again. “it’s not what it looks like,” he began, but you shook your head, cutting him off.

“i’m not stupid, lando,” you said, your voice quiet but firm. “i’ve known for a while now. i can see it in the way you look at her. i saw it in your eyes the last time we were together. the way you pulled away from me, as if everything i had to offer wasn’t enough. as if she was what you really wanted.”

he looked at you, his face softening, guilt overtaking the nerves that had been there moments before. “it wasn’t supposed to happen like this,” he said quietly. “i thought it was just an act—just something to keep up for the cameras. but somewhere along the way, it wasn’t an act anymore. i…” he paused, eyes searching yours for any sign that you might understand, but you didn’t. you couldn’t.

“you fell in love with her,” you whispered, the words tasting bitter on your tongue.

lando flinched, his eyes brimming with regret, but he didn’t deny it. “i didn’t mean to,” he said, his voice breaking. “i thought it was just a job. just something i had to do. but she… she started to mean more to me than i ever thought she would. i didn’t know how to stop it. and i didn’t know how to come back to you after it happened.”

your heart shattered in that moment. you had known this was coming, had tried to ignore the signs, but hearing him admit it made it feel real. and it hurt more than you could have imagined.

“why didn’t you fight for me?” you asked, your voice trembling with the weight of all the hurt you had carried for weeks. “why didn’t you choose me? i was here, lando. i was always here.”

“i thought i could have both,” he said softly, his eyes filled with shame. “i thought i could keep her in the public eye and still be with you, but i was wrong. i let myself get caught up in the image, in the expectations. i wasn’t fair to you, and i’m sorry.”

the apology, though it was heartfelt, didn’t reach you. you had waited, hoped that he would come back to you, that he would see that you were the one who had always been there, the one who truly loved him. but now, as he sat there, his eyes searching yours for forgiveness, you realized that the lando you had known was no longer the same.

“you promised me it was just a pr stunt,” you said, your voice breaking. “you promised me that it wasn’t real. but now you’re telling me that it was? you’re telling me that you fell in love with someone else, someone you were supposed to be faking it with?”

“i never wanted this,” he said, his voice cracking. “i never wanted to hurt you. but i lost sight of what mattered. and now…” he trailed off, unable to finish.

you stood up, your hands shaking as you grabbed your bag. “i can’t do this anymore, lando,” you whispered. “i waited for you to come back, but you chose her. and now, there’s nothing left.”

lando stood up too, reaching out for you, but you stepped back, the distance between you both growing with every second. “please,” he said, his voice desperate. “please don’t leave like this.”

but you had already made your decision. you turned to walk away, your heart heavy with the weight of everything you had hoped for, and everything you had lost.

and as you stepped out of the café, the finality of it hit you. you had known it would happen sooner or later. but now, with him standing there, lost in his choices, it felt real. and it hurt more than you could ever have imagined.

ʚ・oscar piastri

oscar stopped in front of you, his hands tucked into his jacket pockets, and offered a small, apologetic smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “hey,” he said quietly.

“hey,” you replied, your voice steadier than you felt. you could see the tension in his posture, the way his shoulders were stiff, as if he were bracing himself for something difficult. and you knew exactly what it was.

“i know you’ve been waiting for me to explain,” oscar began, taking a deep breath, and you felt the air around you grow heavier. “i’ve been putting this off for too long, and i should’ve told you sooner…”

the words lingered between you, unsaid, but both of you knew. you knew what was coming. the truth that you had refused to admit to yourself, the truth that oscar had been hiding for weeks now, ever since he’d been thrust into the spotlight with her.

his team had set him up with someone—someone with the right image, the right look for the media. a relationship, a story that would sell. it had started out as a distraction, a way to fulfill expectations. but somewhere along the way, oscar had lost himself in it. and you were left behind, the person who was no longer part of the story.

“i didn’t want it to happen like this,” he said softly, sitting beside you, the space between you two now palpable. “i didn’t want to hurt you. i told myself it was just for the cameras, just for the public. but i…” he hesitated, as if searching for the right words, but there was nothing that could soften this blow.

“you fell for her,” you said, the words escaping before you could stop them.

oscar flinched, his eyes glancing away, and you knew it was true. “i didn’t mean for it to happen. but she’s different. i’m not saying i didn’t care about you, but i got caught up in it. i didn’t realize until it was too late, that what i had with her wasn’t just pretend anymore. it wasn’t just a pr stunt.”

your heart shattered in that instant. you had known, somewhere deep down, that this was always the risk. the truth was, you had always been a shadow—someone in the background while the world paid attention to the story they wanted to sell. but hearing it from oscar, hearing him say the words out loud, made it all too real.

“you promised me it wasn’t real,” you whispered, the sting of betrayal evident in your voice. “you promised me it was just for the cameras, just for the image. and i…” your throat tightened, the tears threatening to spill, but you held them back. “i waited for you, oscar. i waited for you to come back. but you didn’t. you fell for her, and now, it’s too late.”

he looked at you then, his eyes filled with something close to regret, but it wasn’t enough. “i never meant for it to happen like this,” he repeated softly, almost pleading. “but i can’t lie to you anymore. i can’t pretend that what i have with her doesn’t feel real. i’ve hurt you, and i know it’s too late to take it back.”

the silence stretched between you both, thick and suffocating. you couldn’t find the words to express the pain—how much it hurt to hear him say it out loud, how much it hurt to realize that the love you thought was yours was never really there at all.

“i waited for you,” you said, your voice breaking, unable to hold it together anymore. “i waited, and i trusted you. but you chose her. and now, i can’t be here anymore.”

oscar reached out, his hand hovering in the air as if he were trying to find a way to bridge the gap between you, but you pulled back. the space between you felt too wide, too deep for anything to fill it now. “i’m sorry,” he said, his voice low, the words hollow and empty between you. “i never meant to hurt you. you mean everything to me, but i’ve already made my choice, and i can’t go back.”

you shook your head, standing up, the tears finally spilling over, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. “i loved you,” you said quietly. “i gave you everything, oscar. and you threw it all away for something that wasn’t real.”

oscar stayed seated, his head in his hands, the weight of the realization falling heavily on him. but for you, it was already too late.

you turned and walked away without another word, your heart breaking with every step. you knew it wasn’t just the loss of him—it was the loss of the love you thought you had, the love you thought was real.

and as you left, the painful truth settled deep in your bones: some things, no matter how much you wish otherwise, just weren’t meant to be.

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