#i was not prepared for it when i first watched it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sprenthecreator · 2 days ago

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D.A | C.R.E.A.M

Male reader x Danielle Marsh

16.3k words

tags: if you hate italy don’t read it (probably a galli mf), bathtub/shower sex, kinda public sex, some feet stuff, some massage oil stuff

🔙 Previous update | 📄 C.R.E.A.M

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Florence was beautiful at night, yes—like all of Italy, basically. But after a 15-hour flight, you didn't have the energy to go out for a drink alone that night when you arrived.

You were so tired that you didn't even go to the hotel you were going to stay at for the rest of those days. Instead, you ended up in a modest hotel run by a kind and hospitable older woman, who even helped you carry your luggage even though you'd insisted she didn't need to. As a thank you, the next morning upon departure, you not only paid for the room, but also left her a sizable tip to look after your luggage while you did all your chores.

So, feeling full and prepared, you hit the streets of Florence to make all the preparations for Dani's arrival the next day. The first thing, of course, was breakfast, and your choice was the Pasticceria Nencioni, a small dessert shop in the Sant'Ambrogio neighborhood, near the city center. The normal thing would have been to walk, since that's what you always did, but you were so far away that you ended up calling a taxi.

You were hoping for a peaceful day, but as you got out of the taxi and walked into the pedestrian street, a couple of guys stopped you to ask for photos. It didn't bother you; you were always very friendly and receptive to people who knew you and loved your job. But you didn't expect someone to recognize you on that remote street. It was to be expected in places like Rome or Milan, full of tourists and people of all cultures, but Florence was slightly more niche. A mere coincidence? Maybe.

What was certain was that you had to start getting used to the fact that your popularity wasn't the same as it had been two years ago, when you were barely known by chronically online folks. Now things were quite different. And you didn’t know how to feel about it.

After the minor setback, you walked down the street until you reached the small pastry shop, whose facade consisted solely of its awning with the name on it and the glass doors wide open, giving it a modest and welcoming appearance. The place was already bustling with activity at that hour, so you waited patiently in line to order, your mouth already watering with the smell of baked sugar, hot butter and hazelnut.

Your breakfast ended up being a couple of pieces of torta al semolino—a traditional pastry filled with semolina cream and covered in chocolate—a cream-filled croissant, a cappuccino, and a small glass of water that Italians always served with their coffee.

Many customers just placed their orders and left after paying, so inside the pastry shop there were a couple of free tables next to the tall wooden display case to the left of the main counter, filled with antique bottles, books, small statues, and collectibles. Although you usually sat near the front, this time you went to a table at the back so you could do what you wanted to do in peace.

It must have been around midnight in L.A, which meant Wony was already at her hotel. Your girlfriend answered the video call as quickly as ever.

"Hi honey!" Wony greeted, walking across her room to lie down on her bed. She was wearing the same pink sweater she'd been wearing in the photos she sent you while you were asleep.

"Hey, darling," you smiled at your phone screen, adding sugar to your cappuccino. "Caught you busy?"

"Oh nah, I just got back to the hotel," Wony replied, and looked away for a moment to grab something before looking at you again. Judging by the shape of what she put in her mouth, you guessed it was her multivitamins. "How was your flight?"

"Terrible," you sighed, and took a sip of the cappuccino, careful not to burn your tongue. "I didn't get to sleep, for some reason. I just read and watched movies the whole trip."

"Oh my," Wony pouted and raised her eyebrows in concern as you scooped up a piece of cake with your spoon and brought it to your mouth. "My poor boy... At least you slept when you landed?"

"Not where I had planned, but yeah," you replied, your gaze momentarily on your breakfast. The cream-filled croissant was your next victim.

"Not where you had planned?"

"Seeing as I couldn't handle myself, I told the taxi driver to take me to the first decent hotel he found," you spoke with your mouth full, so you covered it with the back of your hand to avoid being unpleasant. You quickly swallowed. "And so I ended up in a quaint little place run by a kind old granny named Giuseppina."

Wony laughed, making you smile.

"Giuseppina?" she repeated. Her Italian pronunciation was improving every day.

"Oh yeah," you nodded. "A real sweetheart. And how are you? How's Tommy Jeans treating you?"

"Wonderful!" Wony responded, her face lighting up. "They were so nice to me. And they gave me a ton of snacks and clothes."

"Clothes you'd model for me, right?"

"I always model my new clothes for you, babe. By the way, where are you?"

"Oh right," you picked up your phone, which was leaning against the vase in the middle of the table, and put the back camera on to show her the bakery, just for a few seconds so as not to upset anyone. "A bakery near the center. It's amazing. I have to take you here sometime."

"Oh gosh, it's so pretty!" Wony said as you put the front camera back on. "You're having breakfast, aren't you? Let me see."

As if you were at a mukbang, you picked up both plates with the cakes and the croissant and showed them to the camera.

"Damn, that's yummy," Wony sighed. "Now I'm hungry."

"You have snacks to spare, right?"

"Yeah, but none of them are that cake."

"Well, I know the recipe. I can make it for you when we're home."

Wony remained silent, just looking at you with her head tilted. They were eyes full of love. Whenever she looked at you like that, you kissed her out of pure instinct. You wished you could have done it at that moment.

"My sweet boy, have I ever told you how much I love you?" Wony said, making you blush like an idiot in the middle of the pastry shop.

"All the time," you smiled.

"Great, because I don't want you to ever forget it."

"I'll never forget it because you love me as much as I love you, darling."

Wony brought her camera to her lips and covered it with kisses before returning to the usual shot.

"You're not prepared for how clingy I'll be in Paris," she said. "Poor you."

"Oh come on, you say that like I don't love it."

"I'm just warning you, sweetie."

The next few minutes were spent talking about your respective flights and things that happened along the way. You'd already finished your cake and croissant, and there was only a little cappuccino left when you saw the time.

"Honey, I should go," you said, stacking the empty plates. "I still have a lot of things to do."

"Okay, baby," Wony replied. "I'll take a bath and go to sleep. Will you be awake when I wake up?"

"Most likely. Will you wake up early?"

"8 in the morning, I think," Wony nodded.

"About 5 in the afternoon here, great."

"I'll text you when I get up then," Wony waved goodbye and blew you a kiss. "Bye baby, I love youuu! Don't forget to send me pictures. Of you, if possible."

"You have my word, honey," you blew the kiss back. "Love you too. Ciao."

After hanging up the video call, you sat for a moment checking your messages and email. Sohyun had sent you pictures of your cats and asked if everything had gone well on the flight. Sully had also texted you with the same intention. Dani, for her part, had told you her flight from Seoul was leaving at midnight—around 5 p.m. there in Florence—and that she would arrive tomorrow morning.

But the one you didn't expect a message from, considering how busy she must be with all the preparations for her trip to Milan, was Rina.

Just as you were leaving and opened her chat, she was online, and she'd sent you a photo that you feared was... God. Your heart nearly leaped out of your mouth.

You had to take a moment to make sure no one was watching your screen and to process the content of the photo. A nude, of course. Sexy as hell, as only she knew how to make them.

With the Rina issue settled for now and your stomach full, you paid for your breakfast and finally left the bakery to take a taxi to the Maserati dealership, because clearly you couldn't take a taxi everywhere while you were in Florence.

Now, last year, your visit to Milan had made you discover a guilty pleasure, and it was expensive things. Very expensive things.

This was demonstrated when you unnecessarily rented the Purosangue, only to buy it months later at a higher price than usual due to import costs to Korea. Also a couple of months ago, when in a fit of love for your beloved girlfriend you had splurged $150,000 on just one necklace—she always wore it, so it wasn’t a regret for you and, to be honest, now you saw that figure as a small change.

And now, at the Maserati dealership, you exclusively consider the high-priced options. Although it's not as if there were any cheap options. It was either expensive or... less expensive.

The salesman who advised you, realizing that you knew more about cars than he might have expected, thankfully didn't try to take you for a fool and was quite helpful. One of the options was a convertible, but the point of those cars was to drive without the top up, and considering the mess that would arise if Dani was caught co-piloting a foreign guy—the two of them alone, in an Italian city—you decided to rule it out.

The final decision was a silver GranTurismo Trofeo, a gorgeous coupe with a 550-horsepower V6 engine. It was one of the few units left that was still brand new, as Maserati would soon become a 100% electric brand in a few years. The salesman clarified that the unit they had at the dealership wasn't available for rent, and that he would contact the third-party company they partnered with to bring yours in as soon as possible.

When the car arrived, you signed all the necessary paperwork and the contract, checked the condition of the vehicle, and proceeded to pay for the days you would use it. Your little treat cost you around $4,500. Minutes later, you were driving the coupe through the beautiful streets of Florence to Grandma Giuseppina's hotel.

After picking up your luggage and leaving the elderly woman another tip, you packed everything in the trunk of the car and drove to the Four Seasons, the hotel you had originally planned to stay at with Dani for those few days.

The imposing palatial building, worthy of a Raffaello Sanzio painting, rose along the narrow one-way street. At that hour, sunlight bathed the smooth ochre facade, casting shadows from the trees in the park on the opposite side of the road, where you had parked to get out and take a quick look at the small windows on each floor before crossing the street.

On the other side of the road, you passed between the two ornate columns and went through the stately dark wooden door that led you inside the hotel.

The palatial appearance of the hotel was also preserved inside. The first thing to attract attention was the majestic marble statue in the center of the interior patio, which was surrounded by four corridors with high arches and open columns crowned with murals and ornamentation carved from the same stone. The air was fresh, sweetened by the scent of freshly picked flowers from the patio. A group of visibly wealthy people chatted with courteous ease, sitting on the chairs and the green velvet sofa in front of the statue.

The corridor you were standing in had display cases behind each column on your left, featuring Rolex watches, handbags from various Italian brands, and jeweled accessories. But as you walked toward the reception desk, your attention was drawn to the arched ceiling, coffered with hexagonal panels that covered the entire surface, each decorated with ornamentation around the edges and a carved flower in the center.

As you walked through the corridor, you passed through the open door at the far end and entered the reception. Behind the counter on your right was the receptionist, a woman with her hair tied back in a bun and wearing the hotel uniform. You went with her to inquire about the available suites, giving you a range of options, from which, once again, you chose the most expensive option.

With your reservation for the suite—if you could call it that—made, you went to the car to get your luggage and returned inside to be helped and directed by a bellboy. To get there, you went out to the hotel's back garden, which was part of the Giardino della Gherardesca: a big shared garden that took up the entire block and served as a common space between hotels and institutes.

Outside, you circled the pool and left the hotel area enclosed by the hedges behind. The garden was larger than it looked, with paths winding through groves and small points of interest like fountains and parks where people gathered for various activities.

The suite was tucked away in the opposite corner of the garden, so you had to walk a couple more minutes until you spotted it in the distance. It was a cabin preceded by a wide semi-roundabout with a fountain in the center. As you passed through it, a perfectly manicured hedge and flowerbeds caught your attention: in the center, an archway covered in vines and flowering bushes led you inside.

The bellboy spoke to you as you passed under the arch, explaining the services available, the hours of service, and also giving you some historical context about the suite.

As soon as you crossed the archway, you were greeted by the wide circle formed by the perfectly manicured garden, with the small pool—more like a good-sized jacuzzi—on the left side, next to two lounge chairs and an umbrella. On the right side, there wasn't much else, just grass, flower beds near the side of the cabin, and a tree.

The cabin consisted, of course, of a single floor, accessed through two double glass doors, flanked by windows and framed at the top by a wrought iron structure with patterns of symmetrical circles and curves. Both were wide open, one revealing the living room and the other the only bedroom.

"D'ora in poi starò bene, fratello. Grazie mille," you told the bellboy with a smile, asking for your other suitcase.

"Ci faccia sapere se ha bisogno di qualcosa, signor Leone," the bellboy replied, handing you the suitcase handle as you took a few steps back. "Buon soggiorno."

"Grazie," you nodded, shook his hand in gratitude, and followed the stone path to the bedroom.

The first thing you did upon entering was leave your backpack and briefcase on the queen-size bed to the right. The two suitcases went into the corner between the mattress and the back wall. Then, you took off your shoes and sat on the lower edge of the bed with your feet up on the upholstered bench, taking out your phone and taking some pictures to send to Wony and Sohyun. Some shots were more elaborate than others, but you made sure to show as much as possible: the chandelier above your head, the television resting on the hand-painted bombé dresser, and even the visible part of the garden.

After taking the photos, you climbed into bed and began unpacking things from both your backpack and your briefcase. Since you weren't planning on going out again, you also went to one of your suitcases and took out some sweatpants and a wool sweater to change into.

Now more comfortable and without much to do, you set out for a mini tour of the cabin. First, you went to the right. There, the small hallway, with a circular mirror on the wall, opened in two directions.

The room to the left was a sort of dressing room, with an electronic safe and spaces for hanging and storing clothes. Nothing special.

But on the other side was the bathroom, which in itself looked like the lobby of a palace thanks to the marble walls and the gilded details of the double sinks and the large mirror on the left. On the opposite side, a dressing table with a stool and an ornate mirror placed above it, which you took to take another couple of photos. And within the same room, through a door to the left of the sink, were the toilets.

The other path led to an intersection, with the glass shower door on your left. You went to the right, and smiled at the sight of the bathtub embedded in the floor in the last room. You also took a photo, but you sent it to Dani, hoping she'd understand the possible uses you could give to it.

With that part explored, you returned to the bedroom and took the path to the other end of the cabin, past the central window visible from outside and another small bathroom.

The living room wasn't exactly modern, at least not by today's minimalist standards. It was more of a perfect blend of various vintage and eclectic styles, such as the white upholstered furniture, the classic-looking rug with brown prints on khaki, the nineties chairs, and the chandelier. And the entire right-hand wall consisted of gleaming glass panels, with a recessed space for a dresser, adjacent to a shelf with another gold-framed mirror above it.

All in all, it was one of the best $24,000 you'd ever spent. There was no way you'd regret it. On top of that, Dani's company was only going to make it better.

The cold breeze was starting to pick up, and the sun was already setting. In theory, it was still winter in Italy, which meant the delicious chill would slowly begin to penetrate the cabin. There wouldn't be any need to lock the doors just yet, so you sat on the couch, put your bare feet up on the coffee table, and relaxed with your phone. You even did an hour-long IG live to update your followers.

Wony also texted you, having woken up on her side of the world. You didn't speak for too long, as she had to grab a quick breakfast and rush to her schedule. But you made sure to give her the boost of motivation and affection she needed from her boyfriend to face her day.

Hours later, you ordered dinner from the hotel staff, and after eating, you showered and finally closed the cabin doors to go into your bedroom. Then you took out your laptop and started handling business matters in your email. The most important thing was to confirm your attendance at Fashion Week in a few days. Upon doing so, your internal point of contact at Prada almost immediately sent you a dossier-like document containing information about the event, such as schedules, exact locations, content guidelines for social media, and appointments with the styling, marketing, and logistics teams before the event.

By the time you'd tied up as many loose ends as possible it was almost midnight, which meant it was time to go to sleep since Dani would arrive first thing in the morning.

So you closed your laptop, went to close the curtains, and set an alarm for 6 a.m. before snuggling under the blanket and going to sleep.

The morning in Florence was beautiful as you drove to the Amerigo Vespucci Airport. Caraphernelia by Pierce the Veil played through the car speakers at a moderate volume. There were just under ten minutes until Dani landed, so you were on time.

Traffic was light at that time of day, so you were able to cut some corners and arrive a couple of minutes early.

Once parked, you put on the sunglasses Prada had given you as part of a welcome gift a couple of days earlier and got out of the car to head into the airport, hands in the pockets of your brown aviator jacket.

When you stopped to wait near the airport shopping center it was already 7:04. But it wasn't long before Dani Marsh appeared in the distance, looking like something out of a fashion magazine, wearing a black hat, sunglasses, a pink Hysteric Glamour oversized aviator jacket, a long black skirt, and brown boots. A large suitcase in her hand and her phone in the other.

Just as she'd told you, she was coming alone. She'd mentioned something about the possibility of her sister joining her, but it seemed her plans didn't work out. It was a shame, because her sister was just as lovely as she was, and you were happy to be able to show them both Florence.

But being alone would definitely have its advantages.

Dani smiled from ear to ear when you took a few steps forward and made her notice you. Her gait quickened, dodging the traffic. You closed the distance until you met halfway and hugged.

"Hi dearrr!!" Dani squealed, her arms clinging to your neck.

"What's up, darling?" You smiled, wrapping your arms around her body and holding her tight. "How was the flight?"

"Uhm, pretty chill! I slept through most of it," she replied as she pulled away and took off her sunglasses. You did the same. "Then I woke up two hours before landing. And you? How are you doing? Sorry for making you wake up so early."

"Nah it's okay," you shook your head. "I slept enough. Although I can't say the same about my damn flight here. You were lucky, at least."

Dani giggled.

"The pills helped, believe me. I can recommend the ones I use."

"Please tell me it's Klonopin, those are my favorite."

"What the hell are you talking about, Leone?!" Dani laughed, tapping you in the chest with the palm of her hand. "Don't say that again!"

"Sorry, you made it too easy for me," you smiled, and opened an arm toward the exit. "Shall we go?"

"Alright!" Dani nodded, putting her sunglasses back on.

"Let me help you with that," you said, taking her suitcase and starting to walk outside. "I hope you're hungry. I know the perfect place for us to have breakfast together."

"Thought of everything, huh?" Dani giggled, holding onto your arm. "I am, yeah."

"Your first time in Florence can't be a mediocre experience, Marsh. Of course I thought of everything."

"Something more like my first time in Rome, then?"

Suddenly, memories of that spontaneous trip quickly flooded your mind. A jacuzzi, on a terrace overlooking the Colosseum, Hanni, Dani, and Minji, all three of them on your cock...

"Yeah, something like that," you sighed, forcing yourself to push the memory out of your head.

Dani just laughed again. Perhaps noticing the blush on your cheeks.

After a couple of minutes of walking, you walked out of the airport and headed to where you were parked, which wasn't too far from the main entrance.

"Oh wow, you didn't spare any expense either, I see," Dani said as you crossed a road, watching you press the car remote to unlock the doors.

"And wait until you see where we're staying. Hop in, honey."

You opened the passenger door for Dani and went to put her suitcase in the trunk. Then you got into your seat, took off your sunglasses, and left them folded on the dashboard. Dani followed suit, taking off her hat as well.

"Do you really know how...?" Dani pointed to the touchscreen embedded in the dashboard. "You know, how to use that thing."

"It's not that complicated," you replied, and pressed the button to the left of the steering wheel to start the engine. "Put your seatbelt on, thanks."

Dani and you put your seatbelts on, and after adjusting the car's internal GPS through the touchscreen navigation panel, you hit the accelerator and drove to Via Alessandro Guidoni, heading for the Caffè Gilli. It was about a 20-minute drive, so you told Dani to get comfortable and put on some music.

"Did you come here often?" Dani asked halfway there, her eyes on the Hilton Garden Hotel park as you rolled past. "I mean, I know you're from Milan, but you seem to know this city well."

"I've visited every city in Lombardy and Tuscany at least twice," you replied, taking a small right turn. "I used to come to Florence in particular all the time," you took another left. "I mean, I don't know every shortcut and every detail, but I'm pretty familiar."

"Oh, okay..." Dani nodded, still entranced by the park to your right. "What about the south?"

"Southern Italy? Well, I've been there a few times, yeah," you nodded. "I was recently in Naples on vacation. There's some of that on my IG feed."

"Yeah, I remember seeing some stories. But did you go alone?"

Sohee had asked you to be a walking grave about that vacation of yours last September. In her words, no one, absolutely no one, could find out about that. Months had passed since you last spoke, and you had agreed to distance yourself due to the dangerous nature of whatever it was you had going on between you, but like the gentleman you were, you were going to respect her request. The secrecy was so profound that not even your closest friends knew.

Although, of course, the sharpest among them could have made connections, since Sohee had also posted photos in the same places as you... with photos you had taken. Like, no one had ever accused you of anything, thankfully. But chances are someone would be suspicious.

"Nope, I went with a friend and his brother," you replied. "The pizza there is incredible. The scenery too. Especially on the Amalfi Coast when you take a boat ride."

"Then I have to go sometime. I love boat rides."

"You're Aussie, no surprise there."

Dani chuckled.

"Look, I could be offended but you're right. In fact, since I'm such an Aussie, I've got a spider here for you."

Dani then reached out and tickled your ribs and thigh. She knew you hated that shit.

"Hey, no!" You squirmed, between pain and laughter. But Dani wouldn't stop. "Stop!! You're going to fucking kill us!"

With your free hand, you tried to stop her, and between struggles, her hand ended up on your crotch. She could have immediately removed it and kept bothering you, but fortunately for your hatred of tickling, she didn't.

"Oh, woopsies," Dani giggled, giving your bulge a squeeze that made you gasp. Then she removed her hand. "Are you going to feed it to me one of these days?"

"Not if you keep fucking tickling me," you snapped, a little angrily.

"Okay," Dani clasped her hands in her lap and looked out the window. "I'll be a good girl... daddy."

You took a deep breath and forced yourself to focus on the road so as not to wind her up. After about 10 minutes, you were driving into the historic center of Florence, through the narrow Via del Corso, lined with buildings with shops on their ground floors. The Caffè Gilli was located in the Piazza della Repubblica, a large square famous for its cafes and restaurants, so you had to get out of the car a corner earlier to continue on foot.

Dani stopped at a few places to take pictures and have you take them for her. She seemed enchanted by the place, even though the day wasn't as beautiful as in warmer times of the year and the sky was slightly clouded. If only she knew what you had in store for her.

After filling Dani's gallery with the first photos of the trip, you finally walked toward the café.

The place had two areas: the usual facade, on the ground floor of the building, with columns between each entrance and an awning that stretched from side to side; and a large covered dining area right in front, which you entered.

It was the time of day when people usually went out for breakfast, so the tables filled up more quickly. You hurried to take one toward the back of the left wing, not too far from the rear glass wall. Dani took more photos there, until a waiter came to welcome you and take your orders.

"Are all the cafes in Italy this cute?" Dani asked a couple of minutes later, glancing around. "I remember saying the exact same thing in Rome."

"Our breakfasts are sacred," you replied, arms crossed on the table. "Most Italians' day begins right here. So all our cafes are made with love. Pure tradition."

The waiter arrived with the first part of your order: a cappuccino with oat milk for you and a doppio espresso for Dani, along with a bowl of fresh fruit with figs, grapes, melon, and berries.

"Speaking of love..." Dani's smile slowly faded. She looked down as she opened a sugar packet for her espresso. "What happened between you and Hanni? She never wanted to talk to me about it."

You sighed and looked down at the bowl of fruit to pick up a grape and eat it. That topic was already a thing of the past, or so it was supposed to be. Talking about it and rubbing salt in the wound was a bitch. Especially with how everything had happened.

"It's okay if you don't want to talk about it, really," Dani said.

"No, it's okay," you shook your head. "I just don't like remembering," you looked up. "Fuck, where do I start? Well... it was the day of her testimony in court. You know, when she was on TV and everything. That day she came to my apartment to, you know, sleep over and whatever. All cute and normal as ever.

"But the next morning she was... weird. She woke up before me. And she never wakes up before me. She didn't kiss me good morning, nor was she as smiling as usual. Of course I immediately asked her what was wrong and... fuck, it was like a fucking ice bath. It was horrible.

"But what did she say to you?" Dani asked, distressed. "You're adding too much suspense. Spill it."

"She said she couldn't do it anymore. I'm not going to go on and on about everything we talked about. But basically, she said that given her current life state, she wasn't sure she could give me the best of herself. And that there were a lot of things she needed to focus on before focusing on a relationship."

There was a momentary silence. Dani stared at you as your expression turned gloomy.

"Ouch..." Dani said.

"Yeah... I mean, now that I think about it, I understand that reason. But come on Dani, I was always there for her through thick and thin. Always. I don't think there was a single thing I couldn't help her through. Like... ugh," you groaned in frustration. "Whatever."

Just then, the waiter arrived with the food. You had ordered cornetto al pistachio, and Dani ordered a mini platter of mixed pastries: a small cannolino, a sfogliatella, and a croissant filled with lemon cream.

"Grazie," you forced yourself to say so as not to be rude, as the plates were placed in front of you.

"Thank you," Dani smiled at the waiter, but the smile faded when she looked at you again. "Jeez... I'm sorry, baby. For you know… reopening the wound."

"It sucks, but whatever," you shrugged. "I'm lucky to have found someone who helped me get over it."

"That's cute," Dani smiled. "And I'm very happy. But you should know that Hanni has been deadass jealous at least three times since then. I mean she denies it. But I can read her face."

"That's her problem. She should have known better than to leave me like a dog in the cold."

Dani chuckled.

"Look, in her defense, I must say that everyone's life is really turned upside down right now. It hasn't been easy."

"I know it hasn't been, but that doesn't stop anyone from having some emotional intelligence. Anyway, enjoy your meal, dear."

Everything was as delicious as you'd hoped, and Dani was so enamored with the sfogliatella that she ordered another one to go. You could have stayed and chatted for a while longer, but you had other places to take her. And what better way to go than to a museum?

Dani loved art; she was almost as devoted to it as you were. If there was anyone who would appreciate the Uffizi Gallery, it would be her, without a doubt. So that was your next destination.

"Hey, it's not that I'm not excited about going to the museum, but can we go shopping later?" Dani asked as you drove to the gallery. "I want you to know that my suitcase is purposely half empty."

You chuckled.

"Are you serious?" you said, your eyes on the road. "Well, it wouldn't hurt to update my closet. I'm in."

"Great! Because I don't know anyone better to be a fashion judge than you."

"Well, yeah, that's obvious. And...?"

"That you'll have to approve every item I want to buy," Dani leaned over the center console between the seats and leaned close to your ear. "Even the underwear," she whispered.

"Danielle Marsh, should I find an alley and fuck you on the hood of the car? I swear to God you're getting on my nerves."

"We don't have time for that, dummy," Dani replied, returning to her seat. "We have a museum to go to, remember? And then some shopping to do."

The sugary, innocent tone of her voice, along with her cute Aussie accent, made you let out a heavy breath. There was no possible objection you could make; after all, you were the one responsible for your itinerary. But at this rate, with two days still ahead of you, there was no doubt that things were going to happen more than once.

You sincerely hoped so, because that tight body was a marvel.

A short 10-minute drive later, you arrived at the Uffizi Gallery, a massive building that housed entire collections of Renaissance paintings on the banks of the Arno River. The tour lasted almost three hours, as you spent a good amount of time talking about each of the most interesting paintings, such as The Birth of Venus or Spring by Sandro Botticelli, or Caravaggio's Medusa, among the dozens of others in the museum.

By the time you finished your visit it was around 2 p.m. Dani loved every second of the tour, which was especially satisfying for you since it was the first place you'd thought of showing her when she'd asked you to be her tour guide a few days earlier. Nothing was better than having someone reaffirm your excellent tastes and actually enjoy them.

"The Birth of Venus is a beauty in person, wow," Dani said, scrolling through her gallery to see all the photos she'd taken. She was no longer wearing her jacket: now it was wrapped around her waist, leaving her in a fitted black polo shirt. "Wait, wasn't that the one attacked by environmental activists last year?"

"That's one, yeah," you nodded. You were taking a break in front of the gallery entrance, leaning against the stone railing that overlooked the river. The sun was already peeking out from under the blanket of clouds in the sky, reflecting on the still-calm water. "Idiots who think that'll change anything. They only gained six months in jail."

"Well, at least they tried to make a change. It's something."

"You wanna know how I think a change can be made? It's not pretty, and it has to do with multibillionaires."

"Nope, I don't wanna know," Dani said, looking up to pat you on the chest. "You know what I do want to know? How many new clothes can I bring home."

"Don't you want lunch first? I know the perfect place."

"I don't think I'm hungry yet. Let's go shopping, come on!" Dani said with a little jump, grinning from ear to ear to try to convince you.

"Consumerism consumes you, girl."

"And it makes me happy too!" Dani took your hand and pulled you along as if she knew the way—she didn't. "Walk!"

Well, anyway, you had no choice.

After a couple of minutes of walking, you reached the place where you had parked the car. You got in and headed toward Via de' Tornabuoni, a long, straight street lined with luxury brand stores on every side and at every corner.

A little over five minutes later, you were there. You parked a corner early, near the Column of Justice, an iconic monument in Piazza Santa Trinita. When you got out, you just had to walk straight until you entered the aforementioned street.

The first store was Burberry. Dani let you search first, knowing that she would be the one who would take the longest. There weren't many things that caught your eye there; you only ended up picking up a black wool sweater, an oversized cotton T-shirt, some sneakers, and a gold ring.

Dani, on the other hand, was a Burberry ambassador, and therefore felt a greater affinity for the brand than you did. Her choices were more varied, and while you didn't end up approving of all of them, the number of items she bought almost doubled yours.

And of course, she also struck the first blow.

Without you realizing it, she'd sneaked a swimsuit into the clothes she was going to try on, and she sent you a photo from the fitting room wearing the tight garment, which perfectly hugged her slim, curvy figure. There were two photos: one from the front and one from the side. Both blatantly suggestive. The design was very pretty, it was worth noting: white stripes and black checks on a beige base. Approved.

The next stop was right in front, across the street. Pucci's extravagant and colorful prints weren't exactly your favorite, so you didn't check out too many things: just an iridescent hoodie, some swim shorts, a lighter case—yes, they had those—and a three-pack of trunks. It's not like you had much to do with it, either; Pucci was a brand more focused on women, and the men's section was tiny compared to the rest of the store.

Dani took her time again. Her tastes matched her personality, and unlike you, she loved colorful clothes with abstract designs. So she swept every corner of the store, grabbing item after item to try on. She also included a three-pack of briefs, which she thought you hadn't realized she'd snatched.

So it didn't take you by surprise when, from the fitting room, she sent you photos of herself trying on the panties. One photo for each style: the multicolored one, with an abstract pattern of curved shapes in black, white, pink, purple, and beige; the white ones, and the black ones. Now you received back shots of her pretty ass, and also close-up shots of her crotch at stupidly hot angles. Approved. And now you were horny.

"You know I'm throbbing for you right now, right?" you asked quietly in her ear as she paid for her clothes. You'd already paid for yours. Between Burberry and this one, you'd already spent around $5,000.

Dani held back a smile and turned around after a few seconds to lean closer to your ear.

"Good for you," she replied. "But we still have a lot of stores to see. Hang in there."

Reluctantly, you followed her back to the opposite side of the street, this time to enter Tiffany & Co.—where the necklace you bought for Wony was from. Being a jewelry, watches, and accessories brand, there was no attack towards you this time. But it was by far the place that took you the longest.

Dani could afford to buy everything she'd been buying up until now, yes. But there were things in that store whose prices were exorbitant, so she only ended up buying two pairs of earrings for 3.100 euros each. What she didn't know was that you were feeling pretty generous that day, and you let her choose anything else regardless of the price.

Her choice was a diamond ring, specifically the Tiffany Titan designed by Pharrell Williams. 12,000 euros. Convincing her that it was fine and that you wanted to buy it because you wanted to was a difficult task, but in the end, you managed to get her to leave the store wearing the ring and with a smile on her face.

The next store was Celine. There, the number of items you bought broke that day's record, but it was Dani who was most hesitant about her choice. There were only a few things she actually tried on that you approved of. That was because her focus had changed: more damn swimwear.

Celine had been one of the stores with the most swimwear so far, and you were sure Dani had sent you photos of herself in almost all of them, including the bikinis. Some were prettier than others, you even told her to buy a pair. But they all shared the same common factor, and that was her tight body looking delicious in every single photo.

It was already getting too difficult to hide how needy you were for her. Dani knew it, and she enjoyed every second of it, knowing that, despite you being the guide and the reason she was there in the first place, she was in control. Everything indicated that she wouldn't be satisfied until you set foot in every single store on the damned street.

Sadly, that’s how it was.

Alexander McQueen, Balenciaga—one of your favorite brands—, Fendi, Jil Sander, Prada—where, to your surprise, the attendants already recognized you as a new brand ambassador, and let you choose whatever you wanted to take with you at no cost—, Gucci, Giorgio Armani, Bvlgari, and finally Versace. In absolutely every store you bought at least one or two items, and you didn't even keep track of how much you'd spent anymore.

The problem was that the number of bags you were carrying was bordering on the bizarre. You didn't know the exact number; you only knew that you were also holding two with your teeth and that you'd have to make two trips.

Thank goodness the car was close, because you were starting to feel empathy for the poor pack animals. The bags you were already carrying filled the back seats and the footwell, while the rest went into the trunk next to Dani's suitcase.

"Jesus, it seems like we raided the entire street," you sighed, getting into the car. You closed your eyes with your hands on your knees, your head resting on the seat.

"It was quite a productive afternoon, don't complain," Dani replied.

"I have plenty of reasons to complain."

Dani didn't respond. You heard her shift in her seat, but you thought she was just searching for something in her bag or something else. When you opened your eyes and looked at her, your eyes nearly popped out of your head.

She had taken off the heavy skirt she was wearing, along with her shoes. Now she was wearing only her black polo shirt, stockings, and a pair of black panties. Your sense of alarm went off, making you look around in every direction in case anyone was watching. The car windows weren't completely black, just tinted, so if anyone had taken a look, they would have seen Dani half-naked in the passenger seat.

"Dani, what the fuck are you doing?!" you asked, rushing to start the car.

"I'm making up for the inconvenience," Dani retorted, and as you hurried to get out of there, she reached out to squeeze your cock through your pants. "Or are you not throbbing for me anymore?"

"You didn't have to fucking strip in the middle of the square," you scolded her, driving without knowing where to go. An alley was what you were looking for, but being so central in the city, it would be a difficult task. "Someone could have seen you."

"So what? No one knows me here," Dani said, unbuttoning your pants to unzip them and slip her hand into your boxers. Her fingers wrapped around your cock, rubbing it until it was hard. "To them I would’ve just been some exhibitionist Asian whore."

"At least one of those three things is true."

You gasped as Dani pulled your pants down to your mid-thighs and held your cock upright, slowly moving her hand over it.

"Yeah, I may be a whore," Dani acknowledged as she gave you a lazy handjob. "But you've been craving this whore's pussy all afternoon. You haven't even bothered to hide it."

Well, that was a point well earned.

Dani sped up her hand movements, not caring how focused you had to be to drive through certain stretches and certain curves. Then she climbed onto her knees in her seat and spat into her hand before returning it to your shaft. Her wrist was now moving at a fast, steady pace. Not abrupt or frantic. Careful and measured.

As you stopped at a light, Dani stopped her hand and moved from sitting on her heels to back on the seat, only now, carefully, she leaned her back against the car door and stretched her long legs into your lap, lifting her feet and removing her stockings right next to your face. With her now bare feet, she lowered them to your cock and took it between them.

"Dani, for God's sake," you gasped, taking one hand off the wheel and moving it to her lower abdomen, rubbing her pussy over her panties with your thumb. "How do you expect me to drive like this?"

"Find a way. That's not my problem," Dani replied, now masturbating you with her pretty feet.

You were forced to return your hand to the wheel when the light turned green, and also to speed up as you searched for an alley. All the while Dani's feet moved up and down on your cock. At certain points, you could afford to touch her, rubbing her slit again and again until her panties were wet. It got to the point where her panties were already pushed aside, and whenever you could afford to finger her, you did.

It took you 15 minutes to find a damn decent spot. Along the way, you'd probably angered more than one driver with your erratic driving, but it wasn't your damn fault.

The alley was narrow enough, with a residential building on the left and the wall of a small garage on the right. A few meters ahead, where the alley opened up, there was a guardhouse, but the lights were off and no one seemed to be inside. It wasn't the right place to take her outside and commit an obscene act, but at least it gave you discretion inside the car.

As soon as you parked and turned off the car, Dani swung her legs from your lap and hurriedly climbed over the console to straddle you. Her arms flung around your neck and her lips crashed down on yours. And you hurried to use the buttons on the side of the seat to move it away from the steering wheel and then tilt it all the way back.

Dani cradled your face in her hands, kissing you between small moans and heavy breaths. Her legs settled between the sides of your body and the car seat as you wrapped your arms around her slender body, sliding your hands under her shirt to feel her back, then lowering them to her small waist and then her ass.

You lifted your hips and pulled the rest of your pants down to your heels, then pushed Dani's panties aside to grasp your cock and rub it against her folds, already slick with wetness. Dani also lifted her hips and slowly impaled herself on your cock until she took it all inside her tight pussy.

"Mmmgh fuck," Dani moaned against your lips, moving her hands down to your chest. Her firm little ass rested against your pelvis. "I can't believe it's been six months since I last had this cock inside me."

"Time flies, huh?" You gasped, holding her waist as she began to move her hips, fucking herself with every inch of you. "And who knew the first time I was inside you was also on Italian soil?"

"Oh I wouldn't mind being fucked every time I set foot in this country if it was you."

Dani went slowly at first, letting you feel her grippy folds hugging your cock every time she lowered her hips. Her lips moved from yours to your jaw and chin, planting small kisses on them, something she, being such a romantic, loved to do. Meanwhile, you groped her ass with gentle squeezes, returning the kisses she gave you but on her neck.

The car began to shake a bit as Dani accelerated, now moving her hips as fast as she could without jumping. That changed when she managed to prop her feet up on the seat and start bouncing on your cock, her hands braced under your pecs and her eyes on yours. Her face, gorgeous as usual, twisted with moans until her mouth fell open and her head fell back.

"Are you gonna cum, hmm?" you asked, holding her under her buttocks as she bounced on your cock. The sight of her abdomen bulging with your shaft increased your revs a thousandfold.

Dani just nodded, stifling a moan against her bitten lip. The sound of her ass slamming against you drowned out the music playing from the car speakers far below.

Her orgasm simmered inside her until she exploded with a squeal that muffled against your lips as she fell forward.

You wrapped your arms around her as she came on your cock, her body shaking until she moved her hips up and down again. Then, with your hands on her tiny waist and kissing her, you took control and began to fuck her hard and fast. Dani sank her teeth into your lower lip and pulled it before looking up at you.

"Are you gonna cum as well daddy?" Dani asked, gently cradling your face in her hands. "Would you do it in my mouth? I don't want to get dirty yet."

"Dirtier than riding me in the middle of a remote alley?" you gasped.

"I don't have anything on hand to clean up the big load you're gonna shoot inside me," Dani's words rushed out of her mouth. "So I'd rather swallow it."

So be it, then. Honestly, you didn't feel like getting cum on the seat of a Maserati either. Sacrilege.

Your hands moved down to Dani's ass and squeezed it as you started going faster than usual. Seconds later, as your cock began to tingle, you patted her back in warning. Dani quickly got off you and stumbled to her seat, kneeling up, bending over you, and taking the tip of your cock between her lips as you jerked off.

Dani's small sucks and licks on your tip sped up your climax considerably, and just a couple of seconds later, you exploded inside her mouth.

Dani took charge and slid her lips down your cock to suck it and take your load in her mouth. Her moans as she swallowed drop after drop made you moan too, holding the back of her head as she slurped on your shaft with slow, deep strokes.

When you emptied your balls down her throat, Dani pulled you out of her mouth and licked her lips. She straightened her back and looked at you with a sly smile, still holding your cock.

"Shall we go to the hotel, daddy?" she asked in that tone of voice that always drove you crazy, and let go of your cock to look around. Once she made sure no one was watching, she laid her eyes on you again and tilted her head. "The appetizer was delicious, but I'm starting to need that lunch."

"Yeah, but please get dressed before a busybody comes along," you said, and sat up to pull up your pants and boxers. "Those are abundant in Italy."

Dani hurried to obey your order, readjusting her underwear and putting on her skirt as you returned your seat to its normal position. When she settled into her seat, you started the car and reversed out of the alley, turned around, and headed back to the hotel.

It was around 7:30 p.m. when you finally arrived at the Four Seasons. Getting out of the car, you immediately went inside to ask some bellboys to help you with the bags you and Dani couldn't carry and with her suitcase. One of the guys—the same one who had guided you to your suite yesterday—took the lead with Dani's suitcase. The other one escorted you from behind.

Dani frowned as you stepped out into the hotel garden, confused by the path you were taking.

"Are we camping or what?" Dani asked, looking at the trees around you as you left the hotel behind. Not bothered by it, but curious. As if the possibility excited her.

"Close, but better than that," you replied. "You'll see."

A couple of minutes later, Dani's face lit up as she saw the cabin in the distance.

"No way..." she said softly, the light from the lampposts near the roundabout reflecting in her pretty eyes. "Is that...?"

"Aha," you nodded.

Dani was as amazed as you were yesterday as you passed under the arch, unable to close her mouth. She gasped in surprise as she stepped through and looked around the immense garden you had, paying special attention to the pool. The bellboys continued walking and went to leave the things they were carrying in the living room, not in the bedroom since you had left those doors closed with the curtains drawn.

"Oh gosh, this is gorgeous!" Dani sighed, a small smile on her face. The bellboys returned and offered to carry what you were carrying inside as well. "Yes, please. Thank you."

"I knew you'd like it," you smiled, handing the bags you were carrying to one of the bellboys. "Fratello, sai parlare inglese?"

"Of course, sir," one of the bellboys nodded with a thick accent.

"When you get those things inside, can you put that table here in the garden?" you asked, pointing to the table on the right side of the cabin under a small porch. "It's for lunch."

The bellboy nodded and, along with his colleague, carried the rest of the things inside.

"Man, I could live here forever," Dani said, taking a few steps onto the grass.

Dani walked a little further, passed under the umbrella, and stood on some wooden planks placed end to end to dry off after getting out of the pool. She stood on her tiptoes to peer in.

"Good thing you bought swimsuits, huh?" you asked with a chuckle, watching out of the corner of your eye as the bellboys carried the table to where you'd indicated.

"See? And then you say the afternoon wasn't productive," Dani giggled.

When the bellboys had put everything back in place, they returned to you. You thanked them both, and as you passed under the arch, you went to Dani's.

"Hey, let's go inside and call for lunch."

"Lunch? It's almost 8 at night."

"Dinnerlunch. Whatever the fuck you want to call it dude."

"Fair, let's go," Dani nodded and followed you inside. "We'll use that pool, right?"

"Of course we will," you replied. "But I think we'll have more fun in the indoor bathtub."

Dani just laughed before entering the cabin with you.

While you called the front desk, Dani took her suitcase and some of her bags to the bedroom to organize her clothes. She came back a short time later to decide what you were going to eat together.

The order you placed was large enough that you wouldn't have to order anything else for the rest of the night. You waited for it sitting at the table outside, still in your clothes since you wanted to eat before showering.

The wait staff arrived—quite understandingly considering how far the hotel was from the suite—about 15 minutes later, bringing your appetizers and drinks first. A classic bellini for Dani and a bergamot-infused negroni for you. Another 20 minutes later, the main courses arrived. Dani had ordered branzino al forno, with caramelized fennel and cauliflower puree, while you had fresh pasta with butter and white truffle. You both also had oven-roasted vegetables and arugula salad on the side.

"Hey, thanks for this, Ezio," Dani said a while later, when you'd finished your main courses. You were sipping white wine from your glass, a Vernaccia di San Gimignano. "This is just beautiful."

"Don't thank me, I like seeing people happy," you replied, setting your glass aside. "And I was looking forward to coming back here to Florence. So it's a win-win."

"You have to go to Milan after this, right?" Dani asked, then sipped her wine.

"Yup," you nodded, picking up a slice of veal left over from the appetizer and bringing it to your mouth.

"How are you holding up with that? Prada Global Ambassador, who would have thought."

"I try not to think about it," you replied, still chewing but covering your mouth with the back of your hand. "If I think about it too much I'll end up having a panic attack."

"But isn't it one of the things you've always wanted?"

"It is. But it's a whole new level of pressure for me. More exposure. More fame. You're never prepared for that stuff."

"I don't think you're taking the fame badly," Dani tilted her head. "You've been doing well so far. Although I understand what you're saying, now you have to be twice as perfect with all those cameras pointed at you."

"Yeah, and I've never dealt with anything like that. Not in the art world, at least."

"It's a new step, dear."

"A huge one," you sighed. "Anyway. Are you going to shower first, or am I?"

"Me," Dani carefully rose from her seat and took a quick sip of her wine. "And then I'll get back to organizing what I bought."

"Okay, hurry up."

Dani went inside, and you stood there alone, gazing at the slightly cloudy night sky while smoking a cigarette. After finishing it, you left two 500-euro bills under a salt shaker as a tip and went inside to call reception to come and collect the dishes. The only thing you brought inside was the bottle of wine, which you'd pay for separately.

While Dani showered, you started closing the remaining door and curtains, and, just as she'd planned, organizing all the clothes you'd bought. When she came out after about 20 minutes, you'd already replaced most of the clothes in your suitcase with new ones. But that left you with the small problem of not knowing what to do with the old ones.

"And now what am I supposed to do with all this?" you asked yourself, pointing at the clothes you'd left on the floor.

"I don't know," Dani replied behind you, getting dressed. "Buy a new suitcase?

"How the hell am I going to take three suitcases to Milan?"

"If you're taking two, you can take three."

"I don't think that's how it works," you turned your head to look at her out of the corner of your eye. "Can I turn around now?"

"No!" Dani said quickly. You could smell the oatmeal in the body lotion she was applying.

"I've seen you naked before, what's the difference?"

"Vulnerability!"

You sighed.

"Well, I'll go take a shower," you stood up. "By the way, I brought my Switch. Wanna...?"

"Yeah!"

"Nice. You can go take it out of my backpack and set it up." I'll be right back."

You walked straight to the bathroom, undressed, and stepped into the shower, letting the hot water run over your body for about five minutes before actually washing yourself. When you were finished and walked out to the bedroom with the towel around your waist, you found Dani kneeling in front of the TV, plugging in cables.

"That's it, stay like that while I get dressed," you said, going to get your clothes.

Dani chuckled.

"Vindictive bastard."

You hurriedly put on your sleepwear and went to help her. With the Switch already installed on the TV, you both climbed into bed and started playing a new game of It Takes Two—the main one was untouchable, since it was your game with Wony. The hours flew by, and you ended up leaving it when Dani felt sleepy around 1 a.m.

The next day was going to be long with all the destinations you were taking Dani to, so you couldn't afford to go to bed much later. You stood up and went to put the JoyCons back in their holders, then closed the doors and went back to bed with Dani. Soon you were asleep.

Dani woke up before you the next morning. She was the one who opened the bedroom curtains, allowing sunlight to filter through the glass door and shine directly into your eyes.

That morning you had breakfast in the suite, and immediately afterward you got dressed to head to your first stop: the Cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore.

Before entering, you spent about half an hour seeing it from as many angles as possible, admiring the beautiful white marble façade full of small details. Then you went inside the Duomo, and finally, you paid for the access to Filippo Brunelleschi's dome.

The 463 steps you climbed to reach the top of the dome were worth every second of physical effort, as you ascended, you saw the Judgment Day frescoes by Vasari and Zuccari up close. Once you reached the top, you were greeted by a beautiful panoramic view of all of Florence that made you forget you couldn't feel your legs anymore.

About ten minutes later, after taking as many photos as possible and having the private guide you had hired fill you in on the historical context, you descended from the dome and left the cathedral to walk right next to it, to Giotto's Campanile, one of the four monuments in Piazza del Duomo.

The visit was brief there. Your legs were sore from climbing the dome a moment ago, so you settled for seeing it from the outside, delighted with admiring the bas-reliefs and niches at the base of the tower.

The tour of Piazza Duomo ended with the Baptistery of San Giovanni, one of Florence's most famous religious buildings and the oldest in the square. This was by far Dani's favorite monument, simply because of the great amount of natural light it received and the impressive Byzantine mosaics inside the dome.

The next stop was the Mercato Nuovo and then the Mercato Centrale, both local markets with vendors everywhere. There, you bought souvenirs and tried street food, and when it was time for lunch, you headed to the Enoteca Pinchiorri, a magnificent 3-Michelin-star restaurant.

After that, you still felt good enough to continue. First, to Piazza della Signoria, probably the most famous square in all of Florence and the most visited, packed with historic buildings and points of interest. You let the rest of the night go by before heading out to dinner, and exhausted from that meal, you returned to the hotel around 11 p.m.

"Fuck, I'm exhausted," Dani sighed, dropping her bag on the coffee table in the living room before throwing herself onto the couch.

"And me," you said, closing the glass doors behind you. "Those 463 steps left me feeling dead."

You walked around the table and went to sit on the other couch, sinking into the seat with your head resting on a pillow. Dani rolled over to look at you.

"Are you sleepy already?" Dani asked.

"Nah, why?" You raised your hands to hug the pillow behind your head.

"I don't know, I thought we could... you know, do something."

"Something like what?"

"Didn't you tell me we could have fun in the tub?" Dani raised an eyebrow.

You smiled.

"I was waiting for you to say that." You let go of the pillow and leaned forward. "Because actually, I prepared for it."

"Oh, did you?"

You stood up and stood beside the couch where she was lying, hands clasped behind her back.

"Will you wait here, please?"

"Go ahead, take your time," Dani giggled.

All the things you were going to use to prepare the tub were inside one of the dresser drawers in the bathroom. It was the morning Dani arrived—before you left the hotel—that you had all of that stuff brought in, and of course you had spared no expense.

The first thing you did was partially close the blinds on the window on the wall next to the tub and close the curtains on the window facing the entrance, allowing only a minimum of light from outside to filter into the room. Then you started arranging scented candles: one in each corner of the tub, and three more arranged in a triangle above the dresser. After turning them all on, you turned off the room lights and made way for the dim candlelight.

The next step was to find your portable speaker and put on a playlist of R&B and jazz of your own making, so you could concentrate on preparing the bath. While you filled it with hot water, you added mineral bath salts, a few drops of rose essential oil, and a splash of oat and almond oil to make the water silky smooth. The foam was generous, enough to cover your skin but not making it look like shaving foam.

With the bath ready, you slipped out as quietly as possible to the living room to grab the bottle of white wine you had bought and a bowl of raspberries, grapes, and pieces of milk chocolate from the mini-freezer. You placed everything on a silver tray on the floor to one side of the bath: the glasses with chilled white wine on the sides, and the bowl in the center. Finally, on the edge of the tub, you placed massage oil, a natural sponge, and homemade soap.

"Dani! Come here!" you called her.

Dani hurried to answer your call and bumped into you outside the tub room. She tried to sneak a look behind you, but you shifted your body so she couldn't see much.

"Wait a minute," you said, standing under the frame. "Close your eyes."

Dani obeyed, and you were quick to stand behind her and cover her eyes with both hands.

"Come on, walk forward," you whispered in her ear.

You and Dani walked into the tub room. Then you uncovered her eyes.

"Oh my god..." Dani gasped, looking around with a small smile. "You did all this by yourself?"

"Well, yeah, what do you think? All the doors are locked."

"Wow... you really went all out in here," Dani giggled, taking a few steps forward before squatting down on the side of the tub. She moved her fingers on the water. "Oh, it's warm."

"You like it like that?" you said behind her.

Dani looked at you over her shoulder.

"I love it. You know that."

"Should we go in?"

"Yeah..." Dani stood up to face you. "But close your eyes."

"Why?"

"Just do it, Ezio."

You closed your eyes, and instantly heard Dani stir. Clothes falling to the floor, and then the water stirring after a slight splash.

"You can look now."

When you opened your eyes, the first thing you saw was the pile of Dani's clothes in front of your feet, bra and panties included. Then you looked up and found her in the tub, sitting on the right side, the foam in the water covering her breasts.

"You did that so I wouldn't see you naked?" you chuckled.

"A little playfulness never hurts, right?" Dani said with a raised eyebrow. She'd also pulled her hair back into that signature double bun that looked so pretty on her, with a few strands falling down the sides of her forehead.

"Don't look at me either."

Dani giggled.

"Okay, okay. I won't."

Dani covered her eyes, and you quickly stripped down to get into the tub with her. The space wasn't too big, so you ended up touching the sides of her buttocks with the insides of your feet when you stretched out your legs. Dani then stretched out her legs too, resting her feet on your lap, right at the top of your thighs.

"Gosh, the water is delicious," Dani sighed, closing her eyes for a moment to lean back against the tub wall. When she opened them again, she looked at the floor beside you. "And what about that massage oil?"

"I don't know, just in case," you left both arms out of the water so you could pick up your wine glass. "Do you want some?"

Dani also picked up her glass, along with a couple of grapes, which she brought to her mouth to wash down with the wine.

"Mmm, che buono," Dani said, and couldn't help but laugh at your face.

"You've picked up Italian expressions so quickly?" you chuckled, as she picked up another couple of grapes.

"It's not that difficult, you say them without realizing it," Dani brought a grape to your mouth.

You plucked the grape from between Dani's fingers with your mouth.

"It's the consequence of spending days back here, sorry," you said, chewing the grape. "When I return to Korea it will be horrible to have to speak Korean again."

"God, don't even mention it," Dani sighed, and thinking you wouldn't notice, she placed a foot on your thigh, moving it very slowly. "I've been speaking English for a whole month now."

Like her, you discreetly placed your left hand on her knee to caress her skin with your fingertips.

"You can move here to Italy," you tilted your head, staring into her eyes. She looked gorgeous in the candlelight. "Naples would suit you perfectly; you're a sunshine girl."

Dani giggled, holding your gaze. Her foot moved closer to your crotch, very close to your pubic bone.

"In the future, who knows?" Dani took another sip of her wine and popped two pieces of chocolate into her mouth. "I haven't closed the door on crazier things."

"Even if it means moving to a completely different country than Australia or Korea?"

That night you were feeling peckish, eager to warm up, so you picked up your wine glass and emptied it completely down your throat.

"I'd need help, of course," Dani did the same as you, without a single scrunch, and set the glass aside. "You know, maybe a local advisor... sexy and handsome, preferably."

"As a northerner I don't think I'm exactly an expert on Naples. But I meet the last two requirements, I think."

"You meet them with flying colors, that's for sure," Dani inched her foot from your lap to your lower abdomen, caressing it with her toes. "And you're excellent at making your guests comfortable."

"Have you felt comfortable here in Florence with me?" Not wanting to be left behind, you moved your hand up as far as you could go without reaching so you could stroke her thigh with each finger.

"Oh, very comfortable," Dani nodded. "You've done a fantastic job as a guide. But you know what? I feel like you could..." Dani let the sentence hang in the air for a moment, and you felt her foot rise up your chest until it emerged from the water right in front of your face, covered in foam. "Do it better."

And with that alone, Dani got your blood pumping to your groin at the sight of part of her wet leg sticking out of the foamy water.

"Fuck, are you calling me incompetent?" you asked.

Dani laughed and rested her foot on your chest.

"What are you talking about, dummy? No, not at all." Dani moved her other leg underwater and pressed the sole of her other foot against your cock, accelerating your erection. "I'm just saying you can do even better."

"And how exactly could I do that?" you asked, taking her foot to lift it out of the water and skim off the foam. Her other foot was beginning to move along your cock.

"Just try," Dani replied. "I don't think it'll go badly for you."

Without further ado or wanting to delay the inevitable, you took Dani's foot by the heel and brought her big toe to your mouth. At first, the taste wasn't too pleasant, given all the bath products in the water, but that became irrelevant when you started salivating on her soft toes.

Dani muffled a moan against her puckered lips, rubbing you from tip to balls with her right foot. She picked up the wine bottle from the floor, and after uncorking it, she drank directly from it, a good gulp that went down her throat and spilled from the corners of her lips to her sexy neck.

"Do you want some, daddy?" Dani asked softly, while you swirled your tongue around her big toe and rubbed the underside of her thigh with your hands.

You nodded, took her foot out of your mouth, and lifted your head. Dani knelt up, finally letting you see her pretty little tits. She moved through the water until she was positioned on your lap, her knees on either side of your hips. She grabbed your head and tilted it back, and you opened your mouth for her to pour wine into it.

"It's delicious, isn't it?" Dani said, kissing you for a moment after you swallowed the wine. "What do you think of this?"

Dani took another long gulp of wine, then floated her face over yours and let the wine fall from her mouth to yours. That turned you on so much that your cock throbbed underwater and brushed against her pussy for a second.

"Fuck," you gasped, wrapping your arms around her slender frame to press her against you and taste her lips. "Give me your tits."

Dani lifted her chest and held her perky, wet breasts right in front of your eyes. You placed your hands on her back and brought one to your mouth. Dani immediately poured wine over her collarbone, letting it run down her skin and allowing you to suck it into your mouth from her breasts. As you did, she continued to drink straight from the bottle. Until, between gulps and spills, the bottle was empty.

"Turn around, darling," you said, giving one last suck to one of her nipples. "I know another way to make you comfortable."

Dani placed the empty bottle on the floor next to the tray and turned around to sit between your legs, resting her back on your chest and her head on your left shoulder. She turned her face so that it was inches from yours, and you gently took her chin and brought your lips together.

As your kiss heated up and you were exploring each other's mouths with your tongues, you slowly lowered one hand down her chest and toned abdomen until you reached her pussy, which you began to rub slowly with your ring and middle fingers.

Dani moaned against your lips and opened her legs, lifting them over yours. Your other hand slid from her waist to her breasts, cupping one to squeeze and pinch her nipple. Meanwhile, you gradually accelerated the movement of your right wrist until the rapid circles caused your lips to part and her to lean back against your shoulder and relax.

"Is this what you had in mind?" you asked in her ear, gently sucking on her earlobe. Dani twisted her hips slightly, causing your cock to rub against her lower back. "I hope I'm doing a good job."

"You're doing great, daddy," Dani gasped with her eyes closed, holding your left wrist with her left hand and your neck with her right. "But could you maybe...?"

No more words were necessary. You stopped your fingers, and between kisses on her cheek, you lowered them down her folds to carefully insert them inside her pussy. Deni tensed and tightened her grip on your neck as you reached deep inside her tight pussy, only leaving your knuckles outside.

"Open your mouth," you whispered as she let out a moan.

Dani obeyed, and you stretched out your left arm to grab a piece of chocolate and place it in her mouth. As she chewed, you made her moan by pumping your fingers in and out of her pussy.

"Oh fuck daddy," Dani moaned, her chest rising and falling with her labored breathing. She put her left hand underwater, slid it between your bodies, and with a grip that was somewhat uncomfortable for her, stroked it up and down. "I want to suck your cock so bad."

"Cum first and it'll be all yours, baby," you murmured against her neck, planting kisses.

"God, I'd be happy to."

Dani turned her face and met your lips again, arching her back and moaning against them as you pumped your fingers faster and faster. The water began to slosh and churn as you began to use all the strength in your arm to make Dani squeal with pleasure.

"Yes, yes... keep going, daddy, keep going, yes! Mmmmgh!!"

Part of Dani's breasts bulged out of the water as her orgasm crashed through her. You wrapped your left arm around her and held her close. Dani writhed underwater, causing some to spill over the side of the tub and nearly extinguishing one of the candles.

"That's a good girl," you gasped, your fingers deep inside her, only moving the tips to stimulate her upper wall. "Remind me what you wanted?"

"Suck your cock, daddy," Dani sighed, still trembling. "So bad."

"Let me up then."

Dani moved forward and gave you room to carefully stand up. When she turned around and got onto her knees, your erect, throbbing cock was between her eyes. Her hand quickly went to it to remove the lather and soap, and then she didn't hesitate to take it directly into her mouth.

You moaned as Dani's lips slid in a single motion halfway down your shaft, sucking on those first few inches without paying any attention to your eyes. Her hands stayed on the sides of your thighs as she pushed her limits further and further, finally stopping when her gag reflex kicked in just a few feet from your base. She pulled you out of her mouth with a gasp.

"Mmmm, so tasty," Dani moaned. She looked up at you while biting her lower lip. Her hand stroked your cock for a moment before placing wet kisses on the underside. "Are you going to give me the best fuck of my life with this cock, daddy?"

Dani took you back into her mouth and didn't let you respond immediately.

"God," you gasped, as Dani sucked your cock with slow, deep pumps. "I promise you won't walk well tomorrow."

"Good thing we're not planning on going out tomorrow, then," Dani replied one last time before focusing fully on giving you a wet and sensual blowjob.

Dani's loud slurps harmonized with the soothing jazz playing in the background. The scene was wonderful, and it felt even better. But Dani's slender body, wet and illuminated by the warm candlelight, was already starting to look irresistible to you.

A minute passed when you stopped her and helped her stand. Dani quickly grabbed your face and kissed you. You wrapped your arms around her in a tight hug, reciprocating the kiss while your hands moved to her back and ass. After a moment, you grabbed her by the waist and turned her around. Dani's first instinct was to bend forward, brace her hands against the wall, and arch her back to give you her ass. Then, you placed your hand on her lower back, took your cock and guided it between her buttocks, and slowly began to fill her tight pussy with throbbing flesh.

"Mmm fuck," Dani moaned softly. "Put it all in daddy, all of it. Please."

Dani let out a louder moan as the entire length of your shaft disappeared inside her tiny pussy. Her head fell between her shoulders, and she lifted it again to look at you over her shoulder. Your eyes locked on each other's as you began to pump your hips. Dani's tight walls forced you to go slowly at first, but as you stretched her inside, you finally allowed yourself to pick up speed.

"Fuck me hard daddy," Dani begged with a pretty moan. "My tight body can handle it..."

Despite her pleas, you took a moment to enjoy how good her pussy felt inside at a slow, deliberate pace, watching her outer walls clench so tightly around your shaft. There was no rush, and Dani didn't complain about it. But the look in her eyes told you that what she desperately needed was for you to pound her like an animal.

So be it.

With one hand gripping her tiny waist and the other on the back of her neck, you began pounding her pussy so hard that drops of water splashed out of her buttocks with each collision of your pelvis. Dani squealed, her tight body being shaken by every inch of your cock.

"Yes daddy, just like that!" Dani moaned, struggling to hold onto the wall without slipping. "Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!!"

Aware of the danger of her wet hands and the fact that she was holding onto a marble wall, you grabbed Dani by the wrists and pulled her arms back. She instinctively raised her body slightly, but kept her back arched so you could continue fucking her, while you held her behind her elbows.

Between strong, fast thrusts, Dani came a second time without warning, her knees shaking like the rest of her body. It was easy to fall there, so in an effort to avoid a tragedy, you quickly pulled her towards you and pressed her back against your chest, holding her upright with your left hand on her neck and the other on her waist.

"Give me more, daddy," Dani said in a small voice, her hand on yours at her neck. She squeezed as a signal for you to do the same, and you did, tightening your fingers around her long neck. "Just like that, fuck."

A new round of hard pounding on her pussy began, causing Dani to erupt in a wave of screams that rattled your eardrums from very close range.

The fear of falling was still there; you felt it in the unreliable grip your feet had on the bathtub floor, so you wanted to get out of there quickly. The quickest solution was to slide your right hand from her waist to her pussy, and with the use of two of your fingers, rub her clit in quick circles while you fucked her until Dani came again.

"Oh my god!!" Dani screamed, thrusting her hips back. Her spasms shook every muscle in her body. "So goood!!"

"Let's go outside, baby," you whispered in her ear after a minute, when Dani relaxed her muscles. "I wouldn't want to fall here and break my neck."

Dani nodded, and you pulled her out to hand her a towel. You both got out of the tub and dried off quickly.

"Want to try that massage oil?" you asked, somewhat desperate to get back inside her pussy but careful not to let it out.

"Whatever you want, daddy," Dani replied, leaving her towel spread out on the bathroom floor. She lay on top of it, her legs intertwined and her hands crossed on her abdomen as she looked at you.

You squatted down and grabbed the massage oil, a small purple bottle of about 300 milliliters that said it smelled of almonds and lavender. With it in your hand, you went to Dani and spread her legs to enter her pussy again. Dani arched her back and moaned, at which point you began pouring the oil in long lines all over her body.

"Mmm, it's warm," Dani said. Her eyes followed your hands as they spread the oil over her body, leaving her skin slick and shiny in their wake. "Do I look sexy?"

"You have no idea," you replied, now concentrating on her legs and moving your hips. You also covered her feet with massage oil.

Dani bit her lower lip and played with her own tits, circling her nipples with her fingers. Your slow thrusts against her pussy made her let out small moans.

"I want to do the same with you..."

"Absolutely."

You pulled out of her, and Dani stood up so you could lie down in her previous spot. She then straddled your lap, impaled herself on your cock, and, as she moved up and down, grabbed the bottle of oil and repeated the same process with your body. Your upper body was ready in a matter of seconds, and Dani then rode you in reverse to work on your lower body.

As Dani bounced on you with moans that became loud again, you noticed that her body from behind, both her back and her ass, were completely dry. So you took the bottle from her hand and let her continue enjoying your cock while you left that visible part of her skin glistening.

"Oh yeah, now we're talking," you gasped, and set the bottle aside to grab her slick ass as she bounced on your cock.

A few seconds later, you grabbed Dani by the shoulders and made her lie back against your chest. You wrapped your left arm around the back of her knees and pulled them up toward her torso. With another grip on her waist, you could now pump your hips up and down to fuck her.

"Mmmh fuck fuck fuck!" Dani moaned. Her back slid against your chest, making it difficult for her to stay still while she was pounded. Fortunately for her, neither of your grips weakened. Although you had to dig your fingers hard into her waist to keep her from slipping. "Harder daddy. Yes! Yes!"

Dani came a moment later. You both moaned. Her pussy smothered and throbbed around your cock. She gripped the sides of your body, spasming intensely, nearly causing her to fall to your left. You held her chin with your right hand and made her kiss you as she rode out her orgasm.

"Darling, I need a break," Dani said against your lips before looking into your eyes. "Are you close?"

"Enough," you nodded with a gasp.

"Use my feet," she planted a small kiss on your lips. "I know you love them."

It was somewhat embarrassing how quickly you lowered her onto the towel beside you and knelt in front of her legs. Dani gave you a teasing smile. She raised her feet, her soles facing each other. You placed your cock in the middle, and Dani brought her feet together to make a sandwich filled with your shaft.

"Oh lord..." you gasped, closing your eyes to enjoy how good her slick feet felt as you fucked them.

"Come on, daddy," Dani purred, looking into your eyes. "Give me that load... give it all."

You began pumping your hips rapidly, holding her feet by the heels to keep them in place. The sensation was overwhelmingly delicious, making you moan loudly as your climax approached.

"Fuck, Dani, I'm going...! Mmmgh!!"

A powerful jet of cum shot out of your cock as you thrust forward and exploded. It landed directly in Dani's mouth and between her breasts. As you continued pumping, the remaining jets landed on her abdomen and stained her feet as well. By the time you were done, Dani was a perfect canvas covered in thick white. So pretty, with such innocent eyes and a delicate face, it almost blew your mind.

"You came a lot daddy..." Dani said with a small smile, licking the cum that had fallen on her lips.

"Wanna go shower?" you asked, panting, still mentally dazed from that melting orgasm. "That way we can clean ourselves up."

"You still have something for me, don't you?" Dani raised an eyebrow.

"Of course I do," you nodded, struggling to your feet. "But just like you, I need a little break."

Dani extended her hand for you to help her up, and then you laced your fingers with hers as you walked slowly out of the tub, through the room with the sinks, and into the shower, a glass cubicle set between the marble walls.

It was a small space. Not claustrophobic, but small enough that with every movement your bodies brushed somehow. Dani slipped an arm under yours and turned on the faucet. The water fell cold on your body, but it turned lukewarm when Dani turned the hot knob.

Dani undid her buns and left her hair down as you washed the oil off your body. She then took your place under the shower, and with a sponge and soap, you helped her wash until her body was clean.

"Better?" you asked in her ear, your hands on her waist.

"Much better," Dani replied, pushing all her wet hair back. She turned her head to look at you as you kissed her shoulder. "And you? Have you taken your break yet?"

"Not yet," you replied, shifting kisses to her shoulder blade and then to her back. "There's something I still want to do."

You switched positions with her, leaving her facing the marble wall. Dani rested her hands there as you crouched behind her, trailing kisses down her back to her ass, where you distributed a short series of kisses and bites before parting her buttocks and planting your mouth on her pussy.

"Oh my..." Dani sighed as you ate her pussy from behind with slow licks and kisses. "I was starting to wonder when you were going to eat me out."

The warm water fell over your lower back as you devoured her, hands on her thighs. Dani's moans began to flow, indicating which spots to hit faster or which to kiss. She placed a hand on the back of your neck, tangled her fingers in strands of your hair, and as she pushed her hips back, she pulled you into her buttocks to smother you with them.

"Fuck, daddy, I missed your tongue so much," Dani moaned, tugging at your hair. Her pussy was soft and delicious. Addictive like few others. "Please make me explode in your mouth."

More than a request, that sounded like a challenge which you took very seriously. You slid your hands from her thighs to her buttocks and squeezed both, moving your tongue faster and using your head to move it in different ways. When you found the right one, you held onto it and used it until you made Dani cum.

"Mmmgh, that feels so good!" Dani squealed, grinding her ass against your face. You collected her juices and drank them, with the thirst of a castaway who had been on a random Indonesian island for days. "Put your cock inside me, daddy, please. You still have to fill me."

"Fuck, Marsh," you gasped, pulling away from her ass. "What's with this sudden thirst for cock?"

Dani didn't respond as you stood up and smashed your lips together again. She used the same hand she'd had in your hair to grab your cock and stroke it until it was hard. Then, in the middle of a hot, sloppy kiss, she guided your cock between her ass cheeks and back into her pussy.

"Mmm, are you going to fill my pussy with cum daddy?" Dani asked between kisses. You were already starting to move, both hands clamped around her waist. "Please fill me deep."

"Fuck, woman, that's what I intend to do," you managed between gasps. For some reason, you were exhausted, and you weren't sure how much you could match her energy level. But you were going to make the effort. "Just be a good girl for daddy and keep cumming."

Dani nodded between moans and bit your lower lip before kissing you again.

A sudden, autopilot trance took over you, erasing consciousness and the notion of time. All you knew was that within seconds you were fucking her like an animal against the bathroom wall, biting and kissing her neck until she came.

But without even giving her a chance to calmly ride out her orgasm, you lifted her right leg behind her knee and made her stand sideways, her thigh resting against your left arm. Similar to the way you fucked Rina that time in the elevator. Only Dani's body was considerably thinner, and the spots your cock hit in that position were more sensitive to her.

Dani squealed with pleasure, unafraid of being too loud for someone to hear. She came a second time. And then you, without thinking, lowered her leg and picked her up in your arms. Her back was pressed against the wall, her arms wrapped around your neck. Your hands spread her thighs wide, pinning her knees against the wall as you pounded her into an intense frenzy.

"Oh my fucking god!!" Dani screamed, clawing at your back with her nails. "Yes, yes, yes!!" Her screams were getting louder, and you were sure she was crying with pleasure now.

It was incredible considering the temperature in Florence at that moment, but fucking that woman had you sweating like a motherfucker. She enjoyed it three times as much, which was all that mattered to you. But for God's sake, you weren't going to need any cardio for at least two weeks.

"Cum inside me, daddy!" Dani moaned in your ear, no longer knowing what to hold on to. "I can't feel my fucking legs anymore, damn it!"

Panting like a raging bull in the middle of a run, you entered the final stretch of your climax. All your blood rushed down like adrenaline shots, until with a heavy snort, you dug your fingers into the flesh of her thighs and exploded inside her.

"YESSS!!" Dani screamed, cumming at the same time as you. The thick, abundant load you shot inside her only made her moan louder. "Oh my god, I'm going to pass out!"

"Calm your slut ass down," was the first thing you said after all that time. "I don't want to carry a dead weight out of the shower."

Dani held onto you as you emptied your balls inside her and her muscles spasmed. Completely spent, you pulled out of her pussy and let all your cum seep through her folds and spill onto the shower floor like a waterfall.

"Satisfied, darling?" You asked, looking into her eyes closely. Your arms were starting to hurt from carrying her.

"Can't you continue?" Dani asked.

You chuckled, incredulous.

"Unfortunately not," you shook your head. "At least not right now. Forgive me."

"No, silly," Dani stroked the back of your neck. "Nothing to apologize for. It's fine. You did a lot, actually."

"Not enough to quench your slutty thirst, I see."

"I never said I wasn't satisfied, I just asked if you could continue."

"And I already said no, so let's go to fucking bed, please."

"Should we clean the tub?"

You thought about it for a moment. Having to empty the bathtub, clean the floor, pick up the tray, put away what you hadn't eaten, the glasses...

Fuck, what a drag.

"No, save it for tomorrow morning."

"Fair. We'll be here all day, right?"

"That's what I had in mind, yeah."

And that's exactly what happened.

After going to bed that night, you slept a peaceful 10 hours and woke up around 11 a.m. You spent the whole day in the cabin, enjoying the outdoor pool, getting wasted on martinis and negronis, and playing games on your laptop.

By the next morning, you were both ready to catch your respective flights. Dani would be returning to Australia to meet her sister. And your next stop was the terrifying, intimidating, and also exciting Milan Fashion Week. The biggest black sheep moment of your life, potentially.

But you were so fucking ready.

#newjeans smut #danielle smut #njz smut #kpop smut #smut #fanfic smut #male reader smut #x male smut

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navybrat817 · 2 days ago

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Every Touch

Pairing: Thunderbolts!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky touches you every chance he gets.

Word Count: 820

Warnings: Established relationship, sweetness, fluff, implied smut, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: More Tower Shenanigans inspired by a sweet nonnie! ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @saradika-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Once your relationship is out in the open he doesn't stop touching you because there's nothing to hide. Plus he loves touching you.

If you two are ever apart, he seeks you out first thing. If his hands are full, he puts whatever he’s holding down so he can put his hands on you in some way.

It’s normal for him to sneak up behind you in the kitchen, or any room in the tower really, and press a kiss on your shoulder. It’s always the same spot and it always tingles after.

He likes to sit close in the common room so your legs are touching. He sometimes tucks your head under his chin and breathes you in, and other times he rests his head against you and you run your fingers through his hair.

Bucky once got jealous when you ran your fingers through Bob’s hair, but that’s a story for another day with a very happy ending for you.

He also likes to sit beside you when he reads so he can hold your hand, and he places the book on his lap so he can turn the page and not let you go. If he runs small circles on your hand, he’s reading something soothing, and if he’s squeezing your hand, he’s reading something exciting or potentially upsetting.

Interlocking fingers puts a small smile on your face because that means he’s reading something romantic and he once said, “This is one of the greatest love stories ever told, but ours is better.”

You didn't laugh or tease him because he meant it. “I love you, too, Bucky,” you said, your heart full.

Everyone knows you're by his side for movie nights and he’ll happily hide your face in his neck if you watch something scary, even when you tell him you aren't afraid. He just wants to protect you, even if the monsters aren't real.

If he sits beside you when you eat, he has a hand on your thigh. That can be dangerous depending on the kind of mood he’s in.

If he has to sit across from you, prepare for him to play footsie or reach across the table to take your hand. He sometimes does both.

You hold hands or he has an arm around your shoulders in public. If he puts his arm around your waist, someone is either staring at you or is ballsy enough to hit on you in front of him.

You usually give him a kiss on the corner of his mouth when that happens, both to calm the raging storm inside him and to wordlessly tell anyone looking that you two belong to each other.

Every once in a while Bucky will play music so you can dance together. He’s a gentleman at first and has a hand on your waist while the other has your hand in his, but it typically ends with an innocent kiss that becomes heated and his hands wandering over your body.

After you woke up in his bed the first time, you traced a heart over his when you thought he was still asleep. A heartbeat later he traced a heart on your back.

Your limbs are constantly tangled up when you're in bed together and you both continue to trace patterns and shapes on each other's skin. You even write words or phrases that he tries to guess, which he’s pretty good at.

If he catches you frowning, he’ll reach out and touch your cheek with one finger until you smile. He’ll then put his entire hand against your cheek to keep you in place and memorize how beautiful you look.

Bucky is in a better place mentally than he has been in a long time, but he still has his bad days like everyone else. When those days pop up, you ask if it’s okay to touch him.

He never answers with words. He’ll take your hand, wrap you up in a hug, whatever he needs, and he appreciates that you asked when others would've just taken or assumed.

If you're hurt, it’s game over. He's carrying you everywhere and holding you in his lap, even if it's the tiniest injury known to mankind and you're more than capable of moving around on your own.

You tease that he's dramatic, but you not-so-secretly love it. It also isn't a secret that some missions are terrifying and you both need the comfort and each other's touch after.

“I can't lose you,” he once whispered so low that it was almost lost in the air. You snuggled close so he could feel your beating heart and know you were right there with him.

In your dreams, and you hope in reality, you’d never lose each other. You’d fight together, grow old together, and live a long and happy life together.

And you’d cherish every memory with Bucky, along with every touch.

This man. 🥰 I wonder just how jealous he got because of Bob. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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cressidagrey · 1 day ago

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Cricket Whites

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)

Summary: Oscar plays Cricket. Teenage Felicity is TOTALLY normal about it.

Notes: Don't leave me alone with a Google Doc for an hour, or this is the result.

Y'all can thank @llirawolf and @leodette for both sending me that picture of Oscar in cricket whites.

(divider thanks to @saradika-graphics )

Felicity Leong had always considered herself a composed person.

Even as a teenager, the age where everyone else was all hormones and impulse, she was the calm one. She planned things. She colour-coded her notes. She knew her boundaries. She once told a boy in Year 10 that “flirting is not a substitute for intellectual value” and walked away before he could reply.

So really, there was no excuse for what happened when Oscar walked onto the pitch.

It was a sunny Saturday afternoon, the kind where the Haileybury campus looked like a postcard: golden light spilling across the cricket green, the redbrick buildings glowing warm against a cloudless sky. A soft breeze lifted the edges of the white pavilion flags. It was all very idyllic. Very civilised.

Felicity had come prepared — not for the match, but for productivity. Her physics textbook was open on her lap, highlighters neatly lined up on a blanket, hair twisted into a no-nonsense bun. She had even brought a second set of flashcards to quiz Aarya during breaks.

She was there to “support her boyfriend” in an academically responsible way. Watch the first ten minutes, smile when he glanced over, then get through three chapters on oscillations and waves.

That was the plan.

And then Oscar walked onto the field.

In full cricket whites.

The trousers were unfair. The polo shirt was worse. And the cable-knit jumper with the school crest — God, the jumper — looked like it had been stolen from a Ralph Lauren ad and adapted by angels. He had the sleeves pushed up just past his elbows, exposing his forearms like it was no big deal, and his hair was ruffled from warm-ups in that exact way that made Felicity want to punch a wall.

She blinked once. Then again. Her hand twitched.

Aarya looked over. “You haven’t turned a page in five minutes.”

Felicity didn’t respond. She had just realised she had written the word cricket in the margins of her notes. Four times.

“I’m fine,” she lied, adjusting her glasses. “Just… distracted.”

Aarya leaned in, concerned. “Do you feel sick?”

Felicity let out a low, strangled sound. “He’s got the forearms out.”

Lara glanced up from her phone. “Yeah, that’s cricket for you.”

“He just adjusted his sleeve with his teeth.”

Aarya raised an eyebrow. “Okay. Are you… okay?”

“No,” Felicity hissed. “I’m sixteen and I’ve just discovered I’m shallow.”

To his credit, Oscar was entirely oblivious to the war crimes he was committing against her nervous system. He jogged into position with the easy grace of someone who’d grown up on a pitch, flexed his fingers in his gloves, and took a long drink from his water bottle — all very normal things that, unfortunately, now seemed deeply personal to Felicity.

He wasn’t even trying. That was the worst part.

He wasn’t peacocking. He wasn’t showing off. He wasn’t winking or smiling for the crowd. He was just existing — calmly, sweat on the back of his neck, school crest on his chest — like some private school boy dream sequence designed in a lab.

Felicity dragged a hand down her face and whimpered.

“Do you want me to splash water on you?” Aarya offered helpfully. “You know you’ve been staring at Oscar like he’s a final exam answer sheet for ten straight minutes, right?”

“I have not.”

“You have. It’s okay. Cricket whites do weird things to the female brain.”

“I’m going to die.”

“He’s literally your boyfriend.”

“Exactly! I’ve seen him with morning hair and mismatched socks. And now he’s out there looking like a fictional heartthrob, and I don’t know what to do with myself.”

Later — much later, after overs and innings and Oscar bowling a clean wicket — he jogged over toward her. Sweaty curls. Beaming like he’d just saved the world.

“Hey,” he said, voice warm and a little breathless. “You stayed the whole match?”

Felicity blinked up at him, suddenly aware that her cheeks were still flushed and her voice was definitely not going to come out normal.

“Yes. Obviously,” she said. But it came out more like a squeak.

Oscar grinned. “You were sitting with Aarya, right? I thought I saw you.”

Felicity nodded. “I, um. I was… taking notes.”

Oscar glanced at her closed textbook, still in her lap, the same page open as it had been three hours ago. “Right. Good notes?”

She looked down. Realized she had drawn a doodle of a cricket bat with hearts around it.

“Very good,” she said, stuffing the book into her bag. “Lots of physics.”

He laughed and leaned down, brushing a kiss against her cheek. “Thanks for coming, Fliss.”

And then he was off again, turning back to grab his gear, leaving Felicity to fan herself with a match programme and hiss, “I am in so much trouble,” under her breath.

Aarya just patted her leg. “You’re doomed. But like. In love.”

***

Oscar Piastri prided himself on being unflappable.

On the track, in exams, during surprise oral presentations — he was composed, methodical, ice-water-in-his-veins calm. His tutors loved to say he had “a natural temperament for pressure,” which was a nicer way of saying nothing ever seemed to rattle him.

That composure extended, usually, to his relationship with Felicity.

She was the one person who could throw him off, yes — but never in a bad way. She made him feel steadier. Like being with her made everything else make sense.

Which was why it took him exactly three seconds after sneaking into her room that night to realize something was different.

Fliss was standing by the desk in pyjama shorts and an oversized hoodie, hair scraped up in that messy bun she always claimed was an accident, even though he thought it was the cutest thing he’d ever seen.

“Hey,” he whispered, already grinning. “I had to wait till Mr. Bates turned his WWII documentary on. I think I know more about submarines now than I ever wanted to.”

Felicity didn’t roll her eyes. Didn’t smirk. She just crossed the room and kissed him.

Like, properly.

It wasn’t their usual soft goodnight kiss. This one was all heat and hands and startled noises in the back of his throat, and Oscar had just enough brain cells left to catch her waist and kiss her back before every single logical thought in his head short-circuited.

When she finally pulled away, pink-faced and breathless, Oscar just stared at her.

“Okay,” he said quietly, catching his breath. “Not that I’m complaining, but... what the hell was that?”

Felicity dropped her face into his hoodie-covered chest. “Don’t ask.”

“I’m going to ask.”

“You’re going to regret it.”

Oscar laughed, slipping his arms around her waist. “Was it the flash cards? Did I finally win you over with molecules?”

“You’re such a nerd.”

“You just snogged me like I came back from war.”

She groaned again, louder this time, and shoved him lightly. “Shut up.”

Still, she didn’t move far. And when he ducked down to look at her properly, he saw it — the pink blush across her cheeks, the way she wouldn’t meet his eyes.

Which meant he really wasn’t letting it go.

“Still not telling me?”

She sighed, then looked up at him, and it hit him again — how beautiful she was when she was flustered. “It was the stupid cricket whites, okay?”

Oscar blinked. “The… what?”

“The cricket match. Your uniform. The sleeves. The sun. Your forearms. I don’t know. My brain shut down. Aarya had to tell me how to spell ‘turbine.’”

Oscar stared at her, baffled. “You’ve been tutoring sixth formers since you were twelve. And cricket whites took you out?”

Felicity groaned and tried to walk away.

Oscar followed her, laughing. “No, no, I’m sorry, I’m just—seriously? That’s what did it? I’ve made you flashcards with little doodles. I learned ballet terminology for you. I literally memorised your favourite cookie recipe -”

“Yeah,” she muttered, dragging a hand through her hair. “And apparently none of that matters because your arms looked good in the sun.”

Oscar blinked again. And then—

“Oh my god,” he said, delighted. “You were checking me out at cricket.”

“I’m breaking up with you.”

“You love me in cricket whites.”

“I am not dignifying that with a response.”

Oscar was glowing. He couldn’t help it. Because the most brilliant, most put-together girl he’d ever known had just short-circuited over his stupid cricket whites.

“Tell anyone and I’ll key your laptop,” Felicity threatened him.

Oscar bit back a grin and stepped forward, cupping her face. “I won’t tell a soul,” he said softly. “But just so you know… I would’ve worn that stupid jumper a lot earlier if I’d known it had that kind of effect.”

Her eyes narrowed, but the corner of her mouth betrayed a twitch of a smile.

“I hate how smug you are.”

“I’m not smug,” Oscar said, all innocence. “I’m flattered. My girlfriend thinks I’m hot. In cable-knit.”

“God, you’re insufferable.”

And then he kissed her again — softer this time.

And he was still grinning when they fell asleep, tangled under her duvet, her fingers curled into the hem of his shirt like they always were — the same shirt she’d probably end up stealing the next day.

Cricket whites, he thought, smug and dazed and very much in love.

Who knew?

#formula 1 #f1 fanfiction #formula 1 fanfiction #f1 smau #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #f1 grid x reader #f1 grid fanfiction #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri #Oscar Piastri fic #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri imagine #op81 fic #op81 imagine

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smileytiger28 · 7 hours ago

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image descriptions: GIFset from the movie thunderbolts*, each GIF paired with a tumblr post about the movie.

yelena puts her head in her hands in embarrassment. the post is from onceuponadorkyworld writing: seeing yelena being embarrassed by her father picking her up in front of her new friends made me happy that she can still have pivotal childhood memories as an adult.

bucky takes off his sunglasses and aims his grenade launcher at alexei's car. post is from mellpenscorner writing: Bucky, trying to be a politician and realizing how inefficient it is at stopping bad guys quickly: Welp. I can’t debate, diplomat, or deposition my way out of this one. Bucky, loading his explosive disc launcher: Detonate it is.

new york city is slowly covered by a giant shadow. post is from windy-wooshes writing: No but to be serious guys i didnt expect that movie to be that kind of good. I expected great fights. I expected complicated morals. I did not expect that movie to say i know everything seems hopeless but you dont get a choice, you have to try. I did not expect that movie to say when we are up against an impossible, unjust threat the only way through is freely given kindness and forgiveness. I did not expext that movie to say the real way villans win is by preying on those we’ve already decided are hopeless. I did not expect that movie to say we all have to believe we can get better. Please believe me we can all get better. Oh my god.

in the bunker, bob, still in medical scrubs, giggles nervously. post is from rummikubcube writing: What if you were a METH ADDICT, who came from an ABUSIVE HOUSEHOLD, and then you decided that you wanted to TRY AND BE GOOD (OR/AND FIND NEW DRUGS), so you went to a shady lab in MALAYSIA, and then you kinda DIED, and then you RESUSCITATED with GODLIKE POWERS, and some shady Russian blonde presented you with ADOPTION PAPERS, and saved you from your crushing evil alter ego depression with the POWER OF FRIENDSHIP-

an elevator door opens, revealing the thunderbolts. post is from kudos-si-do writing: the power of friendship defeating depression is mcu canon now

cameras flash; bucky wears a suit and sits at a senate hearing. post is from risrambles writing: the concept of bucky texting sam updates about life during the events of thunderbolts* “having a great time doing congress shit! wish u were here!” fast forward to one hour later “fighting god, call u later?”

alexei, ava, john, and yelena are all tied up, and they look in shock at bucky. discokicks posts: so. who’s gonna do it. who’s gonna be the first to write the fic with bob and yelena crawling around in the vents and alexei eating pop tarts and walker and ava fighting about what they’re watching for movie night

bucky talks angrily at the aforementioned tied-up thunderbolts*. marvelouslymarly posts: I keep thinking about the fact that Bucky first met Bob as Sentry!Bob and then got … taken apart by him and then saw him as The Void but, later in the void-world, still decided that what he'd heard about him from Yelena and the others and what he had come to know about Bob was enough for him to become protective and save Bob from the void because thats exactly who Bucky is at his core! He will protect the ~tiny guy and he will be the grumpy old uncle and I love that we finally get to see him as such again!

john walker is squished in the middle seat of alexei's car. chachaafterdark posts: In my heart of hearts I know that every single thunderbolt's relationship with John Walker is 'Yeah, he's a bitchass... unfortunately he happens to be our bitchass so we kinda have to ride for him, prepare to die i guess' 🤷‍♀️

an exasperated bucky shakes his head. joshhcrtnett posts: ill be honest i think the post credits scene isnt even remotely as bad as people make it out to be theres no sambucky divorce thats just a married couple having an argument and bucky sleeping on the couch for a week.

Thunderbolts* (2025) + text posts

#thunderbolts #someday i will have enough of the corporate slop #today is not that day #felt straight out of ao3 and i mean that in the best way #mcu

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meiyokbf · 2 days ago

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under your spell | megan x g!p!reader

synopsis: you thought friday night meant staying in, but manon dragged you to a strip club miles from home. the usual clichés don’t prepare you for one dancer who hits the stage like she owns it. no lingerie, no fake smiles, just calculated moves and eyes locked on yours. by the time you’re handed a room key, you’re not sure who’s watching who anymore.

author’s note: not proofread, bare with me lol. and also!! you guys!! i wasn’t even going to post this today but since our meiyokie came out i had to! so so so happy for her and so happy everyone’s being supportive :)) she deserves all the love in the world! happy pride month <3

warnings: mdni. stripper!megan x g!p!reader, slightly manon x lara, mentions of alcohol, drinking, smut (blowjob, reader recieving). reader is kind of a loser lol, probably will make a part 2.

word count: 3.6k

🏷️: katseye, megan x reader, megan skiendiel x reader, katseye x reader, katseye smut, megan smut.

you didn’t even want to go. it was a friday night, you had a shit ton of uni work to do tomorrow, and you had already worked your ass off at the gym earlier. you made manon promise she wouldn’t try to drag you out of the apartment for the weekend. she annoyed the shit out of you every time she wanted to go out, and you always caved; went with her to whatever shithole club she found on some shady instagram post, stayed there for fifteen minutes tops, and ended the night leaving her and daniela grinding on strangers while you rewatched modern family for the sixth time this year.

and now here you are, standing in front of a club whose name you couldn’t even pronounce, watching your friend dig through her purse like her life depended on it.

— why did you choose this place? of all the clubs we could go to, this one’s like a full uber ride away from our place…

— because this club is absolutely legendary, and you’ll see why in a couple of seconds, my dearest friend. — you stared at her, blankly, until a group of half-naked girls with tramp stamps and singles falling out of their purses walked out of the club.

— dude. did you bring me to a fucking brothel?

— oh my god, no??? what kind of friend do you think i am? you wound me. — she said dramatically, pulling her id from her purse and signaling for you to do the same. manon handed hers to the absolute butchiest stud you’ve ever seen guarding the door, and you followed suit; only to receive two condoms in return, making you shoot her a wide-eyed look.

— well technically, it’s just a normal strip club. with some fun little rooms built inside…

— i’m staying for twenty minutes and then i’m bouncing. got it? — manon rolled her eyes but nodded, knowing damn well that was the best deal she was gonna get out of you. — and you’re getting me a beer.

you had just opened your bottle when the “performances” started. hanging near the bar was good enough for you; while manon was already separating her money like a bratz doll doing her taxes. the lights went down, some sensual music started playing, and you immediately rolled your eyes. could this be any more cliché?

the first girl came on stage; she looked indian, wearing a two-piece green lingerie set, and started dancing with this slow, confident rhythm while staring down the crowd in front of her. she was good, no denying that. you looked over at manon and saw her happily slipping singles into the girl’s thong like a five-year-old feeding a vending machine. it made you laugh a little, even.

you took a sip of your beer, checked your phone, wondering how much longer this self-inflicted torture would last before you could return to the sweet embrace of your bed and whatever episode cam and mitchell were losing their minds in.

you turned your phone off and looked back at the stage. the indian girl had just left, and now the lights were changing again. the music was less tacky this time; some pop song you didn’t recognize, and then she walked in.

and she wasn’t like the others.

she wasn’t wearing lingerie or anything super revealing. instead, she had on a tight black tank top, tiny black shorts and silver accessories. somehow, she looked way hotter than all the other girls whose uteruses were practically waving hello at you. she moved slowly, deliberately. like every step had purpose. and yeah, it probably did; this was her job. but still, there was something different about the way she did it.

she didn’t look at anyone. she didn’t perform for anyone. she was dancing like she was the only one in the room. like she didn’t need anyone’s gaze. but she still owned it. and then, her eyes met yours.

just for a second. and that was enough.

she didn’t look away.

and you were right. she was dancing for herself. but now? now she was dancing for you too. her eyes stayed locked on yours, and there was the faintest smirk on her lips. like she knew exactly what she was doing. like she was having fun with the way you were reacting.

your mouth went dry. your legs tensed. and between them, yeah. your dick was doing things. you felt like the worst kind of straight man alive.

and just when you thought it couldn’t get worse; she took off her shirt.

you almost broke the damn beer bottle in your hand.

who the fuck was this girl?

the show ended. she scooped the cash up with one smooth motion, and; just before walking off stage, she looked at you one last time. and disappeared.

you stood there like an idiot. that girl had just made you feel fire burning through your veins and then vanished into the night like a cat that knows exactly when to disappear before you can pet it.

manon came over, and her smile was so wide it looked like her face might split in two.

— see? not that bad, right? better than that nerd ass star fight convention you go to every year.

— first of all, it’s star wars, not star fights. if you’re gonna roast me, at least get the name right. second of all… do you know who that last girl was? — you finished your beer in one go, making manon raise her eyebrows.

— you mean jade? yeah, she’s something, huh? — the ghanaian girl grinned, clearly already a fan. — last time i came here, she did a split on stage while twerking. we stuffed her panties with ten-dollar bills like it was a charity drive.

— so interesting that i lent you 150 bucks and you’re out here donating it to hookers every weekend.”

manon looked offended.

— for the millionth time, they are not hookers, dumbass. — she smacked your arm, and you laughed. — if you respected me, i’d be a good friend and hook you up with miss jade over there. but now i want you to die alone.

— stop being so dramatic, for once. you are a good friend, and you will, in fact, hook me up with her.

— please. what are you even gonna do? shove that lego lightsaber you keep between your legs into her?

before you could respond with an appropriate level of rage, the first performer walked toward you two; and you could almost feel manon’s jaw dropping from where you were standing.

she had that kind of smile that made her look almost unreal — mysterious eyes, lingerie clinging to her perfect curves, and a presence that made your spine straighten on instinct.

— well, if it isn’t my favorite fan?

— biggest admirer, and yours truly, manon. — she said, kissing the back of the stripper’s hand like a total simp. you rolled your eyes. there was nothing gentlemanly about a girl who had an entire empty lays packaging collection next to her bed.

— very, very nice to finally meet you, manon. but i’m actually here to give your friend something. — she turned to you, and you blinked in confusion. she handed you a key. it had the number “21” and a cherry drawing on it.

— end of the hall. someone’s waiting for you.

you hesitated, glancing at manon; even if she was annoying as hell, you didn’t love the idea of leaving her alone in this place. — don’t worry, i’ll take very good care of miss manon over here while you’re gone.

— see, dude? now get the fuck out. bye-bye! — manon pushed you like a kid pushing their mom once she dropped them off at summer camp, and you rolled your eyes as you finally turned and left.

you walked all the way down the hallway, passing by numbered doors, muffled giggles, and, most bizarre of all, completely different soundtracks leaking out of each room. it felt like each door was its own little parallel universe. some had sensual r&b, others were blasting k-pop (?), and at one point you swear you heard the harry potter theme.

don’t ask. don’t look back. just keep walking.

when you finally reached door 21, the one with the little cherry sticker on the key, you stood there for a second. just… stood there. you weren’t nervous; or maybe you were. it wasn’t clear. you’ve had your fair share of messy nights, but this? this was absurdly out of your comfort zone. you were a “read the wikipedia page and the sources” kind of person, not a “walk into a mysterious club room where a literal goddess might be waiting” kinda person.

and yet here you were.

you unlocked the door.

and she was already there. jade. sitting casually on a velvet couch like it was her throne, legs crossed, wearing the same outfit from the performance, with her bare chest looking at you; out and proud. she didn’t say anything at first. just looked at you like she knew exactly how fast your heart was racing.

you opened your mouth to say something, probably something stupid, but she got up before any sound came out and walked toward you slowly, deliberately.

— you’re cuter up close.

her voice was smooth and warm, like honey stirred into tea. but there was a glint in her eye; mischief, maybe. hunger.

you let out a nervous laugh. — yeah, well. you’re… insane.

she tilted her head. — good insane or bad insane?

— the kind that makes someone watch one dance and consider faking their own death just to move into your basement.

that made her laugh. genuinely. and that eased something in your chest. just a little. you were relieved that she wasn’t weirded out by your own weirdness.

she stepped closer and, without asking, took the empty bottle of beer from your hand and set it on the dresser beside the couch. then her fingers; cold at first, brushed your jaw.

— let’s play a little game, baby. i’m gonna ask you three questions. for every one you answer honestly, you get a reward. lie, and you go back to your little beer at the bar. deal?

you blinked. — do i even have a choice?

— not really.

she took a step back, like she needed space to see you properly. her arms crossed over her bare chest, but not in a closed-off way. more like she was sizing you up. like this was part of the game, and she was already winning.

— first question… — she said, cocking her head slightly. — …what exactly did you think about when i took my shirt off?

you didn’t answer right away. your mouth opened, then closed. then you licked your lips and gave the most nonchalant shrug you could pull out of your ass.

— that i was going to hell.

jade grinned. — good answer. very catholic of you.

she walked over and pressed a kiss to your jawline; featherlight, like a secret.

— that’s your first reward.

you tried not to react too much and failed spectacularly. she took her time with the next question. she paced a little, running her fingers along the edge of the couch, like she was deciding how mean to be.

— second question. what do you want me to do to you?

this one hit a little lower. literally. you shifted your weight, suddenly too aware of how warm the room was. your brain short-circuited for a second. then you cleared your throat and gave her a look that tried; and mostly failed, to be confident.

— i want…

she raised an eyebrow. — careful now. you only get one sentence.

you exhaled. — i want you to make me forget my own name.

her eyes lit up. not in surprise; in satisfaction. like she’d known you’d say something like that, and she was so ready to deliver.

she pushed you down gently, and you landed on the couch behind you. jade straddled your lap without warning, her hands resting on your shoulders.

— that was a very, very good answer.

her mouth found yours before you could reply, slow and purposeful at first, then deeper, with this soft little noise from her throat that made your whole body shiver. her fingers slipped under the hem of your shirt, dragging it up slowly like she wanted to memorize the feel of your skin.

you’d had kisses before. you’d had hookups before. but this felt different. not rushed, not transactional. like she meant it.

she pulled back, just enough to talk against your lips.

— third question... when you woke up this morning… — she trailed a finger down your chest. — did you have any idea tonight would end like this?

you laughed breathlessly. — absolutely not.

— wrong.

you blinked. — what?

she leaned in, whispering against your ear:

— the moment you put that tight-ass shirt on, showing off these muscles, you knew you were having someone on their knees tonight.

and before you could argue back, her teeth grazed your neck. she kissed your skin hungrily, as if it was the last thing she would ever do in her life. your hands went straight to her waist, in an attempt to bring her closer to you. and this time, it was rougher. a little messier. there was no more teasing. she tasted like cherry gum, whiskey and something distinctly hers; sharp and addictive, like biting into something you weren’t supposed to want, but did anyway.

your fingers curled against her waist, digging in just enough to make her shift above you, slow and deliberate. her mouth trailed down from your lips to your throat, then lower still, every kiss a promise wrapped in silk and teeth.

— you’re so warm, baby… — she murmured, like it was a secret she hadn’t meant to say out loud. — i could stay right here forever.

you would’ve let her. fuck, you would’ve begged.

her hands explored like they had all the time in the world. slow circles at your hips, a thumb brushing under the waistband of your jeans just to feel you twitch. at this point, your dick was already rock hard under your pants, trying its best to be released from the fabric. you were trying to play it cool, trying not to give her the satisfaction; but she saw through it. of course she did.

— trying to be good, baby? — she whispered, tongue flicking out to taste the answer before you could speak. — or are you just waiting for me to make you bad?

your breath caught. she smiled.

she shifted again, grinding down on your cock just enough to draw a sound out of you that you didn’t even recognize as your own. like a prayer torn from a throat that never learned how to kneel.

— mmm… there it is. — her voice was velvet and smoke. — that’s what i wanted to hear.

and when she finally dragged her hands lower; no hurry, just cruel patience, it was like being unravelled by a storm you’d walked into on purpose. feeling her hands grabbing your cock made you go to heaven and back in just one second. she unzipped your pants with just one hand, with a mastery that made you think she was even hotter. your member hit your stomach once your zipper was completely open, leaking enough pre-cum to stain your boxers; which made her laugh a little. — fuck, i can’t wait to taste you…

she started to stroke you slowly, as if she wanted to torture you on purpose. your hips bucked involuntarily, wanting to feel her hand as much as you could. everything else faded: the music from the hallway, the fact that you didn’t even know what time it was, your name, your rules, the little voice in your head that usually kept you safe.

gone.

just heat, pressure, her.

you clung to her like you were falling. maybe you were. but god, what a way to go.

her mouth was everywhere now; neck, collarbone, that soft spot just below your ear that made your stomach knot and your fingers tighten around her. every touch was purposeful, like she was writing something on your skin in a language only your nerves could understand.

you didn’t speak. couldn’t.

your brain had gone quiet in the best way; no spirals, no second guesses. just sensation. just her.

her hand stopped for a second just to slid beneath your shirt again, this time tugging it upward with slow, unbothered confidence, like she was unwrapping a gift she already knew she wanted.

— arms up, baby.

it wasn’t a question.

you obeyed without thinking, shirt discarded somewhere behind the couch like it never mattered. her eyes roamed over you then—hungry, appreciative, almost reverent.

— fuck… — she said it like a blessing, soft and full of heat. — look at you.

she climbed back into your lap, knees pressing into the cushions on either side of your hips. your bare chest met hers; warmth against warmth, and it sent another shiver rippling through you. her hands slid up your back, nails trailing lightly as her hips began to roll again, slow and devastating.

you couldn’t help it; you bucked up, chasing more friction, more of her.

she laughed, low and breathy, and kissed you again, deeper this time.

messier. wetter.

you were falling apart in her hands, and she knew.

she loved it.

her mouth dropped lower, tongue tracing down your chest, your ribs, your stomach; every inch of you claimed by heat and lips and the scratch of her teeth when she decided you could handle a little more.

you gasped, one hand slipping into her hair.

not pulling her away. never that.

you were just grounding yourself. trying to remember how to breathe.

she looked up at you from where she’d paused, mouth hovering just above the edge of your waistband, fingers hooked there lazily.

— still doing okay? — she asked it sweetly, but her eyes told a different story; dark, wicked, knowing.

you nodded, because words had long since failed you.

— good. — she grinned, slow and smug. — then i’m not stopping ’til you forget what breathing feels like.

and just like that, jade wrapped her lips around your throbbing cock, and you stopped caring about anything but the way her name tasted in your mouth when you moaned it. — oh, fuck…

her name slipped out of you like it had always been there; half prayer, half curse, drawn out from somewhere deeper than language. she smiled against your skin when she heard it, the kind of smile you could feel; lips curved, warm breath ghosting over you, a hum of satisfaction in her throat like she’d just tuned the frequency of your body and found the perfect pitch.

— you’re so tense, baby… — she murmured, knuckles brushing dangerously low. — let me fix that.

and god, you let her.

you fell back against the couch cushions, jaw slack, pulse loud in your ears. your hands made a makeshift ponytail on her hair, trying to hold onto something solid while she stripped you down like she owned you, like this was her personal ritual and you were the altar.

then her mouth was blowing you again, her cheeks hollowed out as she tried to get more suction.

she was slow about it at first. torturously slow. tongue dragging, lips parting, hands keeping your hips pinned just enough to remind you who was in control here. and you wanted her to have it. every inch of it. every ragged sound you made, every trembling muscle, every helpless roll of your hips.

you were unraveling, and she was watching you come apart like it was art. like your wreckage was her masterpiece.

— that’s it, baby… — she whispered when your fingers threaded tighter into her hair. — don’t hold back now. i want to hear you.

and you gave her everything.

no filters. no pride. just need, bleeding out of you in sounds you couldn’t stop if you tried.

when she picked up the pace, it was like something inside you cracked wide open; pure sensation rushing in, blinding, aching, perfect. your spine arched, your thighs tensed, and the pressure built so fast it almost scared you.

you tried to warn her. tried to say her name again, to tell her you were close, but she didn’t stop. didn’t want you to speak.

she just looked up at you with those dark, wicked eyes and moaned around you; low, deliberate, like she knew what it would do to you. like she wanted to be the last thought in your head before you shattered. — come for me, love… let me taste you, please…

and then you came.

not gently. not quietly.

you broke.

and she held you through it, every wave, every breathless tremor, every raw piece of you laid bare in her hands. — that’s it, love… give it all to me.

by the time you could open your eyes again, she was back on your lap, straddling you like nothing had changed; but everything had.

she was smiling, a little smug, a little proud.

she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and kissed your cheek sweetly, almost innocently.

— so… — she whispered against your ear — ready for round two?

your laugh came out half-wrecked, half-dazed. — i don’t think i ever stood a chance with you, jade.

she pulled back just enough to look at you again.

— megan. — she said, cupping your face with both hands like you were fragile now, something precious she’d broken and would spend the rest of the night putting back together. — my name is megan.

#imagines.#nsfw.#katseye x reader #katseye #katseye smut #katseye thoughts #katseye imagines #katseye x reader smut #megan skiendiel x reader #megan x reader #megan skiendiel smut #katseye megan #megan skiendiel #katseye x y/n #megan x reader smut

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velvetvisionsaurora · 21 hours ago

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Alpha ATEEZ x Assistant Omega Reader

Warnings: omega reader, alpha ateez, scenting, heats, ruts, slow burn, eventual smut, forced command, more to come!

When Y/n accepts a position as assistant to alpha K-pop group ATEEZ, she's prepared with professional skills and scent blockers to hide her omega status. What she's not prepared for is the immediate, inexplicable connection she feels with all eight members—a resonance that defies her careful boundaries.

As Y/n becomes eerily attuned to their needs, her suppressed omega nature begins to emerge: purring for the first time in years, responding to alpha growls, feeling safe in ways she never has before. When a protective incident reveals the depth of the members' attachment to her, Y/n must confront the possibility that what binds them together is something ancient and profound.

<<Previous Next>>

Masterlist Ko-Fi☕️

Chapter 17: Breaking Point

"Excuse me?" you said, your voice dangerously quiet as Hongjoong's words sank in. "What did you just say?"

Hongjoong straightened in his chair, his pack leader instincts making him double down despite the warning looks from his packmates. "I said that's what being mated means. Your priority should be the pack, your mates. Not some job."

"Some job?" you repeated, your voice rising with each word. "SOME JOB? I am more than just an omega, Hongjoong. I'm more than just your mate. I'm a person with skills, with ambitions, with a career that I built myself!"

"Nobody's saying you're not—" San tried to interject, but you whirled on him.

"Aren't you? Because that's exactly what it sounds like. You're all sitting here discussing my life like I'm some problem to solve, some biology to manage, instead of asking what I want!"

Hongjoong's jaw clenched as he felt his authority being challenged. "What you want isn't always what's best for the pack. As pack leader, it's my responsibility to—"

"To what? Control me?" you snapped, taking a step toward him. "To decide my life for me because you think you know better?"

"To keep you safe!" Hongjoong shot back, rising from his chair. "The entertainment industry isn't safe for a mated omega. Tonight proved that there are threats we can't always protect you from if you're out there working—"

"I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself," you said through gritted teeth. "I handled situations like that long before any of you came along."

Hongjoong's eyes flashed gold as his frustration peaked. "Like you handled yourself at the radio station?" he said coldly. "Because that worked out so well."

The silence that followed was deafening. Seven pairs of shocked eyes turned to their leader as the weight of his words sank in. He'd just thrown your most traumatic and vulnerable moment back in your face as ammunition in an argument.

Seonghwa's low growl cut through the silence like a blade. "Hongjoong," he said, his voice carrying a warning that everyone in the room could feel.

"Okay!" Wooyoung said with forced cheerfulness, jumping to his feet with exaggerated enthusiasm. "Who wants ice cream? I think we all need ice cream. Very soothing, ice cream. Helps with... tension and... terrible life choices in conversation..."

But his attempt at lightening the mood fell flat as everyone watched the fight drain out of you in real time. Your shoulders sagged as tears gathered in your eyes, Hongjoong's cruel words hitting exactly where he'd aimed them.

"You're right," you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. "I couldn't handle myself. I froze up like a helpless omega and needed my big strong alphas to rescue me."

The devastation in your voice made Hongjoong's stomach drop as he realized exactly what he'd done.

"Y/n, I didn't mean—" he started, but you were already backing toward the door.

"No, you meant it," you said, tears now flowing freely down your cheeks. "You all think I'm just some weak omega who needs to be managed and protected and kept at home where I can't embarrass myself or endanger the pack."

"That's not true," Yunho said desperately, rising from his seat. "Tulip, please—"

"It is true," you said with heartbreaking certainty. "And maybe you're right. Maybe I am just a weak omega who can't take care of herself."

You turned and walked toward the door with as much dignity as you could muster, which wasn't much considering the tears streaming down your face.

"Maybe I should just accept that I'm nothing more than a biology to be managed."

The sound of the door closing behind you echoed through the house like a gunshot. Seven alphas sat in stunned silence, processing what had just happened, while their pack leader stood frozen in the middle of the room, watching the door his mate had just walked through.

Hongjoong's heart felt like it was being crushed in his chest as the reality of his words sank in. He'd used your trauma against you. He'd thrown your most vulnerable moment in your face to win an argument about control.

"Well," Wooyoung said into the silence, his voice flat and disappointed. "That was possibly the worst thing you could have said."

"I know," Hongjoong whispered, his voice broken as he stared at the door.

"Do you?" Seonghwa asked coldly, his disapproval radiating from every pore. "Because what you just did was cruel. Unnecessarily cruel."

"She was challenging my authority—" Hongjoong started weakly.

"She was defending her right to exist as more than just our omega," Yeosang interrupted, his usually calm voice sharp with anger. "And you threw her trauma back at her for daring to want agency in her own life."

"I didn't mean..." Hongjoong trailed off, knowing there was no excuse for what he'd said.

"You meant to hurt her," San said quietly. "To shut her down. To make her feel small so she'd stop fighting you."

"That's not—"

"That's exactly what you did," Jongho cut him off, his young voice carrying more authority than usual. "You used her pain as a weapon."

Hongjoong looked around at the faces of his packmates—disappointed, angry, some barely containing their own rage at how he'd treated their mate.

"Go after her," Yunho said firmly.

"She won't want to see me," Hongjoong replied, his voice hollow.

"No," Seonghwa agreed coldly. "She probably won't. But you're going to try anyway, because that's what you do when you hurt someone you love. You try to fix it."

Hongjoong nodded numbly, his feet already moving toward the door. Behind him, he could hear Wooyoung's voice, no longer comedic but seriously concerned.

"This is bad, right? Like, pack-threatening bad?"

"Yeah," came Yunho's quiet reply. "This is really bad."

As Hongjoong stepped out into the night air, heading toward the guesthouse where his mate was probably crying because of his cruel words, he realized that being pack leader meant nothing if he'd lost the trust and love of the most important person in his life.

He'd won the argument about authority and control.

But he might have lost his mate in the process.

---

The guesthouse door was unlocked when Hongjoong reached it, and he stepped inside with careful, hesitant movements. The first thing that hit him was the absence—the complete lack of your scent in the air. His alpha immediately whined in distress, a sound he couldn't suppress as he realized you'd put your blocker back on.

The loss of your scent felt like a physical blow, a rejection that went straight to his alpha core. After hours of being surrounded by your natural jasmine and vanilla, the sudden return to sterile nothingness was devastating.

"Y/n?" he called softly, moving through the small living area. "Can we please talk?"

He found you in the bedroom, and the sight that greeted him there made his blood run cold. You were methodically packing your belongings into the same suitcases you'd arrived with months ago, your movements efficient and emotionless.

"What are you doing?" he asked, though the answer was obvious and terrifying.

"Packing," you replied without looking up from folding your clothes. "If I'm such a burden to the pack, such a problem that needs constant managing, then clearly the solution is for me to leave."

"You're not a burden," Hongjoong said desperately, stepping into the room. "That's not what I meant—"

"Isn't it?" you asked, finally looking at him with eyes that were red from crying but completely devoid of warmth. "You made it very clear that you think I'm incapable of taking care of myself. That I'm too weak, too helpless to exist in your world without constant protection."

"I was trying to protect you—"

"You were trying to control me," you corrected, turning back to your packing. "There's a difference."

The sound of the door opening interrupted whatever Hongjoong had been about to say. Wooyoung and San appeared in the bedroom doorway, having come to check on the situation, and both stopped dead when they saw the suitcases.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Wooyoung said, his voice rising with panic. "What's with the luggage? Are we going somewhere? Please tell me we're going somewhere fun and not... leaving."

"She's packing to leave," Hongjoong said, his voice hollow with the reality of it.

"Leave?" San repeated, shock written across his face. "Tulip, you can't leave. You're our mate. You belong here with us."

"Apparently I don't," you said calmly, continuing to fold clothes. "Apparently I'm just a problem that needs solving, a biology that needs managing. So I'm removing the problem."

All three alphas looked stricken, but it was Hongjoong who seemed to be spiraling the fastest. His alpha was already in distress from the loss of your scent, and now faced with the very real possibility of losing you entirely, his control was slipping.

"This is ridiculous," he said, his voice taking on that authoritative edge that had started this whole mess. "You're being irrational. It's just your omega instincts and your heat making you act crazy. You'll feel differently tomorrow—"

Your hands stilled on the shirt you'd been folding. Slowly, you turned to face him, your eyes blazing bright purple with omega fury.

"Did you just..." you said, your voice dangerously quiet, "call me crazy? Did you just dismiss my completely rational response to your cruelty as omega hysteria?"

"Oh for fuck's sake," Wooyoung groaned, actually slapping his forehead with his palm. "Why do we keep letting him talk? Seriously, at what point do we just tape his mouth shut to prevent further catastrophic damage?"

San was staring at Hongjoong with horror. "Hyung, please stop talking. Please. You're making everything worse."

But Hongjoong, driven by panic and the desperate need to make you stay, seemed incapable of stopping himself from digging the hole deeper.

"I'm trying to be rational here," he insisted. "You're upset, your hormones are all over the place from your heat—"

"GET OUT!" you screamed, your voice carrying such omega authority that all three alphas actually took a step back. "GET OUT OF MY SPACE RIGHT NOW!"

Your eyes were blazing purple fire, your omega nature fully emerged and absolutely furious. The force of your command, backed by the mate bonds and your own considerable will, sent all three alphas scrambling for the door.

"OUT!" you screamed again, and they went, leaving you alone with your packing and your shattered heart.

In the living room, three alphas stood in stunned silence, processing what had just happened.

"Well," Wooyoung said eventually, "I think it's safe to say that went about as badly as it possibly could have."

"She's really leaving," San said, his voice small and broken. "Our mate is really leaving because of us."

Hongjoong said nothing, his face pale as the full magnitude of his mistakes finally sank in. He'd called her crazy. He'd dismissed her completely valid feelings as hormonal instability.

He'd lost her.

And this time, he wasn't sure there was any way to win her back.

---

Wooyoung burst through the front door of the main house with all the dramatic flair of someone announcing the apocalypse, which, considering the circumstances, wasn't far from the truth.

"SEONGHWA!" he called at the top of his lungs, his voice carrying that particular pitch that meant someone was about to die and it might be all of them. "CODE RED! EMERGENCY! OUR CAPTAIN FORGOT HOW TO PEOPLE AND NOW OUR TULIP IS LEAVING US!"

There was a thundering of footsteps as the remaining pack members rushed toward the sound of Wooyoung's voice. Seonghwa appeared first, his face immediately shifting from concern to alarm at Wooyoung's words.

"What do you mean leaving?" Seonghwa demanded, his alpha instincts immediately on high alert. "Where's Y/n?"

"Packing!" Wooyoung said, gesturing wildly toward the guesthouse. "She's packing her suitcases because our fearless leader here—" he pointed an accusatory finger at Hongjoong, who had followed him and San back inside, "—decided that the best way to handle an upset omega was to call her crazy and blame her hormones!"

"He did WHAT?" Seonghwa's voice dropped to a dangerous growl as his protective instincts flared to life.

"I didn't—that's not—" Hongjoong started weakly, but San cut him off.

"You called her irrational and said it was just her omega instincts and heat making her act crazy," San said flatly. "Those were your exact words."

The silence that followed was deafening. Yunho, Yeosang, and Jongho had all gathered in the doorway, their faces showing varying degrees of shock and horror at this latest development.

"You called our mate crazy?" Jongho asked, his young voice carrying disbelief. "After everything that just happened, you called her crazy?"

"And now she's leaving," Wooyoung added, his dramatic flair giving way to genuine distress. "She's actually packing her bags to leave because she thinks we all see her as just a problem to be managed."

Seonghwa's expression was thunderous as he turned the full force of his disapproval on their pack leader. "How could you be so incredibly stupid?" he demanded, his voice carrying a level of anger rarely heard from the usually composed alpha. "After what she went through at the radio station, after everything she's been dealing with, you threw that back in her face and then called her hysterical?"

"I was trying to—" Hongjoong began, but Seonghwa cut him off with a sharp gesture.

"You were trying to control her," Seonghwa said coldly. "You were trying to make her feel small and weak so she'd stop fighting for her own agency. And when that didn't work, you attacked her mental state."

Hongjoong's face crumpled as the weight of his mistakes finally hit him fully. "I don't know what's wrong with me," he said, his voice breaking. "I keep saying the worst possible things. Every time I open my mouth, I make it worse."

"That's because you're losing control," Yeosang said quietly from his position by the doorway. His analytical mind was already working through the problem, trying to understand the root cause. "Your alpha is all over the place. The mate bonds, the territorial instincts, the stress of managing pack dynamics—you're not thinking clearly."

"What do you mean?" Yunho asked, though his eyes were still fixed on the guesthouse where their mate was presumably still packing to leave them.

"Alpha leaders often struggle when they first find their omega," Yeosang explained, his voice taking on that lecturing tone he used when analyzing complex situations. "The instinct to protect and control can overwhelm rational thought. Hongjoong's alpha is seeing challenges everywhere—threats to his mate, challenges to his authority, problems that need solving through dominance."

"So he's basically going feral," Wooyoung said bluntly.

"Not feral," Yeosang corrected. "But his instincts are overriding his better judgment. Every time Y/n pushes back against his attempts to control her, his alpha sees it as a threat that needs to be neutralized."

"Which is why he keeps saying increasingly terrible things," San said with dawning understanding. "His alpha is trying to establish dominance."

"But she's not a threat," Jongho pointed out. "She's our mate. She's supposed to be protected, not dominated."

"Try telling his alpha that," Yeosang replied grimly. "Right now, his instincts are telling him that an omega who won't submit is a problem that needs correcting."

Hongjoong was staring at them with growing horror as they dissected his behavior. "That's not... I don't want to control her. I love her."

"Your rational mind loves her," Seonghwa said, his anger giving way to concern as he saw the genuine distress on their leader's face. "But your alpha is in panic mode. It's been triggered by the mate bonds, by the stress of the past few days, by watching other alphas claim her while you're trying to maintain pack order."

"How do we fix it?" Hongjoong asked desperately. "How do I fix this?"

"First," Seonghwa said firmly, "you stay away from her until you can get your alpha under control. Every time you open your mouth around her right now, you're making things worse."

"But she's leaving," Hongjoong protested, his voice cracking. "She's packing to leave us."

"Because of YOU," Wooyoung said, his dramatic tendencies returning in full force. "Because you keep putting your foot in your mouth and then shoving it down your throat for good measure!"

"Wooyoung's right," Yunho said grimly. "You need to step back and let the rest of us try to fix this."

"And if we can't?" Hongjoong asked, the possibility clearly terrifying him.

The silence that followed was answer enough. If they couldn't convince you to stay, if the damage was too great to repair, they might actually lose their mate because their pack leader couldn't control his instincts.

"We'll figure it out," Seonghwa said finally, though his voice carried more determination than confidence. "But Hongjoong, you need to understand—if she leaves, it's because you drove her away. And that's something you're going to have to live with."

Hongjoong's face went pale as the full weight of the consequences finally sank in. He'd let his alpha instincts override everything else—his love for you, his respect for you, his understanding of who you were as a person.

And now he might lose you forever because of it.

"What do we do?" he whispered, looking around at the faces of his packmates with desperate hope.

"We try to save our mate," Seonghwa said grimly. "And hope that she still wants to be saved."

The room fell into tense silence as everyone contemplated the magnitude of the task ahead of them. How do you convince someone to stay when your pack leader had systematically destroyed her trust and self-worth in the span of a single argument?

Yeosang cleared his throat, his analytical mind already working through possible solutions. "I hate to admit this," he said slowly, looking around the room with reluctant resignation, "but sending Wooyoung to talk to her might be our best option."

"Me?" Wooyoung squeaked, pointing at himself in surprise.

"He's..." Yeosang sighed deeply, as if the words were being physically dragged from him, "he has the charisma. And he's... hard to say no to."

The moment the words left Yeosang's mouth, Wooyoung let out an ear-piercing squeal of delight that made everyone in the room wince.

"OH MY GOD!" he shrieked, bouncing on his feet with unbridled excitement. "You think I'm charming! You think I'm irresistible! I KNEW you were in love with me, Yeosang-ah! I'll send out the wedding invitations as soon as we fix this whole 'our mate is leaving us' situation!"

Before anyone could react, Wooyoung launched himself at Yeosang and planted a loud, exaggerated kiss on his cheek.

"BLEGH!" Yeosang immediately recoiled, making gagging sounds while frantically wiping at his cheek. "That's not what I meant! I meant you're annoying and persistent and she might cave just to make you stop talking!"

"That's the sweetest thing you've ever said to me," Wooyoung said with mock sincerity, clutching his heart dramatically. "I'm going to treasure this moment forever."

"I'm going to disinfect my face," Yeosang muttered, still scrubbing at his cheek with his sleeve.

"Can we please focus?" Seonghwa interrupted, though there was a hint of fondness in his exasperated tone. Even in crisis mode, Wooyoung's antics were oddly comforting. "Our mate is still packing to leave us."

"Right, right," Wooyoung said, immediately snapping back to seriousness. "Operation Save Tulip is a go. What's my approach? Charming? Pathetic? Desperately adorable?"

"Honest," Yunho suggested. "Just be honest with her about how much we all care about her. How much we need her."

"And maybe," San added pointedly, looking at Hongjoong, "apologize for our fearless leader's complete inability to speak like a rational human being."

Wooyoung nodded solemnly. "I can work with that. Honesty, charm, groveling—the holy trinity of relationship repair."

"Just..." Seonghwa said, placing a hand on Wooyoung's shoulder, "try not to make it worse?"

"When have I ever made anything worse?" Wooyoung asked with wide, innocent eyes.

The collective stare from six pack members answered that question without words.

"Okay, fine, point taken," Wooyoung conceded. "But this is different. This is our Tulip we're talking about. I'm not going to mess this up."

As he headed toward the door, determination written across his features, the others could only hope that Wooyoung's particular brand of chaos might be exactly what was needed to convince you to stay.

Next>>

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amordixon · 23 hours ago

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୨ৎ 𓂃 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐭 ˚. ᵎᵎ ‹𝟹 ₊˚⊹

sfw. title kinda says it all. mentions of anxiety and the fear of being pregnant. fluff. kind of angst.

having a family was something you and simon had discussed on occasion but never anything truly solidified. it was hard, thinking about the future when he was always away on missions, in action for weeks at a time, but you knew that was just a part of his job that you had to accept.

so as you sit on the sofa of your small apartment, the small white test in your hand that held the potential to blow up your life with its very distinct dual lines at the end, your mind began to run away from you.

you didn’t know what to do, what to say, you felt numb with fear.

simon was due home any minute, out running an errand, and you were barely keeping it together. what if he didn’t want this and every throwaway comment that had been made was just lighthearted fun? these are the thoughts that were plaguing you.

“back, love,” simon calls as he enters the front door and you shove the test under your thigh, opening the book you had on the coffee table in front of you to try and play it off, but you know better than that, and so does he. “what’s wrong?” he asks immediately.

you curse yourself for being an open book to your boyfriend and for his impeccable perception skills. you try to hold it together, try to keep it in, but the thought of potentially losing simon was scarier than anything you had ever had to face before.

he immediately sits beside you, noticing the way your eyes had begun to glaze over, an arm reaching around you after shrugging off his jacket, “darlin’, what’s goin’ on?”

“i have to tell you something, but it- just promise you won’t get mad?” your voice is so small, a tiny house mouse compared to the behemoth one he had.

he nods, pulling your face up by the chin to look at him face on, his big warm eyes that you fell in love with reassuring you, “hey, whatever it is… s’gonna be okay. alright?”

despite the anxiety that was still coursing through you like hot lava, you nod softly before gingerly pulling the pregnancy test out from under your thigh and placing it on the coffee table.

simon was expecting anything, prepared for you to tell him whatever was wrong, but nothing like this, and it showed. his blue eyes closed in on the test before flicking back to yours. the anxiety radiating from you was enough to almost make him feel dizzy from the intensity.

“are you…?” he questions quietly, and you practically squirm under his gaze. he hated seeing you like this, hated seeing you so scared, and because of him.

you nod once more, though this time it’s accompanied by your uneven breathing and a tear that rolls down your cheek, “i am.”

his eyes immediately soften as he sees you tear up, big arms wrapping around you to pull you into his lap. while he was reeling from the news, he was more focused on making sure you were okay first. that was one perk of his job and his ability to keep his emotions under wraps when necessary.

“breathe, love,” his voice gently urges you. “it’s alright, you’re alright.” he continues to soothe you, rubbing small circles into your thighs as you settle on his lap.

“you aren’t mad?”

he shakes his head, softly tilting your face to look up at him once more. “i’m not mad. why would i be mad?” he questions gently, his hand moving from your thigh to wipe away the tears on your cheek.

you exhale deeply, feeling your fear resolve at his reassurance, “i didn’t…. didn’t know if this was something you wanted.”

“of course, this is something i want,” he says, cupping your face with his hand now and running his thumb across your cheek. “i want anythin’ and everythin’ with you.”

all of the anxiety and fear you had been harbouring vanishes now, as if it had never happened, “yeah?”

he leans down to press a soft kiss to your forehead, “yeah. i was just surprised, s’all.”

you watch as he then leans forward to pick up the pregnancy test from the table, noting how much smaller it looked it his hand compared to your own. it was almost comical.

he turns the test over between his fingers, examining it from every angle. the reality of the situation was only starting to really sink in now - he was going to be a dad.

he couldn’t help but think about the fact that you were now carrying a child, his child, something you had both created together, his hand gently moving to brush over your stomach.

there were no physical signs as of yet, but just knowing was enough for him right now.

“we’re really going to be parents,” he says quietly, glancing up at you, his blue eyes meeting your own once more. “we’re gonna have a family.”

“yeah, si. we are.” your eyes glaze over for a second time, though now it was out of happiness.

a small chuckle leaves his mouth at how adorable you look, his arms wrapping around you tighter as he nuzzled his head into the crook of your neck.

he can’t stop himself from brushing his fingers over your abdomen again, the thought of the small child starting to form in your stomach making him all sorts of soft.

simon was a lot of things, and whether or not your initial fear about telling him seemed silly, you knew now that he was going to protect and love you both with every fibre of his being.

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nuggetglitch · 3 days ago

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I had another dream that could’ve been a good horror game but apparently it felt like a Roblox game but I wasn’t a Roblox character and I had to play it twice in the same dream. This is gunna take a lot of explaining but basically I was in this house that look like one of the Brookhaven houses that are white and I was the garage which was the starting menu. I was playing by myself the first time and I seemed to have run away with two character that were a part of the game. I think I ran away from home with them but for some reason it got dark rlly quick and we were running from smth. (This happening after I watched a short of someone playing until dawn in the scene where the ppl are in the house and you can’t move or else the wendigo killed u. The reason I dreamt of the hunger games one was probably bcuz I was manifesting ballad of songbirds and snakes and preparing for SOTR) the first person was a guy and he was you’re basically emo, punk looking guy but he was rlly cool and a girl who was preppy and she had fluffy pink hair. Her hair was hatsune miku type fluffy. Anyways you’re running but for some reason we run in my cousins backyard? Anyways. We run and we reach this small shack. We know the thing that’s chasing us is a wendigo and it’s pouring so there’s mud and it started to flood a bit. It got sunny when we reached the small shack looking house. I can draw the way the house was like the layout for a better narrative but not rn. So we were there resting and there was a small porch outside that led to the backyard which for some reason is my pastors front porch. So the front porch has a ceiling, elevated bcus his house is a trailer, and a ramp that when you step out the house there like area where you can walk and a ramp that goes sideways to your right. We’re chilling, there’s two main rooms that are connected and a bathroom with the kitchen being one of the main room and the living room the other. The pink haired girl was in a couch that was in the kitchen and the emo boy that seemed familiar to me like someone I met before but idk who was in the living room couch playing a guitar he somehow got. There’s two long couches in the living room and they connect in the corner. So imagine a square but two sides are with a couch that connect at a corner. I was on the one closed to the kitchen and he was on the one next to the door that led outside. We were getting ready to rest for the night and maybe settle down there since we had ran away from home when it started pouring like rlly bad thunderstorms. Like one of those big dramatic ones that happen in stories or cartoons when smth bad happens. Kind like the one in that one episode in she-ra where they are stuck in the castle and all the princesses are trying to figure out who the horde spy is while mermista talks abt her detective books and they figure out flitterina was double trouble and the horde spy. Basically that type of storm. And we hear smth creaking in the front. We were quiet. Suddenly, the wendigo broke the front door down and screeched louder. We stayed still, afraid. The game had given me two options, putting me in the 3rd person perspective while I looked at the pink haired girl and emo boy and it gave me the option to save either of them. I went back and forth thinking there’s no way I can save the pink haired girl, the wendigo is right next to her. I’m next to emo boy so I can save him. So I chose to save him. They both died. The wendigo scratched my leg I think? I remember he hurt my leg in some way but I don’t think he tore it off bcuz of smth that happens later. No matter who I chose to save, they both would’ve died regardless. I can’t remember how the wendigo left but it was still thunder storming. I think it was one of those semantic things where he looks at me dead in the eyes (even tho wendigo are blind and they have a great sense of hearing or smth like that) and then in a flash of lighting he disappears as if nothing every happened with my two companion dismantled and dead, their screams of pain and horror etched into my brain.

It was still storming out (had to make a new paragraph cos I reached the word limit on the previous one) and I was silently grieving the loss of my companions. I dragged them out onto the back porch (which is the reason why I don’t think the wendigo tore my leg off. Ik he grabbed it to drag me away from emo boy tho) and I threw them out into the backyard.

And then I can’t remember what happens after that aside from the fact I had to go thru all of it again but with people from my youth group bcuz I was like wow what a great game! I should traumatize others and make them play with me! Even tho ik for a fact I’d stop playing that game the second I join lol

:3 I have interesting dreams

u ever have a stress dream so crazy u wake up feelin like scrooge being given a second chance at life

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galaxywannabe · 3 days ago

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The Miscommunication Trope™

Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: After getting into the first real argument of your relationship, some misspoken words from Bucky leave you thinking that he's done. By the time he realizes just how badly he screwed up, will it be too late to correct his mistake?

Warnings: Angst; Hurt/Comfort; Miscommunication; Crying; Arguing between romantic partners; Bucky is mean but he makes up for it; Happy ending; Reader identifies as a woman and uses she/her pronouns, but other than having hair that can be swept behind an ear I don't think there are any other physical descriptors; Please let me know if I missed anything!

Word Count: Almost 9.3k.....I'm sorry lol

A/N: Ummm....so. I'm fairly certain I promised this fic, like...3 months ago? In fact, I actually just went back to look and I first teased this fic on Febuary 19th, so um...lol? I made it! Listen, idk if it's even any good anymore but if I look at it for another second I'll scream, so please take it off my hands. Any and all comments or reblogs would be SO appreciated because this has truly been a labor of love, I didn't know if I had it in me. Also!! I have not forgotten @buckyinmyuniverse - you asked to be tagged in this wayyyy back when I first posted about it and I have FANTASTIC news for you babe: The wait is finally over!! I know you've no doubt been refreshing your feed for months looking for it (/j) but this whole time I was cooking this thing I remembered you asking for a tag. So, this one goes out to you. Hope you all enjoy! <3

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You and Bucky hadn’t ever been in a fight before, not really. You bicker, sure, usually over something lighthearted, usually resulting in an eyeroll and a “whatever you say, honey,” from Buck, but nothing serious, nothing that can’t be worked out through a civilized conversation. That was, until today.

You weren’t even trying to start an argument, you were just expressing your concern. He works too much, he takes more missions than anyone else, and it’s running him ragged, anybody can see that.

Obviously, you miss him when he’s away, but that’s not even the point - the point is that he’s taking on too much because he thinks he owes the world something, and that’s not sustainable, it’s not good for him. All you said was that maybe he’d ought to ask Fury to take him off the rotation for a while, or even just cut down on his assignment load, to give him some room to breathe. And Bucky got…defensive.

Obviously, you knew that was a possibility. Typical male pride of course prohibits silly ideas like “self care” and “burnout,” but on top of that is Bucky’s specific brand of guilt, the kind that makes him work himself into the ground no matter how badly his brain and body beg him to stop.

The defensiveness you were prepared for, but you were only coming from a place of love, your concern that of a devoted girlfriend, and surely he’d understand that, wouldn’t he? Except he hadn’t. He’d immediately dismissed your suggestion, waving a hand and continuing to type up his latest mission report with a laser-like focus.

“I don’t need a break, I’m fine,” he’d muttered, eyes trained on the bluish light of his laptop screen.

Again, you weren’t trying to argue. You certainly weren’t going to force him to take a break, you just wanted him to at least consider it, to remind him that it would be okay for him to rest a little, if he wanted to. The world would go on without his help for a few weeks, and there were other heroes available besides him.

“Honey, I know you might not need one, but it’s okay if you just want one. No one would judge you if-”

And then he did something he’d never done before: he snapped at you. He didn’t even look up from his screen, his fingers still a steady staccato on the keyboard as he barked out harshly.

“I said I don’t need a fucking break. I’m just doing my goddamn job, and I don’t need you breathing down my neck watching my every move the whole time I do it. I can take care of myself.”

You winced. Obviously, that stung, and if he’d bothered to look up from his computer screen, he might have seen that on your face. But you could tell he wasn’t as unbothered by this conversation as he was acting.

Despite his brusque attitude, your words were striking a chord with him, hitting a little too close to home. His shoulders were stiff as a board, bunched up around his ears in a telltale sign of defensiveness, and you understood, really you did.

For Bucky, doing this job is the one way he can even attempt to atone for all the bad shit he’s done. Of course he felt uncomfortable with the idea of a break, he thinks he has to do these missions as some sort of self-imposed penance for the things he’d been made to do as the Winter Soldier.

So you didn’t judge him too harshly for lashing out. You understood the reason he worked so hard, and you knew what motivated him to continue going out there even when he was exhausted. You just wanted him to see that taking a break for his own mental health wasn’t a bad thing, that even if he was making amends he still needed to find time to take care of himself, too.

You took a deep breath and spoke in a calm voice, hoping to express your concern in a nonthreatening manner even as he still refused to look at you.

“Angel. I’m not trying to breathe down your neck or tell you how to do your job. I know it’s important to you, and I love how hard you work! It’s just that, super-soldier or not, if you want to continue to do this job, you’re gonna need to stop and rest at some point, honey. That’s all I’m trying to say. I’m worried about you, love.”

Finally, he looked up at you, and your heart fluttered just seeing those baby blues you love so much. Until you clocked the scowl on his pretty face, and the hope in your gut curdled to dread. He was angry, you knew what that looked like, but in the six months of your relationship so far you’d never once seen that anger directed at you before.

It wasn’t frightening in a physical sense, not like you were scared for your well-being, of course not. But it deeply unsettled you, seeing the man you love looking at you like that. It made you want to apologize, though you weren’t quite sure what for. Before you could do anything at all, he spoke, his voice a cold, steel edge.

“You don’t know anything about what I can handle. I was doing just fine before you came around, and I don’t need you fussing over me at every turn just because I don’t sit around here all day scrolling on my phone or whatever it is you think I should be doing. I don’t need or want your hovering, so just stop, okay?”

There was silence. His shoulders heaved in the wake of his outburst, and you felt almost dazed, like this was some kind of mirage you could will away if you blinked hard enough. He’d never spoken to you like that.

Obviously, you’d hit a nerve, and while logically you understood that, it didn’t lessen the pain in your chest. You were just worried about him, why was he fighting like you were trying to strap him down and force him to quit?

While you tried to regain your bearings, breathing deeply and forcing back the stinging you felt building in your eyes, he slammed his laptop shut, standing and stalking towards your bedroom door. He’d come over to your place to work on his mission reports at your insistence because you’d wanted to keep him company, and now it appeared he was leaving.

“W-where are you going, what are you doing?” you’d squeaked, alarmed, following after him as he made his way to the foyer of your apartment and shoved his feet into his boots.

“I can’t fucking do this, I'm done,” he’d muttered in a gruff, hard voice, lacing his boots efficiently and standing back to his full height as he reached for the doorknob.

You shook your head, panicked, reaching for his arm and trying futilely to drag him back into your apartment. “Baby, please. I’m sorry, don’t go.”

But he just shook off your hold and stalked out the door, leaving you there as your eyes blurred with tears. After standing there in your foyer for several minutes, waiting for him to turn around and come back, you’d simply fallen to your knees and curled up right there on the polished wooden floor, bawling your eyes out.

That’s where you still are a couple hours later when your phone starts to vibrate incessantly in your pocket. You pull it out with trembling fingers and swipe to answer a call from Natasha.

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“H-hello?” you croak into the receiver.

The second Nat hears you pick up the call she’s talking, looking distractedly through her closet as she holds the phone to her ear with her shoulder.

“Hey honey, listen, me and the girls were thinking about running to Target, and we wanted to- wait, what’s wrong?” Natasha’s cheerful voice quickly drops into something soft and concerned as she picks up on the sniffles coming through her tinny cell phone speakers.

For a few seconds all she can hear is you sobbing quietly, the way you struggle to slow your hysterical breathing so you can put together a sentence. “H-he left, Nat. He broke up with me,” you whimper, voice barely audible.

This stops Natasha in her tracks, her brow furrowed in deep confusion as she freezes with one hand reaching for her favorite sweater. What the fuck? Why in the hell would Barnes break up with you? Especially when she knows for a fact that on the last mission she had with him, he stopped into a jewelry shop in Germany ‘just to look’ at engagement rings? This doesn’t make any goddamn sense.

“Honey,” Nat speaks into the phone again, her voice soft and soothing even through the crackly audio coming from your cell phone. “What happened, what did he say?”

You sniffle again, and clear your throat so she can hear your scratchy voice a bit better. “We…there was a fight, a-and I didn’t mean to, Nat, I swear, I was just worried, but…he said he can’t do this anymore, that h-he's done, and then he left. He didn’t take any of his things with him, but maybe he’s gonna come back for them, I don’t know…I don’t know what I’m gonna do, Nat…” As your sentence tapers off, your voice fades out, and a few renewed sobs float over the phone call into Nat’s ear, the sounds soaked in agony.

Oh, okay. Nat thinks she can see what really happened here just from your description, but that doesn’t make the sounds of your misery in her ear any less painful to hear. Likely, when Bucky had said he couldn’t do “this” anymore, that he was done, he’d meant the argument, the conversation, not your relationship.

But Barnes is your first real boyfriend, and you’ve never had a fight with him before. You were probably so confused and upset in the moment that you weren’t thinking about the context of his statement.

All you knew was that Bucky got upset with you for the very first time, and then he left. To you, that must certainly look like a breakup, and when Nat thinks about it from your perspective, she understands how you’d come to that conclusion.

She’d love to explain to you how you may have misunderstood, but as she listens to your hoarse crying over speakerphone, she knows you’re not in the frame of mind to process rational thought right now. Instead, she decides to focus on soothing you for the moment.

“I’m sorry, honey, I don’t know why he’d ever do anything like that to you. I’m gonna get to the bottom of it, alright? In the meantime, I just need you to do something for me,” she coos, her voice comforting and warm.

You don’t answer, just sniffling occasionally as you sit there in silence. Natasha, interpreting your lack of response as an affirmation, continues on.

“Where are you right now?”

There’s more silence for a few seconds, the sound of you pulling deep breaths into your lungs as you regain awareness of your surroundings. Then:

“Uh. The floor. In my apartment,” you mumble, confused, like you’ve just now realized that fact.

Natasha feels an additional lash of anger at Barnes flood her system when you tell her that, but she works to keep her voice calm even has her knuckles go white around her device.

“Okay, well, I need you to get up off the floor and go to your bedroom, okay? I want you to get dressed in your comfiest pajamas and crawl into bed for me, and wait there while I handle this. Can you do that? Just close your eyes and try to rest while I figure everything out?”

More sniffles, a hoarse cough, and then, after a beat of silence, your voice crackles over the line.

“Yeah….okay. I can do that, Nat,” you croak, the sound of shuffling floating over the line as you stagger to your feet after who knows how long on the floor.

She smiles, relieved to hear your voice coming through a bit more calmly, even as her mind races with the next items on her to-do list. “Okay sweetheart, you do that, then. I love you, I’ll call back soon, okay? Go get some rest.”

After hanging up with you, confident that at least you’re not curled up on your apartment floor anymore, she pockets her cell and immediately stalks down the hall towards the elevator, Target trip long forgotten.

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Bucky knows he fucked up. As someone who fucks up just about everything, he’s intimately familiar with the process, and he can say, with 100% certainty, that in this instance he absolutely fucked up. He never should have snapped at you - his sweetheart, his girl. You were just worried about him, and of course you were.

Bucky knows damn well he works too hard, especially lately, and he’s been on the verge of physical and mental collapse pretty much every damn day for the past month, running himself into the ground. He’d even been thinking to himself before your argument that he should slow down, take a break before he gets himself killed. So why did he get so defensive when you’d suggested it?

He doesn’t goddamn know. Because he’s messed up. Because it’s one thing when he decides to take some time off, but another when someone else has the idea, like they think he needs it.

He can’t help it; for decades of his life, the slightest sign of weakness meant pain, meant the frigid blast of a firehouse to wake him up or the wandering scalpel of a Hydra doctor looking to find a defect. Not that that makes his outburst okay, by any means, but it’s an explanation, and hey, he’s working on it, really he is.

Still, he knew the second he walked out of your apartment that he’d fucked up, and so he’s spent the past two hours at his own place a few floors up, licking his wounds and gathering the courage to go apologize.

Because…yes, okay, he’s embarrassed by the way he acted. He’s ashamed of his own behavior, and he’d needed a minute to feel sorry for himself before he inevitably goes back down to your apartment and grovels for your forgiveness.

He figures you’re pissed beyond belief, and if giving you some time to cool off also gives him a little while to stall the complete destruction of his ego, well, then, he’ll take it.

He finished up his mission report, he took a shower, and now he’s preparing his apology speech, debating the merit of walking down the street to a bodega for some flowers, when his doorbell rings. Shit, maybe he’s already out of time and you decided to come to him.

When he opens his door, looking thoroughly contrite, it’s not your expected figure that stands in his entryway, but Natasha’s. And even given all his super-soldier reflexes and military training, he still staggers back a step in shock when she slaps him right across the face.

“Whoa, what the fuck, Nat?” he barks, rubbing at the heat blooming under the skin of this cheek.

Standing there in front of him with her arms crossed, she looks anything but remorseful, her fists clenched as if she has to deny herself the urge to do it again.

“Why the fuck did you break up with her, Barnes? Are you insane?! The one good thing in your life, and you threw it all away, why, because you got a little pissed off? Out of all the stupid, careless decisions you’ve made in your fucked-up life, I really didn’t think you had it in you to top all that, but Jesus…”

As she continues to rant at him, her face pinched with rage, Bucky struggles to make sense of the words she’s already spoken. Broken up with you? Why in God’s name would he ever do that?

What an absolutely absurd thing to accuse him of, given that everybody in this building knows how insanely in love with you he is, especially your own best friend. Why is she here playing some kind of prank on him when he’s supposed to be rehearsing his apology?

“I did no such thing,” he answers bluntly, interrupting her impassioned speech, his expression confused and a little irritated at the accusation.

Nat barely even blinks at this denial. “Oh really? Then why did I just talk to her on the phone, bawling her eyes out on the floor of her apartment, telling me that you did?”

Of course, Nat’s pretty sure that Barnes hadn’t really meant to break up with you by leaving during your argument, but she’s pissed at him either way for not being cognizant enough of your feelings to foresee your interpretation of his behavior.

To Bucky, Natasha’s words might as well have been a bucket of ice water poured over his head, the way they immediately freeze his joints with dread. He feels his stomach churn as if he might be sick, the horrifying mental image of you curled up on your wooden floors driving a stake between his ribs. When he’d left, you’d been standing. Sure, you’d looked upset, but surely not that upset…right?

He tries to think back to your emotional state when he’d stormed out a couple of hours ago, but truthfully he hadn’t turned back to see your face as he’d walked out your door. Had you been crying? He didn’t think so, but now he isn’t so sure, especially given the look of anger on Nat’s face. Why would you tell her that he’d broken up with you? As a joke, some kind of payback for his outburst?

“I….” he pauses, tongue darting out to wet his suddenly dry lips. “You talked to her? What did she say?”

Natasha almost feels sympathy for Bucky in this moment, standing before her looking so confused and slightly horrified. But then she thinks about her best friend sobbing on the floor because he’s an idiot, and that emotion vanishes, replaced with her plentiful anger.

“Well, it was kind of hard to hear her, what with all the sobbing and such. But when I finally was able to get her to speak, she said that there was a fight, and that you broke up with her and then left her there. She said you hadn’t taken any of your stuff with you when you left, and she wasn’t sure when you’d be back for it, but that she didn’t know what she was going to do,” Nat recalls in a hard voice, her gaze sharp and accusatory. “After that she started crying again, so I didn’t ask her any more questions.”

Another bruising blow to the tatters of Bucky Barnes’s heart. What did you mean, he hadn’t taken his stuff? Why would he take his things when he’d left them there on purpose so he had them to use when he was at your place?

Why would he take his belongings out of your apartment just because you got into an argument? This doesn’t make any sense, and the longer Natasha talks, the worse his growing sense of unease becomes.

Why were you crying? Sure, he expected anger, he’d been a huge swinging dick and he deserves some harsh words. But why is Nat saying that you were curled up on your floor sobbing? Why wouldn’t you be on the couch, or in your bed, or even down in the gym punching out your frustrations?

And why were you on the phone with your best friend moments ago talking like you didn’t expect him to come back? Surely you know he’ll be back, he practically lives in your apartment - his wallet and keys are still sitting in the dish by your front door, his favorite jacket hung on the coat rack. He looks at your closest friend desperately, his face drawn in stark lines of horror and regret.

“Natasha, please, I don’t know why she said all that stuff to you, I didn’t break up with her, I would never break up with her. We had an argument. She was only worried about me, but I got defensive like an asshole and said some shit I didn’t mean, so…I just wanted to get out of there, get some space before I lashed out some more, that’s all. I just needed a minute to cool off, I was always fully planning to go back, to explain myself and apologize. I don’t know why she…” he trails off, looking lost.

Nat sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. Her best friend is in hysterics, and it’s all because men are the dumbest creatures on this planet.

“What do you think that looked like to her, Barnes? You guys get in your very first fight, and after saying some mean shit to her you stomp out of there and go ‘I can’t do this, I'm done’. What do you think those words might have sounded like to her ears? You’re her first serious boyfriend, jackass! She’s never been in this situation before! She doesn’t know that it’s relatively normal for couples to argue, even if you definitely shouldn’t have snapped at her. She just knows you’ve never fought before, and the first time you do, you walk out the door. She thinks you’re gone for good, James.”

You could hear a pin drop in Bucky’s apartment right now, the sounds of bustling Manhattan outside his windows muffled by the blood roaring in his ears. He wants to be upset with you, to question how you could ever doubt his love enough to think he’d really just walk out after one disagreement. But in truth, given his actions and your lack of relationship experience, he doesn’t see how you could’ve come to any other conclusion.

Bucky thought he’d been regretful before Nat got here, but after hearing his behavior described in this new light, he’s got a whole list of emotions to add to the pile. Self-loathing, remorse, fear. You’re in your apartment right now, believing yourself to be single. All that time you two spent together, every memory and intimate moment, you think it’s over, just like that, in the blink of an eye.

Obviously, he needs to explain himself immediately, to tell you that he hadn’t meant to end your relationship in the slightest and that this is all just a giant misunderstanding.

But what if you don’t care? What if, after the way he acted towards you today, you’d rather accept his words as you’d thought he meant them and stay broken up, even knowing that wasn’t his intent? He’s shaking, he realizes distantly, noticing the way Natasha looks at him with concern in her eyes now.

He hadn’t ever really let himself consider that you’d turn him down before, when he was rehearsing his apology speech. You’re in a committed relationship of six months, you’re in love. Surely, even if he was a bit of an asshole, one transgression can be forgiven as long as he apologizes sincerely.

But that was back when he thought his only sin was his harsh words, back when he thought you were angry with him for his outburst.

Now that he knows what you’ve really been feeling, that you’ve apparently spent the past two hours sobbing on your wooden apartment floors waiting for him to come back and take his belongings, he’s not so confident that he can grovel hard enough to make up for this.

He hadn’t meant to hurt you, god damn it, that’s the whole reason he left in the first place, to spare you from his undeserved anger. Now he might be about to lose you because of his own childish temper tantrum, and the terror of that thought feels icy in his veins as it travels straight to his heart, freezing it in place.

His body is moving towards his apartment door before he even commands his muscles to do so, single-minded on the only thing that matters anymore: fixing what he’s done. His hand is already turning the doorknob by the time a slightly startled Nat is able to catch up with him, her hand on his shoulder stalling him for only the tiniest moment before he’s barrelling ahead again.

“Don’t fuck this up. You love her, now go make it right,” she commands sternly, and Bucky just grunts his acknowledgment before bursting through his door out into the empty hallway, towards the elevator.

He doesn’t stop to voice his fears to Natasha, that it might be too late to make anything right, that he may have fucked it up beyond repair already. He just keeps moving, hoping beyond hope that he still has a chance.

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When he makes it to your apartment a few floors down from his own, it’s eerily silent as he pushes the door open. He’s never needed a key, FRIDAY has explicit orders to grant him entry, but for the first time ever it feels wrong entering your space unannounced, like maybe he should knock and wait for permission in light of what’s happened. He ignores the impulse.

You’re not crouched on the floor of your entryway like Nat said you’d been, so he supposes that’s a good sign, but it occurs to him then that he’s not even entirely sure you’re home. Bucky pauses to ask FRIDAY where you are, and is relieved to hear that you’re only in your bedroom.

He almost thinks he picks up a hint of annoyance in the AI’s voice when she responds to his inquiry, though, as if even the damn computer program is pissed at him for the way he treated you. It must be his imagination.

“Angel?” he calls out softly, making his way slowly through the apartment to your bedroom, noting the oppressive stillness of the place as he goes deeper. “Honeybun? Sweet pea?” he uses his softest, most gentle voice, disturbed to find your usually lively dwelling so silent.

The TV in the living room - usually playing some youtube video or episode of your favorite show - is powered off, and the lights are all off too, as if the sun had set and you simply hadn’t bothered to flick any of them on to combat the encroaching darkness. The place he’s wandering now is like a ghost of your apartment, no scented candles lit, no steaming mug of tea waiting for you at your usual spot at the coffee table.

It’s unnerving, to have a place usually so full of life be so startlingly empty all of a sudden. His slow steps and his soft voice calling out for you are the only sounds in the entire space, until he finally reaches your bedroom door and pauses to listen. For a moment there’s nothing, and he worries that perhaps you aren’t home after all, until he hears a soft sound coming muffled through the thick wood of your door.

He presses his ear against it to listen closer, brow scrunched as he waits to hear the sound again, and a moment later his heart shatters as it becomes clear that what he’s hearing is your soft sobbing, interspersed with the occasional sniffle.

Bucky pushes your door open ever-so-carefully, cursing under his breath at the slight squeak of the wood on its hinges. It’s hard to see anything in your room, even with his perfect super-soldier eyesight, as the lights are off in here, too, the curtains closed to limit even the soft moonlight coming through the windows.

His instinct is to flick on the light so he can see you better, but he doesn’t want to startle you, and besides, you obviously prefer the lights off or you would’ve turned them on yourself when it got dark. Instead he just steps further into the room, squinting his eyes as he can just barely make out the lump under the covers where you lay, curled in a ball in the center of your mattress, crying quietly.

He knows you must have heard his entrance, must realize he’s standing at the side of your bed right now, but you make no move to acknowledge him, continuing to sob softly as he watches on, heartbroken.

“Oh, darlin’...” he sighs, pulling the covers back a bit to expose your head, kneeling with one knee on the mattress so he can get a closer look at you.

You sniffle pitifully as you feel the cool air of the room on your face, extra cold against your cheeks where they’re wet with tears. Your vision is too blurry for you to actually see him, but you know who it is, know the scent of his cologne and the familiar touch of his fingers on your face as he brushes your hair back to see you better.

Your stupid, traitorous nervous system reacts immediately to his presence, your panicked breaths slowing and your tears subsiding, a warm wash of comfort moving through your chest along with an instinctive sense of safety.

Your body knows nothing of the events of the past few hours, that he isn’t yours anymore, that he isn’t here to comfort you. It just instinctively calms under his attention, unaware that it is fleeting now, sure to be gone in only moments.

As the man you love wipes the tears gently from your face, his touch so sweet and soft it inadvertently causes more of them to fall, you force your hoarse voice to speak, the sound a barely audible croak even in the silence of your room. “Are you here to get your things?”

Bucky’s own eyes sting at your words, at the miserable tone to your voice as you say them, and he shakes his head vehemently, though he’s not sure you’re even really seeing him right now.

“No, baby, of course not. Why would I take my stuff, huh? I left those things here so I could use them when I’m visiting my girl, you know that,” he counters in a painfully soft voice, like he thinks speaking above a murmur will shatter you. Maybe he’s right about that, you do feel awfully close to shattering.

You feel the beginnings of a headache throbbing behind your eyes, and you close them for a moment, struggling to craft a coherent thought through all the heartbreak clouding your brain. Why is he here speaking nonsense when you’re in the middle of trying to mourn him? Does he not see that it’s cruel for him to be here with his comforting touch and his sweet voice, knowing that those things are lost to you forever now?

“I’m not your girl anymore…” you mumble brokenly, the very act of having to speak the words into existence pulling another sob from your chest.

Despite yourself you nuzzle your cheek into his palm as he cradles your face, desperate for his affection. If you’re never going to feel his touch again, you’ll bask in every opportunity while you have it, savoring the familiar warmth even as you question why he’s offering it to you in the first place.

Your face is pinched in concentration, like you’re trying to commit the sensation to memory, and Bucky’s heart might as well be in shards by his feet at this point, the way you seek out his touch like you’re starved for it. Like it hasn’t only been hours since he last gave it to you, like you’ll never have the chance to feel it again.

“Yes you are, baby, you’re always gonna be my girl. You’re mine, honey, just like I’m yours. Forever, haven’t I told you that?” he speaks desperately, like he’s pleading with you to agree with him, and although you’d love to, you have very recent evidence to the contrary.

“B-but, you said…” you trail off in a whisper, unable to repeat the words. You don’t need to anyways, you both know what he’d said. That he can’t do this. Can’t be with you anymore.

Bucky’s quick to interrupt you, needing you to understand that that’s not what he’d said, or, at least, not what he’d meant. “Baby, I didn’t- I’m sorry I said it like that, and I understand why you took those words the way you did. But that’s not what I meant to say, sweetheart, I swear.”

He huffs and slides a frustrated hand through his hair, suddenly unable to bear having this conversation with you while you lie curled up alone in your bed, looking up at him blankly with your shining eyes.

Before you can speak another word he peels back the covers some more, making room for himself as he slides into the bed beside you, pulling you up and onto his chest so he can hold you in his arms. The tears on your cheeks immediately soak through the soft cotton of his T-shirt, but he doesn’t care, cradling you tightly against his chest and rubbing slow, comforting circles onto your back.

You want to say something, to express your confusion at his incongruent behavior, but you can’t, not with his arms around you and his scent in your nose. You open your mouth to speak but all that comes out are more shuddering sobs, your body limp in his hold, completely helpless against the comfort he offers.

Even if he shouldn’t be, he’s here. He’s here, and he’s holding you like you’re something precious again, and even if you know that there must be some mistake you can’t stop yourself from completely melting into his embrace, any semblance of your remaining composure crumbling completely.

Bucky just coos softly, murmuring gentle assurances in your ear and holding you, solid and steady as you weather the storm of your heartbreak. Despite having spent the better part of the past two hours bawling your eyes out, the crying starts anew with him here, his comforting presence both a relief and a reminder of what you’ve lost, what you’ll be missing when he walks out that door again.

You two lie like that for a while, though whether it’s for a few minutes or several hours you can’t say, time stretching into infinity as you cry into his chest. As the tears finally subside once again, your body exhausted and your throat sore, your mind belatedly registers his words from before. He’d been saying something, hadn’t he?

“What…” your voice comes out scratchy, so you clear your throat to be heard better - though Bucky couldn’t have missed a word out of your mouth if he tried, focused on you as he is. “What do you mean, that’s not what you meant? You broke up with me.”

Bucky shakes his head immediately, bringing his mismatched palms up to cradle your face, sweeping your hair back behind your ears so he can see his beautiful girl. God, it’s torture watching you cry, but he seems to have broken through to you somehow, and he’s not going to squander this opportunity to explain himself.

He can’t suppress the urge to lean down and drop a tender kiss to your forehead, though, your tear-stained face so pitiful he could cry right along with you if he didn’t have something more important to be doing at the moment.

“I mean, that’s not what I meant, sweetheart. I never intended to break up with you. How could I? Leave my girl, my princess? Don’t you know you mean more to me than every other person on this planet put together?” He speaks calmly but firmly, his gaze steady on yours as he practically begs you to believe him. You have to believe him.

You frown, confusion pulling your brows together as you take in his desperate expression. His words make your heart flutter with hope, but you don’t understand, can’t make sense of the reality he’s trying to assert when you know you heard otherwise only a couple of hours ago. It’s all a bit much for your heartbroken brain to handle, and you just blink at him blankly, completely lost.

“I don’t understand, Buck. Y-you were so upset, and then you left, and you said ‘I can’t do this, I'm done.’ I thought you meant we were done, that you can’t do us anymore.” you recall in a miserable voice, searching his eyes for answers as you desperately try to understand.

He nods empathetically, his thumbs brushing at the tears on your cheeks even as more continue to fall to take their place. “I know that’s what I said, sweet girl, and I know how it sounded to you, but that’s not at all how I meant it, I swear. I just…” Bucky sighs, his features plastered with remorse, his eyes falling from yours in shame.

“I was being an asshole. I knew, even as I was doing it, that I was being an asshole, that I couldn’t stop being an asshole, so I just…I wanted to get away from you before I lashed out any more, that’s all. I knew if I kept trying to discuss things with you right then I was only going to say more shit I didn’t mean, so I tried to put some space between us, just until I could cool off and be rational again.”

Bucky pauses, sighing deeply and stroking your cheeks. His eyes are swimming with guilt so deep it hurts your chest just to look at it. He looks almost as torn up about this whole ordeal as you do, which, although his pain isn’t something you revel in, does make your heart beat a little faster with hope. Would a man who doesn’t want to be with you anymore still look at you with that much guilt over having caused you pain?

When he speaks again his voice is low and strained with emotion, apologetic. “Darlin’, I…I am so sorry for the things I said to you today. I didn’t mean a single damn one of them. I love that you look after me, I love that I have someone waiting for me when I come home, making sure I’m not pushing myself too hard. I need you there to do that for me, because we both know I’m too proud and stubborn to take a break on my own. I got defensive, and I lashed out because I felt threatened, and that is not okay or fair to you. If you can’t forgive me for those things I said, I understand.”

He swallows thickly, his eyes closing as hot tears sting the backs of them, fighting to escape. “But you need to know that when I told you I couldn’t ‘do this,’ I sure as hell didn’t mean you, or us. All I meant was that I couldn’t keep having that conversation with you, that I needed to get away before I hurt you worse. That’s all it was. When I left your apartment today, it was to get some space because I knew I was throwing a temper tantrum. In no way, shape, or form was I breaking up with you, or trying to end what we have. I couldn’t do that, it’s not in my DNA to do that. I’m simply not capable of it, and you have to know that. Even if you decide you’re better off without me, I need you to know that. Please.”

You stare down at him in the wake of his speech, watching as he blinks rapidly to keep tears at bay, and you’re so god damn confused in this moment that you wish he would give you a timeout, let you process everything he just said before you have to respond to it.

Could it possibly be true? That he’d never meant to break up with you, that he still loves and wants you? Could this all just be some massive misunderstanding on your part?

The possibility has hope fluttering warm in your chest, but you suppress it. Better to make absolutely sure first, before you let your heart get obliterated for the second time today. Letting yourself have this hope only to quash it moments later might actually break you for good.

“You weren’t…I mean, you didn’t want to break up with me?” you whisper hesitantly, afraid to let yourself believe it even though you’re desperate to.

Bucky’s heart cracks in his chest as you ask that so timidly, like just voicing the question is opening you up to a whole new potential world of hurt. He shakes his head firmly, his metal hand coming up to cradle the back of your skull, his fingertips massaging your scalp gently.

“No, babygirl, never. Not in a million years. Even though we were arguing, it was the last thing on my mind, trust me. I’ve never wanted to break up with you, not for a second. I love you,” he reassures you smoothly, his voice low and calm, exuding certainty.

You have to sniffle hard to hold back a fresh round of tears at those three simple words, ones you never thought you’d get to hear from him again. Jesus Christ, if you never cry again it’ll be too soon. Your gaze is particularly frail and fragile as it meets Bucky’s, some of that hope you’d been suppressing earlier making itself known in your features, tentative but present.

“So…you’re still my boyfriend?” you ask in a tiny murmur, like maybe this is the part where he pulls the rug out from under you and announces he was kidding about the whole misunderstanding thing.

Bucky’s features tighten a little at your question, and dread pools in your stomach rapidly, fearing the worst. But his words aren’t quite the heartbreaking blow you’re expecting, more like a puzzling wrinkle.

“If you want me to be, yeah, baby, I am.”

Your brow furrows, confused. What the hell does that mean? Suddenly, you recall a few other parts of his speech just now, parts that had been immediately overshadowed when he’d said that he still wanted to be with you. Now that you think about it, he’d also said a bunch of stuff along the lines of ‘If you can forgive me,’ and ‘If you decide you’re better off without me,’ hadn’t he?

What the hell was that all about? Why’s he talking about whether you want to be with him? Like you haven’t been literally bawling your eyes out for the past two hours at the prospect of having to live without him? How does that make any sense?

“Of course I want you to be. You think I was curled up on the floor sobbing because I was happy to think that our relationship was over?” you ask incredulously, frowning at him.

He chuckles a little at that, the sound vibrating through you as you lay on his chest, but it’s strained, his expression vulnerable. Although you attribute this misunderstanding mostly to your own mind jumping to the worst possible conclusion, Bucky is riddled with guilt for both his abrupt exit from your apartment and the things he’d said leading up to it.

In his eyes you went through a lot of pain today, and every inch of it is his fault. If he’d stopped to explain his meaning, or, hell, if he hadn’t gotten so damn defensive in the first place, none of this would’ve happened. His girl wouldn’t have spent hours of her life sobbing on her hardwood floors if he’d just stopped to breathe like his therapist taught him to. His pale irises swim with shame as he gazes up at you.

“No, no, I just…I said some horrible things to you today, darlin’. And just because you were upset to think that I’d broken up with you doesn’t necessarily mean that all is forgiven, I know that. I understand if you’d rather keep us apart after the way I acted,” he murmurs defeatedly, like he’s already prepared himself for a thorough scolding.

Which is absolutely goddamn ridiculous, in your eyes. You snort, brows raised in disbelief. “Are you kidding me? All is forgiven, Buck, all is so past forgiven. I don’t care about the shit you said. You’re here, you’re still mine, that’s all that matters now. Forget the fight, forget all of it. I’ve got you, that’s all I care about.”

You say it so simply, like it could be so easy. Like his indiscretions are just wiped clean in the face of your pure relief. But he knows that they aren’t, they can’t be. It’s not that easy, as much as he’d like it to be. He fucked up, and he deserves what’s coming to him.

He tries to reason with you, his expression pained. “Baby, you can’t just-”

“I absolutely can, actually,” you interrupt, looking unamused, stern. “I’m the one you said those things to, so I think I have the right to determine how I feel about them, don’t you?” You keep your eyebrows raised, challenging.

You watch as he mulls those words over a bit, licking his lips anxiously. It takes him a moment to decide how to respond, and when he does his words are slow, strained. Like maybe he doesn’t want to say them, but he feels like he has to.

“Yes, you do. It’s ultimately your decision, of course it is. I just…before you decide to blindly forgive me for this, I want you to really consider how you feel, okay? I know your instinct is to forget all about it because you’re just relieved to have me at all right now, but…I messed up. I hurt you, I said hurtful things even if I didn’t mean them. You didn’t deserve that, least of all from me, the man who’s supposed to love and protect you. You’re allowed to be upset about it, and if my actions made you realize that you don’t want to be with me anymore, then…you’re allowed to feel that way, too.”

His voice cracks on that last word, and your heart aches painfully in your chest at the sound. In this moment, you’re realizing with horror that Bucky truly believes he deserves to be broken up with tonight. With the unshed tears clinging to his lashline and the devastated look on his face, it’s clear that he doesn’t want to be dumped, that in fact that’s the last thing he wants.

But it’s obviously what he thinks should happen, the punishment he thinks he’s earned for the inadvertent heartbreak he put you through tonight, and that’s just…unacceptable, to be honest.

The man would forgive you if you literally drove a stake through his chest, for Christ’s sake, yet he’s expecting you to kick him to the curb? What, because he got a little snippy with you? Because you jumped to the wrong conclusion and convinced yourself he left you? You would almost be insulted that he could think such a thing of you if you didn't know where the fear comes from.

You've seen them firsthand: the deep layers of self-loathing that have bogged him down since long before your relationship started, the inherent belief he carries that he is irreparably flawed and unworthy of love. He doesn't feel like he deserves you on his best day, so when he screws up, no matter the size of the infraction, he expects to be cast aside.

You reach out with one hand to cradle his cheek, his stubble gently scraping against your thumb as you caress his skin. Your expression is caring but firm, your eyes holding his as you speak in an even voice.

“I need you to understand that I don't expect you to be perfect, James. I don’t expect that you will always say the right thing, or have a perfectly even temperament in every situation because hell, none of us do. You’re allowed to fuck up sometimes, sweetheart, and you still deserve to be loved even when you do.”

His brow furrows as you speak, his instinct to reflexively deny the forgiveness you’re offering. “But I hurt you,” he interjects, the look on his face so miserable it tugs at your chest.

You nod your agreement, though your expression is still full of compassion and love. “Yes, you did. I won’t even begin to address the break-up fiasco because that was a complete misunderstanding on my part, but yes, the things you said before you left really stung me. Do you know why I’m going to forgive you anyways, though? Why, even if this happens again, I’ll probably forgive you a hundred times over?”

You pause for effect, giving him the opportunity to respond. Honestly, as upset as you’ve been these past few hours, it’s all begun to fade in the face of this man you love trying to convince you he’s not worth it. When he just looks at you helplessly, his eyes tracking your speech with rapt attention, you smile and continue.

“It’s because I know you’d never hurt me on purpose, Bucky. Let me ask you something: when you snapped at me today, did you do it because you were trying to find the absolute meanest thing you could say at that moment? Did you say it because you wanted me to feel bad?”

Looking a bit startled at the suggestion, Bucky shakes his head mutely. He hadn’t really even been conscious of the words at all until after they’d already blurted from his mouth, and even then it didn’t fully sink in until after he’d calmed down. You smile, satisfied by his immediate denial.

“No, of course you didn’t. You didn’t say that stuff to be mean, to hurt just for hurting’s sake. You were feeling ambushed and defensive, and you lashed out. Is it ideally how you’ll always react when I try to express my concern for your wellbeing? No, of course not. But is it a realistic thing for a person to do who’s not used to being cared for? Absolutely, it is. And it’s just something we’re gonna have to work on, baby. I’ve never done this whole relationship thing before, and you’re trying to do it for the first time in 80 years with a hell of a lot of additional trauma thrown into the mix.

“We’re learning, and it’s not always gonna be perfect or easy. Maybe before this becomes an issue again, we’ll think up some ways for you to politely tell me ‘I’m feeling overwhelmed by this conversation, please back off and we can come back to it later.’ Or maybe we’ll discuss how I can voice my concerns to you in the future without triggering your defensive response, how I can come off as less accusatory and make the discussion feel more safe for you.

“We’ve only been doing this for six months, and as real as it is, as much as I love you more than anything, we’re gonna face a hell of a lot more than this one hurdle if we want to keep doing this thing in the long term. So, yeah, tonight has sucked, pretty much every minute of it was a disaster, but you know what? It’s over now. You apologized, we’re gonna try and do better next time, and…that’s the end of it. Clean slate. All I want to do with the rest of my night is finally stop fucking crying, and eat a burger the size of my head. Preferably, with my boyfriend next to me the whole time, trying to steal my fries when I’m not looking. Do you think you could help me make that happen, Buck? Please?”

He looks stunned in the wake of your speech, silent for several moments as his brain struggles to grapple with the reality of your easy forgiveness. He blinks at you hard, like he truly can’t believe that you’re not running in the opposite direction right now, burning every trace of your life together and cursing his name the whole way.

But the truth is, you’d already made up your mind to forgive him the second you realized he hadn’t meant to break up with you in the first place, and Bucky must see that, too, because the fight in his eyes is slowly dimming into something more fragile, vulnerable.

His gaze fixes on yours in the dark, searching for some hidden shard of resentment or anger that you may be holding back for his sake, but he doesn’t find it, there is no such thing for him to find. You just smile weakly up at him, exhausted from the emotional turmoil of the day but no less sincere, and when he blows out a slow breath through his nose, you know you’ve got him.

He’s definitely not done badgering himself about the mistakes he made today, not by a long shot, but he must see your weariness on your face, your desperate need to move on from this at least for the moment, so he nods slowly, his flesh hand rising to gently tuck some of your hair behind your ear.

“Yeah, sweetheart, we can make that happen. Whatever you want.”

Your smile brightens, the relief so stark in your features that it brings a lump to his throat, and when you press your lips against his he makes a silent promise to never put you in a position like this again, to never let his bullshit drag you down or put your relationship at risk like he did today.

He’ll go to therapy twice a damn week if he has to, you deserve better than his temper tantrums, than cruel words spoken out of a defensiveness he doesn’t need anymore. Not with you.

Half an hour later finds you perched in his lap, draped in one of his hoodies and talking and laughing at your favorite diner like there never was an argument, like not a single tear was shed today. He hates that the joy on your face is most likely motivated by your sheer relief that he’s still yours, but he can’t complain about the sparkle in your eyes, nor the way you lean back against his chest as you sip your shake.

Obliging your request, he steals some fries off your plate while you gesticulate wildly through a story, a warm flutter going off in his chest when you pretend to squawk in protest. He soaks in every second, every twitch of your lips and brush of your hand against his, reminding himself what he could have lost, what he perhaps deserved to lose after his actions today.

He’ll make this up to you, he knows he will - he’s sure Natasha will have plenty of suggestions for how he can start. He thinks back to that little velvet box he’s got buried deep in the back of his sock drawer, a sharp pull tugging at his heart as he realizes he almost lost his chance to give it to you at all. He resolves right here and now, basking in the warm light of your infinite patience for him, that he won’t take that box out until he’s earned it.

He hates to wait even a second longer, itches to lock you down with every passing moment, but he won’t ask you to make that kind of commitment to him until he’s sure he’s the man that you need him to be. As he presses a firm kiss to your temple, swiping another morsel from the edge of your plate with a smile, he swears up to his Ma that he will work hard to deserve you, even if you seem to think he already does.

#marvel #mcu #bucky barnes #sebastian stan #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic

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beaureveries · 2 days ago

Text

ONE SHOT : NUMBER ONE FAN

Dallas Wings paige x Golden State Valkyries azzi

trigger : lovers to rivals (just for the game) + fluff

I loved writing this sm! please let me know what you think, and feel free to request if you have any pazzi story ideas. <3

3.5k words

— unedited

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The day has finally came.

The day that everybody was waiting for ever since the 2026 WNBA draft players were announced.

Azzi fudd the number one draft pick for the Golden state valkyries in 2026

Up against

Paige bueckers the number one draft pick for the Dallas Wings back in 2025.

Also former teammates at Uconn known as the best backcourt duo that led Connecticut to win their 12th NCAA Championship after the long drought.

The first official match up between the two best friends ever since high school

Was finally happening.

Dallas Wings vs Golden State Valkyries

And everybody was simply sweating nervously in their seats, preparing to watch one of the best match ups to ever probably exist in the history of the WNBA.

Cause who doesn’t know the Multi talented Paige Bueckers who won the Rookie player of the year last season. Added on with her as the highest player to score in assists and blocks throughout the season.

Don’t even get me started with her perfect midrange and court awareness.

And of course who doesn’t know Azzi fudd. One of the most or just might be the best shooter in the nation that just led Uconn to their 13th NCAA championship, back to back.

Her shooting stroke? Effortless and Pretty.

Easily one of the best.

Not to mention their relationship throughout the years that caused speculations in the public eye, wondering if they were truly just best friends.

Best friends to Rivals? Who doesn’t love that.

Easily causing this match up to be one of the most anticipated WNBA game of the season with a full sold out arena at chase center San Francisco, California.

Accumulated over 18,000 people at the Valkyries home state game.

“Who do you have your money on?” kk yelled at her teammates over the loud background music and cheering crowd.

Sitting in the middle of the court-side was the Uconn and former Uconn team. Sarah, Jana, Nika, Aubrey, Aaliyah and more.

You name it, we got it.

Cause who would want to miss the match up of the century? Especially when they themselves know that paige and azzi were clearly not just best friends.

But girlfriends.

Attached by the the hip and inseparable girlfriends might i add.

Lovers to Rivals? Even better.

“I got my money on paige” Jana shouted back.

“Me too” nika added, raising her right hand while she scrolls on her left waiting for the game to begin.

“Nah y’all be tripping, we know azzi bout to win for real” Aaliyah interfered in an obvious tone, walking back to her seat with a corndog on her hand.

“Yea I bet paige has her money on azzi too” Ice shouted loudly that made the whole team laugh, nodding in agreement.

The whole arena was bubbling with excitement as the crowd was screaming so loudly, chanting paige and azzi over and over again.

After what felt for ages for the fans, the buzzer finally rung indicating the match was about to begin.

They began off with the starting five introductions as always.

“As point guard… Number 5 Paige Bueckers” the commentator introduced as the fans screamed.

Paige smile unusually bright as she stands from the bench clapping her teammates before she walks off to the middle of the court.

Her smile never seems to fade as she moves her head like instinct to the other side of the court, wandering off to the one and only girl that always has her attention.

“And now for the golden state valkyries starting five, we have the rookie as shooting guard number 35…Azzi Fudd”

The crowd was roaring at this point.

Paige’s eyes never trailing off the brown headed girl as she claps her teammates with her beautiful dimples full on view for the whole arena to see.

Azzi was smiling so effortlessly and her eyes shone bright full of pure excitement.

God paige wishes she could kiss her right there and then…

Paige literally had to shake her head off to focus back on her team, but just as she was about to shift her gaze

their eyes locked across the court.

And paige swore her heart beated so loud when azzi gave her a wink.

They held their gazes for five seconds before azzi broke it off, focusing on her teammate introduction.

Leaving paige all red and grinning sheepishly like a teenage girl who just got acknowledged by her crush.

After the starting line was done being presented, they finally took their places on the court.

No more smiles and grins, both paige and azzi were locked in.

Both of them wanted to win.

It didn’t matter if they were former teammates, best friends or girlfriends.

They were currently rivals on the court.

And that’s all they needed to know.

First Quarter

As soon as the buzzer blew indicating the jump ball to start, paige grabbed the loose ball swiftly like she did it a million times before.

Dribbling slowly towards her side of the court while analyzing her teammates, who’s open and who’s not.

And what are the odds

Azzi was guarding her.

It hasn’t even been a minute and the person who guarded her first was azzi fudd, her former teammate, best friend and girlfriend.

Paige doesn’t know if this was a such smart idea since her girlfriend knew her and how she played in and out

If this was such a dumb idea cause paige knows her and how she played in and out.

“Oh this bout to be fun” paige mutters underneath her breath just enough for azzi to hear.

“Bring it on bueckers” azzi challengingly smirked

Paige just raised her eyebrows amused, suddenly remembering how they used to call each other by their last names when they were rivals in high school.

“You said it fudd” she grinned before she threw the ball almost half court straight to her teammate, maddy siegrest hands who was standing openly on the three point line.

Maddy jumped and threw the ball swiftly off her hands.

swish

one…

two…

three…

three seconds of pure dead silence throughout the whole arena before the public announcer shouted

“THREEEEEEE MADDY SIEGREST”

And the whole arena erupted with screams.

Azzi glanced at the ball that just fell through the basket before looking back at Paige.

Paige lifts both of her hands up nonchalantly while walking back for defense, eyes still locked with azzi.

her eyes almost screaming either ‘what can I say, I’m just good like that’ or ‘you think your the only one who can shoot good?’ as she broke off contact with a smug on her lips

and azzi swore she will remove that smug off her girlfriend’s ‘full of herself’ face.

which she didn’t know was gonna happen so quickly…

Cause the second she went to her position on the three point line, veronica immediately assist her the ball.

And although paige and her team has already anticipated this cause God forbid how many times paige has explained it to her team, that ever since azzi got drafted.

About how they should never, I mean ever let azzi open at the three point line or any line in general.

While her teammates listen in agony and say they understood her and she doesn’t have to say it over and over again.

But of course talking and doing is completely different.

Cause the second that ball landed on azzi’s hands, dijonai knew she was too late to block it.

Swish

“THREEEEEEE AZZI FUDD” the PA announced as the arena boomed loudly.

Azzi didn’t have to look back at paige cause she knew the blue eyes were already on her.

Dijonai looked at paige with her eyes wide open while Paige shifts her gaze from her girlfriend to her teammate while mouthing a clear and obvious

“What did I tell you.”

Q1 ended with 15-16 with Golden State Valkyries on the lead.

Second Quarter

Paige hates losing, and her team is currently behind by one point.

And that’s still losing.

So that’s why she decided to carry the second quarter after she kindly yet not so kindly huddled her group and reminded them why they needed to guard azzi more tightly after she scored 9 points from the three point line alone in the first quarter.

The team finally realizing why she’s been saying this so much was clearly caught off guard by how quick and effortless azzi does her jump shot and shooting storkes.

They were now on full court defense and subtly yet not so subtly guarding azzi like their life depended on it.

And azzi knew what was gonna happen.

Of course paige wasn’t gonna let anyone shoot in-front of her face and gets away with it

Not even azzi.

So when paige scored eleven points alone in the second quarter, she knew she awakened the demon.

The Valkyries knew they needed to step up in defense.

With twenty seconds left in the second quarter and 15 seconds left on the shot clock.

Paige crossed midcourt like she owned it

Kate tried to reach in for the ball—bad move. Paige spun past her, the ball barely kissing the hardwood. Veronica stepped up, trying to get paige to pass the ball to anyone but her.

Anyone is better right now than to have Paige holding the ball.

A hesitation shown on vericona’s face, confusion on what paige might do next, a shift, then—boom paige exploded forward, slicing through the lane like a blade.

The crowd held its breath.

With a smooth euro step as she neared the basket with two Valkyries towered upon her, both temi and kayla reading the room loud enough to block her before she shot.

But azzi knew paige better.

Azzi quickly yelled “GUARD ARIKE!” just as paige rapidly made a bounce pass towards arike who was right behind kayla before going for an easy open lay up.

The second quarter ended just like that.

The Valkyries took a second squatting and holding onto their knees as they took heavy breaths, while the crowd let out a deafening cheer.

Q2 ended with 32-26 with Dallas Wings on the lead.

HALFTIME

Third Quarter

Azzi was being guarded and blocked throughout the whole second quarter.

And for someone who is best known for her jump shot…

being block back to back wasn’t typically ideal.

Although she did a pretty good job in assists and rebounds on the second, the valkyries needed her to shoot.

She even overheard her coach thinking to bench her on the third if she keeps on not shooting

Azzi was furious.

She was not letting herself get benched.

She was also getting kinda pissed of at her girlfriend, cause part of this was her fault.

She was the one who told the her team to guard her more tightly.

‘Just wait until we get home’ azzi glared annoyingly on the back of her girlfriend’s head, slightly pouting hoping the blonde will get her angry signal.

Which was denied cause paige didn’t see her glaring.

Which made azzi even more mad.

The third quarter started with both of the respective teams fired up.

And azzi was not letting anyone blocking her this quarter.

She found every tiniest and possible chance to leave the person who was guarding her and shoot a quick swift motion shot.

Three’s? Two’s? Doesn’t matter, as long as the ball goes in the basket.

The valkyries and the wings go back to back in this quarter with azzi endless shooting and Paige endless assists and unexpected ways to get the ball through the hoop.

Last minute in the third quarter

Azzi was now up against paige.

Paige was in her stance, low and locked, eyes never leaving azzi’s.

The arena pulsed with noise, but in that moment, it all faded. Just the two of them— everything unsaid hanging in the space between.

Azzi dribbled once, twice, then crossed over sharp, the ball a blur.

Paige stayed with her, step for step, breath close enough to feel. But azzi didn’t flinch, a smirk suddenly flickering on her lips as she saw a way, she stepped back—smooth, confident—and rose for the shot.

Paige’s hand was there, almost grazing her fingertips, but the ball arced high, perfect, effortless.

Swish

Azzi landed. Her gaze still on paige, like the bucket was a message only she could read.

“I read that y’know” paige muttered as she grabbed the ball that fell perfectly into her hands, eyes still on azzi’s.

“I know” azzi said nonetheless, giving paige a small dimpled smile before heading back for defense.

Paige furrowed her brows on confusion, what was azzi trying to play on her now.

Until she realized—

The second paige was about to break eye contact with azzi, veronica stole the ball right out of her hands and went for a straight layup.

The buzzer rung

It can’t get anymore embarrassing than this.

Everybody is gonna troll her for being a simp now.

And azzi? She couldn’t be more happier.

Q3 ended with 54-51 with Golden State Valkyries on the lead.

Last Quarter

The arena was soaring with anticipation while paige was getting an earful words from her teammates over that last simpful turnover.

And paige admitted it was her fault.

I mean it’s the azzi fudd affect.

Who wouldn’t fall for that?

But this was the last quarter so she had to be more locked in, she told herself that she could stare at azzi all she wants after the game.

So she’ll just try her best not to on this one

Both teams were fired up.

Both teams were heavy on defense and went back to back on rebounds.

68-68

The crowd was holding their breaths

Thirty seconds left.

Azzi took the inbound, heart pounding, eyes scanning.

Paige was on her instantly—locked in, no room to breathe. But Azzi drove left, faked right, and pulled up at the elbow.

Paige quickly yelled “LYSS”

Mid-air, lyss lunged to contest—and clipped her arm.

Whistle.

The shot dropped anyway.

Two points. And-one.

The crowd went wild.

Azzi stepped to the free throw line, calm fire in her veins. One deep breath, one flick of the wrist—net.

Now up by three.

What a performance by azzi fudd.

The clock bled down to five seconds.

Paige got the ball near behind three, no time to think.

Azzi was there, shadowing her every step, but paige jabbed, stepped back, and let it fly from deep three.

Time froze.

The buzzer blared.

Swish

Tie game.

“OVERTIME.”

The arena exploded.

Fans jumped from their seats, some screaming, some lost of words, others just standing there stunned, hands in their hair like they couldn’t believe what just happened. It felt like the roof could rip off from the noise.

Paige smirked, turned and walked to the bench, eyes on azzi. That shot wasn’t for the scoreboard.

It was for her.

Azzi stared at her girlfriend in disbelief, shocked and not shocked at the same time, “of course she would do that” azzi scoffed but failing to hide her suppressed smile.

Q4 ended with 71-71 (tie)

OVERTIME — 5 mins

Tension wrapped the court like a storm cloud.

Fans stood.

No one was breathing.

Paige controlled the tempo, cool and deadly. She drove hard, eyes slicing through defenders, then zipped a behind-the-back pass to Lyss, who cut in from the baseline—layup, clean.

71-73

Azzi didn’t blink. She got the ball at the wing, Paige right there—too close, too personal. She jabbed, hesitated, then blew by her. One step, then another. Euro step through traffic.

Bucket.

Even paige exhaled—just a little.

73-73

Next play. Paige crossed half court, defenders swarming. She faked left, sent the ball whipping to Arike on the right—pull-up jumper, nothing but net.

73-75

Back and forth. Azzi answered again, this time from the corner, hand in her face. Still good. Arike slapped the floor in frustration

75-75

A minute left. The crowd? Unhinged.

Paige slipped a bounce pass to Dijonai, who bulled through a defender for two.

75-77

Thirty seconds.

Kate got the rock, this time guarded tight by Lyss, Paige shading over. She faked a handoff to Azzi, then exploded off a screen, driving hard into the lane. Paige recovered quick, forcing her into a midair twist—but Kate spun and tossed a slick no-look pass to the cutting forward underneath. Layup.

Tie game.

77-77

Arike threw the ball a little too hard, it goes out of bounce.

Timeout.

Valkyries ball.

The dallas wings fans all fell down on their kness.

Paige crouched near the arc, adrenaline humming in her chest. She knew where it was going.

Everyone did.

Azzi got the inbound near half court.

Five.

Four.

She took one dribble, stepped into the shot.

From almost half court.

The entire arena inhaled.

The ball sailed up.

Hung.

Fell.

Swish

Buzzer.

The crowd erupted like an explosion of thunder and fireworks—people screaming, jumping, pouring onto their feet in disbelief. Azzi stood still, fists clenched, jaw tight—but her eyes found Paige across the court.

And Paige?

She was smiling. No anger. No ego. Just pure, wild joy in her chest as she jumped up and down, like she’d just watched art unfold in real time.

Not because her team lost.

But because Azzi hit that shot.

And somehow… that was enough.

And finally she let out a breath of relief and smiled.

FINISH

80-77 Golden State Valkyries Win.

P’s point of view

She should’ve been mad. Should’ve felt the sting of the loss burning her chest. But all paige could think about was the way azzi looked when she hit that shot—that calm, locked-in face she only made when she was doing something epic. Something beautiful.

Paige let her teammates pass her in the handshake line, their claps and “good game”s a blur. She hung back on purpose.

Because she knew.

Azzi would be the last one too.

Always saving the best for last.

Their eyes met.

No words.

Not yet.

She stepped forward.

A’s point of view

The win was electric, yeah. Her teammates were bouncing off the walls, chest bumps and chaos. But none of it hit quite the same.

Not until she looked across the court and saw paige, standing there.

Waiting.

Azzi had known that shot was going in the second it left her fingers. But this moment?

This quiet walk toward the girl who knew every version of her—on the court, off the court, under the lights, and behind closed doors?

This was the part she felt in her chest.

She reached the end of the line, the noise behind her fading into nothing.

Paige met her there.

And for a moment, they just stared at each other.

Azzi extended her hand, a smirk teasing the corner of her lips. “good game, bueckers.”

Paige took it—but tugged her gently forward until they were chest to chest, arms wrapping around each other in a hug that wasn’t for the crowd.

Wasn’t for the cameras.

It was theirs.

Paige leaned in, her lips brushing against the shell of Azzi’s ear.

“I saw you hit that shot,” she whispered.

“And all I could think was… God, she’s mine. I’m so proud of you.”

Azzi didn’t pull away right away. Her hand stayed pressed against paige’s back, heart hammering under her palm.

“I knew you’d say that,” she murmured back. “That’s why I hit it.”

Enemies, officially.

But lovers?

Undeniably.

“You lost by the way” azzi said in an obvious tone.

“Who cares, my girlfriend just got her career high and hit a half court buzzer beater” paige scoffed.

“And I won’t lose the next by the way” she added chilly.

“Sure you won’t” azzi roller her eyes.

“You know I’ll always be your number one fan Az” paige whispered softly just for azzi to hear.

“I know, me too P” azzi closed her eyes, and hugged her tighter letting this moment linger a little bit longer.

Same team, different team, together or 1000 miles apart we gon ride till the wheels fall off.

- Paige Bueckers

#pazzi #paige bueckers #paige azzi fan fic #azzi fudd #paige x azzi #uconn wbb #uconn huskies #fluff #wnba #wbb

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rika-mmendmethings · 2 days ago

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Heart Shot | Zayne

Summary: It started as a coping mechanism — a secret, anonymous flirtation you expected to burn out with the help of a pink bow and silly notes. But every arrow you fire lands closer to something real — and the man you thought was untouchable suddenly isn’t dodging anymore.

Tag(s): Zayne x nurse! Reader, lots of fluff, pre-relationship fluff, hospital romance, written with female reader in mind, second hand embarrassment, mild archer! Zayne, silly people in love.

Word count: 2.7k

Now playing: Cupid by FIFTY FIFTY

Notes: Formerly titled 'Bullseye'. Just woke up to see I had hit 400 followers this morning and in celebration of that, I'm releasing my first ever fic of Zayne. Hopefully everybody enjoys it ♥

As one of the most seasoned nurses in the cardiac wing, you’d long since earned the trust of even the most demanding surgeons. Battle-tested in emergencies and headstrong in crisis, you were a pillar of calm in the chaos of the OR. But nothing — nothing — had prepared you for the battle that was raging in your chest: a hopeless, all-consuming crush on none other than the head cardiac surgeon himself, Dr. Zayne.

He was brilliant, reserved, maddeningly unbothered by the flurry of emotion that seemed to ripple through everyone else whenever he entered a room. You had worked alongside him for years, and while others found his cold, clinical demeanor off-putting, you somehow saw the warmth that flickered beneath it.

You prided yourself on the professional companionship you shared with him — mutual respect, shared jokes on occasion, the rare but treasured smiles he allowed himself when you said something that genuinely amused him.

Which made your recent blunder all the more mortifying.

During a high-stakes mitral valve repair just a few days ago, you had done the unthinkable. You were assisting Zayne, as you had many times before, and everything was running smoothly. Until he said, “Clamps.”

But instead of responding with your usual efficiency, your eyes were glued onto his hands. More specifically, the veins beneath the taut latex of his gloves. Your body reacted a second too late and the clamps slipped from your grasp and hit the sterile floor with a horrifying clink. You scooped them up in a panic and offered them anyway, and watched as the whole OR froze.

Zayne didn’t take them. Instead, he looked at you with such sheer incredulity that you instantly recalled every page of your surgical instrument sterilization manual in horrifying detail.

“That’s contaminated,” he said icily from behind his surgical mask, not even looking at you — just through you.

Your brain, fueled by pure shame and meme culture, offered the only response it could muster: “Um… five-second rule?”

Later, in his office, he let you have it. Not with shouting, of course. Zayne never did shouting. He did disappointment. And he was very good at it. After a solid ten-minute monologue on sterility protocols and ‘having expected better from someone with your experience,’ you left his office to crawl back into the earth.

You avoided him after that. You rerouted your coffee breaks and volunteered for shifts that didn't have him. You stayed alert just in case you got a transfer notice, which, fortunately, you didn't.

But avoiding Zayne only made your feelings boil hotter under the surface. You needed an outlet, something to release the idiotic affection swirling inside your ribcage. And that’s how you — an educated, credentialed nurse — ended up ordering a hot pink plastic Cupid bow and arrow set online at 2:12 a.m.

It arrived the next day: neon pink, the arrows tipped with heart-shaped suction cups, and laughably dramatic. It was a viral gag gift, popular with people who liked playing Cupid on social media. Except you had taken it a step further.

You wrote little anonymous notes with compliments, sweet nothings, medical pick-up lines and rolled them up, taping them to the arrows. Then you smuggled the toy into the hospital and hid it in your locker in the break room.

Your plan? Ambush Zayne by firing one arrow per day until your dignity or your license gave out. Either he’d laugh (hopefully), report you to HR (realistically), or — by some divine miracle — be touched by your ridiculous display of affection and fall madly in love with you (good jokes). Your feelings needed to go, and you figured nothing would kill romantic delusion faster than mortifying yourself with humiliating public displays of nonsense.

Day one

It was a crisp Tuesday morning at the hospital, the kind where the scent of antiseptic still clung thickly in the air from the early shift’s rigorous cleaning. The morning meeting had just ended, and like a tide retreating, doctors and residents poured out of the conference room in clusters, their footsteps echoing against the linoleum as they dispersed to their respective duties. The fluorescent lights above buzzed softly, and the sun streamed through the high windows in thin, filtered beams, casting a tired glow across the sterile white floors. The air smelled of antiseptic and fresh paper, tinged faintly with over-brewed coffee from the break room down the hall.

You stood tucked behind a concrete pillar near the east hallway, your back pressed flat against the cool surface, heart thundering. You could feel the absurd shape of the toy bow poking into your hip from under your scrubs where you'd awkwardly shoved it sometime ago to sneak it with you. The arrows, with their bright pink foam hearts, stuck out of your jeans pocket and you pulled your scrubs tighter to hide them.

You peeked around the edge of the beige support pillar you were currently using as camouflage, your breath caught halfway between a prayer. The hallway was almost empty now, save for the subject of your ridiculous affection, standing in the middle of it.

Zayne stood with one foot slightly turned out, clipboard in hand, jade eyes focused on the patient chart in front of him. His dark hair was slightly tousled in that infuriatingly perfect way, his lab coat flaring just a little at the back like he’d walked off a medical drama set.

You glanced around, eyes darting to make sure no one else was around. The coast was clear. He was engrossed in whatever file he was reading, completely unaware of what was about to happen.

From behind the pillar, you fumbled with the bow. It squeaked when you pulled back the string. Of all the props in all the stores in the world, you had to pick the one that squeaked. Your fingers, steady as steel in surgery, trembled now like they’d never known stability. You nocked the arrow with shaky fingers, adjusting the rolled-up pink sticky note you'd attached earlier.

“Okay, just center it… gently. Like placing a suture,” you whispered to yourself. A little pep talk.

Your hands were slick with nervous sweat. You held your breath. You had no archery training. Your only reference point was seeing some of the Deepspace hunters having a bow as their choice of weapon and firing it at the wanderers that had once invaded Akso Hospital. You aimed — or attempted to — for his heart.

The arrow veered slightly to the right, missed Zayne’s heart by a good foot and a half, and stuck squarely to the back of his clipboard. You gasped — then immediately ducked back behind the pillar, flattening yourself against it like a character in a cartoon, chest heaving.

Peeking out with one eye, you saw him pause his reading and slowly tilt the clipboard towards himself to inspect the pink projectile now suctioned firmly to its back. He glanced around, likely trying to identify the source of it but found none. He peeled the pink sticky note off with a neutral expression, unrolled the note deliberately, and read it.

You watched from the shadow of the pillar as his eyes scanned the words. The line of his brow eased and then one eyebrow rose by just a millimetre. A reaction so subtle it might’ve gone unnoticed by anyone else. But not by you.

And that was all the information you could process before the adrenaline got the better of you and you took off — straight down the hallway, hurried footsteps, cheeks aflame, the bow clutched to your chest like you’d just committed some sort of crime.

You didn’t stop running until you were safely back in the break room, where you shoved the bow, slammed your locker shut, leaned back against it, and gasped for breath like you’d just finished a marathon.

Day two

You’d been on your feet for hours — morning rounds, a consultation, two new admissions. You weren’t on a break, not technically, but your last task had wrapped up ten minutes early, and that meant only one thing in your world now: it was time for the next attempt. Most of your colleagues were either in their departments or catching a quick snack before the next round of patient visits. You were just returning after restocking supplies when you spotted Zayne.

He was standing at the water cooler near the far wall, just off to the side of the hallway, his back half-turned to the corridor. It was a quiet spot, mostly out of view. He had his lab coat sleeves pushed up, and he was leaning slightly forward as he pressed the little plastic lever and filled his paper cup. You hated how effortlessly attractive he looked doing nothing.

You felt your fingers twitch.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you doubled back towards the break room, pulled open your locker, and took out the bow and arrow set hurriedly. You grabbed one of the arrows and checked if the little rolled-up note you’d stuck on it earlier was properly sticking to it.

You found a spot near the corner where a big decorative plant provided enough cover. Thankfully, today’s chosen target zone was a less dramatic setting than yesterday’s corridor. You crouched down slightly, gripping the bow like you were trying to remember how human hands were supposed to work.

You loaded the arrow, biting your lip as you adjusted your grip. You had practiced a little more since yesterday — nothing formal, just a few shots in your apartment before your cat had attacked the dangling heart-shaped arrow and nearly broken your kitchen lamp.

Your plan for today was simple: aim for the cooler. Hit the wall just above it. Let the arrow bounce off near him with enough proximity that he would notice, but not enough to actually hit him.

You pulled back the string and let go. And the arrow zoomed off-course and smacked him square on the forehead. You instantly ducked back behind the plant, hands over your mouth, struggling not to burst out laughing.

Zayne blinked. The water cup in his hand wobbled slightly, and for a second, you thought it might tip over. He reached up, peeled the arrow off with a confused look on his face, and stared at it like it had just dropped from another dimension. He was reading the note now, his jade eyes trailing along the lines. You saw his mouth twitch, the corners of his lips quirking up. Not a full smile — more like the idea of a smile. It was the kind of expression someone makes when they’re trying very hard not to react, and they’re mostly failing. And then — he exhaled through his nose and shook his head once, walking back to his office with the little note and the arrow in hand.

You crouched lower behind the plant. There was a stupid grin on your face and your body was tingling in a weirdly giddy way. You waited a few more minutes before standing up and walking in the opposite direction.

Day after day, arrow after arrow, you let your absurd plan unfold. Each time, his reactions thawed another layer of his carefully guarded composure. You continued, a few arrows here and there — his locker, the break room, once even mid-presentation at the weekly surgical review meeting. Each time, he reacted the same way: unreadable at first, then just the faintest sign of amusement that fanned the foolish little flame in your chest. You’d catch him pocketing the notes as if filing them away for future diagnosis.

Then came today.

It was midnight when you finally found a pocket of free time. The patient charts had been signed, your shift duties temporarily in check. That’s when you decided for another strike. You knew Zayne had a short gap between procedures, and his office light had been on earlier. You’d been watching the hallway casually from the small corner where supply cabinets broke the line of sight. His shadow had passed by the frosted window in his office door twice since. You figured he was standing, maybe reading something, or maybe pacing.

Your plan was simple: Aim for the center of Zayne’s office door. Not his head, not his arm, not any part of him directly — just the door. You’d seen the shadow inside. He’d be coming out soon. You just needed the arrow to land when he would exit, let him notice it and make him smile again.

You nocked an arrow, tongue poking out in concentration, aiming for the center of his door. So focused were you on your target, you didn’t notice the soft footfalls approaching from behind — until you felt a warm hand wrap around your waist and another slide over your hand on the bow — just firmly enough to freeze you in place. The contact startled you so hard you nearly dropped the bow.

Zayne was right behind you, half-embracing you, correcting your form as if this were a shooting range and not a hospital hallway. His gaze was fixed forward, his tone calm and maddeningly unaffected.

“Your stance is off,” he said, voice low, like he didn’t want it to echo. His breath ghosted across your cheek as he pulled your body back against his. “You’re pulling too much with your fingers, not your back.”

You felt him ease you back just a little, accurately aligning your posture. His chest brushed lightly against your back, his arm sliding along yours to adjust your hold on the bowstring. His fingers were warmer than expected, calloused from years of surgical work, but the touch was careful, like he didn’t want to startle you more than he already had.

He deliberately adjusted your elbow with his hand and pulled your upper arm slightly back so the arrow sat straighter. The door to the office opened just then. You felt him release your hand. The arrow launched and landed with a splat on the forehead of Greyson, your colleague, who had just emerged from Zayne’s office.

There was a brief pause, followed by a loud “What the hell?” from Greyson as he struggled to peel the arrow off.

You couldn’t even laugh, too mortified by the presence beside you to do so. The shadow in the office had been Greyson — not Zayne. You shrank into yourself immediately, lowering the bow, trying to form some apology, but your brain had turned into static. You felt him step away from you. You expected him to walk away, or worse — scold you with that same sharp tone he’d used back in his office after the surgery clamp incident. But instead, he reached for the bow in your hands and took it gently.

Then, to your complete confusion, he picked up one of the remaining arrows from your quiver, dug into his coat pocket, and pulled out a blue sticky note. He didn’t say anything. He just wrote something, rolled it carefully, and stuck it to the arrow. Then he stepped in front of you, lifted the bow, and with a slow, deliberate shot — fired it directly at you.

The arrow landed cleanly on your chest, just above your heart.

You plucked it off gently, fingers fumbling slightly as you unrolled the blue note.

“Ever wondered what kind of combination archery lessons and freshly brewed tea might make?”

You stared at the handwriting for a second longer than necessary. Your heart dropped to your stomach and rose again in the same breath. You looked up at him — your face no doubt a disaster of color and disbelief.

He met your eyes for the first time fully, without avoiding or glazing over. There was a subtle lightness in the way he stood now, something more relaxed than usual. He was smiling — really smiling now. That slow, knowing curve of the lips that you’d never seen aimed at anyone else. He looked like a man who had been aware all along and was finally, finally joining the game.

Your voice came out softer than you intended. “I’d… love to know more about that.”

His smile deepened. “Friday. After your shift.”

And with that, he turned and walked away, leaving you speechless in the hallway, an arrow in your hand and a rapidly accelerating heartbeat in your chest.

Check out my other works if you liked this ♥

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bumblebeebats · 3 days ago

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Just watched V for Vendetta for the first time and guys, im losing it. Not because it was good, bc of fucking course it was, just as good as everyone always told me it was, but because in all the discussion I've heard about this movie over the years, no one ever prepared me for the fact that plot of the first half sounds like a Tiktok-bait dark romance novel. What if you were a beautiful young Natalie Portman orphan and you were attacked by bad guys, but were saved at the last moment by a mysterious masked manic pixie dream terrorist who ends up sort of accidentally kidnapping you for your own safety and locking you in his undergound hideout, except did i mention he's also clearly extremely rich and well-read and the curator of an unofficial museum of forbidden culture and art, and when he's not out murdering fascists or dorkily sword-fighting a suit of armor he's showing you his favorite black and white movies and cooking you breakfast in a frilly apron? What then? I mean sure, the months of psychological prison torture were a bit much, but let's be real, Colleen Hoover love interests have done worse

#he's even got a tragic backstory of being experimented on in a lab???? i mean come on?????#I mean this in the best possible way but: this man is one of my middle school OCs #he's even subtextually maybe trans!!#v for vendetta

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liuhsng · 2 days ago

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✩ˎˊ˗ always been yours ( nk ! ) — part 1

✩ˎˊ˗ part of the untouchable series | enhypen masterlist

⤷ pairing — ni-ki x fem!reader

⤷ part 1 | part 2 ⤷ word count — 18k ⤷ taglist for the series — open !

⤷ warnings — a/b/o au, alpha!ni-ki, omega!reader, fem!reader, foul language, arranged marriage au, childhood friends to lovers-ish, emotionally constipated alpha!ni-ki, reader is confused and overwhelmed, ni-ki is mad but also so clearly in love it hurts, angst, tooth-rotting fluff (kinda), mentions of the other parts from this series, not proofread

⤷ a/n — guess who’s back + you all are gonna hate me for the long ass edging and ni-ki’s monologues that are even longer, BUT I PROMISE YOU GUYS IT’S WORTH IT, I THINK. this one has a part two, don’t worry <3

✩ˎˊ˗ summary — nishimura riki has never been good at sharing. not his things, not his time—and definitely not you. his childhood best friend, his first love, the one person he thought would always be by his side, and the one person who left without warning five years ago. now, out of nowhere, you’re back. still familiar, still his, and suddenly surrounded by alphas who don’t know where they stand. ni-ki isn’t the type to say how he feels. but he’s also not the type to sit back and watch someone else try to take what’s his. especially not when everyone already knows who you belong to.

Nishimura Riki sat curled into the corner of the oversized couch, eyes fixed on the chandelier above him—some imported crystal monstrosity that probably cost more than most people’s cars. The afternoon sunlight filtered through it just right, scattering little flecks of rainbow across the pristine white ceiling. He stared until the colors blurred.

The estate was quiet. Not peaceful, not relaxing—quiet, in that eerie, suffocating kind of way that made everything feel too pristine. The high ceilings, stark white walls, and flawless marble floor all echoed with nothing.

No voices. No footsteps. Just the distant hum of the central air conditioning and the occasional clink of glassware from the kitchen staff.

He blinked once. Twice. Then let his head fall against the backrest, jaw slack with boredom.

“This house is too damn quiet,” he mumbled, the words barely above a whisper, but loud enough to bounce back at him in the emptiness. “What the hell…”

The estate was far from empty. Staff bustled in the background, dusting imported sculptures, adjusting blinds, organizing already-organized bookshelves. But they moved like ghosts, all too practiced in the art of being invisible. It only made the silence worse.

Konon and Misora were out shopping, some weekly ritual that he usually tolerated, but skipped today. Misora had whined at him through the hallway, arms full of tote bags and half-curled hair.

‘You’re gonna regret not coming when we hit Chrome Hearts!’

He didn’t budge. Just threw a hand over his face and muttered, ‘Call me if there’s a necklace I don’t already own.’

Now, of course, he was kind of regretting it.

His siblings were off having fun. His parents were halfway across the world, negotiating with business giants in Hong Kong. They were set to return Wednesday—he’d seen them off late Friday night, both dressed in clean-pressed suits, the car waiting outside.

They weren’t cold. Never had been. Just busy. Big names came with bigger expectations, and while the Nishimura empire had always demanded attention, they never let him forget he was loved—even when the world demanded more from him than it should.

Now, for a few days, he and Konon were in charge of the Korea-side operations. A temporary hand-off, something his father framed as a ‘trust exercise’ and his mother as a ‘chance to breathe before your real responsibilities start.’

Between student council duties, public appearances, and preparing to step into an upcoming board position—one that came with his name written in permanent ink—he barely had space to think. Still, he liked the pressure. It meant something. It meant he was being trusted with more.

Still… right now? He was bored out of his damn mind.

His fingers drummed against the sleek coffee table, tapping a restless rhythm before finally reaching for his laptop. If he wasn’t going to go out, he might as well catch up on council emails. Or finalize some documents. Or check how the stock pitch he greenlit was doing.

The screen lit up, blue light reflecting in his eyes. Dozens of updates stared back at him—messages, proposals, reminders he’d been ghosting on purpose. His friends were probably doing the same.

He scrolled halfheartedly, eyes skimming past council threads, finance reports, and that one email from his father’s assistant reminding him to review next quarter’s agenda. “I’ll do it later,” he muttered, even though later had already come and gone twice.

His friends were all busy, he knew that. Off playing house or pampering their Omegas like the lovesick idiots they were. Dates, getaways, brunches in private villas.

Even Jay—Jay, of all people—had gone suspiciously quiet. Which meant he was either fighting with his Omega, or spoiling her until she forgot why she was mad.

Not that he was jealous.

“Tch. Simps,” he mumbled under his breath, shifting to lay sideways on the couch, one leg draped over the armrest. “Y’all used to be fun.”

Ni-ki huffed, setting the laptop aside with a dull thud. His eyes flicked back to the chandelier.

Maybe next time, he would go shopping. At least clothes didn’t cuddle.

The low purr of the Lamborghini Revuelto finally died as Ni-ki turned the key, killing the engine with one smooth motion. The soft click of the door echoed faintly in the morning air as he stepped out, the matte black finish of the car gleaming under the early sunlight.

It was still early—maybe too early. Students milled around the front steps of the university, but he didn’t spare them a glance.

He reached over the passenger seat, grabbed his backpack, and slung one strap lazily over his shoulder, letting it hang off one side as he shut the door behind him.

His strides were unhurried, long legs carrying him through the main entrance with a kind of silent arrogance he didn’t even have to try for.

His custom-tailored uniform blazer fit like it was stitched directly onto him—dark navy with subtle embroidery along the cuffs and collar that only the observant would catch. The fabric clung just right to the broad lines of his shoulders before tapering down his waist.

His tie was a little loose, on purpose, and the crisp white shirt underneath had the top two buttons undone, revealing just enough skin to tease. A delicate silver chain glinted around his neck, resting against his collarbones, an understated but expensive piece he never left without.

Ni-ki tucked one hand into his slacks’ pocket, the other loosely holding his phone as he turned toward the open hallways instead of cutting through the inner buildings.

It was a good morning for a walk, anyway—the breeze was soft, the sky pale and washed out, and from the upper hall he had a perfect view of the school field stretching wide and green below.

His shoes clicked against the marble tile as he walked toward the council room, head slightly tilted like he was lost in thought—but that was just how he always looked. Effortless. Icy. Way too gorgeous for anyone’s good.

He could feel people staring—students whispering, trying not to be obvious. Some Omegas caught mid-swoon, quickly looking away. But again, he paid them no mind.

If they weren’t you, they never mattered anyway.

A real, audible groan that escaped his chest before he could stop it, echoing off the walls of the wide hallway and startling a pair of Betas who had been quietly chatting near one of the lockers. They jumped, blinking at him in alarm, and Ni-ki—usually too detached to care—glanced over with the faintest wince and offered an apologetic nod.

“Sorry,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

He hated this. Hated that even when you weren’t here, you still managed to occupy his head rent-free. It was annoying. Infuriating. Endless.

His mind, no matter how hard he tried, wouldn’t shut up. About you. About how you used to walk beside him in these same hallways, brushing shoulders. About the way your laughter used to echo, and how quiet it felt without it.

The doors to the council room loomed up ahead—tall, polished, regal. He reached out and pushed one of the heavy double doors open with ease, the brass handle cool under his fingers. The room was quiet—only the faint hum of the central air and distant footsteps filtering in.

Ni-ki made a beeline for his table and dropped his bag with a soft thud beside the mahogany table before settling into the leather chair like it had been waiting just for him.

His fingers ghosted over the glossy surface of the nameplate in front of him.

Nishimura Riki, Student Relations Director.

But instead of pulling out paperwork, or checking the meeting agenda, his hand moved to his phone. He turned it on without thinking—again.

He stared at it for a long second, his thumb hovering over the side like he might turn it off, shove it away, and focus on literally anything else.

“What the hell am I doing? This is pathetic.”

He was supposed to be better than this. Smarter. Stronger. He was a goddamn Alpha. He didn’t wait around like some love-struck idiot for someone who wasn’t even—

Ping.

His breath hitched.

Your name popped up on the screen, bold and glowing like some kind of divine sign from the universe. A simple message, probably something stupid or casual, but it made the corners of his lips twitch up in quiet, miserable glee.

my (y/n) [6:10 AM]: hi 🥱 good morning.

my (y/n) [6:10 AM]: well it’s morning in korea anyway 🫠 i haven’t slept yet ugh.

my (y/n) [6:10 AM]: i’m tired and cold and my brain is melting i want to go home already :(

Ni-ki’s heart squeezed.

He exhaled through his nose, letting his phone drop slightly into his palm.

Italy. Five years. You’d been gone that long, and yet not a single thing about you ever felt distant. Not really.

He could picture it now. You, curled up somewhere in your small European apartment, probably buried under your favorite duvet, only your face sticking out. Hair messy, eyes puffy from staying up too long again, your lips slightly chapped and your cheek pressed against a cold pillow you’d never remember flipping. You were exhausted and cranky and so far away.

And yet, you still looked good. You always did.

Even when you were tired. Even when you didn’t try.

His fingers hovered over the screen, then typed.

ni-ki [6:11 AM]: should’ve told me you were still up.

ni-ki [6:11 AM]: i would’ve called. even if you just wanted to hear my voice and knock out.

There. Calm. Unbothered. The lie practically rolled off his thumbs.

my (y/n) [6:12 AM]: you? offering to call? who are you and what have you done with nishimura riki?

He scoffed, the sound echoing too loudly in the silent council room. His hand reached for the chain around his neck, thumb grazing the silver habitually.

ni-ki [6:13 AM]: shut up. i’m always nice to you.

He hit send, jaw tightening.

ni-ki [6:13 AM]: go to sleep. you’ll get sick.

ni-ki [6:13 AM]: wrap yourself like a burrito or something.

He imagined you reading that—messy, puffy-eyed, probably smiling that small, sleepy smile that made something inside him ache in places he didn’t want to name.

God, you didn’t even try. And you still had him like this.

Still no reply. Still no typing bubbles. You were probably drifting off already, phone warm in your hand, heart somewhere far away from his, like always.

He sighed and gently placed the phone face-down on the desk.

Ni-ki leaned back in his seat, eyes fixed on the high ceiling, as if the answer to his confusion was hidden in the shadows of the chandelier.

He hated that someone so far away still felt this close.

His thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the sound of Jay’s unmistakable laugh, loud and careless as it echoed down the hallway. Ni-ki groaned audibly, dragging his hand down his face before turning to the council room door, just as it swung open with force.

Heeseung entered first, holding the door casually with one hand, and immediately spotted Ni-ki already at his desk.

The eldest’s steps faltered for a beat, eyebrows lifting in obvious surprise as he muttered under his breath, “What the hell…”

But of course, Ni-ki heard it. His pureblooded alpha senses didn’t miss a thing, especially not when Heeseung was only a few feet away.

He shot the older boy a flat look from beneath his lashes, dark eyes slightly narrowed in warning. A lazy glare—but one that said don’t even start.

Heeseung blinked, then tilted his head toward the hallway, calling back with casual disbelief:

“Guys, Ni-ki’s already here.”

Jake and Sunghoon appeared next, eyes scanning the room in disbelief as they walked in. Jay peeked around from behind Jungwon and Sunoo, clearly confused.

Their mates were right behind them. Hushed whispers. Quick glances. Giggles just a little too coordinated. Like a plan was being carried out behind enemy lines. Ni-ki’s eyes narrowed slightly at the girls, suspicious, his instincts tingling.

They were definitely up to something.

But before he could dwell too much on it, Sunoo’s mate caught him staring.

“Good morning, our little baby,” she cooed, her voice teasing but warm.

Ni-ki groaned again, dragging his palm over his face.

“I’m not a baby.”

Sunoo laughed as he headed for his desk. “He’s lying. He totally is.”

Heeseung threw his bag on his desk and eyed Ni-ki with mock caution.

“You’re not dying or something, right?”

Ni-ki rolled his eyes. “I woke up early.”

Jake raised a brow. “So you decided to come here of all places?”

“It was quiet.”

Jay laughed. “Keyword was.”

Ni-ki ignored them, slouching lower in his chair as the others all settled into their own seats—each desk personalized to their taste, decorated in varying levels of chaos or minimalism.

Jungwon clicked open his tablet, stylus tapping against the screen.

“We’ve got that department head meeting at nine,” he said casually, eyes flicking toward Ni-ki’s general direction.

Ni-ki just nodded, almost absently. One hand resting on the edge of his desk, the other fiddling with the corner of his phone.

Sunghoon didn’t miss it.

He walked over, leaned just slightly over Ni-ki’s chair, peering down at the younger alpha like he was trying to scan him for symptoms.

“Are you sure you’re not fucking dying?”

Ni-ki finally cracked a smile—small, lazy, but unmistakably real.

“Fuck no.”

Jay looked up from his planner, brows raised in that judgmental way only he could pull off so casually. “You sure?” he asked, tone deceptively light but eyes sharp—more serious than usual. “You seem kinda out of it.”

Ni-ki didn’t even blink. His voice came out smooth, quiet, practiced. “I’m good.”

He wasn’t lying. Not really.

But before the topic could fade, Jake suddenly pointed at him with the energy of someone who just solved a murder case. “Nishimura,” he accused, “you better not be in love.”

Ni-ki's eyes narrowed, head tipping to the side as if he couldn’t believe the words. “What the hell, Jake? As if.”

“As if?” Sunoo echoed, practically skipping into the conversation. “Please. (Y/N) wouldn’t like that.”

Ni-ki’s expression didn’t change, but his scent did. It changed—once light and crisp with notes of lime and amberwood, now sharp and bitter, the edges curling like paper touched by flame.

Jungwon’s mate leaned forward slightly, an amused lilt in her voice as she added, “Yeah, Ni-ki. What about (Y/N)?”

Heeseung chuckled under his breath, a soft, knowing sound. “Still thinking about her, huh? That’s kinda cute.”

Jay didn’t even look up from his planner. “Of course he is. Dipshit’s been into her since diapers.”

“She visits every holiday,” Jungwon pointed out, arms crossed but lips curled into a smirk. “And when she does? Ni-ki goes full golden retriever mode.”

Jake sighed, “Held the door for her. Offered her his hoodie. Helped me clean the council storage room while she was around. I’ve never seen him clean, bro.”

Jake’s mate slid into his seat, her legs draped neatly over one side as he stood behind her with one hand resting lightly on the backrest. She tilted her head and offered Ni-ki a teasing smile. “Poor (YN). She probably has no idea there’s a little Nishimura waiting for her back home.”

Ni-ki groaned, eyes slipping shut like the weight of their voices was physically exhausting. “I don’t like her.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then, a soft hum.

Sunghoon.

Low, barely there—but loud enough to dig under Ni-ki’s skin.

Ni-ki’s brows furrowed as he peeked an eye open, just in time to see the older Alpha tilt his head slightly, eyes still locked on him like he was trying to see right through the denial and pull the truth out by force.

“I really don’t,” Ni-ki repeated, firmer this time, more clipped.

Sunghoon didn’t blink.

The hum stayed with them, echoing in the air long after it ended. A quiet challenge, a dare to keep lying.

“Okay,” Jay muttered, sarcasm laced through every syllable. “Sure.”

Ni-ki turned to glare at him, “I’m serious.”

“Mhm,” Jungwon said from his desk, spinning a pen between his fingers. “You totally don’t talk about her every time she messages.”

“That’s literally not true.”

Jake snorted. “You literally smiled like a dumbass last week when she texted you.”

Sunoo leaned forward, smirking. “Didn’t even open the message yet, by the way. He just saw her name.”

The tips of Ni-ki’s ears started to burn. “Shut up.”

But they weren’t listening anymore. Not really.

Even Heeseung’s mate leaned back in her seat with an amused smile, sharing another knowing glance with Jay’s, both of them clearly deciding to let him simmer in his own denial for now.

Because Ni-ki wasn’t just stubborn—he was Ni-ki stubborn.

He’d rather die than admit it.

But even as he doubled down, slouching lower in his chair and scowling like it would hide anything, they could all see it: the softness in his eyes when he looked at his phone, the way his fingers hovered before typing, the way your name still made him falter.

He was stubborn, yes.

But they all knew what he didn’t want to say.

That he liked you.

Maybe more than liked. Maybe always had.

He flipped them off again, but even that was weaker now. The fire wasn’t in it.

The cafeteria was unusually quiet for a mid-afternoon. A few students passed through for snacks or late lunches, but the long stretch of tables remained mostly untouched, sunlight bleeding in through the tall glass windows and washing everything in pale gold.

The sound of wooden chairs scraping against tiled floors echoed as Jay dropped his tray down with a groan, slumping into his seat.

“That beta’s asking for it,” he muttered darkly, stabbing at his food. “Another word out of his mouth during proposal presentations and I will punch him. I don’t care if I get benched for a week.”

Jake chuckled, leaning back in his chair with a lazy grin. “You’re a walking pureblooded Alpha temper tantrum with muscles. Sit your ass down and breathe.”

Jay narrowed his eyes. “I am sitting. And breathing.”

“Yeah? Try not breathing for a minute. Might do us all a favor.”

Heeseung snorted from beside them, lazily flipping through the thick folder in front of him. “You two fight more than Jungwon and his mate during exams.”

“At least they apologize after,” Jake shot back.

Jay scoffed. “Yeah? Well, I apologize—sometimes.”

Jake leaned forward, elbows on the table now, eyes sparkling. “Right. Just like you almost apologized when you nearly started a fight over a statistical error.”

Jay’s scowl deepened. “It wasn’t just a statistical error. He said our estimates were flawed when it was literally his damn data set that skewed the chart—”

“Oh no,” Jake cut in, holding a hand to his chest with mock sympathy. “A chart, Jay? I’m so sorry for your loss. Want me to send flowers to your ego?”

Jay glared. “Thank you.”

“I wasn’t complimenting your ego, dumbass.”

While Jay and Jake continued to, Heeseung’s gaze drifted. Quietly. Thoughtfully. His eyes slid to Ni-ki, who hadn’t said a word since they sat down.

The youngest sat hunched forward, fingers ghosting over his untouched tray. He was spinning the bottle cap of his drink in circles, over and over again, his brows faintly furrowed, lips pressed into a tight line. His phone sat face-up next to his tray, screen black, unmoving. Waiting.

Heeseung leaned back slowly, chair creaking beneath him. “Ni-ki,” he called gently.

Nothing.

Jake looked up too, the humor slipping from his face. Jay went quiet beside him.

The beef Wellington on his plate—normally devoured in a heartbeat—was cut into unnervingly perfect cubes. Equal sides. Edges lined up like they were going to be submitted for inspection. His fork moved like clockwork, slice after slice after slice.

Ni-ki blinked. Slowly. As if being pulled from underwater. “Huh?”

“You haven’t touched your food,” Heeseung said.

“I’m not that hungry,” he muttered.

Jay blinked. “You good?”

“Fine,” Ni-ki muttered, not meeting anyone’s eyes. His voice was tight. His shoulders tense.

Jake frowned, then started rummaging through his bag. Papers shuffled, folders slapped against the table. “Shit,” he muttered. “Shit, shit, shit—”

Jay raised a brow. “What, did your IQ fall out?”

Jake rolled his eyes and started flipping through another folder. “No, I just—Jungwon gave me those event documents this morning and I think I left them in my other bag. Crap.” He slung his strap over one shoulder and stood. “I’ll be right back. Try not to let Jay pick a fight with the salad bar while I’m gone.”

“Low blow,” Jay mumbled.

“Try breathing,” Jake tossed over his shoulder before walking off, bag swinging against his side, the wooden floor creaking beneath his boots.

The table fell silent again.

Heeseung’s eyes didn’t leave Ni-ki. “Something’s up.”

Ni-ki shifted, jaw tense.

Jay leaned forward. “She still hasn’t called?”

Ni-ki exhaled through his nose. “Nope.”

Heeseung set down his pen and turned fully to Ni-ki. “How long has it been?”

Ni-ki’s fingers curled tighter around his knife. “A week.”

Jay let out a low whistle.

“I’m not freaking out or anything,” Ni-ki added quickly, running a hand through his hair, agitated. “I know she’s busy. I know she’s got… stuff in Italy. Just—usually, even when she’s busy, she texts. Or calls. Just for a minute.”

He paused. Stared down at his tray again.

“I’m just not used to her being this… distant.”

Heeseung sat back in his chair, watching him carefully. “You miss her.”

Ni-ki scoffed. “No, I don’t.”

“Ni-ki.”

“I don’t!” He looked up, eyes sharp. “It’s not—look, I’m not going insane.”

Heeseung raised a brow.

“I’m not,” Ni-ki repeated, voice flat.

Jay leaned in, elbows on the table. “You sure? Because you’ve been checking your phone every five minutes like a rejected Omega.”

Ni-ki glared. “Screw you.”

Heeseung held his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay. Not insane.”

“Just perfectly composed while cutting food into geometric shapes.”

“Shut up.”

Jay bit back a grin. “We’re just saying… it’s okay to care.”

“I don’t care.”

No one said anything. But they didn’t need to.

The way Jay looked at him, the way Heeseung’s expression softened, the way Jake had noticed it even before leaving—they all knew. They saw it.

Ni-ki slumped slightly in his chair and muttered under his breath, “I’m gonna kill her when she calls.”

Jay smirked. “You mean kiss her when she calls.”

“Say that again and I’ll make you eat that damn folder in front of you.”

The long council room was dimly lit by late-afternoon light pouring through tall windows, warm but heavy—the kind that made your eyes sting if you looked too long. Papers scattered the polished mahogany table, coffee cups lay abandoned at every corner, and the air was thick with exhaustion.

Sunghoon stood at the front, sleeves rolled, a pen in one hand and stress in the other.

“If we reposition the second-year booths by the south exit, we can free up space for the open performance stage,” he said, turning slightly. “Ni-ki, student relations—your call?”

Ni-ki didn’t even need the cue. He was already standing at the front beside Sunghoon, arms crossed, eyes locked on the giant screen like he was about to burn holes into it.

“We’ve got issues,” he said plainly. “Four different booth leaders complained about miscommunication. Some were sent the wrong drafts. One got their schedule three days late. I gave my team everything they needed. They still dropped the ball.”

He didn’t look at them. Didn’t need to. The guilt alone from his tone was enough.

He didn’t spare them a look. Just pointed to the next slide—a familiar layout titled in your handwriting: ‘Memory Garden.’

“This stays,” Ni-ki said. “(Y/N) built this. You all know that. It’s tradition.”

Silence.

Then a voice from the back—casual, cocky, and very much older.

“Nishimura, with all due respect,” a fourth-year Alpha drawled, reclining just slightly in his seat, “it’s a little sentimental, don’t you think? We could go digital. More efficient, less space. Feels… outdated.”

Ni-ki didn’t even move, he didn’t have to.

He just raised an eyebrow—slowly—like a predator sizing its prey, like he couldn’t believe someone so pathetically ordinary dared to speak with that tone.

The silence was deafening as his scent turned bitter.

It laced the air like frost crawling over skin, like metal against teeth. The kind of scent that made your instincts curl inward, unsure if you should fight or flee—but knowing damn well you wouldn't survive either.

The air grew heavy—oppressive. The cocky Alpha visibly stiffened. His smirk faltered, just slightly, when Ni-ki raised a brow, eyes gleaming with quiet fury.

It wasn’t just dominance; it was a reminder. A statement.

That despite being barely nineteen, Nishimura Riki was the most dangerous Alpha in the room at the moment.

The unknown Alpha across the room visibly faltered. His voice died on his tongue. The confidence drained from his posture, spine straightening as his jaw clenched tight. He was trying to hold composure, but his throat bobbed in a swallow too forced to hide.

Because Ni-ki wasn’t just an Alpha—he was a pureblood.

His eyes carried centuries of power, his aura an inheritance sharpened by years of restraint, calculation, and silent fury.

And when pushed, he didn’t hesitate to bare his canines.

Sunghoon, still next to Ni-ki, immediately placed a firm hand on his shoulder. His grip was steady, a silent warning: breathe.

Across the room, Heeseung mouthed silently from his seat, “Don’t.”

Across the table, Jungwon sat still, eyes locked on the exchange. Sunoo glanced at him, both ready to intervene if something physical broke out.

But Ni-ki didn’t explode. He didn’t lash out.

He leaned into cruelty like it was an art.

Ni-ki tilted his head, “Say that again,” he said, voice almost amused. “Go on. I dare you.”

The older Alpha blinked, struggling to breathe properly under the pressure, but Ni-ki didn’t let up.

“Tell me, old man,” he said with a sweet venom, “do you make a habit of disrespecting things you don’t understand, or is this just a hobby?”

“Because unless you’ve stood in that Garden at 11:52PM watching someone read a letter they never got to say in person—unless you've seen people leave pieces of their hearts there, maybe keep your mouth shut about what’s outdated.”

Even Sunghoon’s hand on Ni-ki’s shoulder wasn’t enough to cut through the tension.

“Get your mutts under control, Sunghoon,” he said, voice dry as bone. “You don’t want the marketing team to get tainted.”

Sunghoon didn’t argue.

Because despite being the youngest among them, Ni-ki didn’t go unheard.

He turned on his heel, calm and precise, and sat back down, crossing his arms.

But the damage was done.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward, it was terrifying.

Every council member outside of his circle sat still, stiff-backed, like any movement might get them noticed. Like any breath might set him off again.

The only people unaffected were his friends.

And the empty chair beside him—still waiting for the one person who could’ve softened that storm.

The only one he might’ve listened to.

But you weren’t there.

It was already past seven.

The overhead lights had dimmed automatically to their evening setting, casting a faint golden glow across the long stretch of the council room. Most of them had already gone home.

The once-lively chatter, the shuffle of papers, and the light clinks of glass tumblers were long gone. The silence had taken over—and it was starting to settle into Ni-ki’s bones.

He moved slower than usual.

His hand skimmed over the final page of a student affairs request form that needed triple verification before he could sign off on it. The edges were slightly crumpled, not from the printer, but from how long he’d been holding it. Reading it once. Then again. Then one more time. The words were starting to blur together, but he refused to admit he needed a break.

His desk was still cluttered. A few printouts from the last meeting, two untouched energy drinks, a pen cap he hadn’t seen in half an hour. He stacked what he could, aligned the folders, straightened the corners—desperate for something to control.

Ni-ki’s scent, once sharp and bitter from the earlier altercation, had dulled down to something faint and cold. He didn’t even notice how quiet his breathing had become until a soft clack snapped him out of it.

A cold americano. Placed carefully in the only clean space on his desk.

He blinked up, dazed.

Jay stood across from him, not saying anything at first. Just watching.

“I know you’re big and all,” Jay said finally, voice steady and low, “but don’t forget to take care of yourself.”

It wasn’t condescending. It wasn’t a joke. It was genuine—but it came from a place only few got to see. Jay—not exactly warm, but never careless. When Jay looked after someone, it was without spectacle.

He adjusted his bag over one shoulder, then turned slightly toward the door.

His mate was waiting.

She stood just outside the council room, leaning lightly against the frame, a book in her hand. When she noticed Ni-ki looking, she offered him a small, knowing smile.

Jay reached her first, slipping his fingers into hers with ease like they’d been doing it for years. No words passed between them. They just turned and walked off together, steps soft against the polished floor. A quiet, normal kind of love that felt almost too far away.

Ni-ki was alone again.

His stared at the cup Jay left behind.

He didn’t drink it.

He just sat there, staring at the small patch of condensation forming beneath it. He could smell the faint caramel notes drifting upward, mixing with the sharp scent of ink, old paper, and whatever remained of his own presence in the room.

Ni-ki leaned back in his chair.

Exhaled.

But it didn’t make the silence go away.

Ni-ki stared at it again. The plastic lid was already fogging, the condensation slipping down like teardrops onto his paper-strewn desk. His fingers twitched beside it, but he didn’t move to touch it. Not yet.

His eyes dropped to the swirl of ice floating inside. The cold brew was pitch black, just the way you used to drink yours. Just the way you taught him to drink it.

He hated coffee before you.

Didn’t see the point in it. Too bitter, too acidic, too unnecessary.

But then came you, with stars in your eyes and a smile that could bend galaxies. You showed up in his kitchen at 7:14 a.m., wearing his hoodie and hopping on your toes because “Riki, I got it this time, I finally found the right beans!”

You made that stupid cup like it was magic—pouring, stirring, humming along to some playlist he never admitted to liking. You grinned when you handed it to him, fingers brushing his. “Trust me, this one’s different.”

And it was.

Not because of the flavor. But because of you.

He exhaled through his nose, fingers finally reaching for the cup. He didn’t drink it. Just held it—like the cold would bring you back.

The room was too quiet. The overhead lights buzzed low, casting long shadows over the scattered council documents he still hadn’t finished.

Just as he leaned down to grab another folder from under his desk, the door creaked open.

Ni-ki didn’t flinch, but his eyes flicked up.

Sunghoon stood in the doorway, shoulders slouched, brows furrowed in tired disbelief. He blinked once. Twice. Then sighed—long and loud.

“I knew it,” he muttered, stepping inside. “I literally came back just to grab the membership forms I left under my seat and—yep. Of course. You’re still here.”

Ni-ki didn’t look up. Just thumbed through the folder he’d picked up.

“You could’ve asked someone to send them to you,” he said, voice flat. Dull. Worn.

“I could’ve,” Sunghoon replied, making his way over to the table and picking up a stray form, “but then who would’ve found you half-dead over three different budget proposals and a black coffee you didn’t even buy yourself?”

Ni-ki paused.

Sunghoon stared at the untouched drink. “Jay?”

Ni-ki gave a slow nod.

Sunghoon gave a slower hum. “Figures. Romantic-ass bastard. Can’t go thirty minutes without checking on everyone.”

Ni-ki didn’t reply.

Sunghoon crouched slightly to look him in the eyes. “You good, kid?”

“No,” Ni-ki muttered honestly.

Sunghoon didn’t push further. He just nodded, then picked up his folder and tapped it against the table. “Go home, Ni-ki. You’re not going to win a medal for burning yourself out. This isn’t a contest.”

Ni-ki’s lips quirked just a little at that. Barely.

Then, under is breath, low and dry, “Fuck it.”

Ni-ki reached for his car keys, fingers closing around the familiar weight. He didn’t bother fixing his desk—left the half-signed documents scattered, coffee cold and untouched. Everything about him screamed done, drained, empty.

He straightened up slowly, the exhaustion pressing down on his shoulders heavier than it had all day.

“Thanks,” he said, voice quiet. Sincere in a way Sunghoon could always tell.

Sunghoon didn’t say anything back. He just gave the boy a nod—one of those rare, wordless acknowledgments between Alphas who’d already said too much with too little. Despite all the snarkiness, all the sharp-tongued remarks, Sunghoon knew Ni-ki meant it.

The council room door creaked as Ni-ki slipped through, Sunghoon turned back to the folder in his hand, but something tugged at him.

He looked over his shoulder.

Ni-ki was already halfway down the hall, swallowed by dim lights and the soft sound of his footsteps echoing against the tiles. His shoulders were tense, head low, blazer shifting ever so slightly with each step.

And for someone who had half the fourth-years shaking in their seats just hours earlier, for someone who could silence a room with nothing but his presence,

It always amazed Sunghoon how quiet Ni-ki could get.

He shook his head to himself, lips twitching into something that wasn’t quite a smile. Just a knowing expression. The kind only older brothers wore when they watched the people they cared about unravel in silence.

And then he let the younger Alpha go.

Let the hallway swallow him whole.

Because even the most dangerous ones needed time to fall apart.

The parking lot was still. A vast stretch of silence interrupted only by the low hum of distant streetlights and the lonely tap of Ni-ki’s footsteps against the pavement.

His breath misted in the cool night air as he walked—brisk, sharp, like he was trying to outrun something that kept catching up anyway. The entire campus had quieted down, lights dimmed, the night wrapping around the buildings like a blanket too thin to keep out the cold.

But he didn’t feel it.

Or maybe he did, and just didn’t care anymore.

His car chirped as he unlocked it., the soft beep of the unlock chime sounding way too cheery for the chaos inside his head. The glow of the overhead light hit the sharp lines of the car’s body, sleek and perfect—just like everything in his life was supposed to be.

He didn’t even pause before throwing the door open and getting in.

Slam.

And then another—this time, his fist meeting the steering wheel.

Once.

Twice.

A third time before he dropped his forehead against it and let out a slow, jagged breath.

“Fucking hell…” he breathed, the words bleeding into the wheel, into the silence, into himself.

It was pathetic. He knew it. But he didn’t care.

He could replace the steering wheel. The door. The whole damn car if he wanted. He had the money. The bloodline. The name. He could buy a hundred more.

But not you.

His eyes lifted lazily, tired and unfocused, to the rearview mirror—and there it was.

A pair of Chrome Hearts dice dangled from the frame. A stupid little thing. The color a little worn. But he couldn’t bring himself to take it down.

You gave it to him.

Well, Konon gave it to him, with that ridiculous dorky grin on her face. She practically skipped into his room with the box tucked under her arm like it was some national treasure.

“(Y/N) made me smuggle it from Europe,” she said, flipping her hair and rolling her eyes. “Said you wouldn’t accept it if it was from me. Dumbass. Just take it. It’s from her.”

He had. He’d taken it and tried not to smile, tried not to care—but hung it up in his old car anyway. That was four years ago. When you both were fifteen. Before everything went to shit.

Before you left.

Before your family decided to uproot everything and send you to Italy to “represent the brand” or whatever other bullshit they spewed while tearing his best friend away from him.

He hated it.

Hated how your departure was packaged like some prestigious opportunity when it felt like mourning.

Hated how no one—not even his other friends—could fill the space you left behind.

You were gone. For four whole years.

And he was still stuck here, with the memory of the way your laughter used to echo down the hallway before class, the way you always stole bites from his lunch, unapologetically.

And the way you curled up in his passenger seat like you belonged there.

Because you did.

He let his eyes fall shut, fists clenching in his lap.

“I miss you,” he whispered.

But he swore—if there was ever a way to bring you back,

He’d burn every ocean.

Tear down every empire.

Shatter every glass tower that kept you caged.

He didn’t care if it meant razing the legacy his family bled for—didn’t care if it made enemies of kings and heirs and councilmen alike. Ni-ki would take the fire in his chest and scorch the ground with it, would throw gasoline over everything that stood between him and the memory of your voice saying his name like it meant something.

Because the truth was—he never needed an empire.

He just needed you.

And he was willing to burn everything else.

Ni-ki didn’t even remember turning the key in the ignition. He just knew the engine growled beneath him like it shared his grief, his fury. The moment the wheels kissed the concrete, he was off—headlights slicing through the darkness, taillights nothing but angry red flares in the mirror he refused to look into.

The radio was on full blast.

Heavy bass thumped through the leather seats, vibrating in his bones. He wasn’t listening to the lyrics. He just needed noise. Something loud enough to shove your name out of his head for even five damn seconds.

But even with the speakers screaming, all he could hear was you.

The moonlight poured in through the windshield like silver ink, brushing over the sharp angles of his jaw, casting shadows over his eyes. He didn’t blink. He barely breathed. Hands gripped the wheel tight, knuckles white, a vein ticking in his temple as the streetlights flickered across his windshield in rhythmic flashes—light, dark, light, dark—like time was mocking him.

It was already past eight in the evening and the streets were mostly empty.

Just like him.

He hit 80. Then 90. He wasn’t racing, wasn’t aiming for some high. He just didn’t want to stop. Because if he did, if he pulled over, if he let the silence catch up—your memory would gut him all over again.

His foot pressed harder.

It wasn’t until the streets around him began to change—morph into something achingly familiar, that he finally slowed.

The neon signs faded into the distance. Storefronts disappeared. Streetlights thinned. And soon, it was just him, the low hum of the engine, and the long, winding road leading back to the one place that had always been both a cage and a sanctuary.

Home.

He exhaled sharply through his nose as the long stretch of black iron fencing came into view. It ran for what felt like forever: perfectly polished, laced with security cameras, motion sensors, and the weight of old money.

Despite the vastness of the property—despite the multiple houses, endless gardens, koi ponds, and state-of-the-art surveillance—it still felt like home.

He slowed as the sleek black gates came into view, their ornate designs curling like iron vines, expensive and ancient all at once. The embedded sensor flashed once, recognizing his car, and another small panel blinked for biometric scan.

Without thinking, Ni-ki lifted his left hand, thumb pressed lightly to the glowing panel. It scanned. Clicked. Green light. Open sesame.

The gates parted with a soft mechanical hum, sliding inward with slow, ceremonial grace. The moment he started rolling past the line, he gave a lazy two-finger wave to the guards on shift. They stood by the security booth like statues, dressed in crisp black, nodding in perfect sync at their young master’s return.

The driveway stretched endlessly ahead—paved in sleek black stone that glinted faintly under moonlight. Modern lamps lined the path, casting pools of warm golden light over the road. On either side, carefully manicured hedges gave way to pockets of traditional Japanese flora—hydrangeas, plum blossoms, and an entire slope of red camellias, all planted under his mother’s request, nurtured lovingly by his youngest sister.

The contrast of sleek minimalism and delicate, heritage blooms was jarring.

Ni-ki rolled his window down halfway, letting the wind slip through. The air smelled like summer grass, cherry wood, and something cool and clean—something he could never bottle, no matter how hard he tried. He let his fingers brush against the door as he drove, the night air catching on his skin like a balm, easing the edge off his headache.

And then—there it was.

The estate.

Bathed in the soft glow of perfectly placed exterior lights, it looked like something out of a damn magazine. Floor-to-ceiling windows, tall white columns, a flawless mix of stone and wood and marble.

The main house rose up like a monument to status—high ceilings, sharp architecture, glass balconies, and a circular driveway that looked more like a courtyard for royalty.

There were already five cars parked out front.

He recognized all of them immediately.

The sleek white 911 Porsche S Cabriolet sat crooked near the steps, roof lazily half-drawn, clearly abandoned. His.

He was too tired this morning to park it properly—just left it there after pulling in from some errand, not even bothering to toss the keys to a valet. No one touched his cars anyway. Everyone knew better.

He didn’t bother to look at the other cars parked next to his. They were probably his siblings’.

Or some of their friends.

He didn’t care.

Ni-ki coasted to a stop, tires crunching softly over the gravel arc near the front steps. For a moment, he didn’t move. Just sat there, engine still running, hands loose on the steering wheel.

He sat in the stillness for a beat longer than necessary, exhaling once before dragging himself out of the driver’s seat.

The cool night air brushed past him as he lazily lifted a hand, offering a half-wave to one of the guards stationed near the door. The man, used to this kind of greeting, didn’t even blink. Just bowed his head slightly and pushed open the massive black double doors, their weight creaking open against gold hinges.

Ni-ki didn’t wait.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t take off his shoes even though their staff would lose their minds about it later.

Straight through the entrance, past the grand staircase, down the hallway glowing with recessed lights—right to the kitchen.

The fridge clicked as it opened, bright light casting sharp shadows on his face. He grabbed the first bottle of water he saw, cracked it open with one hand, and downed nearly half of it in one go.

Only after swallowing did he finally breathe.

Then, without thinking, he shrugged off his bag and dropped it on the marble counter, the weight of it landing with a dull thud. It slid a little, but he didn’t care enough to fix it.

He blinked at the still-open fridge, the soft hum filling the silence as cool air drifted out. His hand stayed on the water bottle while his eyes scanned the shelves blankly.

Should he cook? Ask one of the chefs—probably holed up in one of the other kitchens? Maybe just order takeout and disappear upstairs again?

He didn’t even know what he was in the mood for.

But he was still staring at a half-sliced lemon cake and a bowl of leftover curry when—

“Riki?”

He tensed, barely.

And then his eyes shifted—just in time to see Misora peeking into the kitchen through the archway.

She was already out of her uniform—dressed in an oversized hoodie, her hair a little messy, socks mismatched. Her cheeks were flushed like she’d been lying face-down on the couch for too long, and there was a faint line across her cheek from her pillow. She must’ve been home for a while already.

Ni-ki blinked, caught off guard again.

Still always surprised when she looked at him like that.

Despite being an Alpha herself, loud and capable and sharp in every way, Misora adored him. Like really adored him. In the way only a younger sibling could: fiercely, unapologetically, and without question.

Before he could say anything, she was already walking over, arms outstretched, expression soft.

“You didn’t say bye this morning,” she mumbled, hugging him around the waist and pressing her face into his chest like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“You didn’t wake up,” he muttered back, voice quieter than he expected.

“Still.”

He sighed through his nose. But his hand came up anyway, resting lightly on her back.

“You’re suffocating him.”

Konon.

Still in her uniform—an altered version of his, the same dark navy-blue, but tailored just a bit differently to suit her older year. The blazer sleeves slightly long. A silver pin with their family crest glinting proudly on her chest.

She looked tired.

Like she'd been home for a while now. Maybe an hour. Long enough to drop her bag and pull her hair back, but not enough to actually relax.

Still, a small smile tugged at her lips when she saw the two of them.

“No, I’m not.”

Ni-ki let out a small huff of laughter. The smile tugging at the corner of his lips was quick, barely there, but real.

Eventually, Misora pulled away with a sigh and made her way toward one of the cabinets. She rummaged for a snack—pulling out some dried seaweed, a bag of crackers, and something sweet—and padded out toward the living room without another word.

Konon stayed.

Ni-ki looked down at the bottle in his hand. Unscrewed the cap. Took another sip. Avoided her gaze.

She didn’t move for a moment, simply watching him as he stared into the fridge like it held answers to more than just his next meal. After a few seconds, Konon let out a quiet sigh and leaned her shoulder against the archway, arms loosely crossed.

“Listen,” she began, voice calm but lined with something heavier. “Mom and Dad called.”

That made Ni-ki raise a brow, though he still didn’t meet her eyes. He reached further into the fridge, pretending to examine some leftover salad he wasn’t interested in. “Are they coming back?”

“Yeah,” Konon replied. “In a few days.”

There was a small pause before she added, more carefully, “Mom wants me to help plan this little party with some of our business associates.”

Ni-ki let out a dry, sarcastic huff. “What does that have to do with me?”

As the words left his mouth, he instantly noticed it—Konon’s scent shifted. Normally mellow with notes of cedarwood and soft citrus, it now carried a subtle sharpness. Not angry, just… disappointed.

He shut the fridge door with a quiet thud and exhaled deeply. “Sorry,” he muttered under his breath.

Konon shook her head, brushing it off with a tired smile. Her voice softened, steady. “I need you to oversee the guest list. That’s all. I’ll handle the rest.”

Ni-ki finally looked at her.

There was exhaustion behind her eyes, but not resentment. Just the kind of quiet responsibility she always carried.

And she wasn’t asking because she wanted to dump something on him. Their mom, for all her grace and busy presence, meant well. They both loved her dearly.

“Alright,” he said after a second. “Just the guest list.”

Konon nodded once. “Just the guest list.”

Ni-ki nodded again, the motion slow and quiet, before brushing past his sister with a brief shoulder tap—a silent apology. He didn’t say anything else, didn’t have to. Konon didn’t stop him either.

His footsteps echoed softly against the polished flooring as he padded down the hall, the stillness of the estate wrapping around him like a second skin. The lights were dim in the corridor, casting long, gold-streaked shadows on the walls from the recessed sconces.

He reached the main staircase, the centerpiece of their home: wide, double-curved, with sleek glass rails and dark-stained steps softened by the faintest carpeting. He paused at the top for a second, resting his hand on the railing.

Ni-ki exhaled through his nose. Then, with quiet footsteps, he made his way up.

The sun hung low, golden and lazy across the wide-open school field, casting stretched shadows of bleachers across the grass. There was a steady breeze—enough to tousle hair and rustle the loose pages of someone’s notebook.

They were all scattered, each in their own pocket of comfort, but close enough that their voices overlapped.

Heeseung stood near the side rail of the bleachers, gesturing with one hand as he talked to Jay. His voice was borderline exasperated.

“Coach canceled again. That’s like the third time this month. I swear, if he shows up next week without a solid game plan—”

Jay just shrugged, hands in his pockets, cool and unbothered. “Then we wing it like always. You run, I catch. That’s the only game plan we’ve ever needed.”

Just a few feet away, Jake and Jungwon were lounging in the grass, backs against their bags, tossing small blades of grass in the air.

“I hate citrus,” Jake muttered, eyes squinting up at the sky. “Especially the sharp ones. It just screams 'trying too hard’.”

Jungwon made a face. “That’s literally your scent.”

Jake paused. “…Yeah but it smells different on me.”

“That's what everyone who reeks of citrus says.”

A short distance off, Sunoo and Sunghoon had migrated closer to the center of the field, throwing a football back and forth—not seriously, but with enough force that the occasional grunt escaped them. Sunoo shouted when Sunghoon faked a fast throw.

“Dude! I swear if that hit me—”

“You’d finally wake up,” Sunghoon grinned.

And on the bleachers, laptop balanced neatly on his lap, Ni-ki sat slightly hunched forward, the only one not involved in the chaos. His fingers tapped rhythmically against the keys, checking off names from a growing spreadsheet.

The glow of the screen made his sharp features look even more focused under the soft sunlight. His lips moved as he hummed something quietly under his breath—barely audible unless you were sitting right beside him.

“Mr. Seo… plus one,” he mumbled, eyes narrowing at the screen. “No, wait, didn’t he divorce—oh, right, the new fiancée.” He adjusted the name. “Mrs. Cha… alone. Of course.” Tick. Highlight. Add.

Every now and then, his gaze would flick up—to watch the football fly past Sunoo’s head or to glance briefly at his friends wrestling over which cologne was better—but mostly, he remained quiet. Focused. Efficient.

The laptop’s brightness dimmed slightly in the sunlight, but Ni-ki didn’t seem to care. He just adjusted his posture and kept going, drawing from memory and Konon’s voice notes. He'd been helping piece together the guest list for the upcoming dinner party all morning, and now, with the field as his office and the noise of his friends as background music, he was halfway through finalizing it.

A line from one of Konon's messages played in his head again: "Just make sure to filter out the names Dad wouldn't want near a press leak, and Mom doesn’t want any ex-business partners with grudges. The rest is yours to handle."

He snorted softly at that. As if this was just a simple birthday party and not some socially-loaded minefield.

Still, he worked.

His fingers danced over the trackpad, ticking names off and re-highlighting others. His brows furrowed as he squinted at a particular name and cross-checked it against an old file folder Konon had sent him.

Jay plopped down beside him, legs spread carelessly, half a bottle of sports drink dangling from his hand.

“Still doing work?” he asked, glancing at the screen. His voice held that familiar tone of teasing, but there was a lilt of curiosity too.

Ni-ki sighed, rubbing his temple briefly before nodding.

“Yes. The list isn’t gonna curate itself, and Mom already moved up the RSVP deadline.”

Jay whistled lowly. “Sucks to be born into power.”

“You’d know,” Ni-ki muttered, lips twitching.

They sat in easy silence for a moment—Jay picking at the label on his bottle while Ni-ki scrolled through a segment marked Potential Additions.

Jay leaned over slightly. “You know Mr. Kim from KM Associates?”

Ni-ki’s eyes flicked up. “Uncle Kihyun’s old friend?”

Jay nodded. “Apparently caught in a hush-hush embezzlement scandal three years ago. Didn’t make headlines, but my dad won’t touch anything he's involved in now.”

Ni-ki made a face. “Great. He’s on the maybe list. I’ll flag him.”

“Yeah,” Jay said, almost too casually. “I also heard he tried to pitch a merger to your mom once. She declined and then suddenly his company dropped from top five to top fifteen real quick.”

Ni-ki snorted. “That sounds like Mom.”

Jay laughed, leaning back on his elbows. “Remind me never to get on her bad side.”

Just as Ni-ki was about to ask another question—maybe about the Park family’s current link to the Yamadas, or whether anyone on the board was still secretly beefing with the Sohns—his screen suddenly flickered.

The rows of the guest list glitched—just slightly—and then Konon’s business profile picture appeared in the corner of the Excel sheet, signaling an active collaboration user.

Before he could process it, his phone buzzed against the bleachers.

A call from Konon.

Ni-ki answered, holding the phone loosely to his ear. “Hello?”

Her voice was rushed. Tight. “Riki, I got it handled from here. Thank you.”

He blinked, confused. “What?”

“I said I got it,” she repeated, firmer this time. “From here. Don’t worry about the list anymore.”

Ni-ki’s brows furrowed, his eyes flicking to the screen where her cursor was already jumping through rows—highlighting, deleting, replacing. The box around ‘(L/N) Industries’ was gone.

“Wait—how did you know I was working on it just now?” he asked slowly. “You didn’t even call until a second ago.”

Konon didn’t answer at first.

“I just did. Don’t worry about it, alright?”

He stared down at the moving cursor—her cursor—as she quietly took control of everything he’d been doing for the past hour. Replacing whole columns with new names. Shifting event tags. Editing notes.

Something about it made his stomach tighten.

“You’re removing people,” he said, voice even.

“I’m curating,” she replied, clipped.

“You’re hiding something.”

“Riki—”

He raised a hand in defeat, sighing softly despite knowing she couldn’t see it. “Okay,” he muttered. “Fine. You got it.”

She paused, and for a second he thought she might say something else.

But the line went dead.

And the Excel file returned to static silence, like nothing had happened at all.

Ni-ki closed the laptop slowly, his jaw tightening. Jay was still beside him, half-watching with a furrowed brow, but Ni-ki didn’t say anything.

He just stared out at the field in front of him, where the rest of the boys were laughing over something Sunoo had shouted. But that calm, easy atmosphere didn’t settle in him.

His scent changed—sharply. From the usual cool and clean tang of lime and amberwood to something more bitter. Stiff. Like stormy air clashing with citrus. Jay’s laughter died almost instantly as he straightened up, his nose wrinkling.

“Whoa,” he muttered, looking over. “You good?”

Ni-ki didn’t respond at first. His lips moved, barely a whisper. “Something’s not right.”

Just then, Jungwon jogged up from the field, a bottle of water in his hand, brushing grass off his sweats. “What’s not right?”

Ni-ki rubbed a hand through his hair, frustration building beneath his skin. “Remember the dinner party?” he asked, voice low. “The one we’re all being forced to attend?”

Jungwon exchanged a knowing glance with Jay and nodded. “Yeah. Your mom’s event, right? Big deal, full of shareholders and foreign names.”

“Right,” Ni-ki said, jaw tightening further. “Well, Konon just called. She said she’s taking over the guest list.”

Jay frowned. “Didn’t you already finish, like, half of it?”

“I did,” Ni-ki snapped, more at himself than them. “I was still working on it. Literally in the middle of finalizing groups. Then boom—her cursor pops up on the sheet, and next thing I know, she’s editing everything.”

He blew out a sharp breath and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, head hanging low. “She’s never done that before. She doesn’t even touch logistics unless it’s already been approved.”

“What did she say when you asked?” Jungwon asked, slowly sitting beside them.

“That she’s got it handled. That I should drop it.” He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Didn’t even explain how she knew I was working on it in the first place.”

Jay leaned back, arms crossed. “You think she’s hiding something?”

“I don’t know,” Ni-ki muttered. “She sounded… rushed. Panicked. And then she just ended the call like that.”

He snapped his fingers.

“I know Konon. She’s always careful. She doesn’t slip like this. Unless something’s really, really wrong.”

Jungwon tilted his head slightly. “So what now?”

Ni-ki looked up at the horizon, the sunlight fading just enough to cast everything in a soft gold hue. But despite the warmth, the pit in his stomach only grew heavier.

“I don’t know,” he muttered again. “But I’m gonna find out.”

A week flew by like a blur of tension, whispers, and sleepless nights.

Now, just hours before the dinner party was set to begin, Ni-ki sat stiffly in front of the mirror in his luxury hotel room, jaw clenched and eyes sharp as the stylist behind him carefully fixed the last few strands of his hair. The faint scent of hairspray and expensive cologne floated through the room, but it was Ni-ki’s bitter scent that clung to the air the most.

Across the room, Sunghoon caught his glare through the mirror and raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, I already told you—you’re not getting through your sister.”

Ni-ki narrowed his eyes further, lips pressing into a thin line.

“She’s a vault, man,” Sunghoon continued, flopping onto the bed beside Jake who was still in his white shirt, buttoning his cuffs slowly. “You're secretive, sure, but Konon? She’s got, like, emotional security clearance level ten.”

Jake huffed a laugh. “He's not wrong. I’ve never seen someone dodge questions with such elegance.”

“She's been like that since we were kids,” Ni-ki muttered, tugging at the sleeve of his black suit jacket once the stylist stepped away. “But this is different.”

Sunoo wandered in through the open door, already dressed and styled to perfection, twirling a ring on his finger. “Honestly? It’s kind of impressive how tight-lipped she is. You could threaten her with a full media leak and she’d still blink once and walk away.”

Heeseung, who had been lounging by the loveseat with drink in hand, chimed in casually, “Yeah… she scares me sometimes.”

Sunoo turned to him with a teasing grin. “Aren’t you older than her?”

“So?” Heeseung replied with zero shame. “Age has nothing to do with fear. That girl could run an entire war campaign and I’d flee to the next country.”

Jake snorted. “Same, actually.”

Ni-ki rolled his eyes and turned back toward the mirror, adjusting his collar. “I just don’t get it. She said she’d handle the guest list and then locked me out of everything.”

“You think she’s actually hiding something?” Sunghoon asked, more serious now, propping himself up on his elbows.

“I know she is,” Ni-ki said, voice low. “I don’t know if it’s to protect me, Mom, or something else entirely—but it’s not just about business.”

A thick silence settled in the room.

The stylist—clearly sensing the shift in atmosphere—gave a polite cough, bowing slightly. “That’s all, sir. You’re all set.”

Ni-ki didn’t look up. He simply gave a short nod. “Thanks. You can go.”

The man gathered his things and slipped out quickly. The moment the door clicked shut, Ni-ki lifted a hand toward the bodyguard standing by the door, all in black with an earpiece tucked behind one ear.

“Lock it,” he said coolly, voice colder than before.

The second the lock settled, it was like the tension holding Ni-ki together cracked.

He slumped back into the chair with a heavy exhale, shoulders sinking and head tilted back to the ceiling. The Alpha mask he wore so easily, so flawlessly in front of strangers, shattered the moment he was left with people who saw through him.

He groaned suddenly—raw, irritated—dragging both hands down his face, then cursing under his breath. “Fuck this stupid hair,” he muttered bitterly.

He didn’t dare run a hand through it, not with how much gel and effort went into it—but the urge was there. His jaw clenched, and his leg bounced furiously under the table, ticking like a clock ready to explode.

“I can’t do this,” he snapped, more to himself than anyone else. “I can’t do this. I don’t even know what I’m walking into tonight. I don’t know anything—because apparently I’m not important enough to be told.”

The others stayed silent, watching him quietly. No jokes. No teasing. Just serious, soft gazes laced with concern.

“Konon’s shutting me out like I’m some intern. I’m supposed to co-host this dinner and I’ve had zero say since she took over the planning. Not even Mom’s talking about it—Dad’s gone ghost—none of them are saying a word and I’m supposed to just smile and wave?”

He looked up at the ceiling again, biting down hard on his frustration.

“But the part that kills me?” His voice dropped, sharp and shaking. “The part that keeps me up every night?”

He looked at them, and for once, his eyes weren’t hard or calculated—they were haunted.

“It’s been two weeks. Two weeks,” he said, voice cracking ever so slightly. “And I haven’t heard anything from her.”

The room stayed still. He didn’t even have to say your name—they knew who he meant.

“Not a text. Not a call. Not even a ‘saw your name in a magazine.’ Nothing.”

He swallowed hard and forced out a laugh—bitter and broken. “Do you even care about me anymore? Are you even alive? Or did I seriously mess things up so badly you don’t want anything to do with me?”

Sunghoon looked down at the floor, brows knit in quiet empathy.

Jake shifted forward slightly like he wanted to say something, but held his tongue.

Heeseung stared at him like watching someone bleed out and not knowing how to stop it. “Ni-ki…”

But Ni-ki just shook his head.

“I’m supposed to stand there tonight like everything’s fine,” he whispered. “Smile for the cameras. Shake hands with people I don’t trust. And all I keep thinking is… why hasn’t (Y/N) called?”

The silence in the room was no longer thick with tension—but with grief.

Sunoo sat on the edge of the bed, hands laced together as he stared at the carpet. “We’ll figure it out. Tonight, whatever happens, we’ve got you.”

Ni-ki didn’t respond for a second. Then, he gave the smallest nod.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime.

Ni-ki stepped out first, shoulders square and chin held high, his tailored black suit hugging every sharp angle like it was made to command attention. Behind him, the rest followed in step.

They hadn’t even reached the carpeted hallway before the first camera flash exploded from behind the velvet ropes.

“Shit,” Jungwon muttered under his breath, eyes narrowing at the mass of press clustered along the hallway wall. “Already?”

“Of course they are,” Sunoo replied, not breaking his stride. “Half the country’s waiting to see which family screws up first.”

“Keep walking,” Ni-ki said lowly, not even looking their way. His eyes were locked straight ahead on the grand double doors at the end of the corridor. “Let them look.”

Another wave of flashes erupted. Shouts of names followed.

“Jay! Look this way—just a second—”

“Ni-ki, who are you wearing tonight?”

“Lee Heeseung, over here!”

Jungwon lowered his head slightly, pace picking up as he brushed past the rope barrier. “Keep up,” he hissed under his breath, “we are not stopping here.”

The closer they got to the entrance, the quieter it became. The velvet-rope crowd thinned. The air grew heavier. Thicker.

Two tall men in suits stood posted on either side of the grand doors, earpieces in, eyes sharp. One of them held a clipboard. Guestlist in hand.

But as soon as he caught sight of them, he didn’t even lift the pen.

His partner followed without a word, mirroring the motion, eyes down. “Sirs,” one of them murmured, voice strained with barely concealed tension. “Welcome.”

Jay smirked sideways, not even slowing down. “Didn’t even ask for names. Damn.”

“Do they need to?” Heeseung muttered dryly, adjusting his cuffs without a glance. “We’re on a list all our own.”

Sunoo gave a tiny, knowing smile. “Front page, probably.”

The guards stepped aside in perfect sync, each pulling open one of the towering mahogany doors with reverent precision. The gold handles gleamed under the overhead lights.

Every heel in the room stilled.

Every whisper died.

The world hushed itself.

Only the soft swell of classical strings floated in the background, a lonely violin solo echoing across the hall. The chandelier light caught against the marble floors, glass walls glittering with the view of the skyline outside—but no one looked anywhere else.

All eyes were on them.

Heads turned as they passed. Older businessmen stiffened in their chairs, whispering low into their glasses. Women in designer gowns clutched their clutches tighter, posture straightening, eyes trailing their every step with silent calculation.

But no one dared to approach.

Not a single soul.

Their assigned table sat near the center, circular and elevated slightly above the rest. White silk tablecloth. Diamond centerpiece. Seven empty chairs.

Before they could even sit, a quiet shuffle of movement came from the left.

Ni-ki’s head snapped toward it—along with the others.

Konon.

Clad in black satin, with her hair twisted into a sleek bun and silver ear cuffs glinting under the chandelier—commanding as ever, eyes sharp like she'd read the entire room the moment she stepped in.

Sunoo lit up instantly. “I mean, time is relative.”

“You and your excuses,” Konon replied smoothly, smirking at him.

Sunghoon gave her a casual nod. “We blame Jungwon. He needed extra hair spray.”

“Yah!” Jungwon scoffed. “That was Jake, actually.”

Jake blinked in mock offense. “Excuse me? I look like this naturally.”

Heeseung grinned, throwing an arm around Jungwon. “He’s lying. He took forever trying to decide between cufflinks.”

Konon rolled her eyes but there was warmth in it. “You’re all a mess.”

“Well, hi guys,” she added, softer now—one hand briefly resting on Sunoo’s arm before offering a glance toward everyone. Her voice was low but steady, the kind that made people lean in even in a room this loud.

Everyone else was watching—and when Konon greeted them like they were just friends catching up, every conversation in the ballroom died down.

And the people holding their breath finally exhaled.

The tension in the room dissolved into classical music once more.

Konon tilted her head slightly. “Food’s going to be served in a few.”

“Thank God,” Jay muttered, placing a hand over his stomach. “I’m starving.”

“You can go for seconds,” Ni-ki added dryly

“Ha. Ha.” Jay shot back, flipping him off under the tablecloth.

Konon smiled again. This time, it was a little softer. “I’m sitting with your mates a few tables down. They’ve been waiting for you guys, you know.” Then, a wink. “Well… minus Ni-ki.”

“Oh we’re ditching you, sorry,” Heeseung said quickly, already pushing back his chair.

“Don’t wait up!” Jake added with a grin.

“Thanks, Konon!” Sunoo beamed as he gave her a quick side hug and darted off.

As soon as they turned toward the direction she motioned, their eyes lit up. There, at a table bathed in soft light, their mates were already waiting, happily chatting, laughing gently over the little snack dishes already placed at their spots.

Jay’s girl looked up first, her face lighting up the second she spotted him. Sunghoon’s mate waved him over. Sunoo was already jogging halfway there, calling her name softly like he hadn’t seen her in months.

It was warm. Safe. Familiar.

And Ni-ki didn’t move.

The moment the others left, the grin slipped off his face.

He didn’t even bother pretending anymore.

His eyes slowly flicked toward his sister, gaze sharpening like a blade being drawn from its sheath.

He raised a brow, cold and flat. “What do you want?”

Konon let out a soft sigh, folding her arms over her chest. “I’ll say sorry later. Properly. Not when we’re at risk of becoming a headline about dysfunctional siblings at a high-profile dinner.”

Ni-ki scoffed. “Too late for that.”

“I’m being serious,” she said, a bit firmer this time. “Come with me. Please.”

Ni-ki didn’t move.

For a second, he just stared at her like she was speaking a different language. Then, jaw ticking, he exhaled hard through his nose.

“…Fine,” he muttered.

He pushed his chair back, and followed.

They moved through the edges of the ballroom, the golden lighting slowly dimming behind them as they slipped past the heavy doors once again—this time not into flashing cameras or stares, but into a quiet hallway off to the side.

The contrast was immediate.

Soft cream walls. High, arched ceilings. Pale white curtains gently swaying from the open windows, guided by the cool evening breeze. Their shoes made little sound on the carpeted floor, but every step still felt heavy.

Ni-ki walked with his hands shoved in his pockets, shoulders hunched. “So… where exactly are we going? Or are you just kidnapping me now?”

Konon didn’t look at him. “Relax.”

“Are we far enough from people in case we yell at each other?”

She didn’t answer.

Instead, they walked a few more paces in silence. The air between them was awkward, tense. The kind of silence you only get between siblings who haven’t talked in weeks but know exactly what’s waiting once the first real sentence drops.

Ni-ki glanced sideways at her. “You’re walking like you’re about to stage a coup.”

Konon finally let out a breath that almost—almost—sounded like a laugh. “I am the oldest. It’s in my contract.”

He rolled his eyes, but his mouth twitched. Just barely.

The hallway opened up ahead of them, and they came to a stop in front of a pair of tall double doors, dark walnut polished to a perfect gleam. Ornate gold trimming curled across the panels in luxury, and the faintest hum of chatter could be heard behind them.

Two bodyguards stood posted at either side, dressed sharply in black, expressions unreadable, each with an earpiece and that signature stillness of people trained to move only when necessary.

Ni-ki’s brows furrowed slightly. “Where are we?”

Konon didn’t answer right away.

Instead, she stepped a little closer to the guards, who immediately straightened at her approach. One of them reached out to grab the handle—but she held up a hand.

“Give us a second.”

They froze. Nodded. Stepped back.

Konon turned toward Ni-ki again, her eyes serious now. Older sister serious. The kind of serious that meant he wasn’t going to like whatever was about to happen.

“Before we go in,” she said quietly, “you need to know something.”

Ni-ki’s shoulders tensed. “Konon—”

She shook her head, cutting him off with nothing more than a look. “You’re going to get your explanations. I promise. Just… not all at once. Not right now.”

“Why?”

“Because if I told you everything, you’d do something reckless. And I need you to be steady right now.” Her voice dropped just a little. “For her. And for yourself.”

Ni-ki’s eyes narrowed. “Her?”

Konon gave him a tight, unreadable smile. “You’ll see.”

She turned slightly, about to gesture to the guards again—but then paused, her hand hovering mid-air.

“And, Riki…”

He looked at her, something in his chest pulling tighter by the second.

“When we walk through that door… don’t hate me for hiding this from you.”

Ni-ki blinked, heart stuttering.

“What the hell does that mean?” he asked, voice low.

Konon finally dropped her hand, giving a small nod to the bodyguards.

“You’ll understand,” she said. “In time.”

Click.

The door cracked open.

Ni-ki stood frozen for a second, brain scrambling, heart pounding, hands twitching like they didn’t know whether to fight, flee, or brace for impact.

He shot her a look—half confusion, half warning. “Konon—”

“For now,” she said gently, “just… enjoy what’s waiting.”

And with that, she stepped through.

Ni-ki stood there, stuck between twenty questions and a rising wave of something he didn’t yet have the name for.

The room was nothing like he expected. It was quiet, not the kind of silence that echoed, but the kind that was filled with warm low voices and clinking silverware. The chandelier light bathed everything in a soft golden hue, flickering against polished wood, floor-length curtains, and ivory linens.

A single, long table anchored the center of the room. Thick linen tablecloth. Gleaming utensils. Plates already set. The air filled with low murmurs and the gentle clink of silverware.

Ni-ki’s feet slowed the second he saw the people seated around it.

His parents were there. He’d expected that, of course. Their presence was a given. Their names practically built into every invitation and RSVP.

But beside them, seated just as naturally, as though they belonged there—your parents.

Your mother and father. Dressed in formal but relaxed attire, both looking years younger than he remembered. Your dad spoke with his father, voices pitched low, and your mother sat angled toward his, sipping wine with easy familiarity, like they’d done this dinner a hundred times before.

And on the far side of the table was his youngest sister. A soft smile played at her lips as she glanced up at him. She gave him a wave—then turned back down to focus on the neat slice of strawberry cake placed delicately on the small dessert plate in front of her.

Ni-ki blinked.

Something twisted in his stomach.

He flicked a quick, sharp glance toward Konon, who stepped just beside him.

She didn’t even bother looking sheepish this time. Just sighed and pressed her fingers to his back to guide him forward.

Years of training. Pure-blooded polish. His face slid back into a perfect neutral mask, just a notch below warmth, just above unreadable.

“Good evening,” he greeted, bowing his head slightly.

His mother looked up first. A graceful smile bloomed on her face, her pearl earrings catching the light as she leaned back.

“There you are. We were wondering if you’d gotten lost on your way,” she teased.

His father chuckled behind his glass. “Or caught up messing with your friends again.”

Ni-ki only smiled, smooth and thin. “Konon dragged me into something. It took longer than I thought.”

“Sounds about right,” your mother chimed in, eyes twinkling. “She’s always been a bit theatrical, hasn’t she?”

“Occupational hazard,” Konon murmured with a smile of her own as she slid into the chair beside Sora.

Your dad leaned back slightly in his seat, looking Ni-ki over. “You’ve grown,” he remarked, a spark of admiration in his tone. “It’s strange seeing you at this height. I remember when you used to fall asleep under banquet tables.”

Ni-ki let out a short, practiced laugh. “I still might. Just more discreetly now.”

The adults laughed softly—like the gentle hum of politicians mid-negotiation. Measured. Controlled.

He moved toward the empty chair directly across from them, beside Konon, and took a seat as if it didn’t feel like the room was upside down.

He still didn’t know what was happening.

He didn’t know why this was happening.

Why your family—your family—was seated so comfortably with his.

And why the only seat left open was the one directly beside his.

Ni-ki’s knuckles brushed the linen as he adjusted in his chair. The smile on his face hadn’t slipped. His heartbeat had, though—somewhere back at the doorway.

“I heard things have been… tense at the Academy,” your mom began gently, her voice motherly in that way only someone used to veiled questions could manage. “Sunoo mentioned something about new council protocols?”

Ni-ki nodded once, keeping his tone diplomatic. “We’re adjusting. The juniors are more… expressive. That’s all.”

Your dad chuckled. “Means you’ve been cleaning up after them, huh?”

Ni-ki tilted his head with a slight smirk. “Someone has to.”

Sora let out a tiny laugh behind her glass of juice.

Your dad leaned back in his chair, wine glass cradled in one hand as his eyes narrowed slightly—not in suspicion, but with the sharpness of a man who didn’t waste his attention on things that didn’t matter. And right now, Ni-ki mattered.

“How are things going on your end, Riki?” he asked, tone smooth, but firm. “I heard you’ve been sitting in on executive meetings lately. Your father's grooming you for the board, isn’t he?”

He forced a polite nod, the practiced kind that made it look like he was at ease. Like he wasn’t processing the fact that the father of the person he liked was now casually discussing board succession plans with him.

“It’s… a lot,” he said with a short exhale. “But manageable. I’ve been shadowing most of my father’s regional division calls and started reviewing the trade contracts for the Pacific wing.”

“And what about the delegation team?” your father asked. “The ones under you—handling that well?”

Ni-ki tilted his head slightly, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve. “They’re responsive. A little rigid, but that’s expected. I’ve been rotating project leads weekly to build adaptability.”

Next to him, Konon raised a brow with a slight smirk—someone’s rehearsed.

“Sounds like you’re doing more than just adjusting,” your dad said, clearly impressed. “You’ve always been sharp, but I didn’t expect you to take on leadership this fast. You’re what, seventeen?”

“Nineteen,” Ni-ki corrected smoothly, hiding the way the compliment made something coil tight in his chest.

Your dad chuckled, setting down his glass. “Could’ve fooled me. You handle yourself like someone already wearing the title.”

“Thank you, sir,” Ni-ki replied, offering a small, respectful smile.

Your mother leaned in with a smile. “It’s good to know the future’s in good hands. I’d trust my stocks with you, Riki.”

Ni-ki gave a gracious nod, even as his thoughts spun.

This wasn’t just dinner.

This was a test.

Ni-ki’s hand hovered over the glass of water he hadn’t touched since he sat down, the polite mask plastered on his face slowly starting to peel beneath the pressure of a question he couldn’t ignore anymore.

He turned slightly toward your father, gathering just enough courage to speak.

“Sir, I was wondering—” he began, voice even, calm, steady—

The doors opened.

It was soft. Barely a sound. But to him, it was a quiet crack of fate.

The low murmur of the room halted. Heads turned. Chairs subtly adjusted.

And then came you.

You stepped in like the room had been waiting on you all night.

Wearing a floor-length black dress that hugged your frame like it had been made from midnight itself. It clung to your waist, dipped along your back, and fell perfectly to your ankles, swaying gently like it knew it was being watched.

Your heels clicked softly against the marble floor. Not loud. Not proud. But with every step, the air felt heavier.

Nishimura Riki’s world stopped.

Your hair was styled effortlessly—every strand in place, cascading over one shoulder like a painting come to life. Your makeup was clean, polished—just enough to make your eyes glow, cheekbones soft yet sharp, lips tinted a shade he swore he had never seen before and yet somehow recognized.

You looked up.

Eyes scanning the table, drifting gently, until they met his.

Ni-ki swore the room fell into silence. Like the gods themselves had pressed a finger to the world and whispered, look.

You blinked, once. Your breath hitched. Not enough for anyone else to notice, but he saw it.

And for a second—just a second—Ni-ki wondered if this was it.

If all those quiet prayers he never spoke aloud had finally been heard.

If the nights he spent staring at his ceiling, aching with something unnamed, something shaped like you, had finally amounted to this moment.

Or if the gods were playing with him again.

Dangling you just close enough to touch, only to remind him that he shouldn’t.

That he couldn’t.

That beautiful things weren’t made for people like him—people who had too many rules stitched into their skin.

You looked at him like you knew something. That pull. That ache. That dangerous softness sitting between you.

He didn’t know whether to scream or beg or fall to his knees and thank the heavens for letting him see you like this, even if it was temporary. Even if it wasn’t real.

His thoughts were spiraling. Heart climbing out of his chest. Voice caught somewhere behind the ache in his throat.

“Sorry I’m late,” you said gently, smile still warm, still so you.

The sound of your voice snapped him back like a whipcrack to the ribs.

Before you could even reach your seat, Ni-ki stood up so quickly it startled his water glass—just barely tipping it before he steadied it with a swift hand.

He cleared his throat. “Let me.”

You paused, just for a moment, your smile faltering into something softer, something more private, before you nodded and whispered, “Thank you.”

Ni-ki reached for the back of your chair, fingers steady despite how fast his pulse was hammering beneath his skin.

He pulled it out, eyes flicking to you once—just once—as you adjusted the hem of your dress and moved to sit. As you leaned slightly forward, a few strands of your perfectly styled hair slipped out of place.

Without thinking—God, he didn’t even think—his hand moved.

Fingers brushing lightly against your temple, he tucked the hair behind your ear.

You blinked up at him.

He just nodded and stepped back, sliding the chair forward gently as you settled as he returned to his seat beside you.

The conversations around the table slowly resumed—your fathers discussing quarterly reports, logistics, and partnership forecasts like this dinner wasn’t completely shifting the axis of Ni-ki’s entire world.

Like you weren’t sitting right there, your scent light and expensive and so achingly familiar it hurt to breathe.

Ni-ki didn’t look at you.

Instead, he glanced across the table and locked eyes with Konon.

And when his eyes narrowed in a glare—sharp, questioning—she only gave him a small, tight smile. One that was smug and kind all at once.

“Hi, Riki,” you said, voice low, just for him.

He closed his eyes briefly.

Just one second. One breath.

And let out a sigh—his nth one that night.

God, he was so tired of holding back. Of pretending he didn’t miss you when you were just a breath away.

But he didn’t meet your gaze, he couldn’t.

So instead, he kept his eyes trained on the table.

“You look…” He trailed off, the word caught somewhere between his lungs and ribs.

Unreal. Divine. Unreachable.

“…nice,” he finished, cursing himself.

Your lips twitched, just barely. “Only nice?”

Ni-ki didn’t answer at first. His gaze flicked down, just once—taking in the curve of your dress, the way the lights kissed your skin, how calm and devastating you looked all at once.

His jaw ticked.

“I really don’t have much to say,” he muttered finally, voice low and clipped. “I mean—” He laughed under his breath, but it was sharp and humorless. “I haven’t heard from you in what? Two weeks? And now here you are. Just…” His eyes flicked to yours, stormy and unreadable. “…sitting next to me like nothing happened.”

Your heart clenched at the sound of his voice—hoarse, rough around the edges, like it had clawed its way through his throat.

He wasn’t yelling. But that made it worse. He was controlling his emotions and that was far more dangerous than him being angry. Controlled Ni-ki meant he’d thought about this. Felt it. Over and over.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like that,” you said quietly, the words tumbling out. “I wasn’t even supposed to leave Italy, Riki. Everything happened so suddenly. I didn’t get a chance to—”

“To what?” he cut in, still soft, still composed, but with the kind of tension that made every syllable burn. “Say hello? Say anything?”

You sucked in a breath. Your hands had gone cold. “I didn’t want to make it worse.”

“Oh, worse?” he echoed with a short, humorless laugh. “Yeah. No, don’t worry. Two weeks of silence and wondering where the hell I stood with you wasn’t worse at all.”

You opened your mouth, but he wasn’t done.

“Do you care about me or not?” he asked, finally looking at you. His voice wasn’t raised—but the weight behind the question was shattering. “Just… answer me. Please.”

The words caught in your throat. You felt his eyes—dark, pained, beautiful—locking you in place like gravity itself was made of him. The room around you blurred, a soft hum of chatter and glasses clinking in the background, but it was like the two of you were sealed in your own bubble of aching silence.

“I do,” you breathed. “I do care.”

He looked away immediately. Like hearing it hurt more than not knowing.

You hated how good he looked tonight—how the curve of his jaw tensed with every emotion he tried to bury, how his broad shoulders shifted beneath that sleek, tailored suit like even his clothes couldn’t cage the storm inside him.

And his scent—warm, smoky, something distinctly Ni-ki—had been wrapping around you slowly, inch by inch, clouding your focus, weakening your walls.

“Riki, I didn’t have a choice.”

“You always do,” he muttered. “You just never choose me.”

You swallowed hard, your throat thick with guilt and longing and all the feelings you’d spent weeks trying to forget. Your hands were trembling under the table.

“Riki, I’m sorry,” you said quietly. “Everything just got… so busy. So fast. I didn’t mean to disappear like that—”

Ni-ki let out a breath that wasn’t quite a laugh. It was sharp, bitter, quiet enough that no one else at the table noticed. His eyes didn’t meet yours.

“Right,” he said. “Too busy.”

You winced. “I wasn’t trying to avoid you.”

“You didn’t try at all.”

The words landed with a weight you weren’t ready for. Your chest tightened. “It wasn’t easy for me either.”

Ni-ki finally turned to you, his gaze steady, unreadable. “Then why didn’t you say something? Anything?”

You hesitated, lips parting, but no words came. Because how were you supposed to say it? That seeing him—being around him—hurt? That every glance, every almost-touch, every night you spent pretending you didn’t wish things were different only made you fall harder for someone you couldn’t have?

“I thought… if I distanced myself,” you whispered, “it would hurt less.”

His eyes narrowed, but his voice stayed low. “For who?”

Your mouth opened, but again—silence.

Ni-ki sat back slightly, still watching you. “You think I haven’t been busy?” he asked. “I’ve had meetings, training, pressure from every side—and I still looked for you. I still waited. I still cared.”

You swallowed hard, throat closing around the emotion building like a wave.

“I care too,” you said, barely audible. “I just—Riki, it was too much. I didn’t know what to do.”

“So you did nothing,” he muttered.

A breath passed between you. His scent was stronger now—wrapping around your lungs until you could barely breathe. Your fingers dug into the linen napkin on your lap, white-knuckled.

Ni-ki ran a hand through his hair, jaw tight. “You didn’t even owe me anything. Just honesty. Just… don’t act like it wasn’t a choice. Because it was.”

“I know,” you said. “I just didn’t think you’d understand—”

“I would’ve tried,” he cut in, and this time his voice cracked just a little.

You hated it. Hated how even now, a part of you just wanted to hold his hand under the table. Say I’m sorry and I miss you. But you also knew that would be cruel—because wanting someone doesn’t erase the damage of walking away.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” you said softly.

“You still did.”

And you both went quiet again. Not because the conversation was over—but because there were too many words now, all crowded between you, fighting to be said at the same time.

Mercifully, your mother spoke.

“So,” she started, tilting her head toward you. “How was Italy, sweetheart? Oh, and are you done planning your transfer back to the academy?”

Your spine straightened instantly. Every eye shifted to you—but one pair, one familiar, dark, piercing pair locked.

Ni-ki didn’t speak. He didn’t interrupt. He just looked at you.

His brows pulled in slightly—not in anger, but in something that made your stomach twist. Quiet confusion. A thousand unspoken questions pressed into a single expression. You could practically hear it:

‘You’re transferring back?’

You hadn’t told him. Of course, you hadn’t. You barely spoke at all.

“I—yeah,” you said, forcing a tight smile toward your mother as you tucked your hair behind your ear, your fingers trembling slightly. “I’m just waiting on one final document from the dean. Everything else is ready.”

“That’s wonderful,” your mom said, pleased. “You’ll be back in time for the new term then. And in the same class and Riki too, I think. I checked the registry.”

You gave a small nod, eyes flickering sideways. Ni-ki still hadn’t said a word—but his gaze hadn’t left your face.

You tried to keep talking, keep it together, like the words might smooth the tension building in your chest. “The paperwork just… took a little longer than I thought. There was a mix-up with the local office in Florence and—well, the emails kept bouncing back and—”

You glanced at Ni-ki. Just for a second.

Apology. That was the only thing in your expression.

Apology in the curve of your brows, in the way your lips parted—like there was more you wanted to say. More you should’ve said long before this moment.

He didn’t blink. Didn’t nod. Just watched you quietly, jaw tight, like he didn’t trust himself to speak without everything else spilling out.

You turned back to your plate. “It all just happened so fast.”

Then, almost too cheerfully, Ni-ki’s mother leaned in slightly from her seat, a sheepish smile curling her lips as she glanced between the two of you.

“Well, honey,” she said with a light laugh, “if you don’t like how fast things are moving, you definitely won’t like what we’re about to say next.”

You blinked—confused, still a little breathless from everything that hadn’t been said just seconds ago.

Ni-ki looked up sharply at his mother, brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

But before she could respond, your eyes met his. For the first time since you sat down, the two of you really held the gaze—no dodging, no guilt-clouded flickers. Just that full-on stare filled with wariness and questions and something dangerously close to hope.

And fear.

That was the thing you both felt most.

Slowly, you and Ni-ki turned toward the adults. Four faces—your parents and his—already waiting, as if they’d been anticipating this moment far longer than the two of you.

Ni-ki’s father sighed, running a hand through his silver-streaked hair. The sound alone made Ni-ki stiffen beside you. His brows furrowed, eyes narrowing slightly, the muscle in his jaw ticking.

“What’s going on?” Ni-ki asked slowly, voice low. Controlled. “Why do I feel like there’s a second dinner I didn’t know I RSVP’d to?”

Your father set down his fork with a soft clink. He leaned forward, fingers laced together, elbows resting on the table like this was just another business meeting.

“Your return wasn’t abrupt,” he said calmly. “It may have seemed that way to you both, but we’ve been planning this for months now.”

Ni-ki’s gaze sharpened. “Planning what, exactly?”

His mother smiled—tightly, like someone trying to keep the peace while walking over glass. “Riki, sweetheart. You and (Y/N)… you’ve known each other since you were in diapers. Our families have always been close. This isn’t out of the blue.”

You stared at your mother, mouth parting just slightly. Somewhere deep down, you knew she was about to say something that would change the shape of the night forever.

She picked up where the others left off. Her tone was soft, motherly, coaxing.

“You two are at the age now,” she said. “The age where marriage isn’t just about love anymore. It’s about legacy. About trust.”

Your breath hitched.

Ni-ki blinked, shoulders tense, not a single inch of him moving.

“And instead of marrying you off into unfamiliar families,” your mother continued, “we thought… why not join two that already love and trust each other?”

It hit you all at once.

You didn’t need her to say the last words, but she did anyway—gently, but firmly.

“We’d like to arrange for the two of you to be married. Eventually.”

Ni-ki let out a sharp breath, something between a scoff and a stunned exhale.

Your lips parted. But no words came.

His mother tried to smooth the atmosphere. She laughed gently, waving her hand as if the tension hadn’t solidified the air.

“It wouldn’t be right away, of course,” she said lightly. “You’re both still young. It’s just… a future arrangement. A promise. Between families. You understand, don’t you?”

“Understand?” Ni-ki’s voice was low. “You’ve been planning this behind our backs and you want us to understand?”

“Riki—” his father warned, but he wasn’t listening.

“No,” he said sharply, still looking at you. “Did you know about this?”

Eyes wide, your gaze dropped, darting toward your lap like it might shield you from the storm brewing across from you. Your pupils blew wide—fear, confusion, guilt—every emotion unraveling all at once, so fast it made your chest tighten.

“I—” You looked back up, desperate. “No. I didn’t. I swear, Riki, I had no idea.”

Something about the way you said it. Shaky. Honest. The panic in your voice—not fear of him, but fear for him. For what he might think, what this would do to him. It made him falter.

His scent spiked suddenly, bitter and sharp, thick with betrayal—and immediately, instinct kicked in.

Your shoulders stiffened, your breathing hitched.

Ni-ki cursed silently, jaw clenching harder as the realization struck him.

You could feel it. His anger. His pain. His pheromones were pushing at your senses, clouding your thoughts, and it wasn't fair—not to you, not when he knew exactly how sensitive you were to his scent.

He exhaled hard through his nose. Lowered his gaze. Swallowed the next thing he wanted to say.

Because as much as he hated this—all of this—he knew you. And no matter how much his heart was a battlefield right now, he also knew one thing: you never lied. Not to him. Not like that.

So he nodded once, slowly. Controlled. Teeth still gritted.

He turned back toward the adults, shoulders squared, face like stone.

“Let me get this straight,” he said, voice tight with restraint. “You didn’t think it was important to tell either of us that our entire lives were being planned?”

“Riki,” your mother began, her voice soft, trying for calm, “we weren’t planning your life. We were securing it.”

“With what? A contract and a shared bloodline?” he snapped. “You really think this is how relationships work?”

“This isn’t just about relationships,” his father cut in. “You two have known each other since you were children. We thought—”

“That that made it yours to decide?” Ni-ki bit, canines flashing slightly as his temper flared again.

His mother placed a calming hand on her husband’s arm. “Riki,” she said, gently now, “no one’s forcing you. But if it’s going to happen one day anyway, wouldn’t you rather it be with someone you trust?”

You blinked at that—and your chest squeezed. Because as terrifying and overwhelming as this all was, the thought of marrying someone else… someone who wasn’t him…

You weren’t sure you could stomach it.

Next to you, Ni-ki exhaled sharply. His hand shot up to rake through his already-messy hair, fingers curling at the roots like he needed to physically stop his thoughts from spinning.

Just sat there, jaw working, eyes on the far end of the table, every breath he took more uneven than the last. Like if he opened his mouth, he might explode.

Then—suddenly—he stood.

Not harshly, not slamming his chair back or anything. But there was urgency in the movement. Unspoken panic beneath his calm exterior. And then—

He reached for you.

Fingers curling softly around your wrist, warm and careful, and when your eyes darted up to his, your breath caught.

“Excuse us,” he said curtly—voice tight, but polite, somehow still managing that final thread of formality, though everyone in the room could hear it fraying.

And no one stopped him.

His grip was still gentle, guiding you just past the doors, down the corridor and away from the sentries posted nearby—until there was finally a stretch of hallway where it was just the two of you.

He let go of your wrist then. Just barely stepped back.

But his hand hovered for a second, like he wasn’t ready to let go of you entirely. Like some part of him wanted to hold onto something—anything—because everything else was crashing down.

Then he breathed. Long and deep.

He stepped forward again, and gently—almost cautiously—pressed you back until your spine met the cold stone wall behind you. You didn’t resist. Couldn’t. Because your heart was in your throat and your legs felt like paper.

Then his arms were around you.

And then—he lowered his chin.

Right onto the crown of your head.

Your breath stuttered. Your hands twitched at your sides, unsure whether to hold him or hold yourself together.

Because what happened to the sharp, bitter alpha from just seconds ago? What happened to the fire, the barbed words, the anger?

Ni-ki was quiet now, almost heartbreakingly so.

His hands moved slowly up your arms, fingertips gliding over your sleeves, rubbing gently—comforting, clinging. His eyes were shut, lashes brushing the top of your hair as he tilted his head forward, resting fully against you.

He inhaled again, slower this time.

That familiar, dizzying blend of strawberries and fresh roses—innocent, soft, utterly you. It clouded his thoughts like a fog he couldn’t fight. It dulled his anger, numbed the sting in his chest, but also made everything hurt more.

Because he wanted this.

God, he wanted this.

“I missed this,” he said, barely above a whisper.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. “You mean the fights?” you tried to joke—but your voice cracked too much for it to land.

He tightened his hold just a little, like he could mold your body to his, like he could brand you with how much he was feeling without saying it.

“I’m sorry,” you said suddenly. The words spilled before you could stop them. “Riki, I—I swear I didn’t know. I didn’t know they were planning this, and I never meant for you to find out like that—at a dinner table of all places—like it was some kind of business merger or a stock deal or—”

Your voice cracked again, and your breathing started to stutter.

“I don’t want to force this on you either, okay? Hell, I don’t even know if you like me that way, and I would never let them do that to you if I had a choice, I wouldn’t—I mean—”

You were rambling now. Your words tripping over themselves, rushing to explain everything your heart had carried for months.

“I’m sorry I left the way I did. I’m sorry I never wrote. I was so afraid that you’d moved on, or that I was just… something temporary to you when we were kids and—”

“Don’t,” he said, voice sharp—but not unkind. His eyes squeezed shut, his jaw tense, and his forehead dropped back against yours with a low, desperate breath.

You froze.

You hadn’t meant to say that part out loud.

“You keep saying my name like that,” he murmured, eyes still closed. “Riki.”

You blinked, surprised by the change in his voice—how suddenly it sounded so tired, but soft, too. Almost reverent.

“It sounds different coming from you,” he whispered. “It means something. You don’t even know what you do to me when you say it like that.”

Your heart thrashed.

And suddenly, his hands were moving again—back up your arms, over your shoulders, holding you like you were slipping through his fingers and he couldn’t let that happen again.

“Riki,” you whispered again, helplessly. “Please…”

He pulled back just a little, just enough to see your face.

And his eyes—God, his eyes—they flicked over every part of you. Your trembling lip, your glassy eyes, the way your fingers clenched at his shirt like you were seconds from breaking apart.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry I got mad at you. I just—”

His voice cracked, and his next breath came out like a gasp.

“I was scared,” he admitted. “I thought you knew. That you let them plan this and didn’t tell me. That you were coming back because of it—not because you wanted to.”

You shook your head quickly. “I didn’t. I wouldn’t. Not like that.”

He nodded once, slow and shaky.

And then he brought a hand to your cheek, brushing a tear that had escaped—tenderly, carefully, like if he touched too hard you’d vanish.

“You don’t need to force anything,” he said, voice low, trembling, “but if there’s even a part of you that wants this… if you feel even half of what I do when I look at you…”

His eyes locked with yours again.

“I’ll fight for it.”

“I’ll fight them,” he said. “The rules, the arrangement, all of it. I’ll fight to make this ours.”

Your chest caved in on itself. And the weight of it—of everything—suddenly felt unbearable.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered again, voice barely there. “I’m so, so sorry, Riki—”

But he cut you off, gently—pressing a finger to your lips.

“Don’t.” His voice cracked on the word. “Don’t say that.”

You blinked, tears threatening again.

“I’m so fucking stupid,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Lashing out at you like that. Accusing you. Like you were the one who put us in this mess.”

“Riki—”

“No, don’t—don’t say sorry again,” he said, laughing under his breath, dry and bitter. “God, why do you keep apologizing? I was the one who lost it. I was the one who looked at you and doubted you when I know you wouldn’t lie to me. You’ve never lied to me.”

You reached up, fingers brushing through his hair—he leaned into it without hesitation, eyes still closed.

“I got scared,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “Everything just… it’s like it was already decided. And I hated it. I hated feeling like I had no control.”

“You’re not the only one,” you whispered back.

His arms wrapped fully around your waist then, pulling you in so close you could feel his heart thudding through his chest.

And you didn’t hesitate—you pressed your face into his chest.

You could hear the slow, uneven rise of his breath. Feel the tension in his shoulders slowly start to unravel. And when his nose dipped into your hair, you realized—he was breathing you in.

You pulled back just a little, tilting your head up to look at him.

His lashes were lowered, lips parted slightly, breath still shallow from all the adrenaline earlier. But his scent had mellowed now—calm, the barest trace of warmth coating the air between you. Gone was the bitter spike from earlier. This was him again.

“Riki,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “Where do we stand?”

His eyes opened slowly at the question.

And for the first time that night—really for the first time—he smiled.

It wasn’t a smirk, not something half-forced to cover up emotion. It was soft. Real.

“Wherever and whatever you want us to be,” he said quietly, like it was the easiest truth he’d ever spoken. “You name it, I’ll meet you there.”

You blinked up at him, heart catching in your throat.

“I don’t want to force you into something you’re not—”

“You’re not forcing me,” he cut in gently. “You couldn’t. Not with this. Not with you.”

Your hand slid up his chest to rest over his heart. “But everything’s changing.”

“I know,” he nodded, still holding you. “But if I get to change with you? I’ll take it.”

A small laugh broke from your lips—half in relief, half from the swirl of feelings clawing at your ribs.

And Ni-ki leaned down, forehead brushing yours.

“Just stay close, okay?” he whispered. “That’s all I want. Everything else, we’ll figure out together.”

You nodded slowly, your breath catching as you looked up into his eyes.

The storm was gone now. That sharp, ice-edged tension in his gaze had melted into something softer, quieter. His brows relaxed, the harsh lines around his mouth smoothed, and for the first time that night, he looked at you like he wasn’t holding back.

He didn’t say anything for a second.

Because when your eyes met his, wide and unsure, all you could see staring back at you was warmth. Steadiness. Want. The kind of want that didn’t need to be rushed or claimed—just quietly held.

He tilted his head, just a little, brushing his nose against yours. A soft nudge. Barely there. But it made your heart stutter anyway.

His voice was barely audible. “Are you ready?”

“For what?”

Ni-ki pulled back slowly, but not far—just enough to reach down and find your hand. His fingers slipped between yours, and he gave your hand the faintest squeeze.

You felt your inner Omega react immediately—an involuntary hitch in your breath, a soft, near-silent whine curling low in your chest at the sudden loss of contact. But you bit it down. Fought it back.

But when you glanced up at him, his lips curved—he’d heard it.

He just smiled, a little shy, a little crooked. Like he was feeling it too, just under his skin.

“To face the others,” he said gently.

You blinked. “You mean… our friends?”

Ni-ki gave you a tiny nod, lips tugging up the tiniest bit more. “Unfortunately.”

You groaned, dramatic and drawn out, tugging at his hand. “Do I have a choice?”

“No,” he said flatly. “Not really.”

You both laughed—quiet, shared, like it was only yours to keep. And for a second, it felt like the storm from earlier had never touched you.

Your laughter faded slowly, but the smile stayed. It lingered on your lips like a secret. Like something sacred.

And maybe… maybe this didn’t fix everything.

But it felt like a start.

⤷ read part 2 here !

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