#i have Many Thoughts about that decision at the end of chapter 1 in the consular storyline

[keen-li]

All Aisle Ever Need 01 | jjk

chapter: 1/ ?

summary: You decide to take a risk and sign up for a program where you marry a complete stranger. You’re surprisingly okay with the idea—excited, even—though the occasional nerves still creep in. This could either be the best or worst decision of your life. Still, the mystery of it all feels thrilling, and you've made peace with not knowing the man you’re about to marry. No matter who he is, you’re ready to go through with it.

But on your wedding day, as you walk down the aisle, something makes you squint. There’s something familiar about the man standing at the altar. And then it hits you… you know him. You've made promises to yourself before, so many of them broken. This won't be any different...shit.

pairing: Jungkook x fem reader.

story type: series.

Genre: exes to lovers, second chance au, right person wrong timing, lack of communication, forced proximity, slow burn, angst, fluff, smut.

rating: m. Mdni

wordcount: 8.2k+

warnings for chapter: troubled parental dynamics/figures. It's implied that they are both grown, Jungkook is older than reader(the age is subjective). cussing. found family. none really from here on.

A/n: though of this whilst watching MAFS. i've been in a burnout and this got me out of it?. please don't ask me if it's a happy ending story(i'm not saying it is or is not.) I just feel if you ask me that then you're not really interested in the story.

anyways I hope you enjoys it.

date: 25/04/25

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story under cut.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

You've always bought the same type of clothes, jewellery, produce as well. Why would you need anything else when you enjoy what you have.

And maybe that’s why you’re in the position you’re in now.

You should’ve been smarter and known that emptiness would follow you soon enough.

 If you had taken the leap sooner--stepped out of the one-way route to love--you’d already be where you’re trying to force yourself now.

You would’ve realised that maybe what you’re looking isn’t in the men you find pleasure in.

You'd be getting married conventionally, and not having to sign up for some program.

Comfort comes cause the type of man you want is hard to find. He’s either already married or behind his desk overworking himself.

There is a little ego-death, just a little. Having to confront yourself on the type of man you want when you're at your limit is humbling. It should be something you know about yourself already.

You're not best at caring of yourself of late. When was the last time you had a self-care? You're still alive so it's fine.

Just like your type; you've been stuffing yourself behind your desk any chance you get.

But before your wedding you swear you’ll have a day to care for yourself. Physically at least.

You’ve been shaking your head for coming to this point, but your solace is in hope.

Putting your chance at love in someone else’s hands—someone trained, someone professional—might actually be the smartest move you’ve made in terms of relationships. That way, your own traits that have gotten you nowhere won’t come into play.

None of your past relationships have ever seen daylight because of how dumb you end up feeling for indulging in them, for believing they could be more.

They could never see the sun, let alone could they see the conversation of marriage.

You’ve tried to bring up the topic of marriage, and immediately they turn it down or change the subject. After that, you never bring it up again.

Honestly, after experiencing enough of that, you quit on the idea of commitment. Maybe you were stupid for wanting that.

What does marriage have that you can’t get from a simple relationship bound by an unstable verbal agreement.

You could definitely survive on that, right?

That’s what past you got by saying to herself.

You gave up on getting attached. It was just hook up and get out. None of them ever wanted anything serious, so you became that too. But it was never fulfilling, you thought that would be your answer. But it's not who you are.

You went on and it wasn’t long until you felt the emptiness of it all. And you had enough.

But still, somehow you still got stuck with the bro type. You'd like to blame lust but your therapist would like to blame your fear of being alone. You get her point but you don't think it fits your case well. You've never felt lonely or been afraid of it.

Anyways, you’ve dealt with that type for so long and you conclude if was just lust.

So, many of the guys following your frontal lobe development, have told you that you were too much. But all that meant to you was you knew what you wanted and they were not in the same frame. You have goals.

Now you want something serious and someone serious too. Someone who knows what they want and where they want to be in the future. Someone who’s going to have a plan immediately they see you. Because you do.

“I have to tell you guys something.” You clear your throat calling for your friend's attention.

Taehyung's head snaps to you. Jisoo on the other hand meets you with her eyes first.

You’d been hanging out normally, just chatting, laughing and catching up.

No moment was perfect enough to say what you wanted to, so you waited. But you’d been laughing and getting carried away with connected stories that the moment was not getting perfect enough.

For a moment you contemplated procrastinating the news. But if you procrastinated this any further you’d end up having no one at the venue.

So, being presented with the opportunity when a silence settled. It was now or never.

You want lie that it’s excitement, but there’s nothing exciting about the dryness in your throat.

You watch taehyung, seated on a stool elbows leaning against your island, and Jisoo standing next to you, walking from the fridge to the sink. Shit you have their attention.

That’s what you wanted. Speak.

You’ve been friends with Taehyung the longest because you were at the same high school, and you met Jisoo in university because you were in the same dorm and happened to be doing the same program. You all got along as a group and stayed that way. So, being there for each other through most life events, you have to tell them no matter how nervous you are.

And knowing them, what you’re about to say is far from  what they expect.

Due to the serious and nervous undertone in your voice, they stare at you closely, inspecting your awkward tucking in of lips. Normally, Taehyung would be quick to say something witty about your behaviour, but he’s silent, only making you more nervous.

You release your lips and suck in a breath. “Okay... promise not to judge?” You warn, watching them both, but focusing more on Taehyung.

“What the fuck are you 'bout to say?” He narrows his eyes at you like he does when investigating you about a boyfriend. Does he think that’s what you’re about to say?

“You’re not going to judge?” You ask once more for good measure but it serves to irritate them. You chuckle like it’s amusing. Nothing is amusing, not after you tell them.

“At this point, we will.” Jisoo exclaims with a laugh, and Taehyung follows.

"Yeah, we might just."

Feeling the non-existent pressure on your neck, you pull your mouth open. “Fine.” You mumble to yourself for encouragement. There’s no going back; you’ve already told them there is something to be said. “I’m getting married.” It comes out quick and rushed, if they hadn’t known you like they do it could’ve been sworn you had just spoken gibberish.

They look confused. Do you repeat yourself?

You probably shouldn’t have started it that way. You could’ve started with  explaining  the program. Cause now they think you’ve lost your mind.

The two stare at your empty ring finger, then at each other, and then back to you, hoping you’ll clarify with a mocking laughter at their foolishness.

“What?” you say fumbling with the finger. They look at you like you’ve finally lost your last marble.

“To who?” They thunder in unison, confusion dripping from each syllable.

The reaction doesn’t shock you, and you don’t judge the question either. But little do they know you’ve been wondering the same thing as well.

“Well, I don’t know that part, but...” you feel a little ashamed to say it because they will think you’re definitely crazy now. You’ve never been the type to do something like this. They knew you wanted to get married, but not this much.

“Do we need to get you on medication?” you're not on any medication but the words still spill out of Jisoo’s mouth with concern and shock.

Your news has, Taehyung sitting up with folded arms, his eyebrows knit so hard they could touch.

“You barely have a boyfriend, what do you mean marriage, babes?” You turn your head away from Taehyung’s eyes. This is embarrassing.

It’s true for them it’s quite the jump, but if you could just explain yourself...

“You're hiding a boyfriend?”

A boyfriend? it’s comical.

After your nervous laughter dies down, you elaborate. “No. I signed up for this thing where you get married to a stranger.” You explain, your hands waving as you speak. It’s something you always do when you’re defending yourself.

As you process the words to use, you realise it does sound not like you. You’d definitely react like the same. “It’s called Married at First Sight.”

“Wow.” Is all that you get back. What the hell do you do with that?

“I got picked, which means I’m getting married.”

“To a random guy?”

 You nod, lips folding again.

Telling your friends makes all this feel so real. You still can’t believe you signed up for this, let alone that you got picked. Something in you hoped you wouldn’t get picked because 1. what are the odds? And 2. maybe if you didn’t get picked, it would be a sign from the universe that you should just sit your ass down.

Your fingers fumble with the marble of your counter. As much as you’ve seen their reaction, you still don’t know what they think and it's making you feel more embarrassed. If they don’t support you or want you doing this, what the hell would you do? What if they think it’s stupid. “What do you think? You’re making me nervous.”

“I mean—how do you feel?”

“I’m okay." You scoff. “But I’m going into this so blind. And I kind of hate the feeling. But it’s nice to have the weight of finding a match out of my hands.” But having the control out of your hands is not like you, so that’s where the nerves are coming from as well. Cause what if they don’t give you what you want?

“Why’d you sign up, though? could’ve set you up with this guy I know.”

You appreciate your friends setting you up on blind dates; you really do. But they never go well, which is not on them but more on the guys. Surface level, they look like a match for you, but mentally and emotionally, they couldn’t be further from what you want. Maybe you need to look deeper than the superficial, which is honestly what this program is doing for you.

“Those don’t go well for me. You know that.” They do.

Did you mention that Jisoo is engaged? You’ve never seen her happier. She wasn’t even this happy when she graduated.

And you want that too. You’ve always thrown yourself into school and work to suffice for the love you weren’t able to feel. And growing up you always relied on academic validation. But it could only carry you so far after you hit every milestone and still felt nothing. The only thing that came close were the relationships. Situationships.

“You really want to do this?” jisoo coos.

“it’s not so bad to try"

“If they give you what you want.” Taehyung intersects.

You hope they do. “I wrote in detail, so they better.”

You have no clue what criteria they go by, but it couldn't be something contrary to your asks.

You get excited thinking of the perfect man for you standing at the end of the aisle. Like, gosh, you’re going to be so happy. Your stomach flutters already.

“They probably know what I need though.”

“Yeah. But you still want the basics, like—” Jisoo doesn’t even have a chance to finish when you cut in.

“Oh yeah... tall, smart, a man with a plan type of thing.” You feel so childish for being so excited about this. But it’s more about the excitement of having the perfect man for you. You try not to picture his physical appearance because you might end up disappointed if you linger on it for too long.

Taehyung and Jisoo smile, listening to how excited you are. If you’re happy, they are too; that’s all they care about. That what what think of and not that this is the most conventional way to go about it.

Returning to your cooking, you decide to dig more into their thoughts. “What do you guys think I need?”

Feeling experienced, Taehyung takes the lead to share. He’s heard and seen a fair share of your crushes and boyfriends and how it's ended, so he feels like he knows what you’d like. “Definitely a business-style, you know. Sleek back hair, tall, nerdy.”

“Is that what I give off?” You chuckle a brow raised. Embarrassed. You've definitely grown into that assumption.

You do. You’ve always been the academic type and Taehyung’s parents always trashed him for not being like you. Even though he wasn’t even a bad student. You always made him look bad. But that's all to say you’re smart and a work focused person,  so you need a man who is the same.

You also like to be control. Whether that’s knowing all the tiny details of an event, or planning all the trips. As much as he benefits from it, Taehyung is definitely sure you use it as a coping mechanism for something.

“You need someone who can take control.” He adds.

"But still obsessed with her." Jisoo chirps in and Taehyung couldn't nod harder.

It would be nice to have someone to do things with. But an obsessed man? You're not sure. You want him to love you but shouldn't be too overbearing.

“I feel crazy for doing this.” You bite your lower lip, letting your worries out a little. “Like I’m seriously going to get married to a stranger.” You believe it less the more you say it.

“It’s not the conventional way, but you know we’ll be there for you no matter what.” You warm into Jisoo’s rub on your back. You’re trying to mask your true nerves with excitement; you doubt it’s fully working, but you’re trying. “As long as you’re happy And he makes you happy.”

“I’ll make sure of it.” Taehyung promises, sounding more like a threat to your groom.

You seem serious about it and it must be if you got picked. So the only power he has is to be there for you as a friend. Its honestly not such a bad thing, if he wanted to get married he'd think of doing it like this too. It more thrilling. And there’s nothing Taehyung loves more than thrill.

Having your friends feels comforting, and it’s all you need. Really. But with how serious this is, you’re going to have to call your family soon, and you’re not ready for that. The idea raise the bile in you.

Unlike your friends, you have no clue how they’ll feel. You haven’t spoken to them in a while but the last thing they’d be thinking to hear from you is marriage. The last you remember none of them thought you were marriage material.

It's out of courtesy that you’re even telling them. But no matter what they say, you’ve already been picked, and you are getting married.

“it's still crazy though.” this isn't how he imagined this going. But he should be the last person calling you crazy when it’s the only thing he knows. But you get it; it’s out of your character to do something like this. But who knows you could find what you’re looking for outside of your comfort zone. It’s not 100%, but you’re ready to take that risk. “Imagine you marry an ex...”

Taehyung is not helping soothe you. The thought has crossed your mind before.

“Don’t scare me,” you brush off the thought with a hand on your chest, and they both can’t help but laugh. It would be so funny if you walked down the aisle and it was one of your stupid exes. Gosh... you’d walk out immediately, no question. “Don't think they would be serious enough for marriage.” They’re all probably out there still being reckless and whatever.

“What if he doesn’t like something that you like?”

“Don’t know" you chuckle "But I’d be damned if he doesn’t want to listen to my playlists.”

“Ouu, he’d be a gone man if he didn’t like your mugs too.” You know Jisoo’s being sarcastic; for some reason, everyone dislikes your mugs. The designs specifically. But you like them, so he would be damned if he didn’t like them.

“I mean, we have 3 months until we decide whether we want to be together or not....”

“Would you want to get divorced?”

You don’t even want to think of that. Divorce is not something you think about or want to think about. You know how much you hate it and how it affects children. You don’t have kids with the man, but still, you just hate divorce. It feels too much like failure.

“I hope not, but if he’s completely unreasonable, then I’ll have no choice.” You wouldn’t want to fight for something that bears no fruit. But you pray that’s not going to be the case. It shouldn't be too bad.

“I just want to like him, and I hope he likes me too. I would want this to work out.” You stare blankly at your hands. “I don’t know if I’d be able to look for love again after this.”

You’re being to dramatic but that’s because this feels like all you have.

“In that case, let’s pray he’s the one.”

You all go quiet for a second. The pot on the stove starts to bubble.

“This is real,” you murmur.

And somehow, that thought is both terrifying—and thrilling.

--

“Namjoon, what do you think?” He’s the only one who’s been quiet about what just came out of jungkook’s mouth.

It’s not the idea of Jungkook getting married to a stranger that’s concerning (Though that’s its own thing.) It’s more about the idea of Jungkook getting married in general.

“I mean—do what makes you happy. It’s not the conventional way...” Namjoon begins, and Jungkook can’t help but roll his eyes at how serious his friend is being. He’s not surprised, though; Namjoon has always been the more serious and mature one between the two. Unlike Jungkook, Namjoon has always known what to do and when to do it. He is the kind of guy with structure, but Jungkook, on the other hand, is more of the go-with-the-flow kind of person.

He does things on a whim, reckless with who he goes out with. Relationships have always been fun for him; he never took them seriously. That was until he sat with himself and looked around. All of his friends were settling down and were not available to go out. One was having a child, the other was getting married, and standing at the altar as a groomsman so often, had him worried about what he was doing.

He watched his friends fall in love and be so happy; he wanted that too. Could he have it too? The bro lifestyle he was living was not going to give him that.

He hid behind hookups so much that he hadn’t realized he did want to settle down, find a nice woman, and live that picture-perfect life, he saw his parents have.

And it was time for that. So, by chance and through his coworker, he stumbled upon this program and signed up.

He wasn't going to get picked, so it wouldn’t be so bad if he did try.

He never had much hope in it; like, how would some experts know from a form who to pair him up with? It was a scam to him. His plan was to go out and meet ladies the usual way, but even they didn’t see him so seriously; he was just a hookup to them too. It did hurt him. But honestly, they weren’t wife material anyway.

Jungkook has always liked doing stuff that people would call crazy; it made him happy. So being told that a match was found and he was going to get married to a stranger didn’t make him nervous at all—if you exclude the seriousness of marriage though.

“Come on, hyung...”

“I wouldn’t put this past you, so I’m not surprised. I’m just worried if you’re ready for this. I don’t think you realize how serious it is.”

It’s not shocking that Namjoon stares at Jungkook with such distrust; he himself doesn’t trust himself fully. But he wants to. Because how can a wife trust him if he doesn’t?

 Nothing will convince him or others that he is serious and growing, other than through actions. And that’s what he intends to do. Namjoon may not trust him now, but when he sees how serious he is, he will.

“I’ve grown, hyung, don’t you think?” Jungkook sips his beer, staring at his friend. Having this conversation at a bar may not have been the best, but it was the perfect moment to do so. Though jungkook has never cared about perfect timing.

Namjoon lets out a puff of air. He doesn’t want to seem like he’s not supportive. “You have, but this is a serious commitment, Kook.”

He doesn’t need to be told once more how serious this is; his brain can do that just fine.

 “I know. But I’ve reached that point where I want to settle down. I’m ready to get serious.” It’s definitely something he never thought he would say. “I want to show that I can be serious, you know? I want to be like you, Seokjin.”

He pats the man on his shoulder, and he can’t help but feel honored to be an inspiration. Seokjin was one of the first to get married and is now expecting a child. Jungkook envies that—the ability to feel stable enough to bring in another life. He wants to be stable too. Have a little mini him to play around with.

Who the hell has he become.

“I think it’s good you want to settle down, Koo. I just hope you’re doing this for the right reasons and not just to prove yourself,” the oldest begins. Seokjin doesn’t think he’s some wise man, but he can confidently say he has the most knowledge on this among all of them. He does support his friend and thinks it’s great he’s doing this, but something in him fears he’s in it for the wrong reasons. “I mean, it won’t only be you. You’re merging your life with someone else—someone you don’t know to add. I wouldn’t want you to drag her feelings into a journey of trying to prove yourself.”

He doesn’t respond right away. Because the truth is, part of him doesn’t know truly why he’s doing this. And not knowing is something he hates nowadays.

This is where Jungkook’s second thoughts root even further. He fears that—fears dragging someone along into his flawed perception of self. But it’s not what this is about, and even though he doesn’t mention it, he does want to find someone to love and someone to give the love he hasn’t been able to give his past lovers.

“I get what you’re saying, hyung, and I promise that’s not the case. I do want to care for the person too.”

Seokjin nods, taking a sip of his drink. “That’s good. You are growing,” he mocks, and they all laugh.

“The not knowing what’s ahead is a little off putting, I’ll be honest.” Jungkook doesn’t stare at his friends but rather analyses every bubble of air in his drink that rises to the surface. They rise fast, then disappear. Like everything he used to think love was.

“Do you think you can do it?”

“I think I can... I want to.” He finally looks up to stare at nothing in particular.

“The first step is the commitment, so if you have that, then you’re good.” Jungkook nods; he should probably be taking notes on what Seokjin is saying. “Oh, Namjoon, you’re going to be the only single one.” They all laugh, but Namjoon only chuckles.

“It’s scary how you’re still single.” His friends see him as the perfection of what a woman wants: tall, smart, a man who knows what he wants. It’s all what women describe, but still, the tall silver-haired man has never taken dating seriously, nor does he hook up. It’s concerning.

“It’s because I want to,” he replies, taking a drink of his beer. And that’s all they’ll ever get from him.

“So what are you looking for, Koo?”

They shouldn’t even get him started on this. He’s never really known because he’s never really thought about it. But of late, the answers have been coming in like ants—tiny but a lot. “Um, just someone outgoing, you know... likes to have fun.” He won’t burden them with all he’s been thinking because some are just stupid stereotypes. “Someone who likes to go out and try new things, likes to have fun.”

“Jungkook? a party girl?.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes; maybe his previous preferences slip into his ideas of who he wants, which is not good. He wants something new, something he’s never had. Because what he’s had is not what he needs. So maybe this will be different.

“No... listen. I like going bowling and stuff like that, you know? So I hope she would want to do that with me.” He smiles, trying to defend himself. “When I get married, I’ll quit the club too.” The additional sentence causes a roar of laughter among his friends, drawing attention from other bar-goers. Seokjin does go out occasionally, but the difference (especially with his wife’s due date approaching) has been significant.

The laughter dies down.

“Look at him acting like he’s grown.”

“I am grown... I’m going to be a husband.” It’s surreal for him to say.

“She needs to be strong to handle you.”

“I’m not that bad..”

--

The most exciting thing about this whole thing is finding your dress. You’ve been looking at dresses for a long time so you would like to say you know what style you’re looking for, you’ve been thinking of this since you were in middle school so you should know. You’re grateful your taste has grown out of the poofy ballgown phase.

Cause of the context of the wedding you want something simple. Clean. Intentional.

 And Jisoo knew of the perfect store to go to.

Most women find their dress months in advance, but you’ve got a week. A week. So this has to be it. Today  should be the day.

Picking out the dress is the only part of this whole process that feels like you have control over, so you’re throwing yourself into it. And with that comes nitpicking. A lot of it.

You step out of the dressing room in your fourth gown and face the mirror. It’s a beautiful dress. You loved it on the rack. But now, wearing it, something’s... off.

“Why don’t i feel something?” you ask, running your hands down the dress draping your figure. You turn to your friends, looking for validation. “I’m supposed to feel it, right? Isn’t that a thing?” you aren’t sure if it was a myth, but you’ve heard that when you find the right one you’ll be able to feel it.

“You should.” Jisoo says gently, sitting up straighter at the sight of your face. She knows how sensitive this moment is for you. The time pressure, the stress, if you spiral now, it’s over. “What don’t you like about it?”

You stare at the mirror. Tilt your head. Bite your lip. Try to search for an answer.

“i don’t know i just dont feel like a bride in it.” You continue to feel over it trying to convince yourself but still nothing.

Maybe its cause you have no romantic connection with this man and hence you don’t feel like the conventional bride who can actually feel like she’s dress shopping with a purpose.

“Then we try another,” the stylist says with an encouraging smile.

You hope you don’t sound like a bridezilla because this is the fourth dress you’ve tried on and don’t like. Your stomach churns.

What if you don’t find one? What if you end up walking down the aisle in something you hate cause you weren’t able to find ‘the one’ in time. You can’t wear something that doesn’t feel like you. You’re not a person very particular about clothes but this is your wedding dress in question. It has to be perfect.

“Hey...” Jisoo comes to your side, her hand warm on your arm. You feel your shoulders drop just a little. “Don’t pressure yourself. We can come back tomorrow.”

You nod, but the thought makes your chest tighten. You don’t want to come back. You want to feel it now.

“Can I try a few more first? Just in case?”

“Of course,” she says, like she never had a doubt.

You head back into the dressing room. One more. Just one more.

Walking back into the dressing room and getting into another dress. You’re praying this will be the one or good enough at least.

“Fucking hell yn...” Taehyung whistles.

That’s new. He didn’t react like this for the others.

“You look so gorgeous babes.” Jisoo adds with a blushing smile as you walk onto the pedestal to finally see what they see.

The dress in terms of material feels great. It’s soft on your skin and it pours down your body like liquid. Without even looking at it you’d say you feel comfortable.

Once you take in your figure in the mirror, you can fel the tears sting the corner of your eyes. You definatlety feel it. You feel that feeling.

With the other dresses it felt like they were wearing you, but for this one, you’re definitely the one owning it.

“Gosh.. it’s almost too perfect to be marrying a stranger in.” You state still enamoured and not believing that the reflection is you.

“if this dude doesn’t cry or fall to his knees when he sees you i’ll beat his kneecaps in.” Taehyung expresses and when you look at him through the mirror you catch him tabbing a tissue at his eyes, jisoo too. Gosh now your tears are falling too.

“Come on guys.” You try to say through  a sniffle. “you’re making me cry.”

Sniffling and patting at your eyes with a tissue you try to collect yourself.

“on a serious note. You look gorgeous.” Taehyung says, folding the tissue in to his palm. “you look beautiful. I should’ve married you instead. This guy doesn’t deserve you.”

You choke out a laugh, knowing he’s joking. You and Tae never looked at each other like that.

“If we were getting married, I’d wear sweats. Jeans if I’m feeling fancy.”

“Ouch,” he gasps, clutching his chest. Jisoo snorts. “Is that all I am to you.” He’s way more than that. He’s everything you'd ever want to dream of in a friend.

“i hope this dude realises how much he’s won with you.” Jisoo says softly.

“If he has two eyes, he will otherwise we’ll fight.” Of course it’s tae saying that.

“Why do you hate him you barely know him.” you say causing the man to pull back in defence.

“I’m just setting boundaries.”

He’s always been protective. You can’t blame him.

“But how do you feel?” Jisoo asks.

You take a breath. Let the silence hold for a second. You take in the weight of the dress, the way it fits, the way it makes you feel like maybe this whole thing won’t be so terrible after all.

“i love it.” It comes out soft but it says all that’s needed to be said. “i think it’s the one.”

Cheers erupts in the room the room, and your heart feels light for the first time in days.

You laugh through your tears. “I’m gonna be a Mrs. Something.”

“I just hope he’s got a good last name, at least.” Taehyung grins.

You hope so too.

But that’s one of the many things you’re choosing not to think about. Not yet.

--

Jungkook has never woken up early for anything. And the last thing he ever thought he’d be waking up early for was his wedding.

“You ready for today?” Seokjin says bascally aready dressed while Jungkook walks around in his sweats.

“As ready as i can ever be.” His eyes don’t leave the suit hanging on the wall. Gosh how would he have found one if he didn’t have his friends.

“You sure? You’re too calm.”

“Not everyone’s gonna be in panic.” Namjoon chimes in.

Seokjin’s wedding morning was definitely chaotic cause of how the man panicked.

 Though at the time he never thought of it seriously, Jungkook worried that it was custom to panic like that and he’d panic too. But even still he feels too relaxed, last night’s drinks might have something to do with it. When Seokjin and namjoon had gone to sleep, and jungkook couldn’t, he's only solace was the liquor cabinet. He hopes it’s not obvious. Cause he can fool his friends but his mother might be able to catch it, no matter how hard he’s brushed his teeth.

“it’s good to atleast show some of your nerves.” Seokjin moves to the counter to pour some drinks. Jungkook gags at the smell of spirit. “You can’t be perfectly relaxed.”

Can’t he? It is possibe for him to not be worried about anything. He doesn’t have to be having doubts and fears for this to be real. He doesn’t.

“I’m fine.” He groans, rubbing his face and reaching  for the suit hanging on the door of his room. He's fine...so fine.

Seokjin doesn’t dig in deeper. And one thing the older does know is that no matter what, Jungkook must be feeling something and his silence about it might be proving what Seokjin thought. Thinks.

“Did you send the gift?” he turns to namjoon worried about one thing.

“Yeah.”

Jungkook wanted to make a good impression so he hopes the gift does some apologising if you’re able to notice he's fucked up face.

“Can you help me with my tie?” He knows how to do it. Has been doing it for school for so long. But for once he just wants to feel like she’s involved in something he's doing. Something positive.

The drooping look on her face is discouraging enough, but he tries.

“You’ve been doing it for so long. Do you really need my help?” She says not even looking at him, and yet again he feels the embarrassment.

Clearing his throat, he turns to do it himself but his dad replaces his hands. “I told you guys, you didn’t have to travel for this.” He says lifting his chin up a little for his dad.

He was fine with them not coming, and seeing that they lived so far away it would’ve been an inconvenience. And it’s not like its a wedding his mother would want to attend anyways; so he didn’t  want to waste their time.

He was perfectly fine with them not coming.

“it’s your wedding why wouldn’t we come?” His father says patting down the tie and arranging his collar. It's almost as if it’s his first day at school and his graduation again. He hopes he can do this for his son one day too.

In a whisper away from anyone else his father speaks. "I want you to enjoy today. And whoever she is I want you to give her your all. Love her more than you love yourself, more than you’ve ever loved anything.”

His eyes are sincere as the words are spoken. His father isn’t emotional so even that soft fall of his brows is a lot. And it’s all Jungkook can ask for. “She's gonna love you too, I know it. You’re a good kid.” He pats his shoulder.

He can cry...no. So he sniffles the waters away.

His father has always been a good husband. And that’s who he wants to be as well, no matter who he marries, no matter how difficult she could be.

His parents have been the ideal couple in his life for a long time. And that doesn’t change no matter what.

Everything is silent for a moment as jungkook sinks into what’s about to happen today. It’s only until a voice breaks his serenity.

“Namjoon!” his mother calls out playfully with a glass in her hands, she doesn’t even drink.

Namioon flinches and turns to her smiling awkwardly.  He's never known how to act around her. “When are you getting married? Sure there are so many woman dying to be hitched up to a perfect guy like you.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes and tells namjoon he doesn’t have to answer.

But his mother won’t let that be.

“Not anytime soon Mrs jeon.”

The laugh she releases is sharp and demeaning. But it’s not directed to namjoon. “You see? People who wait to find a girl the right way.”

When Jungkook’s gaze meets hers, he has to remind himself she's the woman that birthed him.

“You didn’t have to come you know that?”

“Come on. You want me here, I’m your mother.”

Contrary to popular belief...

“You’re such a handsome boy, why do you want to get married. You’re wasting your time.” She starts.

She should be praising him for seeing the value in getting married and maturing to the idea. But no...

Jungkook puffs out a breath. The room has been silent since his mother began speaking. And he drowns in it. There's a lot he could say.

Instead, he throws the jacket on and teases at it a little in the mirror. Some are unnecessary touches but he does them anyways. Feeling ready enough he steps away but before he walks out further he looks at the woman sat on the couch.

“If you can..,try your best not to speak to her, okay?”

--

“Did they call?” Taehyung’s voice is almost none existent in your field of thoughts.

It’s only when he repeats that you catch what he said. "no.”  You say no energy in your voice. “but it’s fine...their loss.”

You toss your phone on the couch a little too harshly, just wanting to forget it. Forget everything.

You won’t and can’t beg for people who don’t want to be in your life. Informing them was just a courtesy, you didn’t want him here anyways.

Though it would’ve been great if they could just put their pride aside for you for once.

Taehyung wraps his arms around you. “Their loss. Just know you’ve got us.” He nudges at your temple with his nose.

“Yeah, you’ve got people who care and that’s all that matters.” Jisoo hugs you too and now you’re sandwiched between them. It reminds you that no matter what, you still have people around you who do care and want to support you. So if those people who you thought would want to see succeed didn’t want to be here then it’s not on you. You have your friends.

“let’s finish getting ready guys.” They brush them away playfully and immediately your hairstylist is quick to working on you.

 “So bossy.” You roll your eyes at the remark. “Gonna give this guy a run for his money.”

It doesn’t matter. You cheer to yourself.

Nothing else matters today, you’re getting married and you don’t need to cloud your thoughts with negativity. You wouldn’t want your husband to see you all gloomy. That’s not gonna to be your first impression.

You smile.

All you want to do right now is walk down that aisle. Nothing else matters.

“Did i mention a little something came in for you in the mail” jisoo’s voice comes in excited but you aren’t able to turn cause you’re on your final steps of getting your makeup done.

“huh?” when she stands in front of your eyes fall in the object in her grasp. “What’s that?” you eaxclaim with a smile taking the box onto your lap.

“Open it.” She exclaims, more excited than you.

The tiffany and co logo on the box is evident when you unwrap it. You can’t help but smile from ear to ear. You haven’t met him yet and he’s making you smile this hard? Once it’s open you’re met with a silver locket and bracelet. You’ve gotten gifts before but you have no clue why you’re blushing so hard for this one.

“oh my gosh these are so cute.”

“tiffany and co too...” Jisoo adds, immediately rushing for you to put it on cause it would look good with your dress.

Taehyung watches from across the room, already dressed. “Anybody can buy that.”

“hater...” you and Jisoo choir.

--

Seokjin made it clear for him to behave when he sees your family. He has no clue what he thought he would do, because as much as he’s outgoing, In front of the in-law's he’s a dove.

He’s trying to be calm and act like he’s ready and been ready, but he can’t deny the cold sweats that threaten to run and mess his suit. This is the most trust he’s put into anything. All he’s praying is that it works out.

He’s a fucking groom.

Jisoo sits watching him closely, he is handsome and somebody you would find handsome too. But something she knows you’ll be worried about is probably his personality. He looks like the opposite of what you want and all you’ve been running away from. But who knows with you nowadays. He could be a good guy though.

“Hello.” Jungkook waves to your side. From all he can see, there’s a woman probably same age as him, could be a sister? Friend? Next he sees is an older lady probably the same age as his mother. That could be your mother. The rest of the crowd is filled with 2 people.

Not many people, but t doesn't matter. He wouldn't invite anybody too, if he didn’t have to. Maybe you're too embarrassed to be marrying already.

He's eyes can't stay on one spot. He tries but it's painful.

When he turns to his side, Seokjin and namjoon smile at him, it helps ease whatever he’s feeling but immediately his heart tightens up watching the person sat next to his father whisper into his ear..

What the hell is she saying? Is he standing up straight? Is he smiling enough or too hard.

--

This is the craziest thing you've ever done. The bravest too.

And—God, you hope—it’s the last wild thing you’ll have to do for a while.

Breathing is something your body usually handles without question, but now it needs supervision. You have to consciously pull air into your lungs, or you won’t make it down this aisle walking.

You have no idea what’s waiting at the end of it.

What if you’re not attracted to him?

Worse—what if he’s not attracted to you?

What if you’re not what he’s been hoping for?

“This still feels like a dream,” you mumble, looping your arm around Taehyung’s. He smells like cologne and nerves. What the fuck is he nervous for.

“You ready?” he asks gently.

No, but you nod. “Yeah.”

The gentle music of a live plays as people  stand and you walk, still not in view yet cause if the infrastructure. Its a small venue but sill manages to make you feel like you’re drowning.

As you walk and get closer you try your hardest not to look at the one thing you’re most curious about.

So your eyes choose to scan the venue instead—the warm fairy lights, the soft music, the flowers. You knew the production team would go all-out, but you didn’t expect them to go all out for you. It’s perfect.

You’ve never felt this special in your life. Twelve-year-old you couldn’t have imagined this moment. Even though this isn’t the love story you thought you’d get, the feeling is still here, blooming in your chest.

Who says he can’t become the love of your life?

Jungkook's eyes are wide when they land on your.

From your soft smile to styled hair amd the the dress that falls down your body carefully, he watches every detail. He can’t look anywhere else. He swears his heart was just in his chest a moment ago.

Jungkook watches the person walking you down the aisle, he’s a younger guy. That’s interesting. A sibling?

From all that he’s imagined he could get, you were not on the card. But he'll take it.

You’re more than he bargained for.

You walk slowly, soaking it all in. Nearing the arch, you finally allow yourself to look at the man chosen for you.

And—shit.

He’s… handsome.

You eyes squint.

He smiles as you approach, so at least he doesn’t seem horrified. That’s something.

Taehyung shares a nod with the man, nothing warm or cold behind. You hug him before he walks to his seat, clinging for just a second too long. Then, it's just you and him—your groom. You can’t meet his eyes for more than a second. And it’s embarrassing.

You’ve been on debate teams, presented in University projects and in meetings at work. Basically you’ve had eyes on you before and it was manageable...but these? They burn.

“Hi,” you say, voice small.

 You glance toward his side. A good amount of family. One person stands out—tall, silver hair. Probably a groomsman.

Your groom is attractive, sure, but not your type. Tattoos?, the way he stands—he looks like someone you tried to avoid.

You hate how superficial that sounds. But the thought won’t leave.

At least he’s taller than you.

“Hi,” he replies, equally nervous. Then leans in. “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you. You look nice too.” You eye him down, eyes narrowed.

If this were a blind date, you’d already be knee-deep in awkward small talk. But this? This is… bigger. It requires bigger questions.

“Let me take that for you.” Jisoo’s whisper interrupts. She takes your bouquet and you almost refuse, needing something to keep your fingers occupied.

“I see you got the jewellery.” His voice is as light as the pale blue sky. It’s odd to compare it to a colour but that how it feels. His voice reminds you of the blue sky you’ve stood under so many times wondering if your soulmate died. There’s still a possibility of that.

You glance down. You’d worn it and forgotten. It had become that comfortable. That familiar. But now with the recognition, you can feel the cold silver touch every part of you. You can feel it sway and graze you every turn you make. Even the smallest action causes movement.

“Oh yeah. Thank you.”

“You’ll have to thank my groomsman too. He helped me pick it.”

He looks over at Namjoon, who immediately looks like he wants to disappear.

Maybe he shouldn’t have said that. It might sound like he couldn’t handle it alone. But truthfully, Namjoon just knows more about…well, this kind of thing.

“Thank you, groomsman,” you direct a more warm smile to the man.

Namjoon mumbles something, but you don’t catch it.

Turning back, you stare a beat longer when your eyes catch he's features. You bite the inside of your cheek. His face—it’s not common. Not forgettable.

And yet…

The officiant steps forward. Time for the official part.

“Yn, meet for the very first time, Jungkook Jeon. Jungkook, meet for the very first time, Yn Y/l/n.”

His name hits you like a church bell.

“Jungkook?” you repeat sounding a little shocked, like you didn’t hear it right the first time.

He chuckles nervously. “That’s me.” Do you not like his name?

Your stomach drops.

You know him. The name. The face. It clicks.

Your nose works over time pulling in air. You can't open your mouth, cause you might just puke.

Shit—does he know you? He doesn’t seem like he does.

Is this real?

The man you remember wouldn’t be standing here right now. Does she have some polar opposite twin or something?

You rub your arms and wish you could blame the AC for the chill. But that's all on him.

Glancing at your friends. They have no clue what’s happening inside your head right now. They don't know how fast the room spins.

Where do you put your hands, what do you hold onto?

None of them know about him. He’s the only one you've never told them about. And they sit there waiting for you--with smiles and excitement--to marry him.

You made them come here. They smile for you. They support you.

You asked them to be here for you. You wanted to do this.

What a waste of time. You should’ve known.

To add-on, as you look at your friends for a second time you stop at a face you were not expecting and hadn't noticed. How did you miss that? A face that had told you she didn’t want to be here, well not her specifically but mainly on behalf of your father. But what the hell is your mother doing here? She said she couldn’t come.

What the fuck is going on. Collect yourself,  you don’t want to look like you’re about to faint. Even though the overwhelming review of information could just kill you right here.

But it’s okay. You still have time to walk away. Walk away from everyone.

You thought this was going to go well.

You hoped it would.

But now?

This is not what you wanted.

-

-

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

A/n: 😏😏 what did you think? I hope you liked it. Please don't ask me if it's a happy ending story(i'm not saying it is or is not.) I just feel if you ask me that then you're not really interested in the story progression. I will try my best to post frequently (I've been working on 2 as well) so just hood your horses.

anyways I hope you enjoyed.

same time next week?

Lets discuss in the replies 🖐😊

taglist: @lovingkoalaface @granataepfelchen @jksusawife @notsevenwithyou @llallaaa @kmpj9 @lryf @smileyshaven @dragonflygurl4

note: to join taglist just inbox.

every note, reply and reblog is appreciated.

let me know what you thought of this chapter. do you think she'll marry him?

[cressidagrey]

It's a Love Story - Chapter 1

Summary:

Azriel's shadows find their master a wife.

Azriel would just really like his heart not to get broken again.

And Sky...well, she's just really surprised that that far too handsome male is interested in her at all.

Warning:

Rhys Bashing (as usual), I classified this as Azriel x OC, even when it't technically Azriel x Sellyn Drake (but we kinda know nothing about Sellyn Drake other than that she writes books so Sky is kinda an OC), Cassian is kinda a good guy for once, Azriel has a horrible time, as usual... Stuttering, toxic families (For once I do not mean the IC), Self-Esteem Issues, Secret Identity, Body Image Issues

If any of this triggers you or makes you uncomfortable, please take care of your own mental health and don't read it.

Koschei the Deathless Sorcerer was killed by the Spymaster of the Night Court. 

It was less dramatic than it sounded. At least Azriel thought so. 

And if Lucien hadn’t been a fucking idiot and put himself into a position to be kidnapped by the very same deathless sorcerer…then they wouldn’t even have been in that kind of situation. 

But he had been and so it ended with Azriel so magically exhausted that he collapsed the very same moment Truthteller stroke true once more. 

At least Koschei was slayn. 

And the only reason Azriel had gone to rescue the red-headed male in the first place was the fact that  Lucien was Elaine’s mate. Lucien was the male Elain loved. Azriel couldn’t let him die. 

Couldn’t let Elain feel the devastation of a mating bond broken by death…so his decision making had been quick. Either he would manage to get Lucien free…or he would die trying.  There wasn’t many things that he wouldn’t do for the female he loved. Even when he knew it shouldn’t be. 

Azriel had never been very good at knowing when enough was enough after all, wasn’t he?

No price was high enough to pay when it was about Elain’s happiness, as far as Azriel was concerned.  

He hadn't expected to wake up, and yet… there he was. Alive and whole.

*I hope it was worth it, Master,* the shadows sniped at him.

He blinked, taking in the dim light of the room, taking in the familiar surroundings. His room in the House of Wind.

“You are a fucking idiot, you know?” Cassian hissed at him from his place at his bedside and Azriel blinked at him.

"Lucien?" he brought out hoarsely.

"Not as much as a fucking scratch on him. Thanks to you," Cassian responded. "You on the other hand...Madja thought you were going to fucking die from pure magical exhaustion!"

Even Azriel he had...it would have been worth it. Lucien had made it out alive - and that was all that mattered in the end. Elain would be happy. That was all he cared about.

He didn't say that aloud though. 

He took a deep breath, opening his eyes again. "How long was I out?" he asked.

"Three days," Cassian growled. "Three. Days."

Azriel sat up slowly, wincing at the ache in his muscles. It felt like his entire body was one giant bruise, every inch of him pained and sore.

"Lay back down," Cassian snapped.

Azriel shot him a glare, but sank back onto the bed nonetheless. "I'm fine," he grumbled. "Just tired."

"Yeah, well, we'll let Madja be the judge of that," Cassian snapped. "And when you are feeling better, I am going to kill you for going off on your own!"

Azriel just gave him a weary look. "Better me than you," he said dryly. He closed his eyes, feeling a deep exhaustion settle over him. Cassian had Nesta to think about. Azriel didn't. Azriel just had himself.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!" Cassian demanded.

Azriel didn't have the energy to answer

He dosed off, feeling the shadows twine around him. They were muttering, words he could c quite understand, bitching under their breath but for once it was comforting.

He woke up, feeling groggy and disoriented. His eyes felt like sandpaper, and his limbs were heavy. He groggily blinked at the room, feeling like he was in a haze.

It took him a moment to realize he wasn't alone. Cassian was still there, as was Madja.

Azriel groaned, pushing himself up into a sitting position. His head was throbbing, and his vision was a little blurred. He rubbed his face, trying to clear the fog from his mind. "Hey," he said, his voice rough and gravelly.

Cassian and Madja both looked at him, their expressions relieved. "How are you feeling?" Madja asked him, moving closer to the bed and waving a hand in front of his face.

"Like I was hit by a wagon," Azriel admitted. His muscles felt tight and sore, his body heavy with fatigue. His wings felt like they were made of lead, and every movement took a huge effort.

"That's unsurprising considering you nearly magicked yourself to death," Madja said gruffly. "Your body had a tremendous amount of stress and strain put on it. You're lucky to be alive."

He gritted his teeth. "Yeah, well, I didn't have a lot of other options," he pointed out.

Madja just let out a huff and began prodding and poking at his body, running her hands over his wings and checking his pulse. Cassian watched anxiously from the side, his arms crossed over his chest.

Azriel bore her ministrations in silence, trying not to wince as she poked and prodded at him. He knew she was just trying to help, but it didn't make the ordeal any more pleasant.

After what felt like forever, she finally stepped back, nodding to herself. "You're lucky, shadowsinger," she said gruffly. "You're lucky you're so damn resilient," she said, and he couldn't tell if it was a compliment or just an observation.

He looked at her blearily. "I guess I can add that to my list of things to be proud of," he muttered sarcastically.

Cassian barked out a laugh, but Madja just rolled her eyes. The door opened at that moment. "How's he doing?" Rhys demanded.

Azriel wanted to let out a sigh at the sight of Rhys. He loved his brother, but he didn't have the energy for a lecture right now.

Madja turned to Rhys. "He's weak and he's stupid," she snapped. "But he's alive."

Rhys let out a sigh, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little. "Thank you, Madja," he said. "Would you...give us a moment?"

Madja nodded, patting Azriel's leg as she got up to leave. "Rest," she ordered. "And no strenuous activity for at least a week."

As soon as the door closed behind her, Rhys turned to Azriel. "What were you thinking?" he demanded, his eyes blazing.

"I was thinking that I was saving Lucien's life," Azriel replied evenly, meeting his brother's gaze. "I couldn't let him die, Rhys."

"Wouldn't that have made it easier for you?* Rhys demanded sharply mentally. *You are the one that fancies himself in love with Elain.*

Maybe it shouldn't hurt him as much as it did. He didn't fancy himself in love with her. He was in love with her. Had been in love with her and Rhys had been the one to order him away from her, which had given Lucien the opportunity to swoop in and Elain had...Elain had given in. Given in to that Siren Song of the Mating Bond and was very much in love with her mate now. 

It hurt to hear Rhys say it like that, like it was just some passing infatuation that he'd gotten over.

*Lucien is her mate,* he responded simply. He didn't say what he really thought. He didn't say that he would rather have Elain be happy and never talk with him again than to have her wilt like one of her flowers because her mate had died and the mating bond would be broken… He didn't say that he loved Elain enough, that her happiness was more important to him than anything else. He didn't say any of that.

*At least you are recognising that now,* Rhys said with a snort.  Azriel didn't flinch. Didn't react.

He hid away in that little corner of his brain he went to when everything became too much. Where he could just shut up all his feelings, all these pesky emotions, and just be...nothing. Nothing. That's the only thing he still had left.

He just shrugged, schooling his face into a careless expression. "I did what I had to do, Rhys," he repeated stubbornly. "Lucien is a good male. He didn't deserve to die."

"Elain wants to thank you," Rhys said suddenly.

Azriel's stomach twisted as Rhys mentioned Elain. He felt a pang of longing in his chest, a desperate ache to see her, to touch her, to hear her voice. But he knew he couldn't. He couldn't subject himself to the torture of seeing her with her mate, seeing her happy in Lucien's arms.

So his answer was definite: "There is no need for that," he said simply.

Rhys gave him a sharp look. "Don't be an idiot," he said gruffly. "She's been worried sick about you."

But Azriel just shook his head, even as his heart thudded in his chest.

*You can keep it together for 5 minutes,* Rhys snapped into his mind.

"Rhys," Cassian said carefully. "If he doesn't want to, just let it..."

"He's being ridiculous," Rhys snapped, interrupting Cassian. "Elain is family.”

Azriel grit his teeth but didn't respond. He didn't have the energy for an argument right now. He just wanted to sleep.

*See her for 5 minute snad then you can sulk like a spoiled child until you feel better about yourself,* Rhys bargained drily.

Azriel hesitated. He knew he should see her, knew that it would make things easier for everyone if he did. But the thought of seeing her, seeing her happy with Lucien when he was so miserable, was like a knife to the gut.

"Does it even matter what I want?" he asked, his voice flat.

Rhys let out a frustrated sigh, looking at him with exasperation. "Az, stop being so damned stubborn. Elain has been worried sick about you - the least you can do is let her see that you are alive."

Azriel didn't say anything. Didn't respond. He just stared at Rhys, feeling like every fiber of his being was being pulled apart. He wanted to see her. Wanted to see her more than anything. But he knew that once he saw her, he wouldn't be able to hold himself together. He would break. He would shatter into a thousand pieces.

"Just...come on, Az," Rhys said finally. "Let her see you. She needs to know you're alright."

Azriel knew he couldn't say no. Knew he couldn't hurt her like that. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. "Fine," he said softly. "But just for five minutes."

Five minutes. He could do five minutes. He had to. For her…

She was still as achingly beautiful as she always had been. These devasting brown eyes, the caramel curls...

Azriel's breath hitched at the sight of her, and he felt a wave of conflicting emotions wash over him. Love, longing, sadness, and that bittersweet pang of being so close to something he could never have.

Behave, Rhys warned him sharply.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. Trying to push back that wave of feelings that threatened to drown him. It was just five minutes, he reminded himself. Five minutes. He could do this.

The shadows swirled around him, welling up with intensity, shrouding much of his body in inky blackness and Elain flinched back from them.

She had never quite warmed up to them. Azriel was just thankful for that display, for keeping her away from him as she entered the room, Lucien on her heels.

"How...How are you feeling?" she asked him, her voice soft.

He could tell that she was worried, that she was concerned for him. It warmed something inside him, and he hated himself for it. 

"I'm fine," Azriel answered hoarsely.  "Just tired.

"I...thank you," Elain said softly, binting her lip. "If you hadn't...if you hadn't killed Koschei and freed Lucien...I...Thank you, Azriel."

Hearing her say his name again was like a punch to the gut. It was both a comfort and a torture, to be so close to her and yet so far away. He swallowed hard, biting back the words that threatened to spill out.

"You don't owe me any thanks," he said quietly. "I just did what had to be done."

"I do owe you my life," Lucien disagreed. "Thank you. Without your interference...I wouln't have survived, " he said flatly.

Azriel just shrugged, feeling a wave of bitterness wash over him. He had saved Lucien, had risked his life to save the male who was mated to the female he loved. It was a strange sort of irony.

"It's fine," he said roughly. "I'm just glad I got there in time."

He couldn't look at her. Couldn't look at Lucien. It hurt too much. So he stared at the floor, willing the shadows to consume him entirely.

"We are all just happy you are feeling alright," Elain said softly. "I...I was worried about you. Everyone was."

Azriel forced himself to look up at her, his heart clenching at the sincerity in her eyes. She really had been worried about him. "I'm alright," he promised her, his voice rough. "Really. I just need some rest."

Elain hesitated, taking a step forward. He could hear her heartbeat, could feel the warmth radiating off her skin. It was torture to be so close to her and yet so far away. It was torture to know that she was so close and yet so unattainable. He wanted to reach out, to touch her, to hold her, but he knew he couldn't. He held onto that last shred of reason he had.

She tugged a piece of hair behind one delicately arched ear...and that was the moment he saw the gold and pearl ring that decorated her ring finger.

"Congratulations." He wasn't sure how he even brought out these words...how he managed to make them sound...appropriately happy for her.

It took a herculean effort to say those words, to offer a smile that barely reached his eyes. Every fibre of his being was screaming in protest, yelling that he should have been the one giving her that ring, that he should have been the one by her side. But he pushed back those feelings, burying them deep down inside of himself. He couldn't let her see how he truly felt. He couldn't let her know how much it was tearing him apart to stand there and look at her. Look at her with her mate, with the male she loved, the one she had chosen. 

"Congratulation," he repeated, his voice a little rougher than before.

"It wouldn't have been possible without you," Elain said, with a smile.

Azriel just nodded, feeling a lump in his throat. He couldn't find the words to respond, couldn't find the words to express the tangle of emotions swirling inside of him. He just sat there, feeling more alone and isolated than he had in a long time.

Elain took another step in his direction, seemingly ready to reach out, but Cassian intercepted her. placing a gentle hand on Elain's shoulder. "He needs his rest," he said softly. "Let's leave him be for now."

Azriel felt a pang of gratitude towards Cassian. Elain hesitated, looking torn.

"I wish you every happiness," Azriel brought out his voice hoarsely. Not even a lie.  It was the frank truth in these words and Elain gave him a smile, before Lucien's hand came to rest at her lower back, guiding her out of the room.

Thank the cauldron. They were gone. 

He slumped back into the pillow.  He was falling apart. He was exhausted, emotionally and physically. He just wanted to be left alone, to lick his wounds in peace.

"Az..." Cassian said carefully, but he cut him off.

“I am tired,” Azriel said, his voice hoarse. “I need to sleep.”

The shadows swirled around him tighter. 

Rhys and Cassian exchanged a look, before Cassian nodded, "Alright," he said. "Get some rest."

He laid down properly, closing his eyes, calling the shadows to him wordlessly. They swamred around him immediately. Damn Near suffocating him.  It was the only thing that kept him from starting to sob.

The shadows embraced him, wrapping him in their inky blackness, shielding him from the outside world. They were his only comfort, just like they had been for centuries. 

*We are there, Master.* They promised him softly. *It will be fine, Master.*

He didn’t believe a fucking word they said. 

*We are not willing to lose you, Master. We aren’t interested in finding a new master,* they told him seriously. He choked out a laugh that turned into a sob. 

*Sleep, Master. We'll keep watch,* they promised him.

And they did. 

Bone deep exhaustion meant that at least his sleep was dreamless. At least that was given to him. It was a small mercy. 

When he woke up again, Nesta was there, sitting in an armchair reading.

Azriel blinked, feeling disoriented and groggy. He sat up slowly, wincing as his wounds protested the movement. Nesta looked up from her book, her expression neutral.

"How are you feeling?" she asked him quietly.

"Fine," he answered, his voice hoarse. He was fine. He would be fine. 

"Thank you," Nesta said suddenly.

Azriel looked up at her, surprised. He wasn't even sure what she was thanking him for.

"For what?" he asked, his voice rough with sleep.

“You nearly got yourself killed to save my sister’s mate. I think Thank you is the least I owe you," Nesta said drily.

She mustered him with grey eyes and he knew that she knew. Knew that she knew or at the very least could guess about his feelings for Elain and probably be right. She wouldn't say anything, but she knew.

He didn’t want to talk about this anymore. It was over with. Done. 

Lucien and Elain could be happy and Azriel…Azriel would hide away somewhere. 

"You don't owe me anything," he waved Nesta off weakly, but she didn’t seem to want to take the hint, sticking out her chin. 

"Yes, I do," Nesta disagreed. "You are the reason why my little sister is happy right now," she told him fiercely. He swallowed down the unkind words at the tip of her tongue...didn't say anything. Didn't.... He didn’t want to think about this. He didn’t…

"Is there anything I can do?" Nesta asked him, her voice soft. "Anything at all, Az?" H knew that he could ask for anything and Nesta would do her level best to give it to him. She was stubborn like that. He had half a mind to ask her to use her silver flames to put him on fire and put him out of his misery. 

He didn’t. 

Even that wouldn’t fix it. 

There was nothing. There was absolutely nothing to make it any better. There was nothing that could...that could fix the ache in his chest.

"Porridge," he said, his voice hoarse.

"Porridge?" Nesta repeated incrediously.

"Porridge with honey. I am hungry," he repeated, meeting her gaze. Food. Food. More Sleep. More Work. He could fill his waking hours with useless things and everybody would be happy. 

Nesta just looked at him for a moment, then inclined her head.

"Porridge with honey. Alright," she agreed. Just a moment later a massive bowl of Porridge with honey drizzled on top, appeared on his bedside table, so hot it was steaming. Seemed like the house was in a mood to spoil him. He even got a whiff of cinnamon from it.

"Thank you," he thanked Nesta's creature aloud as the shadows fetched the bowl and held it up for him to eat a spoonful. "What are you reading?" he asked Nesta, changing the topic. 

She was polite enough not to say anything about it. 

Nesta held up her book. “The newest Sellyn Drake novel,” she replied.

"Is it any good?" he inquired, stirring his porridge gently.

“It’s brilliant," Nesta gushed, her eyes devoured the pages as soon as she looked down to continue reading.

"You seem to really like it," he pointed out, taking another bite of his porridge. "It is brilliant," Nesta agreed readily. “The plot is so intricate and twists and turns and the characters are so deep and complex and their emotions are so real and the romance is so...” she trailed off, blushing slightly.

He opened his mouth to respond...but then he heard her.

Mor. Of course.

He couldn’t deal with Mor. Not right now. But there she was, Rhys hot on her heels.

Nesta heard her too, rolling her eyes, curling back up on her chair, making it very clear that while she was going nowhere, she was letting him deal with it on her own. 

And he didn’t want to deal with Mor. 

But there she was. 

Mor came strolling into the room, her usual confident smile firmly in place. Rhys just looked at Azriel, his expression unreadable.

He didn't say it.  But Azriel knew. Behave. That’s all Rhys was telling him these days.  Either it was about Elain and Lucien...or about Mor and Emerie. Like Azriel would ever do anything to put that in jeopardy. Like Azriel was a jealous child that wouldn't allow Mor to be happy on her own terms. Like...

Azriel ignored the sharp pang of hurt that shot through him at Rhys's look.

Still it was better than looking at Mor…he couldn’t bear to look at Mor. 

 Didn't want to look at Mor, in her usual bright red, skin baring dress, that clung to all her curves...didn't want to look at the female he had spent centuries in love with even when he had known that she was never going to return his affections...it hadn't helped him. He had still been in love with her.

And he had still hoped...hoped against all hope that maybe...maybe there would be a time where she would return his affection...that maybe there would be a time where...

But there wouldn't. He knew. He knew. And he had still been in love with her.

Would have given damn near anything for her attention, for that broad smile on her face to be directed in his direction...would have given anything for her to bound over to his bedside and envelope him in her arms...to feel her soft skin against his as she hugged him fiercely, cinnamon and citrus enveloping him.

Now...now it felt like somebody was pouring salt into a gaping wound. Now it felt as painful as the fire and oil on his hands had. She was flaying him alive and she wasn’t even aware that she was hurting him. 

"How are you feeling, Az?" Mor's voice was gentle, concerned. He knew it was genuine, knew that Mor really cared about him. But he couldn't bring himself to look at her. Not when his heart was bleeding out just from the sound of her voice.

"Fine," he answered, his voice flat. "Nothing that sleep won't fix," he promised her, even as her hands fluttered around him as she sat down on his bedside...

She was so close. He could reach out and touch her, could feel the soft fabric of her dress against his fingertips. He clenched his fists, willing himself to keep his hands to himself.

But he couldn't help it. He looked up at her, meeting her eyes. He could see the concern there, the worry. He felt a pang of guilt for putting that look on her face. He didn't want to cause her any distress. 

"I'm just glad you are feeling better," Mor sighed, gently patting his arm. "You had us all worried for a moment there," she admitted softly.

Even just the touch of her hand felt like she was branding him. He wanted to flinch away and forced himself no to.

It was like a bittersweet poison, the way she touched him. It was so familiar, so comforting. But it was also so painful, a reminder of what he could never have.

He looked away, staring down at his hands. They were shaking, just a little. He clasped them together, the monstrous scars that covered them, standing out starkly.

The shadows trembled around him, pulling nearer, growing darker and Mor watched them with a raised eyebrow. "Worried, are they?" she teased him slightly.

*You are fine, Master,* the shadows promised him. *No more fire,* they promised him fiercely. But it didn’t help. He didn’t trust himself to speak without his voice cracking.

Mor seemed to sense his discomfort and stood up, her hand slipping from his arm. "Just rest and get better soon, alright?" she said softly, taking a step back.

"Thank you," he thanked her, his voice hoarse.

He risked a glance up at her, just a quick look. Her face was soft, her eyes filled with warmth. He felt his heart squeeze in his chest and he had to look away again. He wasn't sure how much more of this he could take.

"We should let him rest, Mor," Rhys said, giving Azriel another look.

"Right, right," Mor agreed, already turning towards the door. "Rest up, Az," she said again, giving him one last smile as she disappeared out the door.

Azriel felt a sense of relief wash over him as she left the room. 

Gone. Thank the cauldron. He couldn't take much more of her presence, not right now. 

He didn't even want to know why Rhys had accompanied her. Probably because he was worried that Azriel wasn't going to behave.

What was he supposed to do instead? Tell Mor about how much she had hurt him over the centuries? How she had given him jut enough scraps of her affection to make him yearn for more but never telling him that she didn’t love him like that? 

He wasn’t going to do that. 

He didn't want to look at Rhys right now, didn't want to face the scrutiny of his high lord's gaze. He just wanted to be left alone.

He knew that Rhys was watching him, that the male wanted to say something. But Azriel didn't want to hear it. He didn't want to hear the lecture, the warning. He just wanted to be left alone.

The room fell silent, except for the sound of his own breathing. He closed his eyes and sank deeper into the mattress. Maybe if he just pretended to sleep, Rhys would leave him alone.

"He's tired. You should let him sleep," Nesta said flatly.

Leave it to Nesta to tell Rhys to stuff it, he reflected weakly. He heard Rhys sigh, but he kept his eyes closed. And after a moment, he heard the sound of footsteps leaving the room.

He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, feeling a wave of relief wash over him. 

Alone. Safe. Mostly at least. 

Life went on. It always did.

The exhaustion went away after a few days... he caught up on Paperwork in the meantime. He sent the shadows off to find him one information or other and they didn't even bitch to him that badly, which told him that even they felt bad for him.

Behave. That’s all Rhys was telling him these days.

So he did. He behaved.

He did his job. He did everything Rhys could possibly want from his spymaster. 

He didn’t argue. He didn’t fight. He did his job and he trained and he did everyhting that was expected off him. 

And then he hadn’t tortured himself enough… and he went to visit Rosehall.

Where his mother lived.

Under the Mountains had it’s own kind consequences. This was one of them: His mother didn’t even want to talk to him anymore. 

50 years without him...and his mother had made herself a new family. A family that he wasn’t welcome in. A family that she wanted him nowhere near. He couldn’t fault her for it. Not at all.

She had been half a child when she had had him and it hadn’t been by choice.

So who could blame her for making a new family with people that weren’t as fucked up in the head as he was? Not Azriel.

Azriel didn’t blame her at all. Azriel left her in peace. He didn't reach out. He made sure that she was fine, that she had enough money to never worry about it and otherwise dissappeared from her life. 

His shadows kept an eye on her…He shored up the wards around Rosehall and caught a glimpse of her. And then he left it at that. She looked happy. That’s all he cared about.

Happy and safe and…she didn’t need him. She didn’t want him around her either, and he could understand that too.

And still, it hurt. It hurt so fucking much. 

But 

*You know the rules,* he told the shadows quietly. *You don’t need to report to me about her anymore. Keep an eye on her and only tell me if she is in danger or hurt.*

*Yes, Master,* they agreed readily. 

So he went back to the House of Wind. Back to Velaris…Back to work. 

He went back to his routine, back to his duties, back to his mask of indifference. He hid the pain behind his usual stoic facade, only letting his shadows know how much it hurt. He threw himself into his work, using it as a way to distract himself from his own loneliness.

And when he wasn't working, he would spend hours and hours in the training ring in the House of Wind, working himself to exhaustion. Anything to try and drown out the ache in his heart.

For gods sake, he even attended Elain and Lucien’s mating ceremony. And gifted them an appropriate gift. He behaved just like Rhys wanted him too.

He even summoned up a smile for them on their special day, hiding his own pain behind a mask of false happiness. He congratulated them both, feeling a pang in his chest at the sight of Elain's beaming face. But he didn’t let it show. He behaved. Like Rhys wanted him too.

He stayed for the whole thing. Stayed for the dancing, stayed for the feast. Stayed until he could physically take it no more. And then he had retreated to that training ring again, beating his pain and loneliness out on whatever dummy he could find.

He was so tired. Tired of hiding, tired of pretending. Tired of pretending like nothing was wrong. He wanted nothing more than to just scream and rage and shout and cry. But he didn’t. He held it all in. Bottled it up like he was so good at doing.

He was in the bathtub, sluicing off the sweat he was drenched in…shaking off his wings just because he could move them however he wanted to

*You should go out, Master,* the shadows suggested seriously. *Go out and find a female.*

He just snorted. *Not interested,* he sniped back harshly. *I am not getting my heart broken again.*

Everybody could just fuck off and leave him alone. Even when he was aching…aching for somebody in his life that loved him. For whom he could be everything. Somebody he could dote on. Somebody that wanted his attention, that wanted his love…that would like his ruined hands on their body and wasn’t paid to simply acccept it. 

*You could let us pick her!* the shadows suggested brightly.

His eyes snapped back open and he glared at the shadows swirling around the room. *Absolutely not,* he said firmly. *I mean it, you stay out of it.*

*We can’t do a worse job than you do,* they sniped at him. *Neither The Seer nor The Morrigan would have suited you at all.*

*Excuse me?!* 

*You heard us, Master,* the shadows said, sounding far too smug for their own good. *And you know it.*

Azriel just glared at them, feeling his temper start to rise. *I know I wasn’t good enough for them,* he snapped. *You don’t need to tell me that.*

*You think you weren’t good enough for them?!* The shadows asked him incredulously.

*They deserve better. So much better than me,* he said quietly. "I'm not good enough for either of them. Never was.*

What was he, after all? An Illyrian bastard? A monster? Either? Both? 

He had never said it out loud before, not even to himself. But in that moment, lying in the water, his heart so raw and exposed, he couldn't help but speak the truth that he had always known but never admitted to himself. "I'm not good enough for either of them," he repeated softly, the weight of his words settling heavily on his chest.

He knew it was true. Mor was a golden ray of light, the embodiment of beauty and grace. Elain was sweet and gentle and kind, a pure soul in a sea of darkness. 

And what was he? Damaged. Broken. Scarred. Inside and out.

He had done unspeakable things, things that would haunt his nightmares for centuries to come. He was nothing compared to them. He was darkness, they were light. And they deserved better than him, far better than him.

Even if he had loved Mor with every fiber of his being, even if he had yearned for her with every beat of his heart, even if he had dreamed of her every night, it didn't matter. It had never mattered. Because he wasn't good enough for her. And he never would be.

He wasn’t good enough for Elain. The mother hadn’t thought it to be prudent to make them mates. Both of his brother had been gifted with a mating bond, but not him. That should tell him everything he needed to know abotu the state of his own soul. 

So why…why should he even try anymore. 

Why shouldn’t he just stew in his own misery, alone and heartbroken and a monster and expect everybody to just leave him alone? There was no point of putting himself out there again. There was nothing out there for him. Nothing but more pain.​​

So he closed his eyes again, sinking lower into the water, letting the warmth soothe his aching muscles. He let out a long sigh, his mind already racing with thoughts of his next missions, his next assignments. Because that was all that really mattered now. His job. His duties. His responsibilities. That was all he had left.

Behave. That’s all he was good for. 

*Alright, that’s fucking enough,* the shadows snapped. *You are not letting The High Lord talk to you like that any longer, Master.*

Azriel was so surprised by their fucking vehemence that he could just stare at them. 

*The Morrigan used you for centuries to make herself feel better about herself,* the shadows snapped. *She used the feelings you had for her and that she was very much aware of to strangle you and keep you in line.*

Azriel swallowed. He knew they were right. He knew that Mor had used his feelings for her for a long time. She had led him on, given him false hope, only to yank it away time and time again. It had been a painful cycle, one that had left him feeling used and broken and worthless.

*She could have stopped at any time but she never did,* the shadows hissed. *But instead she hurt you on purpose. Instead of turning you down, she slept with other males to show you that you would never have her!*

Azriel felt bile rise in the back of his throat. Mor had flaunted her other lovers in front of him, making it clear that he would never be enough for her. She had used his devotion to her as a weapon against him, wielding it whenever it suited her needs. And he had let her. He had been foolish, desperate enough to cling onto any scrap of affection she might throw his way.

*And The Seer?! Granted she has never done that, but her feelings for you weren’t particular deep when she replaced you on her affections with The Fox as soon as you weren’t available anymore! If she had cared, truly cared, she would have thought about what happened during Winter Solstice,* the shadows snapped.

*And The High Lord? Don’t even let us get started on him,* the shadows snapped. *You haven’t even done anything since that Winter Solstice, and he keeps behaving like some kind of despotic Overlord, worried that his orders won’t be followed. If you wanted to punch him in the face, you probably had every right to it,* they mumbled.

Azriel couldn’t help but snort. 

*You deserve better, Master,* The shadows told him fiercely. *You deserve somebody that loves you.* 

. He wanted to believe the shadows. He wanted to believe that he was good enough, that he deserved more. But the scars on his body and the memories in his mind told him otherwise. He had done terrible things, things that he could never undo. How could someone like that be good enough for anyone?

*Alright,* he finally agreed weakly. *Find me a house,* he told the shadows, as he closed his eyes.

*A house? What kind of house?* the shadows gave back, sounding surprised.

*A house,* he repeated. *A home. Somewhere in Velaris. Find me a home.* Something that could just be his.

A home. The idea sent a flutter through his stomach. He had never…never truly had a home. Had something that could just be his and nobody else’s. Just…a place that was his, where he could be whoever he wanted, where he was accepted and loved...it was appealing. Maybe even more than just appealing.

He closed his eyes, picturing it in his mind. A cozy little house, just large enough for himself. Warm and cozy and filled with light.

*That’s what a male needs to take a wife after all, right?* He asked, a flicker of uncertainty crossed his face. Was that what he should want? What he was supposed to want? He had never really thought about getting married before. But now, at the mention of it, he couldn't help but feel a pang of longing. A wife...a family...love and companionship. It all sounded so…so nice.

*You want to get married, Master?* the shadows asked curioulsy. *To whom?*

*You pick,* he told the shadows. They swarmed out in pure excitment. Azriel couldn’t even remmeebr the last time they had been so excited. 

He couldn't help but chuckle at their reaction. Maybe they would do a better job than him. At least they could probably sieve out females that were in a romantic relationship or preferred females themselves. 

*Find me somebody that I could make happy. Somebody that….Somebody that could want me.* Some long-suffering female for whom Azriel could maybe try to be enough. Somebody that would love him.

*What should she look like?* they asked seriously.

*I don’t care. Find me somebody that loves me and she’ll be the most beautiful female to me anyway.*

[lucysarah1875]

I headcanon the mounting spring MC using some sexual terms not knowing they're, well, sexual due to her upbringing, and just casually using them with Levi while he's just flabbergasted. Example 1:

"Can you give me backshots?"

"...what?!"

"Back massage? I have a terrible ache from riding in the cart."

"..."

Example 2:

"Stop being so stubborn and let me give you head!"

"Excuse me?!"

"Head? You know, like advice or opinion?"

"What the actual fuck are you talking about? Don't say that to anyone else."

Example 3:

"Oh, I'm really craving a good creampie right now. Can you arrange for it?"

Levi, trying not to smirk, "I'll give you as many as you want next spring."

"???"

And maybe she heard something about husbands giving their wives "facials" or "pearl necklaces" and asks him about it? And another joke that you added in Holy ground about "eating out" and "making out", yeah that was really good as well XD I absolutely love "miscommunication" and "misunderstandings" like these hehe

HAHAHAHAHA You know... great minds think alike because THIS IS AN SCENE OF THE UPCOMING CHAPTER HAHA:

Levi shoved the itchy gray blanket higher over his shoulder with a decisive tug, like he was drawing a line—marking the end of whatever pushy conversation she thought she could keep going. His bare legs stuck out the bottom—he’d long given up on staying fully dressed in this godforsaken heat, modesty has lost the battle—but ditching the blanket altogether felt like surrendering to the cold. That was too much. Some things just made sense, even if they didn’t.

One arm folded beneath his head, his face turned away from her, eyes squeezed shut with deliberate force, his brows deeply furrowed. He wasn’t asleep—anyone could tell—but he was clearly committed to faking it. Or at least, forcing the night to end by sheer will. Mostly, he was hoping she’d get the message.

“Levi…” she called out again.

“Go to sleep,” he muttered, each word bitten off and heavy with exhaustion. Her persistence was wearing him down, strand by strand, like a fraying rope.

“But I need to ask you something…” She shifted upright slightly. Her voice had that unmistakable pouty tone—he could practically hear the lip quivering.

“Ask me in the morning.”

“But—” she protested, voice smaller now, embarrassed.

He groaned into the blanket. “For the love of—what could possibly be so important that it can’t wait till sunrise?”

Her voice dipped into a sheepish murmur. “It’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you…”

His brow twitched. Levi let out a longer breath, then scoffed. “And it just had to be asked at three in the damn morning? In a tent?”

“…Kinda.”

The awkward silence that followed was laced with too much emotion to ignore. He cracked one eye open and glanced over his shoulder. She was sitting up now, fiddling with her fingers and looking away.

‘…She’s kinda cute like that,’ he thought grimly, and instantly regretted it.

“I wanted to ask you in private,” she murmured.

Levi propped himself up on an elbow, gaze sharpening. Whatever this was, she clearly wasn’t going to drop it.

“What?” he asked, already annoyed, but clearly listening.

“Well, since you're my husband now and all… I guess it should be you who teaches me.” She was dancing around the words like they were hot coals, and that irritated him even more. He clicked his tongue. “I want to ride.”

His brain shut off.

“…What?”

“It was Hange idea!”

It’s just that his brain had already gone places. Dangerous, sweaty, deeply inappropriate places.

“I want you, as my husband, to teach me how to ride. I don’t really know how to do it, and I’m kinda ashamed, but I thought if I felt a little bit in control, I might be willing to try new things—”

Her awkward stammering was cut off by his sharp interruption, voice rough and suddenly tight.

“Riding what?” he cut in, voice suddenly dry and a little panicked, because his brain was already passing down all the decisions and thinking to his other head.

‘She’s that ready? I mean… I do prefer to be on top, but—shit, for a virgin, she’s eager but I guess it's easier for a virgin to see how much deep they want to go? And here? In a tent? I mean, I won’t be the first to do it like this, but… damn, I thought she'd want a bed at least.’

‘Not that I’m complaining, though.’

“A horse,” she said flatly, frowning at him like he was the idiot. What else is there to ride?”

All the tingling heat rushing down his spine screeched to a stop. His body had been seconds away from betraying him—his scent, his posture, everything had been more than ready to jump the gun. He was even ashamed of how quickly his own body betrayed him giving away a “I’m more than ready,” scent.

“Well,” he muttered under his breath, “I could think of a few things…”

She sniffed. “Wait. Why do you smell like that?”

“Go to bed, for fuck’s sake,” he growled, flipping back over and yanking the blanket high enough to bury half his face.

“Are you going to teach me or not?” A muffled thud followed, along with her yelp: “Don’t hit me with a pillow!”

“Shut up!” Levi hissed. “You’re gonna wake the whole damn camp!”

I AM 100% taking your ideas into consideration and they will be debated with the council (me).

[chaoticdreamersthings]

Glimpse of us - Part 4

No tears left to cry

!!!WARNING! RPF BELOW!!!

Pairing: Joost x Fem Reader

Description: Months after the party, you and Joost meet again, and he asks for one last chance.

Please read the previous chapters for context

Warnings: angst, that’s a heartbreaking chapter, I am so bad at labeling my own stuff I’m so sorry

Author’s note: the last part!! Thank u to everyone who read it, I hope you liked it! Please reblog my work if you like it!!

Also maybeeeee…. MAYBE I have an idea for a sequel

Word count: 5.5 k

Part: 4/4

PART 1 || PART 2 || PART 3

You watch the red leaves falling slowly from the trees as you sit at your desk, trying to write something for work. Instead of being productive, you have a whole breakdown in your head, thinking about how fast time goes — how it was just summer, and now you’re here, wrapped in the coziest sweater you own, wondering how many Mondays are left until Christmas. The last few months have been anything but calm, yet you still feel a little disappointed, as you thought you would have more going on in your life by now. The thought of going back to your home country has crossed your mind more than once, but you’ve gotten so used to living here, that you couldn’t bring yourself to move. The lack of love life was one of the reasons you feel like there’s nothing more for you in Amsterdam, but the great friendships are definitely something keeping you here.

It’s been four months since the day Joost walked out of your apartment, and in all those months there hasn’t been a single word from him. Not even a single message, not even a drunk call. You knew this would happen, but it still didn’t stop you from spending the next day crying on the floor with a bottle of wine, still hoping for at least a glimpse of him: a drunk late-night message or a surprise appearance at one of the places you usually go. But nothing came. Just the quiet ache of waiting for someone who had already left.

He had never gone this long without talking to you, so you finally came to terms with the fact that maybe this was actually the end. This time, however, you didn’t reach out. You didn’t send the first message, didn’t break the silence with hope. You just accepted that even after the intimate weekend you shared, he still couldn’t bring himself to show up in the way you needed. And if that wasn’t enough to make him change, then you doubt anything ever will.

Clara opens the door - you hadn’t bothered locking in, knowing she was on her way. She takes one look at you, you and shakes your head. She’s seen you in situations like that so many times. And though a part of you feels pathetic, you know there’s no one else you would ever let see you in this state.

“Come on, baby” she says softly, sits next to you “You can’t let him do this to you every time, Y/N. He was nice that night, he took care of us, stepped in before we talked to that fucking creep — but that doesn’t mean you can invite him over and play house, like you’re some perfect little couple.” she looks at you with sadness in her eyes. “You’ve got to hold on to your decisions. I know it’s hard, but you can’t keep tossing them aside the moment he shows up.” 

You can hear the guilt in her voice — she knows she shouldn’t have let herself get that drunk, not with him around - shouldn’t have left you so vulnerable, going back to his arms. She liked Joost �� everyone did — but the intense emotional crashes he left you with were something she couldn’t accept. And she just couldn’t keep watching you suffer because of him.

“I know” you say, your voice weak. Every word she says — you know it. You’ve heard it a hundred times, from her, from others, from that quiet voice inside your own head. But it still doesn’t change the fact that in that moment nothing could have stopped you. Because when those light blue eyes were piercing through you, nothing else existed. It was just you and him. You always let the hope that this time it would be different win over your rational side. You were always ready to let go off your boundaries if it meant holding on to even the smallest chance with him. 

God, that sounds pathetic. You’re pathetic. You look at Clara, trying to read her face, wondering if that’s what she thinks too, if deep down, she’s tired of seeing you like this. But if she is, she hides it well — her eyes hold no judgement. 

“Fuck, why does he have to be such a dick? You two were perfect together, but every time it gets too good, he just shits all over it. I don’t get it.” She shakes her head and takes the wine bottle from your hand, taking a long sip before continuing.

“I was really rooting for you two. From the very beginning — since the day you met him at that club.” She sighs. “But you deserve better. I don’t think he’s a bad guy, but he’s just not good enough. Not for you. He’s not bad but you… you’re AMAZING. You deserve someone who worships the ground you walk on. Someone who treats you like a princess, like a treasure he’s afraid of losing. And he doesn’t.” She shakes her head “And he should! You know what I mean?”

You didn’t know why he acted that way either, but you’d stopped trying to understand him. In the beginning, when problems between you first started, you tried to talk about it — tried to suggest reasons for his behavior — but each attempt only seemed to push him further away. So you stopped. Stopped bringing it up, and eventually, even stopped thinking about it. You accepted things the way they were: him, unable to change the parts of himself that were slowly destroying your relationship - until it all fell apart. 

None of it had to happen. If he’d addressed the issue from the beginning — his fear of commitment, his tendency to disappear whenever the conversation turned to the future or anything remotely serious — it might have been different. But instead, he’d vanish for days after every difficult conversation, then return like nothing had happened. And every time, you forgave him. That cycle went on for months.

“I’m just… so disappointed, you know?” You whisper, resting your head on her shoulder. At least she is able to offer you the kind of quiet comfort that asks for nothing in return. It’s not the same as him — but it’s something. You have no idea what you’d do without this girl.

“I know” she says, gently wrapping her arm around your shoulders. „But we’ll get through it together, okay? I hate seeing you cry over him, but if that’s what it takes, I’ll wipe your tears a thousand times.” She gives you a pale smile, and you return it. “You did the same for me.” She says quietly.  “I remember.” 

Before, every memory of him made your heart race, and tears would sting your eyes. But this time, something was different. That afternoon you and Clara chugged two bottles of wine and fell asleep on the floor watching Sex and the city and ranted about how much you hate men — that was the only time you cried about it. 

The next day, you felt completely dry, like there was nothing left to cry with. Maybe, as Miss Ariana Grande once said, you really had no tears left to cry. Maybe there’s a limit to how much disappointment one person could cause, and he had finally reached it. Whatever the reason, you left it behind that day. And for the first time, you didn’t look back.

You didn’t even think about him that much anymore. Now and then something small would spark a memory — his laugh, a place you used to go, a song — and a soft wave of sadness would pass through you. But it was a different kind of sadness. You didn’t cling to the idea of him being the love of your life. You didn’t lie awake hoping he’d call, not even in the middle of the night. You didn’t wish for an accidental meeting on a street corner or in your favorite cafe. 

You didn’t think about the sex, or the romantic things he used to do. When a memory flickered, you slowly redirected your thoughts. You missed him the way you miss an old friend who was close for a while —  before she drifted away, or turned out to be not quite the person you thought she was.

You could see it now for what it was: something that felt good for a time, but could never be what you once believed. And maybe that clarity was the key. You couldn’t even imagine him back in your life anymore. The damage was too great, the wounds too deep, and your resentment was too strong. It was over — not in the dramatic, romantic sense — but in a final, irreversible way. And as painful as that truth was, you knew now that you could survive without him. More than that — you knew you’d be better off.

The workday finally comes to an end. You close your laptop, stretch your arms toward the ceiling and decide to get some air. A walk, a coffee, and a donut from your favorite bakery — small things, but they always made you feel better. The weekend is approaching and you have some plans with your friends — maybe you’ll even agree to that date that the Tinder guy suggested. 

You’ve already been on two dates. They didn’t lead anywhere, but they gave you a sense of moving on — something you desperately needed. And more than anything, they confirmed that this time, it really is different.

The sky is already getting darker — you hate how in fall the sunlight fades so early. It always makes you feel a bit more nostalgic and down, giving you too much time alone with your thoughts. And lately, that’s exactly what you’ve been trying to avoid - especially after that party few months ago.

The walk to the bakery isn’t long, but it starts to rain on the way back. Of course it does, you think. It’s Amsterdam. You really should have seen it coming. You take off your jacket and throw it over your head, regretting not bringing an umbrella. You focus on getting home as dry as possible, though you already know that’s a lost cause. Thank God you didn’t have any other plans tonight. Just a quiet evening ahead, a blanket, some trashy reality TV, and the sweet reward of a donut that somehow survived the rain.

You reach your building and are just about to take the stairs when you a familiar voice pulls you out of your thoughts.

“Y/N” 

You look up, frozen in place. You hadn’t been paying attention to anything around you — you just wanted to get home and out of your wet clothes. But here you are, face to face with those blue eyes again. He’s completely soaked, his blonde hair dripping, droplets hanging from the tip of his nose. Being from here, he should’ve known to bring an umbrella — but maybe the dramatic effect was part of his plan to make you forgive him.

“No” you say, loud and firm, before he even has the chance to say anything more than your name. You shake your head in disapproval. You didn’t spend all these months without him for nothing. You won’t let him get into your head again, won’t let him disappoint you again, or make you do things you’ll regret again all over again.

“Y/N…” he repeats, trying to reach for your hand, but you take it away, like it’s been burned. Damn him! Who does he think he is — showing up like this without a warning? Not a message, not a call. What did he expect? That you’d fall into his arms again? That you’ll forget the months of silence, of absence, of everything he broke and never cared to fix? 

Whatever he’s here for — sex, some half-hearted apology, or a delusional idea of picking up where you left off — it doesn’t matter. It’s too late. Way too late. You feel the anger rising in your chest and for the first time, you realize — it really is different now. You don’t want his attention. You just feel pure, burning resentment.

“No. We are not doing this. Go away. And don’t come here again” you say, your voice filled with hurt, disappointment and anger. You’re furious, but you won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you scream or cry, Not this time. You’re done being the girl who breaks apart in front of him. Today, you keep it cold. This time, you’re walking away, and you’re doing it dry-eyed, and absolutely sure. 

“Come on… i know you want to…” you stare at him as those words leave his mouth. And he has the audacity to say he knows you want to? That’s how low he thinks of you. That he can show up out of nowhere and tell you what you want — like you’re some stupid girl he can manipulate with a few words. That motherfucker. 

“I don’t want shit from you. Not anymore. Please, move off the stairs and let me go home.” The words come out colder than you expected, and you’re sure he notices it — as he should. You’re not having any of his bullshit today. You won’t give him an inch of room to talk you into anything. You’re standing your ground, showing him that things are not how they used to be.

“Listen to me… i came to…” his voice is shaking, losing all his confidence. 

He didn’t expect that reaction, you can see it in his eyes. He thought a little sweet talk, maybe some gentleness and vulnerability, would be enough to pull you back in. But it’s not working. 

It’s not that you’re angrier than ever. There were so many times you cried and yelled, when your fights escalated to ridiculous proportions. But this time? This time, there’s only cold detachment. You’re over it. And he's never seen you like this. And that scares him more than anything else. For the first time, he gets the feeling that he might have lost you for good. 

“I don’t give a fuck what you came here for! Leave me alone” you try to pass, but he doesn’t let you. For a brief moment, you consider hitting him in the face — he deserves it for all the hurt he’s put you through, and you know deep down, he’d probably agree. But you don’t believe in violence. You don’t want to give him any sign of losing control. 

You look at him instead, his hands raised, his eyes wide, begging for something — for your attention, your forgiveness, anything. Oh, how the tables have turned. It used to be you, trying to manipulate him into staying, desperate to hold onto whatever scraps of him you could. And now it’s him, begging for something he’ll never get from you again.

And then you laugh. But it’s not just a laugh. It’s a dark, bitter sound — filled with all he resentment you’ve been carrying for so long. You can’t help it. It’s the one response to how ridiculous this entire situation is. You’ve spent all this time in the same endless cycle — crying, trying to heal your broken heart, only for him to show up, promising you the world, and then disappearing without a trace. 

It’s a joke. He leaves, comes back, leaves again, and you’re stuck in this never-ending story. How funny, how ironic is that you got everything you thought you wanted, but now you don’t want it anymore.

“You scare me.” He says, his voice barely a whisper.

“Yeah? Good. I should scare you.” You’ve never been this bold with him before. But something inside of you has snapped, and now there’s nothing left for him. No more chances. 

You stand there, looking at him, watching as his beautiful blue eyes lose their power over you. That hold he once had on you? It’s gone. Completely. And for the first time in a long time, you realize that it’s something you never thought could happen. But here you are.

You’re soaked through, your clothes sticking to your skin, but you don’t care. The rain doesn’t matter anymore. All that matters now is getting to your apartment and forgetting this ever happened.

“Y/N, just listen to me, please, then you can hate me and never speak to me again, but…” he says, his voice desperate, but you don’t let him get any closer.

You step back, your hands raised, a clear boundary between you.

“No, Joost.” You say firmly “There’s nothing more to say. I’ve heard it all before. You don’t get to make your excuses, and you don’t get to have another chance.” There’s not even a sign of hesitation in your words. 

“Please, just let me…” he says, reaching for your hand, but you pull it away again. “I love you, please…” his voice is shaky, filled with desperation. You see him panic — his usual charm and control are going away, realizing nothing he says is working on you anymore. He never thought he’d see you like this.

You look at him, and you can’t believe it — but he looks pathetic to you. Tears in his eyes, a desperate grip on your hand. You were not the only pathetic one in the relationship between you two, though you always saw yourself as the one desperately clinging on. You feel a little sorry for him, but he brought it on himself. 

That night — that last night you spent together — you begged him to stay. You opened up, let your bare emotions speak, showed him how much he meant to you and how badly you wanted things to work. For months after the breakup you hoped he would come back, apologize, beg. That he would stand exactly like this in front of you. 

But now it’s too late, it’s not romantic or heartwarming. It’s a pathetic attempt to crawl back to hurt you again. There’s nothing left. You don’t believe him anymore, and nothing he could say would change that.

“Who do you think you are?” You say — not loud, not trembling, just calm and controlled “How many more times are you going to do this? I don’t want to be on this rollercoaster forever. I don’t want to keep waiting for you to come back, or constantly live in fear that you’ll disappear without a word, or tell me out of nowhere that you can’t do this, or you don’t want it, or whatever else it is this time. I’m sorry. I know you have unresolved issues, I know you’re struggling with things you don’t even say out loud — but I can’t keep hurting myself because of that.” 

People passing by glance at the two of you, some look concern, others just curious. You wonder what it must look like from the outside. Dramatic? Messy? Pathetic?

“I’m not doing that. I won’t let you do the same thing to me again. Because I know it won’t stop. I asked too many times. You never listened.”  

A sudden sadness creeps into your voice as you remember how much you actually wanted him to be the one, and how many things you let slide before - things you shouldn’t have. You really loved him - and in a way, you still do. But a real partner, someone who truly loves you, should give more than just hot and cold behavior. 

“It’s different now, I started working on it and…” you cut him off before he can go further — you already know what comes after that. 

“You think a few months of self-work can undo years of damage? That in four months, you’ve somehow become the man I spent all that time waiting for? I doubt that.” You shrug. “It doesn’t matter anyway. I’m not able to forgive you for what you’ve done. That last time I really hoped… I really hoped you’d stay.” Your voice softens, almost breaking under the weight of that memory. It weighs on you — not just because he left, but because you let yourself believe he wouldn’t. Every time he killed your hope, it hurt more than the one before.

“No, I’m trying., for you I…” he sounds so desperate you feel a mix of embarrassment and sadness for him.

“I don’t want you to do that for me. Do it for yourself. But this” you point your finger at him, and then at yourself “this is over. I’m done.” You sigh. “I'm really sorry.” 

And you are. Sorry that something so full of potential, something that once felt destined, was ruined not by lack of love, but by his inability to nurture it. Sorry for how this story ended — because it had everything it needed to become a beautiful love story with a happy ending. But he was the one who wrote a different, disappointing and sad one.

“Y/N, please…” you see the desperation in his eyes, and you can’t help but feel bad for him. You know the feelings he has are real. But it doesn’t matter. Not anymore. You felt that way a thousand times, just like that last night you spent together. He still left, even seeing how vulnerable you were, how you showed your feelings without any hesitation. You can’t keep putting him first - his needs can’t always come before yours, no matter how much you love him and want it to work.

“No” you hear your voice crack, the weight of letting him go finally sinking in. It was inevitable, but letting go meant releasing so many other emotions that were tied to him, the first person you truly loved. And even though you knew it had to happen, it still hurt more than anything that had ever happened to you.

You thought you were over this. You thought you were ready to leave him and never look back, but as sure as you were of your decision, you realized it wasn’t as easy as you imagined. His vulnerability, the way he confessed his feelings without you asking for it, was unexpected. It’s something he didn’t usually do. As much as it made you want to cry, you remained certain that letting him go was the only way forward. Even if it felt like your heart was breaking into a thousand pieces, you knew it was the right thing to do.

“Is that your final word?” He asks, still a hint of hope in his voice. You can barely stand it. You wish you could disappear, wrap yourself in the comfort of your bed, bury your face in a blanket, and never speak to anyone again. But you know this needed to be done. You owe it to yourself to get that closure, even if it means you‘ll be drowning in sadness for the next few days — or weeks.

“Yes” you say quietly, all your confidence slipping away. The thought of him actually leaving, not begging for another chance, and never coming back terrifies you. You didn’t want to do it — but there’s no turning back now. You made your decision and now you have to face everything that comes with it.

“So look in my eyes and tell me you don’t love me” he says, his voice trembling with desperation. You recognize it for what it is - last one, toxic attempt to hold on. And yet you can’t deny that you’ve done the same before. You’ve stood in his place, begging for words, begging for a sign, while he looked away, unable to meet your eyes. Now, it’s you who looks to the side, avoiding his gaze. You can’t answer that question — not honestly. Not because you don’t feel anything, but because you do. But the feelings can’t erase the damage or make staying any healthier.

“I’m not doing that.” You say quietly. It wouldn’t be fair — to him, to you. And deep down, you know he understands that too. 

“You see? You do love me. Why won’t you just… give me a chance?” His voice trembles, and he looks like he’s on the verge of crying. You’re not sure how much more of this you can take. If he cries, really cries, you’re not sure you’ll be able to keep pretending you’re untouched by this. 

“Because I already did. You had endless chances, Joost. Every time you came back, I gave you another chance. And each time I was disappointed. I love you so much it’s destroying me. But I don’t want that anymore. I don’t want to be destroyed. I want peace. I want stability. I want to be with someone who doesn’t make me question their love every day — who doesn’t pull me close only to push me away the next morning. I’m done. I’m sorry.” You try to stay calm, but all the emotions from the past are boiling inside you. You’re close to crying too, but you focus on your breath, holding the tears back.

“I won’t…” he starts, but you cut him off.

“You will.” You interrupt him gently. “I know you think you won’t now, I think you mean it. But it ’s happened too many times for me to trust that. Even if this time was different — even if you never left again — I’d still wake up every day scared that you might leave, or decide — again — that we shouldn’t be together.  You’ve done it so many times, Joost, I can’t even remember what it felt like to be with you without the fear hanging over me.”

You take his hand — not because you’re second guessing, but because If this is goodbye, you don’t want it to end in anger or be filled with words you’ll regret tomorrow. You owe him at least that — a proper goodbye. Your love story deserves a gentle ending. 

“I love you” you say softly “but this… this will be the best for both of us.” 

You try to smile, but it looks more like a grimace. No one warned you it would be this hard. No one told you that you would have to be the strong one — the one who walks away.

“I’m sorry.” He finally says quietly, and pulls you in for a hug. 

You resist at first, but when you see the tears shinning in his eyes, you let yourself give in. You step closer and let him hold you tightly. It feels just like It always did — safe, familiar. You rest your forehead against his chest, close your eyes and take a deep breath. That same vanilla cologne mixed with cigarette smoke fills your lungs, a scent so distinctly him you’d recognize it anywhere in the world. It’s a scent of a thousand memories, of nights you thought would last forever, of heartbreak and comfort tangled together. His arms still give you that sense of belonging, but this time you know — it’s the last. Your heart doesn’t scream take him back. This is closure — not reconciliation. Even as the warmth of him fills you, even as his hand gently presses to your soaked back, you don’t feel the urge to stay. There’s no spark of hope, no craving for one more chance. Just a quiet certainty that it’s over.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers, his voice trembling “For all the times that I hurt you, all the times that I disappointed you, all the times you cried because of me… it was never my intention, I’m just fucked up like that, you know?” 

He doesn’t meet your eyes, and you don’t force him to. You still press your head to his chest, taking in the familiar scent of him, listening to the rhythm of his heartbeat — it somehow grounds you, offering a moment of calm in the chaos. His words sting, but you know you need to hear them. He needs to say them. 

“I know it’s too late, and I can’t do anything to fix it, but believe me — I would. I’d do anything to go back in time and fix it” his voice cracks, and your eyes start to fill with tears again. You blink fast, trying to stop them from falling. “I was scared” he admits, and this time, he almost chokes on it. “Terrified, actually. Of how deep my feelings for you were. I was scared of how close we got. I was scared of how much you loved me. Every time you looked at me like I was your whole world, or told me you wanted to be with me forever… I just froze. I didn’t feel worthy of that love. I didn’t know what to do with it.” He pauses.

“I’m so sorry, I fucked that up.” You feel the pain in his words — real, raw — but you also know: no matter how much you understand him, this time, you have to choose yourself.

You waited a long time for this apology — but now that it finally came, it didn’t bring any relief. In fact, you didn’t feel much at all. You were at peace with your decision, and taking him back wouldn’t make things right. As much as you still wished the best for him, you knew you couldn’t lose yourself in that relationship again.

“Well… it’s done now.” You say, your voice barely above whisper. You want to hold him and tell him that everything will be alright — but it won’t be, and you both know it. “I’m sorry too. Maybe I pushed you too hard. I just… I really wanted us to work.” 

You close your eyes, and lean into his tall body, letting yourself sink into the comfort of his arms one last time.

“We still can…” he whispers. You feel his arms tighten around you, just slightly, as if he’s trying to hold on to the possibility of keeping you. 

“No.” 

You pull away, just enough to look at him. His light blue eyes shimmer with tears, his soaked hair clinging to his forehead — somehow you hadn’t even noticed the rain has stopped. He’s still holding your hand tightly, not ready to let go, even though he knows he must. You’re not going to look back, and he can’t make you stay. 

Why was it so hard? You know what you have to do, but each glance at him, every memory that flashes through your mind, cuts open a new wound in your heart.

You move in slightly, just enough to softly press your lips to his. It’s a gently kiss, barely there. For a moment, you feel the pull — the temptation to deepen it, to lose yourself in him again with a long, passionate kiss. But you stop yourself. You know exactly where that would lead, and you can’t afford to go there. Clara was right — what you need now is willpower.

“Goodbye, Joost” you whisper, gently pulling your hand from his as you turn and walk toward the entrance of your building. Every step feels like you’re cutting your heart open, like you’re the one holding the knife and twisting it deeper. This wound won’t heal quickly. 

The way up to your apartment is a blur — your emotions are boiling over, leaving you numb to everything around you. You finally reach your door, grip the handle, step inside, and shut it behind you. The moment it closes, the tears come. You weren’t ready for this wave of emotion, for seeing him again. You’ve made so much progress, but nothing could’ve prepared you for facing the person you once called the love of your life. It was a final goodbye — one you never truly believed would come. And now, your tears carry all that weight. You don’t expect them to stop anytime soon. 

As much as you loved him, as much as you wanted to do what he asked — try again, be together, happy and in love — you knew it will not happen. You didn’t believe he could keep his promise. 

Maybe someday, somewhere down the line, your paths will cross again, and you’ll find each other changed but still in love. Maybe… just maybe… this isn’t the final chapter. 

This wasn’t the right mindset to have. The next step toward being okay was letting yourself believe that love still existed — just not with him. And if the two of you were truly meant to be, life would find a way to bring him back.

You hated to admit it, but no matter how hard you tried to push it aside, a small part of you still secretly hoped it might happen.

[asapeveryday]

SHOCK FACTOR★彡 Part 1

Next Chapter.

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Rival!Reader

Warnings: swearing

Summary: After a close game and a couple bad decisions, the media has pitted you and Paige against each other. When you finally meet off the court you’re not sure what to expect…

A/n: got many requests for some sort of rival player type-thing!!! I combined some ideas to please the masses :) there will be more parts obv. This chap is pretty long so sorry for that!!

___________________________________________________________

“This question here is for Paige again. Now, is there anything you have to say about the little altercation near the end of the third quarter with number 3 on USC? it was quite a tense moment!”

The blonde smirks to herself, her hand rubbing her forehead. “There ain’t much to say. I went for the ball and obviously she did too. I’m not tryna give anything up, I jus personally think I got it first but that doesn’t matter anymore.” She shrugs. “Thas it.”

There’s a pause for a moment, before she opens her mouth again. “I will say though, ion have much patience for players who can’t control their language.”

Her teammates share looks at this comment, and the reporters attempt to press further but Geno ensures Paige doesn’t talk for the rest of the press conference.

“(Name) how many times have you watched this fuckin video.” JuJu comes up from behind you, scaring the shit out of you and snapping you back to reality.

“I haven’t watched it that much.” You roll your eyes. “I just…never mind.”

“It’s time to move on, shit like this happens. Jus gotta keep on that grind.” She says, sitting down beside you. Despite being a freshman, Juju was naturally mature. You and her had become a popular junior/freshman duo both on and off the court. You pushed her harder and she kept you on your toes.

“I’m moved on.” You huff.

“No you’re not…look at yo hands gripping your phone.” She laughs and you roll your eyes.

The issue wasn’t the prolonged tussle for the ball when your team played UConn, it wasn’t Paige barely regarding you, or her shading the occasional curse you’d let slip during a game. These things all fuelled what really was bothering you. The way you responded.

TWO WEEKS EARLIER, POST UCONN GAME

“Where’s JuJu? Prolly eating or something she’s lowkey a big back.”

You laugh at your roommates response to the question. It had been a weird couple of days since USC faced UConn, usually there wasn’t a lot of buzz around women’s college games but this year was different. The media was all up on everyone, especially UConn since Paige returned in better health for her senior year. You decided to go live to have some fun and interact with your viewers, even though your mind was elsewhere.

“What were your thoughts on how you guys played Connecticut?” You read aloud from the chat. “Um, they’re great. I mean it was pretty close. Me and the girls did what we could and we’re gonna kill it next year, so.” You say, perfectly passive and normal. In your head you were furious at how close the game had been, but there was nothing you could do.

Near the end of the third quarter, you and Paige had a little tussle for possession of the ball. You could’ve sworn you’d gotten it before pale skinned hands darted out for the grab, almost stealing it from you before your instincts kicked in and managed your grip. You vividly remember the yells from teammates, coaches and the stands as you and Paige momentarily wrestled for the ball, her tongue sticking out between her lips and her eyes determined before number 3 on her team tore her away.

Grazing your hand against hers at the end of the game was humiliating, and she was undoubtedly looking forward to it; holding your fingers a moment too long before letting out the most agitating, self-fulfilled “good game” with a smile that would’ve warranted a punch to her teeth had you not been on camera.

You didn’t bother to smile back, but muttered a perfectly timed “bitch” just as her hand let go of yours. Nobody heard it except you and her, and the subtle change in expression from haughty to straight faced was a beautiful sight for sore eyes.

“They keep asking about the thing with Paige.” Your roomie reads, and you shove her. “Bro why’d you say that out loud…now I have to address it.” You whisper to her, annoyed. She wasn’t on the team, and didn’t think about things like that.

She shoots an apologetic look, and you decide to act like nothing happened. The damage is done though, because now all the comments are about Paige.

“You handled the press good after.”

“If I was you I would’ve taken it off the court ngl”

“You were wrong for that!”

“What happened with Paige???”

“The way she was looking at u after….mm”

“Did you see what she said on the panel?”

Scanning through the various questions you found it harder and harder to not think about it. Basketball is a contact sport, things like a fight for the ball weren’t rare. Sure it was a little aggressive, but nothing you weren’t ready for. Paige seemed ready herself, her hands gripping the already-in-your-grasp ball, her eyes shooting you the coldest look they could muster. You’d already seen edits of her all over social media, tousling with you for a moment before being dragged off by Aaliyah.

JuJu walks into your dorm and sits next to you, reading the comments as well. She slightly shakes her head at all the mentions of Paige, but greets the chat nevertheless.

Fuck it. It’s late night, you’ve been getting annoyed by all of this attention on Paige and you, and people weren’t gonna forget about it anytime soon. One comment won’t hurt.

“Did I see what Paige said on the panel?” You read out loud. JuJu shoots you a look. “Yeah…I did. ” You say, suspicious as possible. “Ion know…i jus don’t have much patience for that swiper no swiping shihhh…..stuff.” You mock Paige, then catch yourself before fully saying shit. Two digs at the blonde at UConn in one sentence, one for her statement and the other for her criticism on your swearing.

You, your roommate and JuJu all look at each other for what seems like an eternity before bursting into an explosion of laughter. You were just being petty, it didn’t seem like a big deal at the time.

It kinda was.

PRESENT TIME

You’ve always loved east-coast America. It has a different kind of feel, especially during spring. The weather was getting hotter and everyone is hyped for summer break, at least those without classes. You and some of your teammates were going on a little Big East road trip, and of course the east meant places like New York, Michigan, Boston, Rhode Island, Connecticut.

God, you weren’t ready for Connecticut. The media was really eating you and Paige’s (non-existent) beef up, and you wondered if it would translate into real life. What was worse was that you had a friend who went to UConn who you were seeing for sure.

“I am not coming to your school.” You said hastily over the phone.

“Chill.” Elaine, your friend responded. “Nobody wants you here anyways.”

“Shuttuppppp it’s not funny.” You whine, knowing she was joking but hoping there was no truth in the statement. You could handle the smoke of a mini rivalry, but confrontation was just awkward.

“Just be ready. The minute you’re in town let me know, we can go to my favourite bar.” She laughs.

“Got it.” You respond happily. You were gonna have a fun night out, things were gonna be chill. You’d maybe have a drink…maybe get hammered. It was gonna be good.

-

“You should go live.”

“No fucking way.” You shake your head. The bar was crowded, but nice. You understand why your friend wanted to take you.

“Are most of these people UConn kids?” You ask.

“Yeah.” Elaine responds, looking around. “This is like the Storrs hangout spot on a Friday night. Anyways, I’ve missed seeing your lives.”

“I know, I know.” You rub your head. “I literally can’t though. Like, I’m on a social media ban. Goddd, after that last live you don’t get how much shit I got.”

“I thought it was funny!” She says, and you smile. “Oh my god (Name), did you see her tweet after.”

“BYE.” you cover your face, laughing. A couple hours after the live, Paige had tweeted some sort of passive aggressive very targeted thing about how God has her back when people give her a hard time or something like that. You’d almost died when it showed on your TL.

“Have you seen all the edits comparing me n her.” You manage to get out between laughs. Sure, you didn’t have the spectacular reputation Paige did. The girl had started her college career stronger then literally everyone else, and she was top pick to begin with. Her return to the court was well anticipated, even by you.

Still despite that, you had a certain sparkle in game. You played flashy, but you could back it up. Your freshman year you were very much an underdog, a stark difference from Paige, but your sophomore year had been very different, and this year as a junior you were getting recognition that almost gave you whiplash. Your talent was undoubted.

“I think both of you guys are being extra careful on socials now.” Elaine says. “I mean Paige is pretty active, but when they go live the minute your name is brought up, which it always is, she like…mysteriously disappears from view. It’s actually funny.”

“Whatever.” You say, taking a swig of your drink. “As funny as it is, I’m tired of all this shit, it’s unnecessary. Let’s forget about her.”

Elaine lets out a cough, before covering her face. “Pfft. Um, yeah. Let’s forget about it.”

“What….what is it?” You say, raising an eyebrow. Your friends eyes are stuck behind you. When you turn on the barstool as conspicuously as possible, you feel your stomach physically lurch.

“You’re fucking kidding.”

“We have great luck.” Elaine muffles a laugh.

You spin back towards her, talking through bared teeth. “You brought me to Storrs’s most popular bar on a Friday night…Storrs…fuck. That’s their campus? Seriously??!”

“Don’t be mad.” She sheepishly smiles. “I don’t pay that much attention to them…I didn’t think it through.”

“Boo, you whore. Even I know they’re like, bar-fiends.” You grumble, putting your head down. “God, just put your head down, cover me, something. I’m not tryna do this right now.”

Covering your eyes and keeping your back to the group, you ask. “How many of them are here. Tell me exactly who.”

“Umm, I don’t know all of them.” She says.

“Bitch just tell me…I swear to god.” You sneer, casually attempting to turn, discreetly letting your eyes graze the masses before they meet a pair of blue ones.

Shit.

Her eyes hold yours for a moment too long. Her hair is down instead of her signature ponytail and braids. She’s dressed casually, and posed confidently. Her expression is one of surprise…then amusement…and then something you can’t quite recognize. When her friends start to follow her gaze, you finally turn away.

“Elaine, I’m gonna fucking kill you.”

“Calm down, it’s fine. You always say you can handle the smoke, right?”

“Yeah when I’m in California I can…not when I’m in a UConn infested bar with Paige fucking Bueckers and her cult staring me down.”

“They’re really staring. Oh, KK just pointed at you.” Elaine says, looking at them obviously. You fix your posture and adjust your hair at this.

“Are they like…coming over?”

“Yep.” She murmurs under her breath, indicating they’re close.

“Umm, hey.” A voice says from behind you. It’s low, almost raspy. You remember it being way more strained and arrogant on the court. In the bar, it was almost attractive.

“Hey.” You say, as cool as possible. Turning to face Paige and her teammates usually wouldn’t have intimidated you, you could hold your ground and you were confident in yourself, but here? On their turf? With none of your own teammates? And a couple drinks in you? Your body was already tingling, and you were terrified you would say something to dig your hole deeper.

“Think I could get a picture?” Paige says. She sounds likes she’s severely forcing herself, arms crossed and drink already half empty despite just entering the bar. Azzi’s face breaks into an amused smirk beside her, and her other friends hang back with giggly expressions.

“A…picture?” You say, confused. The three of you stare at each other for an awkward moment before you break the silence. “Sorry…that was rude of me, my bad. I just wasn’t expecting that.” You laugh. “If you actually want a picture I can do that for you.”

“Thanks.” Paige smiles, but there’s no happiness behind it. When she poses by you, her hand just hovers above your waist. She can’t even bring herself to touch you. You give your best smile as Azzi takes the picture on Paige’s phone.

When she shows it to the two of you, you realize why Paige might’ve wanted that picture.

“You’re gonna really shock everyone when you post that.” You say, laughing. Paige’s face finally breaks to a more authentic smirk that sends shivers down your spine. It’s like the one she wore when you two were facing each other on the court. Proud, confident, ready for anything.

“Never let em’ know your next move.” She says, eyes piercing yours.

-

As the night goes on the bar gets more and more busy, you have to yell over the music for Elaine to hear you. You’re not exactly trying to talk to her though, because she’s mostly talking about Paige.

“You know she’s sort of a campus heart-throb right?”

“What??” You yell, although you’ve perfectly heard what she’s said.

“She’s. Hot. Maybe you should flirt with her a little.” Elaine says.

You just shake your head. “I’m gonna get another drink.”

Your luck is spectacular for the night, because there are no barstool seats left except one a little too close to Paige, who’s sitting alone and waiting for her drink. You silently curse, but are thankful her team isn’t there too. You sit by her as confidently as possible, avoiding her gaze.

She’s watching you indubitably, noting every move you make. Your posture as you sit, the Polaroid behind your clear phone case, the way your lips move when you ask the bartender for your favourite drink, these are all thinks she seemingly makes note of.

You can’t help but overhear her scoff at your drink choice, to which you finally turn and acknowledge her, raising your eyebrow.

“Out of everything you could’ve ordered you got that?” She says, haughty as ever.

“Not everyone is trying to get white-girl-wasted.” You respond curtly, eyeing her Dirty Shirley.

Paige scoffs. “You don’t talk as big as you do on your lives.”

Shrugging, you respond “Someone asked a question and I answered, simple as that.”

“Ion know bout that one.” She rolls her eyes.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I think you’re just feining for people to talk bout you.”

This bitch. You internally think, brows furrowed at her statement. “Wouldn’t have even been brought up if you hadn’t let your fatass ego get in the way of your media training during that press conference.” You sneer. “Now that is feining for people to talk..”

“Someone asked a question and I answered.” She smiles, sending a hot flash of anger throughout your body. “Simple as that.”

“You think you’re so smart.” You grumble out, turning your head from her. The sheer arrogance is radiating from her body, it’s annoying you to no end.

“I am.” She says, as if it’s common knowledge. “Plus, I’m not the one who started twisting words. That was you, remember?”

When your drink is finally set in front of you, you make a point to get up from the stool and grab it, sending Paige a steely look. “Good talk, Bueckers.”

“Aye, wait a sec.”

You’re already walking away, taking a big gulp of your drink when she slides off of her stool and catches up, walking beside you. You don’t miss how her eyes flick to your mouth when you wipe it clean, facing her begrudgingly.

“Why’re you even here?” She asks. “Visiting yo girlfriend?”

“Who, Elaine?” You laugh, Elaine being the straightest girl you know. “Why’re you so interested?”

“Wasn’t expecting to see some California girl in Storrs. You sure you weren’t plotting on seeing me?” Paige grins, taking a step towards you. She’s taller then you, and the way she tilts her head downwards when she speaks gives you an unrecognizable feeling that you’re planning to blame on the alcohol.

“I got up close and personal with you once, and it was enough.” You smile, holding her stare. She chews on the straw of her Shirley, her expression both amused and something else.

“Ion think so.” She mumbles.

“You don’t have to think.” You respond, looking her up and down for a moment. It feels like an eternity passes as you two challenge each other, the air gets thicker by the minute and you finally break away from her, walking as confidently as you can, far from where she can see you.

-

You don’t see Paige again after that, presumably because her and her friends went elsewhere. Laying in a hotel room next to your teammates, you can’t help but think about the blonde and how odd your interaction was. She had this way of looking at you like she knew exactly what you were thinking, even though you knew damn well she knew nothing except for how you were on the court. Still, despite how her voice made your skin itch and her mannerisms induced the need for violence, there was something else you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

As if reading your mind, your phone began to vibrate uncontrollably. You check your notifications to see a sea of messages and a couple more alien ones on Instagram.

paigebueckers started following you.

paigebueckers tagged you in their story.

jujubballin sent you a story.

jujubballin sent you a message.

kenzie_4bs sent you a story.

kenzie_4bs sent you a message.

You accept Paige’s request and view her story, which features the picture of you and Paige. You sitting and her standing, her hand just hovering above your waist, her face a curt close-mouthed smile and yours wide and genuine. It’s an interesting photo which she’s captioned “Cali meets Connecticut!”

You scoff at her version of being witty, and immediately cringe at the sheer amount of traction the post has gotten already, with at least 50 people in your inbox within the first 15 minutes of the post coming out. The messages range from “The crossover we needed!!” To “Ik you wanted to punch her white-ass” and frankly it was all too much for you. Social media, Connecticut, the messages, Paige.

She seemed to be the main article of stress in your life the past couple weeks and it seemed to smart to keep a distance from her from this point onward.

The girl really knows how to induce that shock factor.

[silverb0wties]

Lemonade - Part 3

leah williamson x alessia russo x child!reader

Summary: When something bad happens to your Mummy and Daddy, you end up living with your Aunty Lessi and Aunty Leah.  But is there room for you considering they have a new baby on the way?

Chapter Summary:  You go back to school and you try and make yourself useful

Warnings: bullying, homophobia, misogyny 

|| Part 1 || Part 2 ||

PART 3

“30 days has September, April, June and November…”

You had set yourself the task today to make yourself a calendar.  Maths had never been your strongest subject in school, but you were excellent at remembering, so you knew the month song off by heart and were mumbling it to yourself as you began digging into your desk draw to retrieve some art supplies.

The decision to make the calendar had hit you last night when you were reading one of your new library books before bed and the return receipt slipped out of the back cover and onto your lap.  Normally, it was the very first thing you retrieved when you got home from the library, making sure to mark the return dates down on your big white board calendar on the fridge.  But you were still getting used an entirely new routine in your new house and you’d completely forgot to look for the slip.

Now that you had it though, you had to make sure you noted down the dates somewhere you could easily see them.  So, with a few pieces of paper, a ruler and some markers, you drew up a calendar for the next few months.  By checking the borrow date on the receipt and counting how many days it had been since your library visit, you managed to figure out what todays date was.  From there, and with the help of that handy month song, you’d managed to fill in the rest of the dates.   

When it was all completed you stepped back to examine your work.  If you were honest with yourself, your lines could have been drawn straighter and your handwriting could have been much, much neater.  But you didn’t have the energy to redo it, so it would have to do.  For now. 

You surveyed your room for someone to put it.  In your old house your calendar was on the fridge, out in the open for everyone to see and help you keep track of.  Here, it needed to be hidden from your Aunties, so that it was your responsibility, and your responsibility alone, to make sure you were staying on top of everything.

Everything.

A wave of guilt crashed over you as you remembered all the other things you would keep track of on your calendar.  Now that you were a big girl, you had been helping around the house and you had chores.  You would set the table and help take the cups and plates and spoons out of the dish washer (only Mummy and Daddy could touch the knives).  You would also check for mail every morning and there was a pretty purple watering can you got use to water the flowers in the front garden a couple of times a week.

But you didn’t do any of that here at your Aunties house.

Selfish. Selfish. Selfish.

Part of you worried that your Aunties didn’t trust you enough to ask you to help out around the house.  Perhaps they thought you weren’t smart enough or strong enough or big enough to lend a hand.  Or maybe they were secretly mad that you hadn’t insisted on helping and were keeping a top-secret list of all the times you didn’t help out and they would present it to you on a big, long scroll on the day they kicked you out their house.

You shuddered at the thought of that.  That was a day you thought about often.  You didn’t know how many days or weeks or months it was until the baby was here, but surely your time here at your Aunties house was running out.  You needed to do everything in your power to be good until then so that they didn’t kick you out any sooner.  

That night before tea, you made sure to wash your hands extra good before heading into the kitchen where your Aunty Lessi was cooking.  

“Aunty Lessi, could I set the table?”

“Oh sure!  If you’d like.  Just give me a moment and I’ll show you where everything is.”

You grinned in silent satisfaction, glad that it seemed like your Aunty wasn’t outright opposed to you proving your worth.  After your Aunty Lessi finished with whatever she was stirring on the stove, she led you over to various cupboards and drawers and pointed out where the placemats, plates and cutlery lived.  Whilst there were a few plastic cups in the same cupboard as the plates for you to use, the glasses your Aunties drank out of were on a higher shelf that were too high for you to reach.

“Don’t worry about those, I can grab them” she insisted.

“I could get a chair or something to stand on?”

“Don’t be silly, Bun Bun.  I’ll get them.  Thank you for getting everything else though.”

Silly. Silly. Silly.

Once you were all sat down for dinner, you watched your Aunty Lessi spin spaghetti around her fork before you took a deep breath in and began.

“Did I do okay at setting the table?”

“You did a great job, Bunny!” Your Aunty Leah was smiling big and bright at you.  She had a bit of sauce on her chin, but you thought it would be rude to tell her.

“Do you think I could do it every night?” you asked.

“Uhh… I mean, if you want to, sure.”

Victory.  One chore to add to the calendar.

“What about the post?  Can I be in charge of checking that too? Does it come in the mornings?”

You observed as your Aunties caught eyes with each other across the table, seeming to have a silent conversation.

“Umm, yes I suppose you could do that if you like,” Aunty Lessi nodded.

“Great!  And I can help empty the dishwasher.  No knives of course, but I can do spoons and plates and bowls and cups and stuff.  And maybe I can water some of your flowers, or all of them?  Or I can learn how to do other stuff too.  Like I could figure out how to do the laundry or clean the bathrooms or anything you want really…”

You hadn’t really realised, but you had pulled your knees up to your chest as your rant had gone on.  Your head was now resting on top of them as you looked eagerly between your Aunties, waiting for their response.  They were doing the silent conversation thing again.

“You don’t need to do all those things sweetheart.  We appreciate you offering, but maybe we’ll wait until you’re a bit older to do things like the laundry and stuff, yeah?” your Aunty Lessi responded.

You felt your stomach drop.  Your Aunty Lessi’s voice was kind, but you knew what her words meant.  They didn’t think you were big enough to help.

“How about we start off with setting the table for tea and checking the mail?  You’re still just settling in here, so we don’t wanna overload you with too much stuff to remember to do.”

--

It may have been bright and sunny outside, but today was a day you had been absolutely dreading.  You had decided to hang your calendar on the back of your bedroom door so that nobody but you would see it, and you had made sure to mark this day with a bright red circle and big a sad face.  Today was the day you were going back to school. 

You weren’t sure how it was decided or who decided, but you’d had a couple of weeks away from school after the fire and now it was time to go back.

You had only been back at school for 3 weeks of the new school year before the fire happened, so your parents had only just bought you brand-new dresses and shoes to replace the previous ones you’d outgrown.  Your pencil case had been filled with fresh crayons and sharp pencils, and you’d only just put a really cool new bunny sticker that your Uncle Gio had given you on your lunchbox.  But now, you had to start all over again.

So today, as you sat in front office with your Aunties, you were wearing a brand-new school dress and shoes and socks and Aunty Lessi had done your hair in a pretty braid with some pretty ribbons.  You also had a brand-new backpack and lunch box and pencil case, and you even had a brand-new iPad in a shiny purple case. 

In theory, you were all set to go.

But just under the surface, just beneath the layer of hairspray and the stiff gingham fabric, you were absolutely dreading heading back to the big noisy classroom and scary, sticky playgrounds.

You didn’t have heaps of friends at school like most of the other kids seemed to have.  You did have one good friend though.  Nora.  She also really liked to read and was super into comic books and superheros.  You didn’t really understand why she liked them, but you were more than happy to listen to her when she wanted to tell you all about them.  You would then tell her some cool bunny facts in return. 

This year the school librarian, Mr Webster, had let you both work on a big jigsaw puzzle every lunchtime.  He kept it safe and flat on a special piece of wood that he hid on top of his bookshelf in his office when you weren’t working on it.  It was a really, really big puzzle with loads more pieces than any other puzzle either of you had ever done before.  You were both determined to finish it before Christmas, but you weren’t sure if Nora had kept going while you were away.  You hoped she had but you also secretly hoped there was still some pieces left for you to do.  

Unlike previous years, Nora wasn’t in your class this year.  You were in Mrs Green’s class, and she was in Miss Roberts’ class.  You’d both written a letter to each teacher requesting to be swapped into each other’s class, but it hadn’t worked.  You were stuck alone in the classes you were in, and honestly, you were miserable. 

You see, it wasn’t that you didn’t have any other friends, that didn’t bother you much at all.  It was the fact that a bunch of the other kids seemed to actively dislike you.  In fact, the thing they seemed to like most in the whole world was picking on you.  They called you names and pulled on your hair and threw things at you.  You couldn’r really pinpoint exactly when it all started, but your first and most vivid memory was when Mitchell Timms had snatched your copy of The Worst Witch out of your hands one lunch time.  He threw it in a muddy puddle and stomped on it until all the pages were torn and the words had jumbled together.  When you ran over to try and save the book, a gift you’d received on your latest birthday, Mitchell just laughed at you and called you a “loser weirdo”. 

For the first 3 weeks of school this year, you had been sat next to a boy named Ollie and it had been awful.  He kept bumping your arm on purpose while you were trying to write and had laughed whenever you got frustrated that you had to erase and redo your mistakes.  One time he had even pulled your chair out from underneath you when you went to sit down, leading you to land on your bottom on the floor with a thud.  The whole class had pointed and laughed at you.  You had run out of the classroom and hid under a bench to try and calm yourself down.

When the teacher came to find you, you were curled in a ball, rubbing your Pocket Arthur softly against your cheek.  Pocket Arthur was your school buddy.  When you’d moved up from Reception into Primary School, your parents had bought you a miniature version of Arthur that you could keep tucked away in your pocket.  They said that now that you were going to big school, Arthur could no longer come along with you, but they wanted to make sure you still had a little buddy to always keep you company.  So, he was your Pocket Arthur, or Pockie for short. 

But he died in the fire too.

Failure. Failure. Failure.

So, on the night before you went back to school, you’d searched through your room, trying to find something to fill the big empty space left by Pockie when he died – the pocket of your school dress.  You tried crumpling up a wad of tissues, but the texture of it was all wrong.  Next you tried a balled-up pair of socks, but it felt scratchy when you tried rubbing it against your cheek.  You looked over the stuffies your Aunties had bought you, but they were all far too big to fit in your pocket.    

One of the stuffies caught your eye however as your dug through the little pile of toys.  It was on the bottom of pile, and you hadn’t seen it since you moved here.  It was a lovely and soft grey kangaroo, with pointy ears and a long tail.  You rather liked kangaroos, because while they were a completely different species to bunnies and could only be found in the wild in Australia, they kind of reminded you of really big rabbits.  As you pressed the soft fur to your cheek, something small fell in your lap.  Picking it up, you realised it was a baby kangaroo.  It must have fallen from the big kangaroo’s pouch.  It was perfect.  The perfect size, the perfect feel, the perfect squish.  You rubbed it against your cheek.  Bliss.  Holding it gently in your little hands, you squinted your eyes and ran your thumbs across the soft fur trying to figure out the perfect name for your new pocket pal.  Bailey.  She seemed like a Bailey.

And it was Bailey who you clung to, you hand shoved deep in your pocket, when the Headteacher Mrs Brinley called you all into her office.

You watched as both your Aunty Lessi and Aunty Leah shook hands with Mrs Brinley and then you all sat down on big uncomfortable chairs across the table from her.  You’d never been in her office before, so you took a moment to look around, noticing a bunch of certificates in big frames on the wall, a huge bookcase full of books and some photos of who you assumed were her family.

“Well, while we were very, very sad to hear about what has happened, we are glad that Y/K is back at school with us.  Hopefully being back in class will help her with getting back to her regular routine and schedule and assist her in feeling more settled.”

Her voice wasn’t unkind, but everything she said always sounded like she’d been rehearsing for it like it was a speech she had to give in front of the whole school.

“We have both of your phone numbers, as well as the number for your workplace, and we will call you should there be any issues.  But I’m sure Y/K will do just fine.”

Your Aunty Leah gently squeezed your hand that wasn’t firmly stuffed in your pocket, clinging onto Bailey for dear life.

“Mrs Green is going to meet you just back out in the front office and she will walk you up to class.  So, unless anyone has any questions, I’ll let you all get to it.”

You all shuffled back out the front office, where your teacher was waiting for you.  Aunty Lessi knelt down and gave you a big cuddle.

“Okay Bunny. You have fun on your first day back, alright?  And if anything goes wrong, or you don’t feel good or you feel sad… you just let your teacher know to call us okay.”

Aunty Leah leaned over and gave you a kiss on the forehead and stroked your cheek.  “You’ve got everything you need in your backpack, so you’re all set to go.  You’ve got this.”

“Okay.”

“We love you.”

The walk to your classroom was mostly filled with your teacher telling you about all the things you’d missed while you’d been away from school.  A little bubble of dread was beginning to build in your stomach as you realised all the work you now had to catch up on.  But by lunchtime that bubble had been replaced by a boulder.

Holding your lunch box and book tight to your chest, you looked around the hall for a spare seat.  Normally, you and Nora would sit together to eat your lunch and then go to the library, but to make a bad day even worse Nora was away from school today.  You had spent a solid 5 minutes looking for her, but according to a student in her class she’d had to stay home because she a nasty tummy bug.

The hall was quickly filling up as students grabbed their hot meals or lunch boxes and sat down at their chosen tables.  It quickly became apparent that the only spot left was one on the end of a table filled with some of the children who didn’t like you.  You’d spent so long looking for Nora, you’d been left with no other option.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

With a deep breath, you headed over to the table.  You sat quietly in the seat, hoping you would go unnoticed.

You didn’t.

“Why you sitting with us, Y/K?  Isn’t there anyone else you can sit with?” Jessica asked as you unzipped your lunch box.  You just shook your head in response.  A chorus of grumbles followed from the rest of the kids sitting at the table.

“Eww yuck, why does she have to sit with us?”  

“Where’s her weirdo friend?”

“Maybe she can sit on the floor instead.”

You just tried to tune them out, grabbing a sandwich out of your lunch box to munch on.  Your first bite was interrupted when the boy sitting beside you, Max, nudged you.

“Hey, were those your new Mums who brought you into school today?”

You hastily swallowed your sandwich, wanting to explain. “They’re my-” It was no use.  The group quickly began announcing their thoughts on the matter before you had a chance to correct them.

“Two Mums?  How can someone have TWO Mums?  That’s not right.”

“Yeah, my Dad says that it’s disgusting when two boys or two girls are married or kiss and stuff!”

“Oh yeah, like, have you ever saw two lads kiss? It’s weird!”

“I saw two ladies kissing when my Pop took me to the football last week.  He said they were going straight to hell!”

“As if she wasn’t weird enough, now she’s got two Mums too!”

Something inside you snapped, and you found yourself with your fists clenched and your cheeks red, Bailey long forgotten in your pocket.

“Yeah, well, they’re not my Mums, they’re my Aunties.  And they’re really nice and really clever and super cool.  And they play football for England, and and for the red and white club with the cannon!  And my Aunty Leah is the captain and everything! So that’s cooler than any of your families, ever!”

There was a short silence before they all started laughing.

“Girl’s football!  That doesn’t count!”

“That’s not real football!”

“Arsenal!  Pfffft.”

“I can’t wait to tell my Dad about this.”

“One of them looked pregnant when I saw them outside the office.  There’s no way they let her play like that!”

“That’s why they shouldn’t let girls play!”

“Wait, how is she having a baby if there’s no Daddy to put the baby in her?”

Whilst the rest of the comments had begun to muddle together and fade into the background as you tuned them all out, this last one pierced through.  Your head shot back in the direction of Jessica, the girl who had asked the question.  She was looking straight at you with her eyes squinted, twirling a strand of her hair around her pointer finger.

You hadn’t ever stopped to think about this.  To be honest you’d never really been interested in where babies came from.  You knew that whilst it varied from breed to breed, bunnies were pregnant for an average of 31 days and had litters of babies.  You also knew that humans usually only had one baby at a time and they were pregnant for around 9 months.  But you didn’t know how either bunnies or humans became pregnant.  Honestly, you were stumped.

“Guess you didn’t learn that in any of your stupid books, huh? Loser.”

[jaegeraether]

The Runaway - Chapter 2 (Alexia Putellas x original character slow-burn)

Jae's Masterlist

CHAPTER 2

DELANEY

Most players avoided social media, especially Tik Tok and especially after a match. Delaney, though, was always curious and entertained by it.

There was an overwhelming amount of content following their match. People talking about players, about Delaney’s first time against the Spanish team, about the brutality of it.

Players were shipped with players, rumours started to swirl and most of it was over just the slightest expression one player had given another during the game.

“Guys, Dellie rolling on top of Alexia is my moment of the match for sure.”

“Did you see how she moved her? Argh.”

“They seem to really respect each other!”

“I knew people would sexualise them. She was just getting her out of the way! What I can’t get over is how they fought each other in the midfield. That’s what it’s like to watch Ballon d’Or players against each other. Dellie to get her first this year, I hope!”

“Everybody is talking about Dellie and la Reina but Kyra’s penalty? Maccas three in a row clearances? Steph’s assist from the centre line? Oof. These are the Tillies we love!”

“Turns out the only strategy to work against Baker is to put Alexia onto her. A bit more time and la Reina would have had her.”

Delaney smiled, entertained by the comments. Regardless of if they were good or bad, she knew that none of them understood what it was like to be in the middle of a match, fighting against the Spanish girls.

She did enjoy herself, though. Especially her tussles in the midfield with Alexia. She was every bit as good as she imagined and much more than deserving of the mountain of trophies she’d had. There was a moment after the match when Delaney wondered if she had imagined the strange, natural connection between her and the Spanish Captain, but that was quickly overcome when Alexia had followed her on Instagram immediately after the match.

As with most friendlies, they had another one coming up in just a few days. Unfortunately, Delaney was not allowed to play. Her shoulder had been dislocated in the last few minutes of the previous match, and it was purely by luck that she’d managed to push it back in as she rolled her body over it on the ground.

Instead, she was stuck in a sling and subsequently told off by the medics, who only did so because they had to.

The next game against Spain, she thought they did better. They still lost, but only by a small margin. The game ended in 0-1 to Spain, with the main deficit for the Matildas, their scoring. The midfield fought hard with their renewed passion, and she was working hard on the sideline analysing, pointing out their deficiencies, and making effective changes.

It felt surreal to watch the Spanish team play live though. They were all so talented. The mindset and passion for football that they’d developed at such a young age was evident in how they played. So many of their players were incredible. Mapi, Ona, Aitana, Claudia.

But there were none as good as Alexia. She was a leader. She coached the team while they were on the field, and players listened to everything she had to say. Even the Australians would stop to listen, not knowing a word of Spanish.

While most players focussed on the ball, she was assessing just at Delaney did. Making sure everyone was where they should be. Finding weaknesses and taking advantage of them. Her sight when it came to passing was unrivalled. Her technical ability had her taking on multiple midfielders at once and winning. She made quick, clever decisions that couldn’t be taught to other players defending her. They just needed that same ability.

There’s no way that someone as tall and stocky as Alexia should have been better than someone small and nimble like Aitana. But she was. And it wasn’t about the stats. It was about so much more than that.

Delaney caught Alexia’s gaze a few times during the match. Her face was mainly neutral, but from the frequency in which she looked, she knew there was some curiosity there.

There was one specific moment when Delaney knew Alexia was watching her again. She could feel it, like a spark igniting just beneath her skin. Their eyes locked across the field and Delaney felt the air shift. It was as though time slowed, and her heart skipped a beat - an inexplicable pulling. Alexia’s gaze was steady, confident. But Delaney could see something else there - something unreadable, yet so clear at the same time. And before she could break the moment, Alexia looked away, leaving Delaney to wonder if she had imagined it all.

The game ended, and she entered the field to shake hands. She made sure to let her teammates know how well they did, and how much progress they’d made. She shook hands with the Spanish players too, many who seemed curious about her.

“Sorry for… this…” Cata said in broken English, gesturing to her sling.

“Oh, it’s okay! Just part of the game.”

“I yam glad you are fix.” Cata continued with a grin. She was flirtier than she’d anticipated.

“I’m glad I could sit this one out!”

They chuckled and Cata looked down at her jacket, as if she were about to ask for her jersey.

A strong, familiar voice came from behind her then.

“You apologise?” Alexia said in English to Cata.

“Sí capitana.” Yes, Captain.

Alexia nodded and Cata took the hint to leave, but not before she winked at Delaney, “I see you again.”

“Hasta luego, Cata.” See you later, Cata.

Cata’s excited expression was worth the Google search of some basic Spanish phrases.

It was only as she looked to Alexia that she realised that the Spaniard was slightly taller than her. And then there was her gaze up close. Those golden hazel eyes of hers. When she looked at her, it was something deeper than just that. It felt like… recognition. Like she saw her clearly.

“You speak-” Alexia began.

“No.. no.” Delaney cut off with an apologetic smile. “Un poco… poco.”

Alexia chuckled at that, and it was an adorable sound. Much better than her gasp of pain at the cleat hitting her thigh the previous match. That was not so nice. Though the sound of it right in her ear- fuck. Control yourself.

“How is your thigh?”

She tilted her head. Delaney gestured to her thigh.

“Ah – is.. sore but… a little bit okay.” When Alexia struggled for the word, Delaney didn’t interrupt. She liked the way her brow furrowed, how seriously she took each phrase—as if every word mattered between them. “And.. you?” She looked at her sling, studying it.

“Is okay.” She mimicked cheekily.

Alexia hummed, her eyes scanning over her eyebrow. “Your…” She gestured to her back.

“It’s also okay. Few bruises. But that’s the game.”

Alexia picked up a word, with an empathetic look. “Bruise…?”

“Sí.. ah… muchos?” Yes, many. “But it’s okay.”

Alexia looked as if she didn’t believe she was okay. One eyebrow raised in defiance, and it made her heart skip a beat.

“You are a very good player, la Reina.”

She looked slightly embarrassed and proud. “Muchas gracias.” Thank you very much. Her tongue sneaking between her lips at the word 'gracias' was something she most definitely didn't notice. At all. “Alexia.”

“You don’t like la Reina?”

She paused for a moment, her eyes studying Delaney’s.

“Alexia.” She corrected, softer than before.

“Alexia.” She repeated.

She’d have to be simple to have missed Alexia’s eyes on her lips as she said her name. Her pupils dilating at the word.

She sucked in a breath and extended her good hand. “I’m Delaney.”

“Hola, Danny.” Hello, Danny. Delaney chuckled at the mistake. “Sorry… Delaney.” She said like she couldn't believe her own mistake.

“Well now I prefer Danny.”

They chuckled together. It was immediately evident that there was something here. A spark. A connection. Separated by language but still more than able to understand each other. It was exhilarating but scary at the same time. Delaney didn’t do well with emotional connections. She always had a habit of running or putting boundaries up.

“You are… very good... good player also.”

She bit her lip at the sound of Alexia’s adorable Spanish accent. “Thank you, Alexia.”

“Where you go?”

She tilted her head in confusion.

“Where you… play?” The Spaniard clarified.

“Oh! Uh.. I don’t know..”

Another moment of comfortable silence between them. God, she could sit in those for hours.

“Barcelona?”

Delaney gave her a look. “I’d love to... but the coach doesn’t want me.”

Alexia seemed to remember then what he’d said about not wanting or needing her and opened her mouth to apologise. Delaney touched her arm and felt Alexia lean into it.

“It’s okay. I have an offer from Arsenal that’s enticing. I’m meeting with them soon.”

“You go to them?”

It couldn’t have been easy for Alexia to have such a fragmented conversation in English, but she admired her perseverance. It felt like she wanted the conversation just as much as she did. She wanted to know anything and everything she could about this woman.

“If it feels right when I get there.” Alexia looked like she didn't understand so she put out a simpler word. “Maybe…”

“Ah…”

Yelling from the touchline got their attention as they realised they were the last players on the field. They both began to walk equally as slow toward their teams.

“I yam sorry for… for Pere. He speaks wrong.. about you.” She seemed frustrated with herself as she tried to explain. “He…”

“It’s okay, Alexia.” She reassured. “I don’t think it would be the best idea anyways.”

Alexia stopped walking and frowned again. Was it a bad thing that Delaney wanted to find out what each of her little face expressions meant? “You no want to-”

“Oh, no! I’d love to play for Barcelona. I would learn so much. I just… I’m not needed there. And besides-” She cut herself off, not wanting to say mention the elephant in the room. Alexia had understood the sentence without saying it, though.

Her frown deepened and it was like Delaney could hear her thoughts.

You don’t want to come because of… me?

The Australian stepped forwards and put her hand on Alexia’s perfectly golden arm again. Her fingers brushed against Alexia’s skin and lingered there, enough to notice the warmth of her. She told herself it was for comfort. But part of her didn’t want to let go. Especially when she realised that she was leaning into her ever-so-slightly.

“I’d love to be able to play alongside you one day, Alexia.” She said, her voice quieter than before and more confession than statement. For a second, Alexia didn’t respond, she only looked at her, and Delaney wondered if that silence held all the words neither of them dared spoke.

“ALE!”

“DELLIE!”

The shouts from the groups pulled them from their stupor. But not before Alexia smiled at her one last time.

[multi-fandom-imagines8]

A Song of Ice & Shadow

Part 1

A/N: Hello everyone! I’m planning to write an Azriel x Archeron!half-sister reader series, possibly featuring a slow-burn romance and angst. I don’t know how many parts it’s going to have. It begins in ACOMAF chapter 24.

A Song of Ice & Shadow masterlist

Summary: The eldest Archeron half-sister Y/n hates Fae kind, due to tragic past events. When she unexpectedly visits her sisters, she is met with the very race she hates.

WC: 2.1K.

Being the eldest sibling is not always easy. Y/n knew this firsthand, shouldering the weight of responsibility for her younger sisters from a young age. After their mother’s death, she made the difficult decision to leave her sisters behind and stay with her supposed biological father. It wasn’t because she didn’t share the same father as her sisters; in fact, he loved her like she was his own and never discriminated between them. For the first two years after their mothers death, she stayed with her family, but when her “father” lost his fortune, she knew leaving was the only option. It wasn’t just about lightening their burden by having one less mouth to feed; she also hoped by seeking out her biological father, she could find work and send money back to her family.

Surprisingly, her father welcomed her with open arms, a kindness that caught her off guard considering he had shown little interest in her when she was younger. Despite her initial skepticism, she didn’t question his motives, fearing he might kick her out. With cleverness and father’s help, she managed to pursue higher education, while working to make ends meet. Though her earnings were modest, she’d send whatever she could spare to her family, ensuring they had enough to survive. With Feyre’s help, there was always food on the table.

Y/n’s life was devoid of fun. Between studying, working, sleeping and occasional visits to her family, she had little time for socializing and friends. This isolation was entirely her choice; she distanced herself from others, earning a reputation as being cold, heartless, selfish, and arrogant to those who didn’t know her well. Yet, beneath this exterior, she harbored a deep love for her sisters and would sacrifice anything for their well-being, despite no longer showing them affection after their mother’s death. They understood her silent expressions of care, recognizing that actions spoke louder than words.

One thing everyone knew for certain is that Y/n was stubborn. She held fast to her beliefs and opinions, regardless of external influences. Among her sisters, Netsa was the most like her and the one who admired her the most. The two shared the closest bond before she left, but make no mistake, if anyone Nesta feared and obeyed, it was Y/n, knowing she was not one to be crossed.

After Feyre left the mortal realm, her family’s fortune turned, and she finished her education. Consequently, her visits became less frequent, as she immersed herself into her work.

A smile appeared on Y/n’s face at the thought of her sisters’ reactions to seeing her after a long time. She decided to surprise them with a spontaneous visit. Unbeknownst to her, another surprise awaited her inside the place she called home.

“Nesta, Elain, I’m home!” Y/n announced as she opened the front door of their home.

“Are we expecting someone else?” Rhys whispered to Feyre.

“Nesta, why didn’t you tell me Y/n was coming?” Feyre questioned, panic all over her face.

“I didn’t know. She usually sends word before she comes,” Nesta claimed.

The conversation between the two sisters earned them a curious, yet worried look from the three males. Nesta stood from chair, hurrying to the door, but she was too late, Y/n was now standing in the dining room, the smile dropping from her face and replaced by a shocked expression at the sight before her.

“What is going on?” Y/n asked carefully and slowly.

“These are Feyre’s friends. We were not expecting you today” Elain replied.

“Y/n, it’s been a while. I’m so happy to see you.” Feyre stood from her seat and hugged her sister, who was reluctant at first but returned the hug.

“You brought Fae-kind into our home?” it was more of a rhetorical question, but Feyre answered anyway.

“Y/n, this is Cassian” she inclined her head to the male with long hair “Azriel.” She pointed to the male who Y/n could’ve sworn was the most handsome man she’s even laid eyes on “And Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court.” Feyre finished introducing.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Rhys said with a warm smile.

“I’m sure,” Y/n sneered, returning her gaze on her sisters. “You still haven’t told me what’s going on and why the very same race we despise are now in our living room, dining with us.” Y/n tried making sense of the situation.

Feyre explained the situation, why they were here, what they needed from the sisters and the threat posed by Hybern.

“So the moment you became fae, you chose to forsake us?” This was all Y/n could utter.

“I’d never do that. Me being fae doesn’t change that. It never will. You’ll always be my sister,” Feyre assured her.

“If you did, you wouldn’t have brought THEM here. Hatred aside, do you have any idea of the danger you just put Nesta and Elain in?” Y/n turned her hand into a fist, her knuckles as white as they could be, trying to keep her temper in check.

“There was nowhere else to go,” Feyre claimed.

“And you were alright with this?” Y/n turned to face her other sisters.

“I wasn’t, but Elain agreed,” Nesta informed her.

“Feyre’s right, there-“ Cassian spoke.

“Who are you again?” Y/n glared at him. “I’m too tired to deal with this now." She rubbed her temples and said to no one in specific “Call me when they’re gone.”

“Uhm, they’re-“ before Nesta could finish the sentence, Y/n was already gone “-going to stay for a while.” She sighed.

“I take it, this is your eldest sister,” Rhys asked.

“I told you she could be intense,” Feyre replied.

“That’s one word for it,” Cassian expressed and was met with a glare from Nesta.

—-

Thinking they had left, Y/n descended the stairs, dressed in her nightgown and robe, seeking out a comforting cup of tea in the quiet atmosphere of midnight. Opening the backdoor leading to their garden, she leaned against the door frame, admiring the stars as she sipped her tea. She took a deep breath appreciating the tranquility and solitude the night provided. She could’ve sworn the shadows moved, but she dismissed it believing it was hallucinations caused by exhaustion from a long trip. Noticing a bright star in the sky, she lifted her cup up and uttered, “Cheers.” A sad smile appearing on her face…

As she was locking the door, she glimpsed a figure in the shadows. This time, unable to dismiss what she saw, she called out, “Who’s there?”

At first there was no response but she called out again “I know there’s someone here, so I suggest you come out,” she demanded.

Azriel hesitated but complied. “I apologize, I did not mean to disturb you.”

“What are you still doing here?” She covered herself with the robe, the gesture did not go unnoticed by Azriel.

“Your gracious sisters allowed us to stay here for a while,” he informed her.

“Have they now?” she nodded, clearly displeased by the information she just received “How long are you planning on staying here?”

“Not long. As soon as the letter is delivered, we’ll be out of your way, I give you my word,” he politely said.

“Your word means nothing to me. And if you’re staying at someone’s house, do not sneak up on them.” Her words as cold as ice.

“I wasn-“ before Azriel could explain, she had left, making his jaw clench in frustration.

The following day, she went downstairs earlier to get some breakfast, but what was early for her, was late for others. Upon entering the kitchen, she found Rhys and Feyre engaged in a conversation with Elain, while Nesta and Cassian bickered over their tea. Azriel was standing in the corner and when he saw her enter, his whole body tensed, and Cassian and Nesta went still

“Good morning,” Rhys greeted and was met with silence.

Y/n prepared her breakfast when Feyre approached her. “How did you sleep?” Y/n just stared at her sister without saying a word. Once she was done preparing her food, she took it and left without acknowledging anyone’s existence. As Cassian and Nesta resumed their bickering, Azriel finally relaxed, prompting Rhys to speak again. “Not a good morning, I guess?” He joked.

“Oh believe me, this is a good morning. If you think this was something, then you really don’t want to see her angry,” Feyre remarked.

“Is she always like this?” Cassian asked.

“Give her time. She doesn’t like strangers and she most definitely hates Fae-kind,” Feyre reminded.

“Yeah, that was clear,” Cassian said.

“You’re talking about her like she’s a bad person,” Nesta defended.

“Nesta, you know that’s not what I meant,” Feyre tried to explain.

“All I’ve seen you do since you got here is criticize Y/n. She’s done nothing wrong,” Nesta reminded.

“I’m sorry, but you know how Y/n can be."

“How? All she did was ignore you all, instead of engaging in a pitty argument that would hit your weak spots, and last I’ve known, she does not owe any of you anything. If you’re going to stay in this house, then better respect their owners,” Nesta expressed.

“Nesta!” Elain said, clearly displeased with her sister’s tone.

—-

“Can I come in?” Nesta asked permission to enter Y/n’s room.

“What is it now?” Y/n opened the door.

“I wanted to spend some time with you."

“Don’t you have guests to entertain?” Y/n crossed her arms.

“Elain and Feyre can deal with them. I’d rather stay here with you.”

“Fiine.” Y/n rolled her eyes but allowed her sister into her room.

“They already have a bad impression of you,” Nesta told her.

“When did I ever care about what people thought of me? Let alone, what male Fae thought of me.” Y/n chuckled “It bothered you, didn’t it?”

“Of course it did. I wouldn’t allow anyone to speak badly of you."

“They’re just words spoken by irrelevant people. When you acknowledge their words, you make them relevant. Remember Nesta, you decide who you give power over you.”

The next day, Feyre, Rhys and Azriel were absent from the kitchen when Y/n arrived. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, how do you two find the energy to fight this early in the morning?” Y/n asked, clearly awoken by the sound of Cassian and Nesta arguing.

“It’s noon,” Cassian corrected.

“Whatever. If you’re gonna argue, do it outside. Hearing your voice gives me headaches,” Y/n uttered.

“And here I thought my voice was soothing,” he sarcastically said.

“Don’t. Just don’t!” Cassian’s attempt at humor was met with Y/n’s annoyance.

“Rough night?” he asked.

“More like a rough couple of days. Some people clearly don’t know how to be good guests.” Y/n started making herself a cup of coffee.

“Well, maybe that’s because some people don’t know how to be polite hosts,” he snickered.

“You know what? You’re not worth my time, if you want to argue, you have Nesta. She apparently has the patience for it."

“Y/n,” Nesta called.

“What? You do love arguing,” Y/n reminded.

“Wow, the two of you in the same house as poor Elain and Feyre, how did they survive?”

“By knowing when to speak and when to shut up.” Y/n glared at him, taking her coffee and leaving and he said something.

—-

“What now?” Y/n asked as Feyre called for her sisters. “We can leave soon to mail our letter,” informing them.

“And this concerns me how?” Y/n asked.

“I-I thought you’d like to go with us."

“Why would I do that? No, thank you.”… “Wasn’t there one more of you?” Y/n asked, pretending to just have realized Azriel wasn’t present.

“Azriel had to return early. We had an altercation this morning,” Feyre explained.

“Altercation?” Y/n narrowed her eyes.

“It’s nothing."

“If you’re trying to hide it, then it is something."

“She was attacked,” Rhys claimed.

“What? By whom? And you call THIS nothing?” Y/n started checking her sister for injuries and both males’ eyes widened in surprise.

“I’m fine. I’m not hurt."

“Who attacked you?”

“It’s rather a what. She was attacked by a creature called the Attor who was sent by the king of Hybern,” Rhys informed her. “Don’t worry, Az is taking care of it."

To his surprise, she only nodded.

“I changed my mind. I’m coming with you,” Y/n announced.

“Don’t tell me it’s because I was attacked?” Feyre smirked.

“Oh, shut up!” Y/n nudged her with her shoulder.

[erideights]

Little pieces here and there (1)

Pairing: Buggy x Fem!Reader (One Piece Live Action)

Chapters: two, three, four, five

Word Count: 2,6K (i was inspired by god itself)

Warnings: none, lot of context (i promise the next chapter will have way less filling), light flirting

A/N: I HAVE ALREADY THOUGHT ABOUT AT LEAST 5 CHAPTERS MORE, I HOPE SOMEONE LIKES THIS FIRST ONE BECAUSE I'M ON MY KNEES FOR THIS DAMN CLOWN. Let me know if you wanna be tagged in other parts! (Side note: i'm spanish, so if there's some mistakes, i'm trully sorry, i don't have beta readers).

It's not enough to suddenly find herself locked in a box with 3 idiots she met a matter of hours ago, no; To make it worse, as it could not be otherwise, it turns out that she is in a bloody circus, ''kidnapped'' by a band of pirates that she recognizes as soon as she sees the red and white tent over their heads, the distressed faces of the poor people that make up the audience, and the costumes of the band around them.

She sighs, and wonders what the hell she's doing there despite knowing perfectly well what kind of decisions have led her to that damned place. Wanna know what happened? Let's recap, shall we?

(Y/N) (S/N). That name doesn't sound familiar, right? Very few know it but the reputation that accompanies the person who responds to it is very famous throughout the 4 seas. She is not a bounty hunter, nor a marine, neither a pirate or a pirate hunter, like the green-haired hottie with whom she finds herself in such trouble, or a thief, like the ginger who she bet, will escape running without looking back at the slightest opportunity she finds.

No, she's a mercenary. She doesn't work solely for money, otherwise she would go against the most bloodthirsty and ruthless of each sea, and that doesn'tt interest her, because she would put herself on the radar of both the pirates and the marines.

No, she is contacted through different channels, none of them direct, and if the job interests her, amuses her, or even piques her curiosity, she accept it. She goes after all kinds of people, whether they are pirates or marines, gangsters at the top of the terror scale or criminals who, like her, tried to keep a low profile.

However, and as we were saying, despite trying to remain anonymous, she is good at her job, a born strategist with an incredible facility to adapt and blend in with her surroundings to sneak into the most remote places, so her existence inevitably began to be noticed along the seas, rumors about this young mercenary with an angelic face, who only responded to her own morals and of whom few escaped to tell the tale.

And this is how she met that group of weirdos who found each others through the power of the plot's convenience; her last assignment was to steal the map from the Grand Line. There are not many, these kept safe and protected in large fortresses throughout the globe, and among all those that she could have tried to steal, she made the horrible decision of going for the one that was closest to her, encountering those three idiots in the crossfire of the disaster that unfolded in Shells Town.

How did she end up giving up the assignment and at that precise moment there, with them?  Simple: Luffy piqued her curiosity. And there are few things stronger than (Y/N)'s curiosity.

"Hey, I know you. I saw your wanted poster in Shells Town, you're the clown guy. Umm, uh… Binky, right?" Luffy exclaimed, as confident of himself as usual.

Buggy, she mentally corrected, arms crossed over her chest, rolling her eyes at the same time the clown corrected loudly and dramatically listed his many nicknames. Which she was sure, only he called himself.

''Wow, you have a lot of names. I bet everyone in the East Blue knows who you are.” The audience gasp. There's confusion in the boy's face, and an almost psychopatic tic in the clown's one. ''What did you just say?'' Buggy asks lowly. ''Just that everyone knows who you are.'' Luffy repeats.

''Nose!? Are you making fun of my nose!?’’

Then came the slap, like the one someone usually gives when a friend is trying to steal their food or touch something they definitely shouldn't. Buggy is killing the straw hat boy with his eyes but the gesture is so… innocent.  She expected threats with knives, to be honest.

And because of the unexpected, she almost let a laugh escape in the form of a cough but she controlled herself fast enough to not grab unnecessary attention to her.

''What's real is...'' Buggy resumes the conversation, getting some distance with Luffy to walk around the rest too.  ’’I’ve been scheming for months to steal that map from old Axe-Hand moron…’’ (Y/N) sees how he approaches her, but she didn't expect him to close the distance between each other so much, his nose almost touching her own, sharp blue eyes fixed on her from a slightly lower perspective. The truth is... that she also doesn't know how to tell if that nose is real or not, but now she really wants to touch it to find out. Dear God, what a realistic texture. It’s incredible.

Pressing her lips together in a contained expression as she shakes her head, she raises an eyebrow, letting him know that the joke wasn't as funny as he hoped, and he clucks, accepting defeat in such good humor that no one would say, that is a kidnapping and someone would end up dead by the end of the day.

She heard of him. His reward was not one of the highest but neither one of those that go unnoticed in the East Blue. He was also an eccentric, of course people talked about the blue-haired, red-nosed clown who terrified his victims in a macabre way. Those who survived ended up traumatized.

He is, or at least looks, younger than she imagined, and he fit right in with the urban legends of evil clowns kidnapping children and then dismembering them. She wonders, silently, thoughtful eyes scanning his face and body language from a distance, if this is some softie on the inside with high aspirations in life who was unfortunate enough to bump into someone who traumatized him and hence all this show and facade of the cruel and heartless clown -to protect himself as the good cliché he seems- or if, on the contrary, he is, simply and plainly, a yandere who craves attention no matter how he has to obtain it.

If she remembers correctly, there was also a rumor that he ate a devil fruit. Just like Luffy, which it doesn't take long for the clown to discover after Zoro tries to save the situation by showing off his reputation -obviously it doesn't work- and Nami does exactly what (Y/N) predicted. Not her fault, either, she doesn't owe any of them anything at all.

''Okay. Here ends the theatrics.’’ The lights go out and it’s then that everyone can small the disaster in the air. A chill runs down the back of (Y/N), who tends to infiltrate without being seen and avoids, whenever possible, a direct encounter; hand-to-hand combat is not exactly his specialty. And given the circumstances is impossible for her to know if the daggers she usually hides in the side of his combat boots -for emergencies like this one- are still there. ''I know one of you has my map, and I'm gonna get it back. What was it you said, Rubber Boy? That it was in a safe place?”

How long were they unconscious before? Enough to hijack the ship, get to land, and move 4 dead weight bodies to that circus, locking them in a box. By that point she would bet some member of the gang would have thoroughly searched the ship, and them too. Disgusting.

Buggy takes a last, attentive look at both Zoro and Nami, ruling out that one of the two has the map because when the girl tried to flee, Luffy was not shocked thinking that perhaps she would steal it from him. Which leaves the two of them, Luffy and her, alone with him.

''So, please'' the clown gestures to his subordinates with his head. ''make these two guests uncomfortable in the green room. I’m gonna have a chat with my stretchy new pal and…’’ His eyes jump to her, tilting his head to the side with genuine curiosity. ''this beauty that was incapable of taking her eyes off me.''

Fuck. Was it that obvious?

''Doll, you are the only one who hasn't opened your mouth yet and I don't think it's because you’re a shy little flower.'' He begins, circling around her like an animal hunting its prey, analyzing it, hoping to see a chink of weakness to attack. ''Are you bored?'' He asks almost in a whisper near her ear. ''Is that it? Are you so, so bored that you don't think it's worth enough interacting with the rest of us?'' Breaking away from her when he realizes she doesn't falter, he smiles a huge, threatening smile, looking her up and down in such a way that it almost makes her feel dirty. "Or maybe you're the one who has my map, and you're quiet to try not to attract /my/ attention."

She? The map? Wearing such tight pants and top? Yeah, maybe up her ass, but she's not the one who is going to tell him otherwise because if he, or one of his subordinates, comes to search her, she could take advantage of the opportunity to steal some sort of weapon from them.

In particular from Buggy; (Y/N) saw the knives he keeps in his coat and… she wouldn't mind taking a closer look at that interesting nose.

"Busted." She finally admits with a lopsided smile, raising both eyebrows when she sees the surprise on the clown's face. He didn't expect such a cocky response, did he? "I'm not the type of person who likes to attract attention, the spotlight is for others who are more... flashy." She pronounces it honeyedly, repeating the same nickname he used before, pointing at him with a gesture of her chin. "However, I'm not going to tell you where the map is. If you want to find it, come and search for it yourself."

Shrugging her shoulders, she stretches out both arms in a gesture that invites him to come closer. Bold, he thinks, more than pleased with this unexpected turn of events, taking some steps in her direction. She adds once more: "although I would be surprised if you hadn't already done it during the time we have been unconscious"

"Me?" He points at himself, stopping right in front of her. "Take advantage of a defenseless young lady?" He almost sounded offended if it wasn't for the shit eating grin and the eager way he was scanning her body now. "What kind of degenerate do you take me for?"

She scoffs, and Buggy, unsure, seems to consider -for some long seconds- whether or not to do the job himself, (Y/N) being too calm for how helpless she seems. But surely, he knows, she doesn't have any weapons on her; his subordinates were in charge, as she said, of searching all of them as soon as they were brought to the circus.

In the end he gives up, because he would be damned if he dared to refuse to thoroughly touch this mysterious woman who may, just may, have his map hidden somewhere. He strongly doubts it, tho.

Soon enough, he moves again, standing then behind her, and without asking permission, he doesn’t need it either, his hands start roaming her shoulders and sides slowly, making sure to feel anything weird between her clothes and the skin underneath. Like the fucking map, folded until it is nothing more than a small piece of paper easy to hide. 

Because that is the whole point of that scene, right?

"Go on, be my guest." she says sarcastically, trying to stay calm and breathe slowly, because (Y/N) likes to pretend to be made of stone, but not /that much/. The pressure of those gloves against her already tight clothes and the hungry way she knows those -green? blue? difficult to say with those circus lights- eyes are watching her every move make her heart beat a bit faster in something she’d call /the average amount of nervousness when a known, wanted pirate search for something we wants while threatening to kill you if he doesn’t find it/.

Buggy, on the other hand, is so engrossed in his task that his usual cocky smile has disappeared a few seconds ago; he is waiting to feel a change in the girl's body language to be able to guess if she has it or if, on the contrary, this search will be saved in his memory as no more than a small pleasurable pause after all the stress that the goddamn map is putting him through. Because he can't deny it, she's actually a beauty, and in other circumstances he wouldn't mind getting to know her in a funnier way. At all.

Inhaling deeply, wetting his red lips with his tongue, he lets the air out slowly, tilting his head to the side to see her better. He should hurry up and stop making that scene as intimate as it's becoming, audience and all, but he's a thorough man. Or that’s the excuse -explanation- he will give to whoever dares to ask.

"Where the hell did you hide my map?" He asks melodiously as he finishes searching her torso, his right hand starting to go a little lower, getting dangerously close to her hipbone when (Y/N)'s right hand flies up and catches his wrist between her fingers, stopping him dead in his tracks. She couldn't help it, she acted on autopilot, she is not ready to be the main character of a porn movie with audience included letting him roaming all around as he pleases. "Not between my legs, so keep lowering your hands and I'll cut them off." she threatens, turning her face to look at him standing behind her.

Right back, as if those words were magical or something, the huge, shit eating smile of his returns to the lips of the unstable clown, and without letting go, he makes her spin, facing her with both hands on her waist, strongly keeping her in place, sharp eyes fixed on her, and without realizing it, she stops breathing for a second. "You promise?" He whispers, pleads almost, in an amused, delighted tone of voice after such a threat. She was way interesting than he expected, not as shy or scared as an unarmed girl like her should be. He likes that. A lot.

However, he has -sadly- things to do and he did in fact, already lost time with her. His eyes betraying him the moment they land on the girl's lips, Buggy winks at her with a cocky expression and pulls away suddenly, raising both arms "Another disappointment, how many more can our audience endure? You’re the only one left, Rubber Boy, don't let me down." He points him, moving closer, while (Y/N) just stays there where he left her, wondering what the fuck just happened and why does her heart run so fast now.

Adrenaline, probably.

"Take her with the others" he ends up saying to a couple of members of his gang, to which she responds by moving on her own in the direction of where they have taken Zoro and Nami before, preventing them from guiding her by force and discovering the knife she stole from Buggy when he got so damn close to her, and which she secretly hid between the waistband of her pants and her shirt.

Risky, she could cut herself with the smallest movement at the least expected moment, but it was way worse to see herself unarmed.

Buggy, infatuated, takes one last look at her and, raising one hand, waves his fingers in the air with a huge smile on his face as he says goodbye to her.

"See you later, love."

[baby-blue-skyy]

Too Sweet // R. Grimes (TWD)

First Part of: Too Sweet

This is just a part 1 of a series I am starting. This isn’t my first time writing, but it is my first time posting/writing on tumblr. I have many books/fanfics on my Wattpad, so I apologize if this looks a little messy, I’m not really familiar with the layout! Feel free to share your thoughts, ideas and even suggestions. If this is liked I will definitely be adding more chapters!

Warning: age gap

Summary: After arriving in Alexandria, Rick is still on high alert, uncertain about the people who live within the walls of his new, unfamiliar home. But one person has caught his attention.

•••

He sat at the kitchen table, the faint hum of the house doing little to soothe the tightness in his chest. His fingers drummed absently against the countertop, but his thoughts were miles away, circling back to the same doubt that had gnawed at him since they’d arrived.

Alexandria was different. Quiet. Peaceful.

It should’ve been a relief. It should’ve felt like a break, a moment to catch his breath.

But it didn’t.

Alexandria wasn't like the places they'd been before—there were no threats lurking around every corner, no survivors trying to take what wasn't theirs.

But that peace... it didn't feel right.

Rick's gaze drifted through the window, where the sunlight filtered through the leaves of trees outside, casting long shadows on the neatly trimmed grass. The many houses that littered throughout the neighborhood left an uneasy impression in his chest. It looked perfect, almost too perfect. The kind of place where people lived carefree, without knowing what true fear was. People who didn't have to fight for every scrap, every breath.

He couldn't trust this.

His jaw clenched, the old instincts he had fought to cultivate in the harshest of times flaring back up. He had no room for a peaceful illusion. Not when it came to keeping his people safe. Not when every time he let his guard down, someone ended up dead.

His mind wandered back to the group, back to his responsibility. The weight of their survival, the lives he had to protect.

Could he really trust these people? The ones in Alexandria had lived in their safe little bubble, isolated from the nightmare that the world had become. How could he trust a community that hadn't been through the kind of hell he had? He couldn't. Not yet.

And then there was the question of himself—of his role as their protector. He was the one who made the hard decisions, who sacrificed parts of himself for the good of everyone else. But who protected him from the growing unease that gnawed at him?

A knock at the door cut through his thoughts, sharp and insistent.

His body reacted before his mind could catch up. Instantly alert, every muscle tightened, every nerve firing. Rick moved quickly, a trained reflex, his heart thudding in his chest. Could it be a threat? Someone from the outside? A trap?

He approached the door, his hand hovering over the knob, muscles coiled like a spring. He didn’t know what to expect, but he was ready. He had to be.

Rick reached for the door, his head tilting to the side—unease washing over him as his twitchy fingers twisted the shiny knob.

With a heavy breath—he opened the door.

there she was.

She looked like a fragment of a life they’d all lost.

A young woman, probably in her early twenties, standing on his doorstep. She was stunning—too stunning for this world. Her warm, sun-kissed skin seemed to glow under the soft sunlight, her hair falling freely around her shoulders, catching the light like something out of place in the wasteland they'd been living in. She wore a simple sundress—the thin fabric hugging her figure heavenly. She looked too clean, too untouched by the brutality of their world.

And for a split second, Rick felt the breath catch in the back of his throat. But he quickly shoved the feeling down, replacing it with the hardened skepticism he knew all too well.

She smiled brightly at him, her expression open and genuine. "Hi, I'm Daisy," she said, her voice light, with a soft lilt of warmth. "I thought I'd drop by, bring you something."

Rick blinked, his mind trying to process the situation. A stranger, standing on his doorstep with what appears to be dessert? His gaze dropped to the aluminum foil wrapped dish in her hands, trying to ignore the unease crawling through him. It was absurd, the normalcy of it.

"Apple pie," she continued, almost casually, as if offering food was the most normal thing in the world. "I made it this morning. Thought you might like it."

His blue orbs stared daringly into her—as if analyzing the situation, analyzing her. His fingers flexed by his sides. Daisy awkwardly shifted on her feet, her head tilting to the side, a flicker of worry etching itself onto her freckled face.

“You alright?”

The softness of her tone brought Rick back—his eyes softening only slightly. “Y-yeah,” he cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Thanks.” he muttered, his voice rough, not knowing what else to say as he stepped aside to let her in.

Daisy stepped over the threshold, and Rick’s senses flared. Her scent, soft and warm like vanilla, filled the space—familiar and foreign at the same time. The smell of her perfume lingered, pulling at him in a way he wasn’t prepared for. It disoriented him for a brief moment, making him feel too exposed, too vulnerable in his own home.

Rick quickly shut the door behind her, trying to push away the dizzying effect she was having on him. He couldn't afford to be distracted.

"So," Daisy began, glancing around the room as if she was settling into the space itself, her easy smile never fading. "Deanna said you have a little girl?" She shifted the pie in her hands, clearly comfortable in his space, despite his internal chaos. "I have some clothes for her, if you want.”

The mention of Judith made his chest tighten. His stomach dropped. He didn’t want to think about her—about the people he had to protect—but the thought of anyone offering to help with her, especially someone who didn’t know the weight of the world they lived in, made his nerves flare.

“My daughter’s grown out of them,” Daisy went on, unfazed by the sudden tension in the air. She shifted the pie in her hands, her gaze flickering around the room as if she was analyzing the space his family had now occupied. “I thought I’d bring them by sometime.”

The casualness of it, the ease with which she moved through his house—his space—took Rick off guard. He stiffened, suddenly uncomfortable in his own skin.

“You don’t even know me,” he muttered, his words almost clipped, too sharp.

But she didn’t flinch. Instead, she tilted her head, her smile not faltering. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, a little nervous, maybe, but her warmth didn’t waver.

“If you don’t want them, that’s fine,” she said with that same sweet, almost oblivious smile. “I was just trying to help. Just taking up space in the closet anyway.”

Rick’s gaze dropped to the floor for a moment, his fists tightening at his sides. There was something about her that unnerved him—her softness, her simplicity, her ability to move through the world so untouched by the brutality that had shaped him. She was the antithesis of everything he had known.

It made him ache in a way he couldn’t describe.

“Alright,” he finally muttered, the words coming out quieter than he intended, like he was swallowing something he didn’t want to taste.

Her smile widened, bright and unguarded, and something inside Rick twisted painfully.

“Great!” she said. “I’ll have my boyfriend drop them off tomorrow.”

The mention of her boyfriend struck him like a blow to the stomach. It was so casual, so simple, yet it sent a surge of… something through him. Disappointment? Jealousy? He couldn’t even name it. He shouldn’t care. She was just some girl. But the thought of her with someone else, in her peaceful little bubble, made something inside him tighten.

“Alright,” he managed, his voice hoarse. He could feel his control slipping, like something inside him was unraveling, and he hated it. He couldn’t afford to feel this way.

Daisy smiled again, completely oblivious to the storm she’d just stirred in him. her feet moved forward to hand him the warm covered dish. “I live right across the street,” she said, her voice light, almost teasing. “So if you need anything… you know where I am.”

Rick's heart skipped in his chest as she walked away, a final twist of something unspoken hanging in the air. He stood there for a long moment, watching her go, unable to shake the feeling that things had just gotten a whole lot more complicated.

[magics-neptunes-things]

Collide (1)

Hello everyone!

Here we are finally in the series I talk about a few days ago. After the votes you chose Leah, but I might have kept some ideas for Alessia afterwards.

I have the beginning of the story and the end, but I have not yet decided exactly what would happen in the middle, so I am unable to tell you how many chapters there will be in this story.

I hope you will like it and as usual, I gladly take your comments, requests and suggestions :) Don’t hesitate to write to me.

Happy reading!

World count : 4.8k

TW : Mention of breaking up and angst. I think nothing else but if you notice something please let me know!

PART 2 I PART 3 I PART 4 I PART 5 I PART 6 | PART 7

The news of your transfer to Arsenal was like a little bomb in the football world. You were on the verge of another contract extension with Manchester City when the London club contacted your agent, offering you a contract that you couldn’t refuse. It wasn’t an easy decision to make, you thought about it long before accepting. You asked for the advice of your parents and friends footballers perhaps a little more experienced than you. Including Ingrid Engen, one of your best friends since you started playing on the Norwegian national team.

After weighing the pros and cons, you decided to accept and say goodbye to Manchester City. Some things will obviously miss you. Starting with some of your teammates that you consider your friends and who seemed really saddened by your departure.

You quickly got along with Laia Aleixandri and Leila Ouahabi, the spanish womens taking you under their wing just arrived in Manchester. They made your life easier and helped you include yourself in the club much more easily than you could have hoped. Leaving your home country at almost 18 wasn’t easy, but if you wanted to continue to follow your dreams, you really had no choice. Norwegian football being less in the spotlight, when you had the first proposal from an English club, you didn’t hesitate a single second. Your parents and relatives encouraged you to accept this offer as well.

Your life in Manchester has been pleasant and you can’t help but be a little nervous about moving to a new city. With other people, other places… In short, to start almost from the beggining. The only thing that has changed between your settlement between Manchester and London is that you have undoubtedly developed your athletic abilities and skills in all areas necessary to be able to play football properly.

Your contract was signed just after the end of the World Cup, so you were the last to announced at Arsenal. This didn’t allow you to find an apartment in time and that is why you find yourself in a hotel room for your first nights in London. It’s a little strange, but you’d rather that than take an apartment that wouldn’t suit you. It’s important for you to really feel at home when you cross the threshold of your door and you haven’t found the one who gave you this impression in those you have visited for the moment.

You only have a few things with you at the moment, all your furniture is stored in Laia’s garage in Manchester, ready to be sent as soon as you find what suits you. Very soon, let’s hope.

********

It’s a little nervous that you leave the Uber that accompanies you to the Arsenal training center for your first day under the colors of the club. You have already made the promotional photos, so you have already met several people belonging to the staff. You’ve already had a meeting with Jonas, but you haven’t met a lot of people officially when it comes to the players.

Last night, Alessia Russo contacted you via Instagram (you didn’t even realize she was following you on social media) and offered to wait for you at the entrance to make your way together. You quickly accepted, even if you also quickly understood that it was for you more than for her. Alessia knows a lot of people on the team, unlike you. But the gesture made you happy. Alessia having played at Manchester United while you were playing at Manchester City, you might have had a bad connection with her, being clubs enemy, but that’s not the case. Leila and Laia always took you with them when they were going out with Ona and her friends and that’s how you met Alessia. From saying you’re friends with her there’s a world, but you appreciate the blonde’s personality.

Alessia is already waiting for you when you arrive and you smile at her when you reach her height.

"Hi" you say with a slight smile, responding willingly to her embrace.

"Nervous?" asks the blonde, glancing at you.

You answer with a simple grunt that makes her laugh, before you go to the conference room where you meet the rest of the team. She asks you about your Summer and you ask questions back, learning that she went in her family in Italy.

Several of your teammates are already present when you enter the room, including Jonas who greets you both with a big smile. You find yourself following Alessia around like a lost puppy in the room, but she doesn’t seem to mind. On the contrary, she introduces you to people she already knows.

You’ve come across some of them on football fields in previous games, but aside from a few words exchanged with them, there’s never been anything more. You talk to Laia Codina, whom Laia and Leila described as an adorable girl, when a new trio arrives in the room. Lia, Leah and Katie.

"Katie terrifies me" Alessia jokes in your ear before Leah spots her and leads the other two in your direction.

"Do you know Y/N?" Alessia tells Leah after they greet each other with an embrace.

"Not really" Leah replies with a smile. "Welcome to Arsenal!"

"Thank you very much"

When your eyes meet, you feel a wave of shivers running through your entire body. Nothing to do with the terror that Katie can inspire in Alessia, but what it can mean does intrigue you no less. But you quickly recover, greeting all three. You realize too that Leah’s embrace lasts a few seconds longer than the others, her hand dragging in the hollow of your back when she laughs at a joke Katie made.

Shortly after, Jonas and his assistants arrive in the room and ask you all to sit down. You find yourself next to Alessia and Manuela Zinsberger and listens wisely to what he tells you. This mainly consists of a warm welcome from the new players, a reminder of the goals set for the team this year and the introduction of new staff members. After that, everyone is invited to a brunch and you find yourself around a big round table, once again with Manuela but also with Frida Maanum, who seems delighted to have a compatriot with her on the team.

"We’ll be able to show Stina and Amanda who the real Vikings are" she told you, amusing the people around you.

The least we can say is that you quickly feel comfortable.

Finally you were wrong to fear the introduction into your new team. You haven’t trained together yet, but you feel it won’t be a problem for you to fit in here. Despite you, your eyes are a little too turned towards Leah Williamson, who has lunch at an another table. You didn’t expect the injuries one to be here today, which was stupid of you. They’re just as much part of the team as you are.

In the middle of the afternoon, after visiting the different rooms and the training ground, you are free to leave. You stay a little longer than the first ones who do though, having fun making passes with Alessia and Manuela, while Leah, Lia, Beth and Viv stay a few meters from you to discuss. When you finally decide to leave the field to go home and you don’t follow them to the parking lot greeting them nevertheless, you see Leah arching an eyebrow.

"Where are you going?"

"Taking the subway? I don’t have a car yet" you answer smiling, shrugging your shoulders.

"Bullshit. Someone can bring you back" Leah says, turning to your teammates.

"I’m not going to force someone to make a detour for me, Leah, but that’s very kind, thank you very much."

Something in the blonde’s gaze makes you think that if she had been fit to drive, she herself would have made the detour, but being driven by Lia she doesn’t have the opportunity to do so.

"I can" says Alessia nicely. "Where do you live?"

A new wave of surprise attacks your teammates when you give them the name of your hotel.

"You live in a hotel?" Lia wonders with her kind voice this time.

"I didn’t find an apartment for now" you shrug your shoulders."It all happened so quickly that I didn’t have time to anticipate things properly."

Well, you must also say that you wanted enjoy your holiday without bother yourself with it.

"We have a guest room if you want to come and live there for a few days, the time to find something" proposes Manuela.

But before you have time to answer, Alessia suddenly resumes speaking, slapping her forhead, as if she had just remembered something.

"They’re looking to rent the apartment in front of mine, on the same floor. If it’s like mine, it’s really nice!"

********

It turned out that the apartment in front of Alessia is indeed very nice. A bright living room (Very rare for London said Katie when she was sent by Leah to come make the counter-visit with you to scare the seller in case of scam attempts), a bedroom, another room that you used as a guest room, a third to make you an office and a living room with open kitchen. You even have a small balcony overlooking the inner courtyard, separated from Alessia’s by a transparent wall. "We’ll have to do a housewarming party" several of your teammates got excited. And that’s how you end up with most of the players on the team crammed into your living room, laughing while watching a reality show chosen by Jen. You ordered pizza and a supply of beer and other drinks has been flooding your balcony since last night. But you feel good and that’s all that matters. At the end of the show, you don’t know who offers a drinking game, consisting of taking a shot of alcohol if we did more than the person says. For example, you find yourself having to drink when Lotte says "I took more than three yellow cards last season." "Katie should drink like five shots" jokes Viv towards. Katie glare at her as laughter rises around you, but the game continues. Finally, when one of them says "I slept with more than two people" you are surprised to see that finally not many of you drink. You do. "Y/N?" Manuela turns to you with a disbelieving smile. "We never said we had to justify ourselves" you answer pulling your tongue at her. A new round is quickly thrown after that, but you cross Leah’s eyes a few seconds later. She also drank, which is probably not surprising given the small reputation that precedes her.

After clearing your throat, you look away with a slight blush on your cheeks.

You regularly saw Leah, between the parties organized by the different team members and during training. If the blond doesn’t follow those in the field, she has her appointments with her physiotherapist at the same time as you play. And she now participates in strength training and physical maintenance.

You talk to her regularly, but you have a hard time staying away like you promised yourself to. Leah seems like a very passionate and kind person, but some of your former teammates in Manchester City have made you aware of her flirtatious nature. And a one- or two-night thing, are really not what you’re looking for right now.

A little later in the evening, when at least half of the squad has returned home, you find yourself tidying up a little in the kitchen accompanied by Lia, Leah, Alessia, Manuela and Frida.

"So you have more than two conquests?" teases Manuela, leaning on the central island of your kitchen.

You have the impression that Leah’s eyes will pierce your head when she hears Manu’s question.

"I’ve got like three" you says, rolling your eyes. "It’s not the end of the world"

"It’s not" Lia laughs.

Hoping to divert the conversation, you offer once again to drink to your teammates slash friends. But that was without counting on Manu’s spontaneity.

"Oh but it wasn’t you who dated Alina Meier who play in Aston Villa? Lia’s swiss teammate?" (n/a I don’t want any problem with anyone, this girl is all invented)

You feel your stomach contracting a little bit to her name. Manuela isn’t mistaken, but you usually avoid talking about your ex. Any of your interlocutors could feel the tension emanating from you, but Lia is the fastest.

"Can I have another beer please?" she cuts the conversation with a big smile.

You willingly accept and pivot towards the fridge to dive in. Alessia takes charge of changing the topic of conversation and you sigh of relief when your hear that it works. You spend two seconds more than necessary to take out the beer, taking a large breath before leaving the fridge. Alessia puts a comforting hand behind your back and you find yourself once again stuck in Leah’s eyes when your eyes cross.

An hour later, it’s just Alessia, Leah, Victoria and you. Manuela fell asleep on the couch and you will probably find her in the same place tomorrow morning. Vic and Lessi are in the middle of a conversation about a band when you find yourself on your balcony, enjoying some fresh air.

"Mind if I join you?"

Leah. You obviously invite her to join you, despite yourself very intrigued by the young woman. You’re not stupid, or at least not stupid enough not to realize that she seems intrigued by you too. She speaks at you more often than Manu for example and behaves differently with you than with Lia or Alessia. You can imagine how much she looks about you and to be honest you’re interested about her too. But on your side it’s not only physical interest, which changes everything.

"Are you okay?" asks Leah with sincere concern. "You seem a little down since Manu mentioned Alina."

You look at her thoughtfully for a split second before shrugging your shoulders.

"She doesn’t bring back pleasant memories. But it’s ok" you finally confess, looking at the sky.

It’s difficult in London to observe the stars, between pollution and public lights lit everywhere. You miss it a little.

"You wanna talk about it?"

"Well… Everybody in the football world knows, no?"

Another disadvantage of dating a well-known player, in the end. It’s impossible to keep your privacy private.

"I don’t think so?" said Leah, frowning. "I don’t, anyway." You look at her again for a few seconds and it doesn’t take you any longer to understand that she’s telling the truth. "We dated for almost a year, until I found out she had been cheating on me with someone in the man team from her club for almost four months." "Oh... I’m so sorry" A new glance in her direction allows you to understand that she really is. Frowning, she seems upset by this story. Like all the people to whom you tell the truth of your break up with Alina. You assumed that everyone knew why, but it would seem that they didn’t. It kind of cheers you up to be honored. "Jordan’s playing with her now" you say thoughtfully. Leah grunt at the mention of her ex and you take advantage of the fact that she looks in front of her to observe her. Leah is a very beautiful woman, it’s not surprising that people like her so much. You see regularly video on her in your "For you" on Tiktok. "You’re not the only one having a bad relationship with your ex" ended up sighing Leah. "Do you want to talk about it?" you ask, repeating her words from before. "There’s not much to say. She’s just, you know... gone." Maybe you shouldn’t get close to her to put your hand on her shoulder, her proximity triggering strange sensations throughout your body. You realize that the joints of Leah’s hands that are attached to the fence are white, and your hand quickly leaves her shoulder to be laid on one of Leah’s, stroking it. When Leah turns her head in your direction, you realize how close your faces are. Your breath is cut off and the infinity of the blue of her eyes makes you lose yourself. When Leah puts her hand around your waist to take you against her, you feel like your heart rate has never been so fast.

But it’s nothing compared to how you feel when her lips land on yours. One hand is automatically behind her neck and the other on her cheek. Your lips begin a passionate and sensual dance and that’s exactly how you imagined things when you thought about how Leah kiss.

The blonde takes advantage of a wimper from you to deepend the kiss and request access to your mouth with her tongue. You leave it to her, carried away by these waves of emotions and sensations that make you turn your head. You find yourself quickly having legs in jelly and you can’t tell how long this moment happened.

You need all your concentration and willpower to break that kiss, snatching yourself from Leah’s arms.

"I’m sorry" you mumble out of breath, facing Leah’s surprised face. "I shouldn’t have… I’m sorry"

With one last mumble, you hurry back inside. If the remaining guests suspect something, they don’t show it. You take the excuse to clean up a little more to mask your trembling hands and let your heart rate returning to normal. Five minutes later, Leah came back inside, excusing herself and leaving your apartment, calling it a night. She didn't even look at you and well, that's hurt. But it shouldn't, aren't you the one who pushed her away?

After kissing your cheek and saying goodbye, Alessia left you too. You throw a blanket on Manu’s sleeping body, you go to your room. It’s late, but you know that Ingrid sometimes stays up a little later than other people.

From You Are you asleep?

From Ingrid 🩵 No. are you okay?

From You Can we call each other?

You don’t get messages back, but Ingrid tries to call you while you’re brushing your teeth. You pick up, mouth full of toothpaste and greet your friend with a hand sign when her face appears on the screen.

"What are you still up at this hour?" smiled Ingrid

"I could ask you the same question" you point out to her after rinsing your mouth.

Ingrid just turns your phone screen and you realize that she shows you her living room, in which she seems to be installed with Mapi and Baghera watching TV.

"Hola Mapi!" you smile to the tattooed when she greets you with a wave of hand.

"What about you?"

"I invited the girls to my apartment to celebrate my move in" you explain before leaving the bathroom and going to lie on your bed.

"Was it nice?"

You hum for any answer, the memory of the kiss you just exchanged with Leah coming back full force. After spending years paying attention at you, Ingrid knows you very well and she realizes in the second that the reason you called her is related to this evening.

"What’s going on, Søtnos?"

Mapi being next to Ingrid, you are relieved that you started this conversation in Norwegian. Since Leah’s name is rather all-purpose, you hope that when you mention her, Maria will not realise. You never understood why there is such tension between the Spanish women and the English women, at least for some of them. But Mapi will probably never be friends with Leah.

Ingrid is a person you could easily confide in, even if there are parts of your life that you have never talked to her about. But you trust her with your life and you know that she will always be able to see things in a neutral and mature way. Which is not always your case.

You explain the situation to her, trying not to take too much time while giving her all the necessary information to have a clear vision of things.

"For summary" resumes Ingrid after your monologue "You like her, she seems to like you too. She kissed you, you pushed her away and she left without looking at you?"

"Uh… yeah"

"And you’re surprised?" laughs softly the brunette shaking her head.

"No, on the contrary. I should never have accepted that kiss in the first place, it was a serious mistake on my part."

"Why?"

"Because she doesn’t see things the way I do, I guess. Leila told me to beware of her and she didn’t want anything serious for a long time" you sigh as you roll to the side.

"Did you talk to her about it?"

"No, we didn’t have time between the kiss and the moment she left my apartment slamming the door" you laugh.

"Be careful with your bad attitude" warns Ingrid pointing at you.

But you smile at her in return. You know she doesn’t scold you for real.

"Anyway, I doubt that she will want to speak to me again after that" you sigh again.

This information shouldn’t depress you as much as that, but still. And this doesn’t escape the keen eye of your compatriot once again. She smiles softly at you.

"I like Leila and I don’t doubt that she means what she says, but trust me, you’re never better served than by yourself."

Her look from the side and you know she’s looking at her own girlfriend. You remember perfectly well that Ingrid was also told to beware of Mapi. But when you see where they are today, you tell yourself that she did well to trust her own idea.

"You have a better conscience than me to judge people" you remind her.

Ingrid answers you with a grunt and you know that she thinks about what happened previously in your love life. You make a grimace and decide to change the subject, questioning her rather on Mapi, her trainings and what she has to tell you again in her life.

Your call lasts another ten minutes before you decide to stop, promising to call you back quickly. What you usually do once a week at least, determined to keep in touch despite the fact that you are not in the same country.

It’ll be a long time before you can fall asleep that night, Leah deep in your mind. Part of you is bitterly sorry you pushed her away, but on the other hand, no one can blame you for wanting to protect you, right? No one knows your past and what you went through before you came here. But you can’t help but feel guilty, despite the little time you spent with Leah, she confided in you about her relationship with her ex and even if it was just a few words, you feel like she wouldn’t do it to just anyone. Your last wish is to hurt her, she asked nothing for it.

You will have to wait until the sky clears, heralding a new day for you to finally find sleep, long hours later. Little did you know that Leah experienced the same thing in her own bed.

********

As you have imagined, Leah was particularly cold the next time you saw her. She greeted you, but only from a distance. Her affectionate smile and the little touches if attention she offered you on a daily basis now seem to need to be evoked in the past. And it bothers you too much for your taste.

This obviously caught the attention of the girls you were closest to in Arsenal, starting with Alessia.

"Is everything okay with Leah?" she asked you one day when you ended up in her apartment after a game.

"Yeah, why?"

Thank God you were on your phone and you were able to use this pretext to pretend to be absorbed by what was on it. Otherwise Alessia would have seen the slight panic take hold of your gaze.

"I don’t know, I think she changed her behavior with you… It’s not so much in her habits"

Alessia is far too observant, but given her character and personality, it doesn’t surprise you. It's also probably thanks to this that she saw your hesitation and she got closer to you before starting to speak again.

"Leah is my friend but you are too, so if you need to confide in someone, you can do it with me ok? I know how to keep secrets"

"Even for Tooney?" you asked while arching an amused eyebrow.

You met the energetic Englishman recently, when she came to London for an interview and took the opportunity to attend a match of Alessia.

"Even for Tooney" laughed Alessia gently shoving you with a shoulder.

You laughed too and you both went back to your respective phones, but in truth Alessia’s remark began to spin in your brain.

"Thanks"

Is all you added before you letting your head on her shoulder. Alessia responded by tapping you on the top of it, without taking her phone out of her eyes. And that was enough.

********

"Your tattoo is amazing!"

Katie’s exclamation makes you turn in her direction and you smile timidly when you see her watching your back carefully.

"Thank you?" you whisper in response.

Even if you prefer showering at home, this is not the first time you change in front of your teammates. So you don't know it Katie have never dared to ask you about it or if they have never really make attention the tattoo you have on your back. Yet it’s hard to miss. Drawn on all your right shoulder blade, it goes down to the hollow of your hips and shows up to your right shoulder.

"Wow, invite the girl on a date before" jokes Manuela when Katie advances towards you, without detaching her eyes from your back, her head slightly tilting on the side to have a better view.

"Sorry, I already put an option on it!" Caitlin exclaims at the back of the locker room, causing a general laugh.

Katie rolls her eyes, but you realize that she has been joined by Lia and Leah, all three of them carefully observing your tattoo. Your gaze lingers on Leah, who seems to resist as much as possible her desire to come and look closer. She stands behind Lia and when your eyes cross she silently observes you for long seconds before shifting her attention to your back.

"Sorry about the invasion" Lia smiles gently.

"It makes me think of a painting" Leah thoughtfully made next to her.

"By Van Gogh yes. The Starry Night. It was my grandfather’s favorite painting. Well, it’s a modified version obviously, but the inspiration is there"

The surprised look of Leah doesn't escape you. Lia is watching you silently and next to you Katie and Manuela have started a conversation about tattoos. As for Alessia, she finally emerges from the shower after her eternal routine of care.

"Do you like painting?" Leah asks carefully, looking at you with the same apprehension as if your gaze could ignite her alive.

"My grandfather was a painter, not very well known but he introduced me to this world" you answer by shrugging your shoulders.

"What she paints is incredible. She has a room dedicated to this at home, behind her bedroom" Alessia intervenes.

You turn in her direction, frowning. It's a part of you that you don't really want to share with everyone, fearing their jugement. You don't think you're a great painter, but you like painting. It's sort your mind. Your glance is quickly captured by your friend.

"What? It’s true" she mumbles, shrugging.

You roll your eyes and turn around to finish dressing, putting on a t-shirt and a sweatshirt to accompany your ripped jeans. The little troop that surrounded you has dissipated, but Leah’s gaze remains thoughtfully on you. You cross it when you glance in her direction and you blush slightly.

The effect that woman has on you… It might be a good idea to talk to someone about it again instead of thinking desperately about her every night before you fall asleep.

[hivemuthur]

What was that? - Ch. 14.

viktorxfemale!OFC explicit!

friends to lovers, co-workers, sexual tension up to the wazoo, pinning and banter that got me frustrated when I was writing it, attempt at humour, some angst and a slow burn with a happy ending and a classic Viktor for once

Ch.1. | Ch.2. | Ch.3. | Ch.4. | Ch.5. | Ch.6. | Ch.7. | Ch.8. | Ch.9. | Ch.10. | Ch.11. | Ch.12. | Ch.13. | Ch.15.

word count: 6,5K

tag: #what was that

author’s note: @rennethen as beta reader and co-author of nsfw scenes. Big decisions are made as we inch toward the ending, more big decisions to come in the next chapter. This one has a bit of angst and making up :')

Cross-posted on AO3

—

A crumpled piece of paper stared at her from the desk, almost offensively. Don’t come. Ekko had been very clear about what was happening in Zaun—how they needed help and supplies—and yet, at the same time, he’d written, “Don’t come.” The words, scratched out in haste and frustration, outlined the chaos unfolding in the Undercity, painted in vivid, heart-wrenching detail. He spoke of the Chem-barons pushing harder, of the Grey spreading faster than anyone had anticipated, but it was the final sentence that cut deeper than the rest: Things look bad, but don’t come.

It was an incredibly stupid thing to say to someone whose first instinct was to do the exact opposite.

She knew how to sneak in unnoticed. She knew how to blend into the Undercity’s shadows, how to remain invisible on its streets even while carrying a massive bag filled with meds and supplies. She knew where to leave the packages and how to find Vander if the need ever arose. Her wardrobe even included the most inconspicuous clothes for this exact purpose, and she had practiced her most inconspicuous stroll to match. Yet nobody wanted her to go.

Ekko had told her not to come. Jayce would probably say the same. Was it fear for her safety? Or was it a plea for her to stay out of a war that had already begun to consume everything? Viktor—though he hadn’t said it so firmly—had shown it in his eyes. More than anyone, he didn’t want her to go. He’d all but forbidden her. The same way she had tried to forbid him from using the Hexcore.

Her chest tightened as she thought of his fractured resolve, of the utterly betrayed look on his face when he had found her clutching onto Jayce in the lab. How she had cried her heart out to Jayce, how she had confessed her complete, unfaltering devotion to Viktor. And yet it was Viktor who should have heard those words. Not Jayce. And certainly not like that. Not stolen or overheard in a desperate attempt to turn him away from his goal. He deserved so much better. He deserved to hear it in the safety of their bed, spoken with love and certainty—not anguish.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she smoothed the paper on her desk, her mind returning to the fleeting moment when Viktor had said, I am happy. How quickly that happiness had faded, replaced with another want—one far more dangerous and unapproachable than the concept of being loved. Or perhaps, she thought bitterly, they were equally alien to Viktor.

A knock on the door wrenched her out of her own head.

She glanced around her apartment, taking in its natural state of controlled chaos. Papers were scattered across her bed and floor, a few too many cups for one person splayed across various surfaces, clothes draped haphazardly over the chair. A scented candle burned faintly on the table, its singular ember a small, grounding presence in the midst of her internal monologue.

She sighed, stretched—she’d been sitting in the same position for what must have been two hours—and walked toward the door on wobbly legs.

When she opened it, Viktor stood on the other side, and her first thought was whether he had felt the same as she did now when she had shown up at his doorstep after their week apart. She mirrored his movements from that moment, fighting the immediate urge to pull him into an embrace. Instead, she settled for a gentle chin tilt, a silent beckon for him to come inside.

Wordlessly, she closed the door and turned to face him, only to find his gaze fixed on the floor. His trembling hand gripped his cane tightly, his knuckles white with tension. He looked awful—worn, hollow somehow—but she couldn’t pinpoint exactly why.

Before she could form the words to greet him, he suddenly clutched onto her like a drowning man reaching for a lifeline.

“Forgive me,” he whispered desperately against her neck, his voice raw and unsteady.

His cane clattered to the floor. Viktor clung to her with so much need, his breathing laboured and erratic, as though every exhale cost him more than he could bear. Renly froze for a moment, startled by the sheer force of his grip, but instinct soon took over. She raised her hands, resting them lightly on his back, feeling the faint tremor coursing through his body. His arms encircled her neck, holding her so tightly it almost hurt, as though letting go might shatter him completely.

"I’m sorry," he whispered, his voice raw, cracking under the weight of his anguish. "I’m so sorry."

Renly’s fingers pressed gently against the fabric of his coat; her touch uncertain but steady. "Viktor," she began softly, but he interrupted her with another broken apology, his words tumbling over one another like a prayer.

"I’m so sorry," he whispered again, the sound of it splintering her heart.

She tightened her hold on him, grounding him as best she could, though she couldn’t understand what he meant. Her mind spun. He did it, didn’t he.

"Viktor, talk to me," she said, her voice calm despite the storm she could feel radiating from him. "I’m here. Whatever this is, you don’t have to carry it alone."

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he pressed his face against her neck, his breath hot and uneven on her skin. She could feel his weight bearing down on her, not just physically, but emotionally, as though the very act of standing upright was too much for him.

"I’m afraid," he murmured at last, so softly she almost didn’t hear him.

"Afraid of what?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, not wanting to startle him.

"Of losing you," he admitted, his words breaking into a sob.

The sound sent a sharp pang through her chest. Viktor, who always carried himself with an air of precision and control, now stood before her utterly undone. He was a man stripped of his defences, standing on the edge of a precipice with nothing left to shield him.

"You won’t lose me," she promised, her voice firm despite the tears welling in her own eyes. "I’m right here, Viktor. I’m not going anywhere."

But he only clung tighter, as though her words weren’t enough to break through the crushing weight of whatever he was carrying.

"You don’t understand," he whispered, his voice cracking under the strain. "I’ve done something… something I cannot undo."

Her breath caught. She pulled back just enough to look at him, her hands moving to his shoulders. His eyes were red-rimmed and glassy, his face ashen with guilt and fear.

"What did you do?" she asked, the question gentle but unyielding.

Viktor shook his head, a tear slipping down his cheek. "I thought I could… fix—," he said, his words halting, as though even admitting it out loud might unravel him completely. "But I… I made a mistake, Renly. A terrible mistake."

A cold dread settled in her stomach. He did it. At least attempted it. She could feel her hands trembling—not just with fear, but with anger. Betrayal coursed through her veins, sharp and biting. How could he?

The thoughts poured into her mind, gnawing at each other, each one more vicious than the last. He’d gone ahead in his anger, in his stubbornness, and risked everything. Risked his life. Left her teetering on the brink of losing him entirely.

And for what? Because what she offered wasn’t enough? Because her care, her devotion, hadn’t been enough to make him stop, to make him reconsider?

The realisation burned her, stoking the flames of her own insecurities. She could feel the edges of her composure fraying as she stepped back from him, her arms dropping to her sides. The absence of her touch seemed to hit Viktor like a physical blow, his gaze snapping up to meet hers, wide and filled with something that might have been regret—or terror.

“What did you do?” she asked, her voice colder than she’d intended, cutting through the tension like a knife.

Viktor flinched, his shoulders sagging as though the weight of her words pressed him further into the ground. His lips parted, but for a moment, no sound came. His hands hovered uncertainly at his sides, as if reaching for something—her, maybe—but they didn’t move.

“I…” He muttered another apology, his voice barely audible, before finally forcing out the words. “The Hexcore. It… it nearly destroyed me.”

Nearly was an understatement. It had destroyed him—briefly—and then put him back together. Or rather, he had put himself back together with the last ounce of his will, while being consumed and pulled apart in every direction.

In that moment, a fleeting thought had crossed his mind, as one of the possibilities presented to him was an end. An end to his pain, to his indecision, to his fear. A blissful nothing had glimmered faintly before him, just within reach, offering peace and absolution. To become a part of the Arcane, forever forgotten and undisturbed.

Wrenching himself away from it had been the hardest thing Viktor had ever done—until now. Now, standing before Renly, he was faced with something even more daunting: proving his worth to her again. Explaining, somehow, that he had found all the answers he thought he needed, only to realise that none of them mattered without her. Explaining that he had stepped away—not because she was a consolation prize—but because she had always been, and would always remain, his first choice.

Emptiness echoed through Renly’s mind. Her anger faltered quickly, replaced by despair. She had despaired for him so deeply. Part of her wanted to reach back out and shield him from the world, to gather him in and protect him. But another part of her was so deeply wounded by the possibility—one that had never come to fruition yet had still clawed a gaping hole in her—that he had chosen otherwise, even briefly.

She willed her legs to move and passed him wordlessly on her way to the kitchen, granting him only a fleeting moment of her hand resting on his shoulder. She put the kettle on and pulled out two cups to later join her ever growing cup display across the apartment.

Viktor dragged himself behind her, eventually slumping into the chair like a defeated dog. They sat in silence for what felt like an eternity until she finally placed a steaming cup before him and took a seat across the table, facing him directly.

“All right. What happened?”

“Renly, I—” Viktor sniffled, struggling to gather words that would make sense. “I am so sorry.”

“Stop apologising, Viktor. It already happened,” she said, exasperated, her voice tinged with annoyance. But seeing how he shrank under her scolding, she softened, reaching out to take his hand.

“I was so angry,” he admitted, his voice low and trembling. “With you, with Jayce. I suppose I felt exactly how you are feeling now.” He looked up, meeting her eyes with raw vulnerability. “I… I touched it. And it just devoured me. Broke me. Showed me what I could become—and the price for it. And I realised… I hated it.”

Renly held her breath, her hand retreating from his. “Are you hurt?”

“No. Well, slightly,” Viktor winced, his lips pressing into a thin line. “It’s mostly my mind that’s hurt. My pride.” He thought of the way the Hexcore had terrorised him, its merciless grip, and how he couldn’t bring himself to tell her the full truth.

“I can’t believe you threw it all away on a whim,” she blurted, unable to keep the accusation from slipping out.

“It was not a whim!” Viktor’s voice rose, but only briefly, before it broke into a sigh. “It was a promise of something better. For you. For me. Mostly for me,” he admitted, his gaze falling, his thoughts spiralling into incoherence.

“Viktor.” Renly’s tone was heavy, her emotions warring within her. “I can only imagine… No, actually, I can’t imagine what you feel every day.” She stopped him with a sharp look when she saw he was about to interrupt. “I’m so sorry that I don’t know. I was… I was afraid to lose you too.” Her voice cracked, betraying the pain she had tried to hide.

“Renly,” he said, his words weighed down with difficulty, yet he forced himself to continue. “I would understand if this were something you cannot forgive.”

“Viktor, how can you—” she began, but the tears rolling down her cheeks choked the words in her throat. She raised a crook of her elbow to cover her eyes, desperately trying to steady herself.

A hysterical thought shot through Viktor’s mind—that this was their teary goodbye—and for a moment, he was certain he’d start crying as well. He closed his eyes, feeling the heat gathering under his lids, when her hands found him again. Her weight settled on his lap, her face nuzzling into his hair.

“I’m so sorry,” she sobbed, a full-blown cry that dampened his sweater and neck. “You’re so… good, and I haven’t told you,” she said, her voice breaking as she wiped her tears on him. “I didn’t know what I would do if you…” Another sob tore through her, ugly and raw, overblown with all the feelings she had bottled up for far too long.

 Viktor wrapped his arms around her, pulling her impossibly closer as he tried to suppress his own tears. His chin rested lightly on her shoulder, and he whispered hoarsely, “I know.”

And he did. He knew it with a clarity that terrified him. That feeling of being so completely entwined with someone else, so dependent on them for a piece of his own happiness—it was as exhilarating as it was terrifying. Never in his life had he allowed himself to need someone like this, to let someone burrow so deeply into the carefully constructed walls around his heart. But he couldn’t fight it anymore. He didn’t want to.

“Will you…” His voice wavered as he pulled back just enough to meet her swollen, tear-streaked face. “Will you have me back?”

Renly blinked at him, her brows knitting together as if she wanted to argue, to challenge him, to tell him just how wrong he was. She’d never gotten rid of him in the first place. But the words didn’t come. Instead, her trembling hands cradled his face, and she leaned in, pressing a sloppy, tear-soaked kiss against his mouth.

“Yes,” she muttered, her lips brushing his as she spoke the word straight into him, warm and raw and final. “Yes.”

Viktor shuddered under her touch, relief washing over him. He kissed her back, softly at first, then with more urgency, needing to feel the truth of her words. It wasn’t elegant or perfect—it was messy and desperate, as he swallowed her tears down as if they were his own.

Wordlessly, Renly took his hands and guided him toward her bedroom, minding all the obstacles along the way, her movements impatient. Viktor stepped carefully behind her, taking in the clutter of random objects. Not much had changed since the last time he’d been there; she had just added more colourful lamps.

Once they had reached the bedroom, she pushed the door shut before pinning Viktor against it, her hands reaching for his neck to pull him into a desperate kiss. He gave away a startled gasp, as she bit his lower lip and slid her palms underneath his shirt. His coat, long abandoned on the hallway floor, left him wearing the same clothes he had worn the day before, and they gave off a faint metallic smell of blood and gear oil from the lab.

Viktor let out a chuckle, as her needy fingers rushed to undo his buttons and rush him out of the layers, scratching his chest with her fingernails by accident. With almost restrained movements, he did the same for her, as if his regard for clothes had vanished, and he only obliged because of her decency in not ripping the fabric right off his back.

With their mouths still glued together, Viktor let his weight rest on her, as he backed them toward the bed, positioning himself to sit first and pull her into his lap. He cupped her face and pulled her in for a tight embrace, his forehead resting in the curve of her neck. He pressed his face into her hair and breathed in deeply through his mouth and nose, hoping to keep her scent with him forever.

Renly ran her fingers down his spine, the bolts embedded in it, as she gently detached all the parts that corseted Viktor’s frame, rubbing her palms flat along the dents and marks it left in his skin. He let out a relieved exhale, as her mouth came back to his into a messy open mouth kiss, his hands pressing on her shoulder blades. Her lips needy, giving away moans of urgency, as if there wasn’t enough of him.

She stood up, guiding him with her, before she leaned down to take off his leg brace with a few quiet clicks and placed it by the bed. Viktor felt her hands sliding down his thigh, her fingers pressing gently around his knee. She then returned to level with him and licked the seam of his mouth as she unbuckled his belt.

Viktor hesitated; his hands travelled to steady hers before she could pull his pants down. There, below the layer of material, was the very proof of his infidelity, of his weakness. The purple, fluorescent vein that burned itself into the fabric of his flesh—a forever reminder of a moment when he almost let himself be corrupted.

She squeezed his palms and broke the kiss with a sigh. Her hands then cradled his neck, pulling him in so she could ghost his forehead, his eyebrows, his eyelids, his moles, the corner of his mouth, the side of his nose, the spot under his jaw, his neck, with her lips. A silent signal of acceptance, of forgiveness, of the fact that nothing had to be forgiven in that moment. Viktor’s hands hovered in the air patiently until her last kiss, when they rested on her hips, curling under the waistband of her pants.

They rid themselves of the last bit of clothing together, Renly’s eyes lingering for a moment on the alien string in Viktor’s body, his own eyes closed as he slid her pants off with the dull movement of his palms, cradling the skin of her legs. Standing close, but not close enough, Viktor reached out to slowly pull her flush against him. Their mouths came together wrenching breaths out of each other, his thumb stretching the muscle of her cheek as he sunk his tongue in her, breathing heavily through his nose, pressing his chest, his groin, his legs to her and her to his chest and groin so he could feel her naked against him.

Renly’s arms cradled his waist, her palms splayed flat on his back pushing him in, her teeth bringing blood onto his tongue. The fleeting moment of loss was gone, but the feeling of it still present, as they met each other truly for the first time—in hunger and longing, both searching for absolution in each other’s bodies.

Viktor lowered himself back to the edge of the bed, breaking the kiss only to sit her on top of his thighs, her legs straddling him tightly. He clung onto her for balance and for kindness, all their rituals previously established now abandoned for the sake of the urgency of feeling one another, sealing all the things that were close to breaking. He searched for consent in her eyes when his cock found her entrance, and she gave him a silent eager nod against his nose.

Viktor pressed himself in and paused mid-movement, noticing a wince cross her face. “Are you alright?” Of all things, this couldn’t hurt—it mustn’t.

“Yes… ah, yes,” she breathed into his mouth, sinking onto him up to the hilt, the stretch so gratifying she could cry again. A quiet ‘yes’ kept falling from her lips as Viktor’s hips thrusted upwards, their lips and noses bumping against each other in erratic rhythm.

She steadied herself, gripping his chin with one hand and his shoulder with the other, letting him take over, when his hand seized her palm and guided her fingers between them, where their bodies met. A bead of sweat travelled from the pool of her collarbones, down between her breasts, down her belly, to where she touched herself for him.

Her brows knitted together, her mouth hung open between quick breaths, waiting for him, when Viktor cranked his neck to rub his face against hers whispering, “Come on my cock, lásko.”

A full body shudder went through her, as she leaned her weight on him, her thighs clutching around his hips, his bones digging into her flesh, her walls clenching and she muffled a cry of completion into his mouth.

Viktor groaned soon after her, the tightness hugging his cock almost unbearable, as he spilled himself inside, caging her body with his arms, his tongue and teeth dragging across her shoulder. He then collapsed them to the side, still buried within her core, his waist resting on her thigh, his legs curled up under her bum, face nuzzled into her neck.

He kissed her again, his arm stretching out to grab the pillows from the bed head, one to tug under her pelvis as he rolled them over onto it, the other propped under his knee as he hooked his leg underneath hers, their bodies still connected. His tongue exploring her mouth, slowly this time, when his cock slipped out of her, and she let out a disappointed gasp.

Splaying his body on top of hers, their stomachs pressed against each other, he kept kissing her until he felt himself grow hard again. Her belly began to raise and fall more frantically, his own abdomen flexing as he propped himself on one arm and spat into his hand. He reached between them to cup her cunt and rubbed it gently, the slick spreading around her entrance.

He gave his cock a couple of wet strokes to then cage himself around her, one hand above her pressed into the mattress, the other entwining their fingers together, pinning her palm next to her head.

Gently and slowly, he entered her again, his movements soft so she could get used to him once more. The feeling of her walls around him washed over his senses, their scents mixing together, his hips rolling languidly against hers with reverence, as her body accepted him fully. In a pledge of utter devotion, Viktor murmured between his gasps, “I love you so much.”

“I love you,” she immediately whispered into his mouth. Viktor was being careful and precise, drawing out her pleasure and prolonging his. He wanted to savour the slide of their bodies melting into one, memorizing every moan that fell between them. Their noses pressed together, breathing heavily, her brows furrowed, mouths agape as their lips brushed against each other with each push of his hips.

His movements grew more intense, though the pace remained the same. Each slow deep thrust he gave her made her gasp quietly, as his cock kept hitting the right spot. He released her hand to slide his palm between them, his fingers finding her cunt, spreading her lips before resting on her clit. He rubbed it lazily, timing the action with the rolls of his hips and building the pressure withing her as her walls begun to clench around him desperately.

Renly dug her nails into his hips, her brows scrunched together, her mouth panting, breathless, and Viktor only smiled and whispered a quiet, “Yes, you are doing so well.” Her thighs squeezed his hips as she reached another climax, her head lifting from the pillow, crying out into his mouth.

He carefully worked her through the orgasm, before picking up the pace of his thrusts to reach his own completion, her name falling from his lips in a quiet chant. Her walls squeezed against his cock, his arms wrapping around her, face buried in her neck, gasping and panting. His movements grew sloppier the closer he got, when he finally spilled himself inside her with a loud groan, his body collapsing onto hers.

For a moment they both breathed heavily, their stomachs connected, rising and falling together. Then, Viktor rolled off her, pulling her with himself to give her a kiss sealing his devotion to her. He withdrew his cock with a quiet sleek sound, letting his seed leak out between them.

He felt her arms tightening around his neck, her breath growing unsteady, and the flutter of her heartbeat. Then he noticed her chest trembling next to his and pulled back to look at her, only to see tears streaming from beneath her closed eyelids.

“Did I hurt you?” was his first instinct to ask as he eased himself out of the vice grip of her thighs to cradle her face against his chest. “Are you in pain?”

“No, no—” Renly croaked, laughing through her sobs as she dampened Viktor’s chest. “I just feel… empty.” Empty of pain, of anger, of the horrible dread she’d felt when he crossed her doorstep. Empty of doubt and insecurities. All the empty space left to be filled with something new.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry, I don’t know what came over me,” she chuckled, trying to wipe her tears away with her hand, but there were too many. “It’s never happened before. I’m so sorry.”

“Lásko, it’s normal. Cry it out—it’s… beautiful,” Viktor murmured against her ear, his fingers combing gently through her hair. He felt his ribcage swell with contentment, a feeling of utter peace flooding his body from head to toe. Her tears felt like a silent confession etched onto the skin covering his heart.

“What is this?” Renly sniffled again, quieter this time, as she began tracing circles in the damp patch on Viktor’s chest, exhaling slowly through her mouth.

“Temperance,” Viktor mused, cradling her to him as though she were a precious gift. “We’ve been… reforged in our heat, tempered in your tears.”

His words left her gaping into the space in front of her, tracing lines between Viktor’s freckles and moles with her fingers. Silence followed for a while. It was comfortable, with something unfolding. Not love, which wrenched and wounded. Not love, which came only once.

When a yawn tore her mouth apart, Viktor nudged her gently with his chin and asked, “Shower?”

“Yes, shower.” Renly stretched across the bed, pulling Viktor along with her. She grabbed his hands and pulled them above their heads and pressed her toes on his feet, drawing a low chuckle from his throat.

They did all the things they usually did, but somehow it all felt new again—in a new space, with a new emptiness to fill. Renly let the shower run until the water turned warm and prepared fresh towels for them.

They stepped into the shower together, the steam curling around their skin. The first blast of water hit Viktor’s shoulder, and he winced, sucking in a sharp breath.

“Too hot?” Renly asked with a smirk, already reaching for the handle to adjust the temperature.

“Do you usually scald yourself in the shower?” Viktor teased, the corners of his mouth quirking up despite the discomfort.

Renly rolled her eyes, turning the dial until the water was just shy of lukewarm. “Better?”

“Much better,” he said, his tone playful. “Though I’m still recovering from the trauma.”

Renly huffed a laugh and grabbed a bar of soap from the shelf. “I’m afraid you’re going to smell like a coconut,” she said, holding it up as if presenting evidence of her crime.

“Good,” Viktor replied without hesitation. “I love coconut.”

She grinned, shaking her head slightly before beginning her task. Her hands glided over his arms and chest, the soap lathering into creamy bubbles as she worked. She moved with deliberate tenderness, kneading his muscles as though to coax away every last knot of tension that had taken residence in him. Viktor let his eyes drift shut, exhaling as her hands trailed over his shoulders and down his back.

She hesitated when her hand landed on his thigh, the oppressive purple vein even more visible on his flushed skin. Feeling the hover of her touch, Viktor took her palm in his and kissed her knuckles. “It’s alright.”

“Does it hurt?” she asked quietly, and then a thought popped into her head. Of course, it did—it had always hurt.

“No. It just feels… strange.” Viktor pulled her in and wrapped her arm around his neck. “I’ll have to get used to it. It’s a small price.”

When she reached up to wash his hair, he leaned into her touch like a weary traveller finding solace. Her fingers threaded through his damp curls, massaging the soap in gentle circles over his scalp. Every now and then, Viktor caught her hands, pressing a kiss to her fingers and wrists in a gesture that felt reverent. The simplicity of it—the quiet intimacy—made Renly’s chest ache in the best way.

When she finished, Viktor turned her by the shoulders, swapping places with her under the stream of water. He took the soap from her, his hands warm and sure as they smoothed over her skin. He moved slowly, deliberately, as if mapping her anew. The steam curled around them, the water running in rivulets down her back as he pulled her flush against him.

When he reached her hair, his fingers worked through the strands with a skill that surprised her. His thumbs pressed into her temples, eliciting a soft moan as her eyes fluttered shut, rolling back in her skull.

“Good?” he murmured, his voice low and rich.

“Perfect,” she breathed, leaning into him.

They kissed lazily under the stream, the water running between them as their mouths met in unhurried synchrony. Their hands found each other’s skin, not in hunger this time but in care—an exchange of solace, of connection. Every touch felt like a quiet vow, a promise that they didn’t need words to seal.

When they got back to bed, which had been changed by Renly’s insistence—Viktor said he didn’t mind, and he really didn’t—she started to drift off almost immediately. His hands traced the lines of her tattoo, lingering around ‘his place’ in it. After a long pause, he finally took a deep breath and asked, “You’re going to Zaun, aren’t you?”

“Will you hate me if I do?” Renly murmured, barely keeping her eyes open.

“No. Will you let me come with you?” Viktor’s voice was low and steady, though there was a hint of something uncertain beneath it. He truly couldn’t bear the thought of her being alone in there, and he couldn’t bear the thought of her constantly looking over her shoulder to see if he was safe if he went with her.

She shifted slightly, meeting his gaze in the dim light. “Viktor, you know I can’t do that. You will suffocate.” It was a statement that carried no judgment and no guilt. It was just a statement, saying the obvious, and yet—it made Viktor feel like he was just about to suffocate.

He inhaled sharply, but his hand gently found its way to hers, his fingers threading through hers. “I can wear a mask. But… we can talk about this tomorrow.” His thumb brushed her knuckles, a subtle gesture of reassurance. “Just know I’m ready to come with you.”

***

As they walked, Viktor’s grip was tight on Renly’s hand. Their morning was quiet, almost warm, until she made him laugh by dropping half of her sugar dish into his coffee with a smirk. He glanced at her with concern when he saw her putting on her Zaunite clothes, but dared not say anything.

They arrived at the lab together, and Jayce, relieved to see them both, looked up. "Mel fought off the council," he said, almost hopefully. "For now, the Hexcore is to remain as an 'on hold' project. We’re to seal it and put it away." Viktor sighed, a mixture of relief and disappointment flooding through him. Renly placed a hand on his shoulder, cradling his cheek gently with the other.

She moved on to pack a bag with supplies, medications, and gas masks for her trip to Zaun. She felt Viktor’s eyes lingering on her the whole time; she knew exactly what he wanted to do and say, and all the bones in her body ached with that knowledge. Jayce glanced at her and asked, "Are you going?"

Renly replied with a weak "yes," her gaze flicking over to Viktor. He shifted his stance on his cane, his voice soft as he spoke, "Renly… please take me with you. I cannot bear it." The weakness in him tore him apart. The weakness of his body fought the weakness of his pride, and his fragile heart—one that had only just reconciled with Renly’s—beat unsteadily in his chest when he saw her eyes, an apology pouring from them.

"Viktor, I beg you. Please, don’t make me choose," she replied, stopping her packing for a moment. She took his hands in hers. "Because if you make me, I will stay, and you will resent yourself for it."

"I will resent myself either way," he whispered weakly, the shape of his mouth askew as he tried to hold all of his weaknesses back. And even though he knew that none of the options presented to him in his agonizing journey through The Arcane were acceptable, for a fleeting moment, he longed for his body to be whole and able.

"I will go." Jayce’s voice was firm and present, so present, in fact, that both Renly and Viktor turned their necks to look at him.

"Jayce, you can’t—" Viktor shook his head in disbelief. He took a step forward toward Jayce, as if trying to physically stop him.

"I will go, and I will come back—with you." He gripped Renly’s shoulders while making his plea. "I’ll deliver you to Viktor’s doorstep, unharmed, I promise." And that promise was meant for Viktor, as Jayce turned his head to look at his partner.

"I… Jayce," Viktor’s words failed him. He knew, of course, that this was the solution to their conundrum. He admired Jayce so deeply in that moment. And even though his mind still whispered horrible insults to himself, he exhaled a breath of surrender. Because he trusted Jayce.

"I told you. You don’t have to carry this alone. And you don’t have to carry this—" Jayce pointed to the bag, "—alone. This is what I can do." He said, his face painted with a reassuring smile, as all three of them stood in a small circle, as if there was no grave danger before them.

Viktor pulled Jayce into an embrace, his voice barely a whisper as he said, "Please, bring her back to me." Jayce hugged him tighter, knocking the breath out of Viktor’s lungs.

They all packed the necessary items into three convenient bags. Jayce’s hand rested on Viktor’s shoulder from time to time, as if to reassure him he would be true to his word. When everything was ready, they stood before the front door, staring at the floor. Viktor let out one last sigh before kissing Renly deeply, for the first time on full display in front of Jayce.

She squeezed her eyes shut, clinging to his wrists. He rested his forehead against hers and whispered, “I love you so much I don’t know what to do with myself.” Renly let out a shaky exhale, then opened her eyes and cradled his face.

“Viktor, I admire you. I respect you. I adore you; I love you so much my heart aches.” She swallowed the lump forming in her throat and kissed him again.

They were startled by a muffled choke coming from Jayce, who had been completely forgotten in that moment. “Guys, this is so beautiful,” he said weakly, pressing his fingers into his eyes, trying to hold back one, maybe two tears.

Renly and Viktor exchanged an embarrassed chuckle, the tension of the moment dissolving. Jayce wiped his eyes, smiling apologetically as he slung one of the bags over his shoulder. “Alright, let’s get moving before Viktor convinces me to restrain you and keep you safe here.”

Renly stepped closer to Viktor one last time, smoothing a hand down his chest. “I’ll be back,” she whispered, leaning in for a final, tender kiss. “Promise me you’ll rest.”

Viktor nodded; his throat too tight to speak. He held her hands in his for a moment longer, his grip unsteady but firm. “Be careful,” he managed to say, his voice breaking just slightly.

Renly squeezed his fingers before letting go, turning to Jayce. He gave Viktor a reassuring nod as if to silently repeat his earlier promise. “I’ll bring her back,” Jayce said softly, the sincerity in his tone like a steady anchor.

With that, the two of them stepped through the door. Viktor stood frozen as he watched them go, his cane trembling slightly in his hand. The sound of the door closing echoed through the room like a final note, and for a moment, he stood there in silence, staring at the empty space where they had been.

The sound of his own sob startled him in the silence. He tried to shy away from it by hiding his face in the crook of his elbow, but it was a futile attempt. His shoulders shook as a full-blown wave of weeping overcame him. The weight of everything—the worry, the helplessness, the love that threatened to swallow him whole—poured out in sobs that filled the empty hallway. His heart, so fragile and raw, cracked under the pressure of letting her go.

He clutched his cane like it was the only thing keeping him upright, tears streaking down his cheeks as he gasped for breath. Viktor rarely allowed himself to cry, but now, in the solitude of the lab, there was no one to witness his unravelling. No one to judge the vulnerability that poured out of him in rivers. For the first time in so long, he let himself feel everything, unrestrained and unapologetic.

He cried out all his anger, cried out his leg, his spine. He cried out the unbearable thought of Renly getting hurt—or worse. He cried out the failure of his dream, the loss of Rio, his lungs, himself—every oppressive thought that gnawed at him, every splinter in every bone of his body. When his throat began to burn, a thought ignited weakly, like an ember. You are good at something. Wiping his tears away, chuckling at the absurd of his outburst, he turned back to the lab and sunk back into work.

[spyxfamilyanalysis]

[SPY x FAMILY Chapter 107] Part 2 (Inner thoughts & Family matters)

-> Part 1 (Damianya)

As we all know, Loid always thinks about Operation Strix whenever and whereever he hangs out with his family

Actually, he was quite good at predicting! He thought that Melinda might be here in this festival, and he was right!

In the next chapter, she temporarily worked as a newbie fortune teller (because she is someone who believes in occult stuffs, mystical things..., or maybe as we believe, her husband is the main reason)

And Anya again, competing with Yor about Plan B & C 🤣 He won't abandon you, Anya.

Kinda smart for Anya to think that she can learn secrets from Damian's family through mind-reading... Damian is quite an innocent boy, and he hardly thinks too much about his family, it'll be hard to read him, though, when all he thinks of when he meets you, is you, Anya 🤭

If we actually going through many chapters about Damian, his parents or brother never even hanging out with him for fun stuffs. I understand that his parents are important people, barely made an appearance in public, his father is a Chairman, his mother is a Lady Patriot. They are busy and can't be with him... His brother as well, being busy with school works, barely talks with Damian about anything other than stay inside his room like a hikikomori (depressed man has social problems)

Aww, he was hoping to see his mom, too!!!

Do you even realise, Melinda and his servant Jeeves always there to support Damian, I mean, he is a kid as well. Even though we mostly saw Jeeves with Damian to escort him; after the Red Circus Hijack Arc, Melinda started to be more open to him! She started making food for Damian, worrying about her son at school...

I think Anya has limited vocabulary, it's funny that Anya called Damian's friends's servants as henchlings' henchlings :)))

Loid still thinks about Strix, get straight to work immediately! 😁

Like, why didn't he have any fun with his 'family', he had a "wild" childhood, after all. I just thought that, he should spend some time hanging out with his family to fill up the blank space of his childhood...

Finally, our sweetheart's BFF & super rich lady, Becky and our sumpreme bold friend with military dad, Bill!

Look at this huge bias of Twilight: Becky's family and Bill's family are so detailed analysed, and yet, George's family was completely ignored🙂‍↕️

Have to admire Endo's work so detailed in the characters' inner thoughts, especially Loid. He's a complicated man with thoughts about mission, surroundings, family... Anything comes to his mind, he will think like, a lot😇

Anya quickly sympathized George...

Anya was loved by his classmates' family~ Ever since the hijack, she was quickly well-known and loved by her classmates~ An ordinary girl with superpowers, being loved by families with high social standards! I suppose letting Anya studying this class was a great decision, Loid! He not only gets to know more about the Desmonds, but other families as well!!!

Loid seemed very suspicious about Jeeves... He's hiding something...

Loid just overcomplicated stuffs, again.

Look at the way Loid sees Anya, it's like he only sees her, nothing else surrounding her matters...

Loid must have cared Anya very much, if you remember episode 1, Loid wished for this world once ended this cold war live in peace, where no children will have to cry to beg to suffer. And he was actually emphasizing on Anya, even though the word 'children' was in general, but he actually specifically talking about Anya, ever since he met her 🥺

Loid's inner thoughts are pretty much complicated. Understanding that he is a spy, he can't just be simple-minded, he worries about other stuffs as well. Throughout the mission, he worries first about Anya's fun time, home, care, school, education, friends; even go to lengths 'forcing' her to say 'sorry' to Damian for hitting him on the first day at school; Stella and Tonitrus, social activities...🫨

He may seemed cold towards Donovan, suspicious about everything around him, his colleagues, spies, problems with the Operation; but he always manages to have the time to spend with Anya and his new family!🥰

Bonus: Yor seemed quite in this chapter, huh? She only started talking when she met Melinda for fortune telling.

[no-saints-around-here]

Yesterday's Cage for Tomorrow's Prison: Chapter 2

Yandere Shiba & Sano Family with Baby Shiba Sister!Reader

Masterlist

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<< Chapter 1

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this was a lot harder to write than I thought, and I nearly died but unfortunately the immigration line in hell was too long

tw: heavy incest, pseudo incest, explicit smut, yandere, drugging, sexual assault, heretic religious themes, afab reader, female pronouns, dead dove do not eat

Yuzuha cursed under her breath, large orange eyes sweeping side to side as she methodically checked the storefront for any sign of you. Nothing, again. Turning to briskly walk further down the same street to the next store, the orange-haired girl already knew that you weren’t going to be there either. Hell, she could say with a hundred percent certainty that you weren’t going to be anywhere near here, even if she wasn’t done with her meticulous searching for the day. Having long lost count of the number of times she had already looked in every nook and cranny of your favorite haunts over the past week, day and night, there was simply no way she would have missed you at this point. More so, it was the sinking feeling in her gut and that third sense she had for you that confirmed your absence from the area.

Opting to sink onto one of many benches that littered the shopping street, the Shiba sibling popped open a cold can of soda, taking a chug as she took a break from the afternoon sun in the shade of a tree, watching the rest of the world go by. Nameless individuals bustling up and down the street, bags of things filling both arms and eyes occupied with the glamorous displays, sparing naught a second glance at her or her situation as they rushed past on an unknown countdown. An undignified sigh slipped the lady’s lips as she lowered her now half-empty can, bronze eyes glazed over as she stared up at the rustling leaves overhead, though she did still catch a few stray empathetic looks thrown her way.

The last thing she wanted was anyone’s pity, really, but Yuzuha simply couldn’t help herself looking this despondent. After all, you were gone. Missing. Lost to the greater world, and no matter how poetic one could make that sound, the simple matter of the fact was that neither she nor Taiju had seen you in a week. if you weren’t here or there or wherever she looked, then where on God’s green earth could you possibly be? Were you even still alive?

‎

The quaint little shopping street, just a stone’s throw from the Shiba family home, brought a pang of nostalgia to the lonely lady’s chest - the shops that lined both sides of the pedestrian lane had changed hands countless times, but the slow, leisurely atmosphere had remained steadfast across the past twelve years. Once considered a rare escape from the house in exchange for your good behavior, the occasionally bustling area was now more of a reminder of the recurring nightmare Yuzuha was currently trapped in. Taking another large gulp, the orange-haired lady had to quickly sit up as she spluttered, earning herself another look from a passerby to which she sheepishly apologized, before quickly returning to her pondering. Was there anyone else you could be seeking shelter with? As far as she was concerned, it wasn’t as if you had any other friends outside of your older siblings, with most being too afraid of the long shadow of Taiju and the unspoken threat that you carried with you, and the rest having already been dealt with.

While there wasn’t much to like about the blue-haired former delinquent of an older brother -  their miserable childhoods under his tyrannical rule, the physical and emotional abuse they endured for years on end, and the extreme decisions that he had driven both Yuzuha and Hakkai to at the end of their wits - for you, it had been worth it all. She hated Taiju, but there was no denying that you had been kept safe by the oldest of the Shibas all these years.

Pulling her phone out from her pocket, the second Shiba sibling clicked into her chat history with you as if on instinct, her fingers mindlessly beginning to scroll upwards through the countless desperate, unanswered messages she had sent your way. You weren’t supposed to have a phone (Taiju would never permit it, no matter what the reason is) but the simple dumbphone you owned had been a gift from your older sister with strict instructions not to breathe even a word of its existence. It had no internet functionality, since not even she would risk you being able to access the internet and its treasure trove of internet, but as the only two girls left in the household, you and Yuzuha shared some secrets and had to have a way to do so. The phone was purely just for messages and calls and the occasional simple game when their big brother wasn’t watching. Or at least that was how the bronze-eyed lady told herself.

The memories came flooding back as she finally reached your last reply, what had seemed like a reassuring “yes, nii-san!” before you all but fell off the face of the earth. Such a simple gift had been enough to endear you to her, and you had thanked her again and again through the years, always willing to answer her messages and calls quickly, humming to yourself when you got time to fiddle around with the small electronic. Yet, you hadn’t replied in a week.

‎

Standing from the bench, the lady stretched, flicking her empty soda can into the nearby bin with pinpoint accuracy as she stalked off, phone swinging lazily in one hand. A slight breeze had picked up during her rest, and though it only seemed to blow hot air down the street instead of providing any respite, Yuzuha took in a deep breath, enjoying the fleeting moment of calm. There was no point in frantically trying to call or message you, even though she had been doing so herself over the past few days; your phone was most likely dead from a lack of battery, or if you had seeked shelter with someone, the phone had probably already changed hands. 

You didn’t want to be found, certainly not by her,  that much was obvious. And your older sister didn’t blame you.

The lady turned a corner into a side alley, the cacophony of the crowds dying down behind her with every step she took further into the shaded street. She didn’t believe in the concept of sin and repentance, the same one that her older brother so conveniently ignored when it came to you, but there was no denying that she would never be able to answer for what she had done to you. There were excuses she could give herself of course; that she couldn’t ignore the way that Taiju looked at you as the years passed, as you started to yearn for the freedom of the wider world. That Taiju should take all the blame for being the one to actually deflower you in a misplaced bid to preserve your purity. 

But Yuzuha would be the one to carry the original sin even if she was just trying to do the right thing. She had been the one that had trained you, that had prepared you to take Taiju. Cleaning you up after everything that had happened, soothing the mystery ache between your legs that you complained about the next day.  Keeping you on birth control pills for years and years, never knowing when the oldest of the Shibas would make his move yet never wanting to risk anything untold happening to you. All in the name of keeping the Shiba family together, as she had promised their mother. 

‎

A pause as she came to a stop at a fork in the road, the lady too lost in her own thoughts to make a decision which way to turn.

Yet even then, as much as that was all Yuzuha would like to admit to herself, she would always share the burden of giving into temptation. She could still see the first time it happened if she let her thoughts slip; your contorted expression, furrowed eyebrows as you mumbled in your sleep, your legs crossed as you unconsciously humped your pillow - a wet dream. Taking the opportunity of when you should share her room to explore you herself, the lady let out a ragged breath as her mind recalled her slipping her fingers into the pants of your pajamas and into your panties, slim fingers finding their way towards your already drenched slit and into your warmth. Your whimper as your walls clamped down around her intrusion as she teased and prodded, bronze eyes all the way carefully watching your expression.

The feeling of you spazzing uncontrollably around her as you came in your sleep, drenching both your underwear and her fingers with a moan that sounded too awake. Yuzuha had jerked away in a panic, the elastic band of your pants snapping back against your skin, but you had mercifully fallen back asleep amidst coming down from your high. You tasted sweet, the burst of flavor as she licked her fingers striking a chord deep inside your older sister, a sweetness that she couldn’t get enough of. And while it was the first time she - or anyone really - had ever explored you in that manner, it certainly wasn’t the last time. You had turned from her baby sister into an unholy addiction that she couldn’t give up. 

Her phone lit up and began to buzz, the ringing echoing down the otherwise lifeless sidestreet. Yuzuha blinked, drawn out from her thoughts.

Taiju. Was it already time?

With a deftly press of a button, she brought the smartphone to her ear, taking the quiet path to the left.

‎

‎

There was no doubt that your siblings would be scouring the streets for any sign of you, Izana mused, the fingers on one gloved hand tapping a rhythmless tune atop the glass as empty eyes watched you consider and reconsider your decision, yet that train of thought hardly bothered him. For one, this was a privately owned shop in a rather obscure location, down several narrow and rarely trodden alleyways that no regular passerby had any business accessing. And for two, was most definitely the right decision to bring you on this little excursion; knowing your older siblings and their annoying habit of breathing down your neck about everything big and small, they would have never allowed you to choose your own unhealthy, sinful treat, let alone see the inside of a convenience store. 

Which meant that this would put him squarely in your good books, ahead of not only your wretched siblings, but more importantly, ahead of the rest of his own wretched siblings. His grip on you tightened slightly, the rate of his breathing rising.

The longer he could keep you to himself, the better.

Returning to reality from his daydreams of his life after you had obviously picked him over the rest of the Sanos, it was obvious that the colorful display of ice cream in the freezers was more akin to cocaine to you; the large selection spread out beneath you having you absolutely mesmerized with just the glass slider separating your eager hands from the delightful treats. “There’s so many…” you mumbled out under your breath, your eyes darting right to left as you leaned over the chest freezer, the colorful wrappers glinting in the reflection in your eyes. “Which one?”

Was it really that hard to choose? Not that he would know, he supposed, given that he already had his favorites delivered straight to his doorstep and barely spares a second glance to the entirety of the shop on a regular day. But even if he was usually an impatient man, this was one instance that Izana didn’t mind taking it slow, the tanned club owner leaning in so that his body pressed up tight against your own, violet eyes fluttered closed and his face pressed into the crook of your shoulder, biting back the groan he could feel building in the back of his throat. Your blood family was the last thing on your mind at the moment, and this was exactly the way he liked it. One hand resting on your clothed thigh, the other already taking the initiative to begin exploring under the hem of your skirt, it took every ounce of control he had to ignore the tenting crotch of his pants. He couldn’t wait. “Wasn’t there a certain brand you were looking for?” He breathed out into your ear, warm air tickling your skin. “Do they not have it here?”

“Y-yes!” You startled slightly at his question as if you had been lost in your own world, your hands instantly flying up to shake a ‘no’ at his question instead much to his amusement. “Um, Izana-nii, I mean-”

His hand teased at the hem of your panties, rubbing the cloth that covered your crotch lightly between the pads of his fingers, occasionally brushing against the bare lips hidden underneath. Still no negative reaction from you. “You can’t choose?”

“No,” you admitted, though your eyes were still fixed on the contents of the freezer. “I didn’t know there were so many here.”

The air-conditioning continued to whirl from above unimpeded as the world outside continued to turn, the convenient store absolutely silent save for the sound of breathing.

“Hmmm.” Violet eyes scanned the small area even as his hands never ceased their exploration - it was never intended to be a cover business, he mused to himself, given there were more convenient alternatives to launder money, but this small snack stop had finally shown its usefulness beyond allowing his men to get what they need. A tingle in the back of his neck, and Izana swirled around, only for the heavily-tattooed man serving as the cashier to immediately avert his gaze at his nasty look. “Tch.” His eyes had lingered on you for a second too long, and he didn’t like it one bit. He’ll have to get that sorted later.

‎

Unfortunately for the tanned club owner, that gut feel wasn’t just for the unwelcomed looks at his new little sister. A sudden blast of humid air and an untimely trumpet of a car horn in the distance signaled the arrival of an unwelcome guest and a disruption to his plans with the click of the store door being opened, much to Izana’s displeasure, though the fact that it was Kakucho’s voice floating over from the shelves through the now-open door and not the sound of gunshots gave a good indication of who this intruder might be. “Wait, you can’t go ins-”

”Fuck off,” returned Mikey, the cheery welcome jingle of the convenience store a stark contrast to the other’s completely unamused tone. “I have business with that asshat.”

A smack, and then a second voice piped up, drowning out the burst of protests and whines from Mikey. “Don’t be so rude to Kakucho-kun, Mikey!” Emma scolded, the click of her heels echoing up from the tall shelves of the shop as she followed the other deeper into the shop. “He’s just doing his job, you know.”

How did they know to find him here? Izana glanced back at you even as his Sano half-brother continued to complain loudly about being ill-treated and biases towards anyone who would listen (which is to say, nobody in the vicinity); you were still too distracted with the first choice you had in a long time to notice the intruders, and it was already slightly too late to make an exit before the two of you could be noticed. He would have to wait and see what happens next, he supposed, empty eyes glancing back down at you.

“Hey shithead,” Mikey started from around the corner, right as the first of his blond locks came into view from behind a shelf of snacks. “I’ve been trying to call you for the past hour-”

‎

It was at that precise moment that you made your decision, turning your head up to look at Izana, ice cream already carefully clutched in hand. “Izana-nii, can I -“ And almost as soon as the words left your tongue, you finally took note of the arrival of outsiders, perhaps catching the subtle, sudden movement from the corner of your eyes, or catching the last of Mikey’s spat words. Yet for all that was going on around him, the ifs and could-bes, Izana’s gaze and fascination was fixed on you. What would your next move be? Would you scream? Would you attempt to scurry away to hide? 

Time froze for a moment as your eyes fixed on the unseen source of the noise on the other side of the shelves. What was going on in that little mind of yours?

Yet contrary to all his expectations, you instead instantly clammed up, your jaw snapping shut like a trap around a mouse. Taking a short step in his direction and ducking behind the white-haired man, you seemed to be attempting to line yourself up in a bid to ensure that his silhouette almost covered yours perfectly from the entrance. You were trying to blend into his side, hiding from the unknown.

It was a move that was so unlike your personality that it took Izana by surprise. No doubt this smooth a movement was the result of previous practice, Izana noted amusedly as he watched you move with uncharacteristic speed, something you have had to do multiple times before. Did you think it was your siblings here to pick you up perhaps? No matter, because most importantly, it didn’t matter to him that you couldn’t have known who it was at the door - in Izana’s mind, you had picked your side, and it was his.

Alas it was too little too late. 

As soon as both of those iconic slippers left the cover of the tall shelves filled top to bottom with snacks of every kind, your presence was immediately picked up by Mikey, whose footsteps and words came to an abrupt halt, blank abyss eyes staring at you. An expected outcome, acknowledged Izana as he snaked one protective arm around your shoulders, given the now black-haired man was and is still both the Toman president and legendary delinquent. Didn’t mean much to him anyway.

“Oof Mikey!” Came Emma’s voice from behind as she ran headfirst into the suddenly still back, before the annoyed blond-haired lady stepped round to assess the unfolding situation.. “Why did you stop- oh.”

“Can I help you two?” Izana asked, the tinge of annoyance clear in his tone. The blatant stares were making you uncomfortable, and he didn’t like that one bit.

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Walled in on four sides, three by shelves and one being Izana, there wasn’t really any room for you to run or hide, given how small the shop was to begin with. You buried your face into the side of the white-haired man you barely knew, waiting with baited breath, ice cream still clutched in hand. The hum of the chillers around you only seemed ever louder with the silence that fell upon the store.

Scanning you up and down, Mikey’s expression remained unchanged as those blank abyss eyes seemed to reflect you and nothing else, opaque windows that had helped the man hold all his cards close to his chest all these years. You looked…familiar. He’s seen you somewhere before.

Emma glanced between the two men and you, the questions in her mind only growing by each passing second. “Do you know her?” She raised an eyebrow at Izana, who only shrugged in return, unwilling to disclose any further information.

Though in another stroke of bad luck for Izana, one more for the count on this already particularly horrid day, the dots connected for the younger of the two Sano men present, and Mikey’s eyes lit up in recognition. “You’re-“ the black-haired man paused for a moment. “Hakkai’s sister?”

That was enough to spark your curiosity, and you carefully peered out from behind Izana, doe eyes catching the white illumination from the standing refrigerator to the side.  If they knew Hakkai but not Taiju or Yuzuha - could they be on your side? Fortunately, the man on the other side was one you had met before. “...Mikey-san?”

Said man nodded, taking a step forward into the direct shine of an overhead light, as if so that you could take a better look at his face. So it was you that he had been hearing the whispers about, Izana’s little bird; he could still recall that particular night twelve years ago when the Toman Second Division Vice-Captain had brought you along to the gang meeting all apologetic, insisting that he couldn’t leave you alone at home by yourself. You were as shy as you were back then, Mikey mused, taking a good look at you as you shuffled out from behind Izana, seeming slightly more comfortable now. Though he couldn’t say that he wasn’t pleased that it was you of all people.

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The white-haired club owner’s grip on your shoulders visibly tightened, and you winced slightly at the pressure. “What do you want?” Izana’s tone now was sharp, violet eyes narrowed at his two siblings.

Mikey was hardly affected, his gaze fixed on you even as he responded. “Shinichiro’s looking for ya. Business,” was all he said.

“Tch.” Clicking his tongue, it was clear that Izana understood the cryptic message - and you couldn’t come along. 

“I can look after her while you’re busy,” came the Toman president’s offer, his hand already outstretched and reaching for yours before his offer had left his lips, but Izana was faster, yanking you backwards and out of reach.

“Absolutely not. She will not be going with you.”

Emma, silent up till now, stepped forward, the sweep of her blond hair backwards looking much like a momentary flash of angelic wings. “She can come with me,” she proposed cheerfully, stopping to shoot a warm smile your way. You shrank behind Izana slightly, your cheeks dusted red.

But the oldest of the three showed no sign of budging. He finally had you, and he wasn’t inclined to share. “Kakucho.”

As if a fae summoned, said man appeared behind the Sano siblings with nay a footstep to be heard nor a door opened, his working red eye respectfully lowered to the ground. “Yes sir.” 

“Take her back to her room. And stay with her.” 

“Yes sir.”

Mikey didn’t seem all too pleased at the decision made without his input. That was very rude. “Hey, I said I can take care of her!” He insisted, his arm once more shooting out to grab at you as you were shuffled past the narrow shelves, though this attempted interruption was quickly stopped by Izana with a quick chop to the offending limb.

”And I said no.”

Puffing up his cheeks only made the gang leader look like a squirrel, earning him a chuckle from you which you failed to bite back. ”I’m telling Shinichiro.”

As if that was a threat. Ignoring Mikey, Izana simply opted to walk you to the door and to his right-hand man and trusted friend’s side. “Straight to her room, Kakucho,” he repeated firmly, before turning to you. “You don’t talk to anyone else, understand?”

You nodded obediently, which earned you a ruffle of your hair.

”See you later.” Izana waved off your escort party, before turning once more to face Mikey and Emma, still waiting inside the shop. “Let’s get this over with then.”

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It was rare to see Hakkai in such a frenzy these days, Mitsuya mused, lilac eyes watching said man frantically scan the vicinity before rushing towards him from the airport terminal exit, small suitcase all but bouncing off the floor and his legs as it was mercilessly hauled across the ground.

That striking blue hair was still visible as it bobbed above a drifting crowd of unsuspecting tourists. Comfortably leaning against the door of his car, the former Toman captain took the time to review the context of the situation he had found himself in, starting with the phone call he had received in the dead of night just a day before. He had thought nothing much of it at first, despite the strange 3am call: Hakkai had been overseas on a modeling contract for an international brand for the past week, as a well-sought after model usually was, so perhaps it was just that his former Division Vice Captain had forgotten about time zone differences.

Yet even with that excuse, the whole situation only got stranger, something that even a half-asleep former delinquent-turned-fashion designer noted; the blue-haired man sounded as if he was attempting to catch his breath after running a full marathon, huffing and puffing as he struggled to say even the few words informing Mitsuya that he was already on his way back to Japan, and would contact him when he lands. Divines only knew what was urgent enough to send Hakkai into such a rash decision, though he supposed he would find out soon.

Pushing off from his car, Mitsuya raised one hand as the third youngest Shiba sibling closed the distance, coming to a screeching halt just inches away. The lilac-haired man swore he could see the smoke trails left behind from the suddenly dispersed momentum, though judging from those blown eyes and half-style hair, it wasn’t exactly the best time for a joke. “Hakkai,” he greeted simply, sliding both hands back into his pockets. “What happened?”

“She’s missing, Taka-chan,” Hakkai stammered out, one hand on his chest as if to keep both his lungs and heart from falling out of his chest. “My lil’ sis, she’s gone.”

[kings-highway]

i just finished reading floor 4 (delightful, by the way), and I was so tickled by the scene in chapter 1 after Suga's phone call. Where everyone's teasing Daichi about Suga being in love with him and Ushijima joins in, thinking its a fact because Tendou told him and clearly? Tendou's guesses are good enough to be taken as fact unless something suggests otherwise. on top of being hilarious, I think it's so fun to consider how it got to this point. especially with ushijima being bothered by baseless confidence. before going to highschool, ushiwaka was already at shiratorizawa's middle school, having its methodology drilled into his head. He is the culmination of everything the school stands for. Straightforward strength and brutality. then, first year in highschool, he meets tendou. tendou is clearly here by merit, and no one can deny how he embodies brute strength while smashing down spikes. Yet, his method is much more unorthodox. Ushijima is here to be ready to take any ball tossed his way and to blast it past anything standing in his way; that's both his job and technique. Tendou is supposed to block spikes. here he is, running around the court seemingly at random, sometimes losing the team points because the choice he locked himself into before the setter even tossed the ball. Despite that, he Does get it miraculously correct more times than not, and its Weird. the whole team thinks its weird, so its not just like ushijima is the only one for once. and when you ask this first year blocker how he knew to be exactly at the right place to smash the spike down? he shrugs. "vibes" or "gut feeling", sometimes he even says he can Smell It? What???? so it must be random, it has to be random. Ushiwaka has to contend that this boy was let into his prestigious school and volleyball team, he's making decisions that almost no once can predict, and his guesses affect the whole team based on whatever Vibes are. worse, tendou is confident in his "skill" and is resistant to playing volleyball any other way, and SOMEHOW, the coach seems fine with this??? no one gets tendou, but I feel like tendou's playstyle would be so difficult for ushiwaka to wrap his head around. so how long did it take? how many guesses on and off the court did it take for ushijima-- annoyed and baffled by the lack of sense all this makes-- to give in and accept that somehow, some way, tendou just Knows things more often than not. Tendou's guesses are enough to assume that sugawara and daichi are into each other, without ushiwaka even questioning it as a fact. and how far does ushijima believe it goes???? when they hang out off campus and tendou starts guessing the life stories of strangers walking by, there's no way to prove tendou Isn't right unless they ask. which they don't. could tendou guess winning lottery numbers if he wanted to? and if he can, does tendou know and is just deciding not to? the supernatural isn't real, but if they were, that'd explain a lot about his freaky best friend. if ANYONE is psychic, its probably tendou. SORRY FOR THE RAMBLE, I don't have any haikyu friends but I have a lot of Thoughts. no pressure to even reply I just needed to dump my thoughts somewhere

This is actually really interesting because I've had it as my headcanon for a while (and wrote it into a few wips I never finished, even) that Ushijima's play style is because of Tendou.

Tendou is, more than anyone else, best suited for kill-blocking Ushiwaka. In their first year, during training, he does this a lot. Ushijima cannot figure out why he can't get past Tendou's block, and Tendou ends up explaining how his "guess" blocking works - how he can read every detail of Ushijima posture and eyes and figure out exactly where the ball will go.

Ushijima struggles with theatre of the mind, but he does his very best to do what Tendou says. To change how his body is held, to fake him out... And Tendou still stuffs him. He can't figure out what he's doing wrong. Tendou explains that once he's explained how it worked, and Ushijima was going to try and mislead him, he'd started blocking where it didn't look like he was going to hit.

He tries to explain the mind game of blocking to him, the way it's a complicated dance between everyone on the court... And Ushijima hates it. He doesn't want to play volleyball if it requires complicated, PhD level analysis for every spike.

So the next time Tendou jumps for one of his blocks, he just hits it as hard as he fucking can and blows past Tendou's hands. Then he hits harder. Then he hits harder. Hey, it doesn't matter how well Tendou can predict his spike's path if the ball is too powerful to kill block.

By their third year Tendou is still the only person on the Shiratorizawa team that can kill-block Ushiwaka but that's because he sort of revels in the pain and likes feeling Ushijima's power like that. He does have to finish every block with his hands curled against his chest, fighting through the sting.

"I need to be more physically powerful that Tendou's intuition is efficient" is a terrifying way to play the game and I imagine when Tsukki gets that infamous block on him, Tendou is wincing and shaking his hands out in sympathy because yes it's a great feeling but christ at what cost? And then that's also why, later, Ushiwaka ends up hitting the ball so hard the power tears the skin on Tsukishima's hand. His response to a new blocker that could stop him was simply to hit harder.

Anyway I also entirely agree that he 100% has a frankly illogical amount of faith in Tendou. I think he thinks Tendou is a genius. Like sincerely. Where this is the smartest person in the world (he can read people so well its amazing!!) so anything he says Ushijima trusts implicitly. I also think that once Tendou realizes this not even he has the heart to take advantage of it. On the other hand this kindness might be because he's learned Ushijima's response to being bamboozled by his wit is to hit harder and Tendou does not want to see how that translates outside of volleyball.

Thank you for the ask I love any excuse to ramble about these two ☺️☺️ and love the mental image of them hanging out guessing life stories. I bet Tendou is really catty about it and Ushijima has to defend strangers from his best friend's mean judgement even though he doesn't really care it's just on principal.

"dont call strangers a bitch."

"she's wearing hot pink high heels; she's a bitch."

"no."

[insert-random-account-name]

Crappy Character Analysis, part 11 (finale)

Alas, my ramblings have reached their end. We have the final voice: The Voice of the Hero. I saved him for last on purpose, since understanding the other voices is almost vital to understanding his character. If this is the first post of mine you see, do me a favor and check out the other parts first, so you can truly appreciate how special this character is.

part 1 (Broken) part 2 (Skeptic) part 3 (Cold)

part 4 (Paranoid) part 5 (Stubborn) part 6 (Contrarian)

part 7 (Smitten) part 8 (Opportunist) part 9 (Cheated)

part 10 (Hunted)

VOICE OF THE HERO

Hero is probably the most nuanced character in this entire game. He is the very first voice you get, and the only one to appear in every chapter of the game. He’s also far more complex than the single-minded voices that are also populating your subconscious. His first line is questioning whether or not you’re actually going to slay the Princess, yet if that’s what you decide to do, he goes along with it. He’s a lot quieter than most of the other voices, and allows you to make your own decisions. Once you start getting to Chapter 3’s, he fades into the background, only offering one or two lines when things start getting really out of hand. He seems mostly unable to exert the same control over your body that the other voices do, and is perfectly fine with going along for the ride. In his appearances, he acts as the voice of reason, trying to find the best option for everyone. In many cases, he tries to compromise, even when both the Narrator and Princess confirm that you’re going to have to make a choice eventually. I would make the argument that the Hero is the closest to an actual person than any other character.

Hero is simply someone who is trying his best. You get him the second you make a choice. He represents free will, and the natural feeling to question anything you’re told. He wants to do the right thing, and murdering a Princess is not in those bounds. However, he is incredibly loyal to you, the decider. He recognizes that all decisions come down to you. Even if you make a choice that Hero strongly dislikes, he still sticks by you, doing his best to spin something positive out of the results. His normalcy also adds a balance to the extreme personalities the other voices host. When Hero is surrounded by irrational voices, such as the Smitten or the Broken, he acts as a voice of reason (Example, telling Smitten that the two of you can’t be in love, since you just met). Around more grounded voices, such as the Skeptic or the Cold, Hero is more prone to panic (Example, him asking whether you can “put back” the Prisoner’s decapitated head). He is also incredibly courageous, not only staying strong in the course of the main game, but assisting you in the final confrontation with the Princess.

Even more important to the Hero’s character is that every subsequent voice comes from him. Each fragments off from the whole, and then takes that piece and grows it to an extreme. This is why the Hero has more nuance than the rest of the cast; he is a bunch of personality traits combined, rather than one or two. This is why there are times he shows empathy, or falls in love, or opts for violence. The Hero represents a person so well that he often echoes the thoughts of people playing the game. 

Finally, you can’t talk about Hero without mentioning the final cabin scene. He is one of the two voices to side with you if you are rude to them in every mirror scene. One of my favorite moments is when he offers to narrate the cabin for you, and if you agree, stumbles through a half-hearted description, meant more to try and cheer you up than actually paint an image. No matter what choice you make with the Princess, the Hero is loyal to the end, justifying your every action. The saddest part of the “Leave with Her” ending is leaving him behind, yet he understands that the two of you have a story to finish, and he knows that he has done his job. Still, if you leave with the harsh Princess, he still takes joy in her calling you “Hero”. The voice of the Hero is the most popular voice for a reason, and I hope I did him justice.